‘I’m sorry?’ he said. ‘I missed that…’

  Ledger’s face flickered with irritation as he downed the last of his coffee and tossed the paper cup into the bin beside his desk. ‘I said… do you have any questions?’

  Alan looked down at the cup. ‘You really should recycle that, Richard.’

  ‘What?’ Ledger now looked both irritated and confused.

  ‘Your cup. It’s designed to be recycled, not just tossed away. Got to save the planet, right?’ he said, staring at it. ‘Or don’t you give a shit?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Alan…’ Ledger reached down into the bin, grabbed the cup and handed it to him. ‘Why don’t you take the fucking thing with you? On your way out?’

  44

  ‘That explains it!’ said Ledger. ‘That explains your paper cup with my DNA on it! The son of a bitch took my cup and planted it!’

  Boyd nodded slowly. ‘Well, that’s certainly possible,’ he said.

  ‘Possible?’ Ledger repeated. ‘Are you joking? That’s obviously what fucking happened!’

  ‘So then,’ Boyd continued, ‘the obvious question is why. Why would he do that, Richard? Why would he want to frame you? Why would he kill three of your childhood friends and then try to make it look as though you had done it?’

  ‘No comment,’ prompted Hart.

  ‘I don’t… for Christ’s sake… NO COMMENT!’ Ledger said, banging the table.

  ‘All right.’ Boyd opened his folder. ‘Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’ He shuffled the pages until he had the transcript he wanted before him. ‘We interviewed Mark Meadows’ wife,’ he said. ‘She told us about the annual reunions: Mark, Robin, Andy and you would meet up every year on the same day… the twenty-first of August.’

  Ledger sat back in his seat and folded his arms. ‘No comment.’

  ‘She told us that she overheard Mark and Andy talking about some secret between the four of you. A secret the four of you shared. What can you tell us about that?’

  Ledger shook his head. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Something happened in the past, didn’t it?’ Boyd said. ‘Something involving all four of you. Something bad enough, that if it came out, even now, thirty years later… it would ruin you.’

  Ledger kept his mouth firmly clamped shut.

  ‘So, given that we only have your word that this interview with Smithee took place, I think we’re looking at –’

  ‘Alan Smithee’s real!’ said Ledger. ‘I told you what happened.’

  ‘I think,’ Boyd continued, ‘we’re looking at one of two possible scenarios. Either something happened between you and your mates and you killed them to keep them quiet, or…’ He paused, watching Ledger’s face intently.

  Ledger kept silent.

  ‘Or… the four of you did something to someone else. To this Alan Smithee, perhaps? If he exists.’

  ‘He’s not made up,’ Ledger said.

  ‘So then who is he?’ asked Boyd. ‘What’s he got on you and why would he want to frame you?’

  Ledger looked as though he was almost ready to crack.

  ‘Who is Alan Smithee?’ asked Boyd again. ‘He’s someone you know, isn’t he? Someone you remember?’

  Ledger closed his eyes and kept them shut for a moment before finally opening them. ‘Can I talk with my lawyer?’ he asked.

  Boyd shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Alone.’

  Boyd looked at Minter and nodded. ‘Interview paused at four fifty-two p.m.,’ he said hitting the machine and switching off the audio feed to the observation room. He picked up his mug of coffee. Both Boyd and Minter pushed back their chairs, stood up and headed for the door. ‘You’ve got five minutes,’ Boyd said, closing the door behind them.

  Okeke emerged from the observation room. ‘Oh, he’s about to spill, guv,’ she whispered.

  ‘I think so too,’ he replied, glancing at the closed door to Interview Room Two. ‘Right now, I’ll bet he’s asking his lawyer how much he can safely say.’

  ‘What’s your best guess?’ asked Minter.

  Boyd chewed his bottom lip as he pondered the question. ‘My gut says Smithee is real.’

  Okeke pulled a face. ‘That interview story sounded like complete BS.’

  ‘Maybe. But like I said… that look on his face when he saw those autopsy photos wasn’t.’ He sipped the tepid dregs of coffee from his mug. ‘I think he’s genuinely rattled now.’

  ‘Scared of what… the cones?’ Okeke frowned, unconvinced.

  ‘Afraid of what they imply. What their message is.’

  ‘Which is?’ she asked.

  Minter leaned in from behind her and hissed into her ear. ‘You’re next.’

  She jumped. ‘Fuck off, Minter!’

  The door opened and Ledger’s lawyer poked his head out. ‘My client’s ready to resume.’

  They filed back in and Okeke returned to the room next door. Boyd pressed the button to restart the recording and enabled the audio link. ‘Interview resumed at four fifty-eight p.m.’

  ‘Okay, Richard…’ he said. ‘Are you ready to tell us what the hell is going on?’

  Ledger nodded. ‘None of it was planned. It just… Well, things just spun out of control…’

  45

  Richard spotted him sitting alone on a bench, on the other side of the playing field: a lanky, fluttering crow of a figure. ‘Check out the freak show over there,’ he said to the others.

  His friends turned to look where he was pointing.

  ‘What the fuck?’ gasped Mark, bringing the squeaking swing he was idling on to an abrupt halt. ‘Is it even human?’

  ‘It’s a goth,’ said Richard. His expensive boom box was busy pumping S’Express out across the play area. He turned the volume up full whack so that the speakers began to distort as they blasted across the playing field.

  The goth looked their way for a moment, then slowly, derisively, shook his head.

  The gesture irked Richard. Irked him a lot. ‘Did that wanker just diss us?’ he asked stepping off the roundabout.

  The others looked his way. ‘Are you gonna sort ’im out then?’ asked Andy. ‘Or do I have to help you out again?’

  Andy was the biggest of them. And dumbest. At fourteen he was already sprouting a faint halo of bum-fluff on his chin. Richard Leeder – true to his name – was their leader, the smart one, the rich one. But Andy was always there, waiting in the wings… challenging him, goading him, waiting for Richard to screw up and lose face.

  ‘Fuckin’ right I am,’ said Richard, tossing the last half inch of his Marlboro to the ground and striking out across the playing field towards the boy on the bench.

  As he neared the lone figure, he realised that the goth was a few years older than him. But he was committed now. He reassured himself that all goths were basically pussies. They were just hippies in black. This one had taken it to the next level: his long, dark hair was a frizzy, backcombed mess. His face was covered in make-up, including a stick-on beauty spot that made him look like a pantomime dame. He was wearing what looked like a crushed-velvet corset around his narrow waist, and a white shirt with ruffles around the neck and cuffs that reminded Richard of Mrs Slocombe from Are You Being Served? His parents loved that programme.

  Richard drew up in front of the bench and the goth removed a pair of headphones.

  ‘Yes?’ he said coolly.

  Richard glanced back at his friends. ‘What the fuck are you?’ he said, loudly enough, he hoped, for them to hear. ‘A tranny granny?’

  ‘Oh, go away,’ replied the goth. ‘Little boy.’

  Richard took a defiant step forward. ‘Go on. Piss off out of our park, gay boy.’

  The goth looked up from his hands, his face as pale as a ghost, his eyes rimmed with dark smudges. He smiled sarcastically. ‘You know? Your music’s really shit,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll fuckin’ slap you up!’ Richard snarled.

  He laughed. ‘I’ll fuckin’ slap you up,’ he repeated, mocking the squawk of Richard’s just-broken voice. ‘Why don’t you go back and play Top Trumps with your monkey friends over there?’

  Richard could feel his cheeks flushing with rage. ‘Suck my balls!’

  The goth laughed again.

  Richard clenched his fists.

  ‘Ooh!’ The goth laughed at him and mock-shivered. ‘Scary.’

  Richard was well aware that all eyes were on him. His friends were watching the exchange from afar. Andy, no doubt, hoping he was going to return red-faced and humiliated.

  The goth noticed him glancing back. ‘Oh, I get it… This is about looking tough, right?’ He chuckled. ‘Well, this isn’t working out too well for you, is it? What are you going to do now?’

  Richard wished he’d brought his flick knife with him; that would have scared the goth off, he was sure. But he hadn’t. All he had were his balled-up fists. ‘You’d better fuck off or we’ll kick your head in,’ he tried.

  The goth sighed. ‘I’ll leave when I’m good and ready,’ he said, leaning back on the bench and spreading his arms out along the backrest. ‘It’s a nice day.’ He winked. ‘Go on, piss off back to your little friends.’ He put his hissing Walkman headphones back on and closed his eyes.

  Richard considered his options: he could step forward and smack his smug fucking face. But what if this freak decided to fight back? His mind conjured an appalling image of himself being knocked down by a pussy in girls’ clothing. Pinned to the ground before being released to walk back across the playing field with grass stains on his shirt and his tail between his legs.

  They’ll laugh at me. His role as leader would be over. Andy would step up, turn the others against him, and it would be game over. He’d be Andy’s little bitch forever.

  He decided to cut his losses. He turned round and headed back. No grass stains. No knock-down, but pondering, as he walked over, how to turn the situation round, quickly… How to save face.

  Richard returned to his squad, waiting to hear what he had to say.

  Andy was grinning, awaiting his imminent coronation. ‘Aw, what’s up, Ricky boy…? Did he scare you?’

  Richard slumped down onto a swing, rehearsing the response in his head.

  Mark was emboldened by Andy’s challenge. He got up. ‘You wimped out.’

  Richard looked up at him.

  Make it good. Make it gross.

  ‘He asked me if he could suck me off,’ he said.

  The look of horror spread across Mark’s face like ink across blotting paper.

  ‘He said we could go in there and do it,’ Richard added, pointing to the tree line beyond the playing field. That wood – as every boy at Harsham Grammar swore blind – was where all the gays communed at night.

  ‘Fuck off!’ gasped Andy. ‘You’re fuckin’ jokin’ me, right?’

  Make it convincing.

  Richard shook his head.

  Mark pulled a face. ‘Ah, man… that’s fucking gross!’

  Robin glanced across the field at the goth. ‘Should we go and tell someone there’s a perv in the field.’

  The goth got up off the bench.

  ‘Shit… he’s coming over!’ hissed Mark.

  The goth walked slowly away from the bench, and away from them, in the direction of the woods. ‘He’s definitely a homo,’ said Andy, any doubts he might have had about Ricky’s story evaporating.

  Richard sighed inwardly. The trick had worked. The mood of disgust and horror had successfully eclipsed the fact that he’d returned humiliated.

  And that, really, should have been the end of it.

  ‘So, what happened next?’ asked Boyd.

  Ledger shook his head. ‘I… It’s… It was a long time ago. But I’m sure it was Andy who suggested it.’

  ‘Suggested what?’ Boyd asked.

  He looked down at his hands. ‘That we should follow him. He was always trying to impress the others. To take control of things.’

  ‘And did he say what his intention was?’ asked Boyd.

  ‘He just said we should follow him into the woods and maybe scare him… a bit,’ Ledger replied.

  ‘Scare him?’

  ‘You know… make some creepy noises, spook him.’

  ‘Is that what Andy said…?’ Boyd pressed. ‘Or is that what you thought he meant?’

  Ledger shrugged. ‘I can’t remember. It’s what I thought we were going to do. Just creep him out a bit.’

  ‘And did anyone disagree with his suggestion?’ Boyd asked.

  Ledger paused for a moment, looked down at his hands and then shrugged. ‘I think Robin said we should leave it. I agreed.’

  ‘But you all went into the woods together?’ prompted Boyd.

  Ledger looked up at him. ‘I had no idea what was going to happen… I was… I was just going along with the rest of them…’

  46

  ‘There he is,’ whispered Richard, pointing.

  The other three huddled close to him and followed the direction of his finger through the undergrowth. The goth was sitting down, his back against a tree, fumbling in his pockets for something, before finally producing a packet of tobacco and some Rizlas.

  ‘Fucking hippy pothead,’ muttered Andy.

  ‘Maybe we should head back?’ said Robin. ‘It’s getting late.’

  ‘It’s four.’ Richard sighed derisively. ‘Nearly your bedtime, is it, mate?’

  Robin shook his head defensively. ‘No. I’m just sayin’... there could be others out here.’

  ‘Other homos?’ Andy chuckled. ‘They only come out at night, Robbo. So they can bum each other by moonlight.’

  The others sniggered.

  ‘We should spread out,’ said Andy. ‘Surround him.’

  Andy was taking over again. Trying to take charge. Richard wasn’t having that shit. ‘No, you idiot. We’ll make a ton of noise all moving around.’

  ‘Then what, smart-arse?’ replied Andy.

  Richard thought quickly. ‘Let’s just rush him.’ He played it out in his head. He’d lead the others in a charge out of the undergrowth. The goth – startled like a deer – would scramble to his feet and bolt. Job done. They could all go back to his place, play pool on Dad’s table and congratulate each other.

  He relayed this to the others, who nodded. ‘Good plan,’ whispered Robin.

  Richard held his fist out and counted down three-two-one with his fingers. Then they emerged from the undergrowth, all four of them screaming like banshees.

  The goth, startled, dropped the roll-up he was making into his lap and attempted to get to his feet.

  ‘GRAB HIM!’ screamed Andy.

  Unthinking – in the moment – and reacting instinctively to the command, Mark leapt forward and rugby-tackled him to the ground. A second later Andy was astride him, sitting on his chest and holding his arms down.

  ‘Get the fuck off me!’ the goth screamed.

  ‘Fucking bender!’ snarled Andy.

  ‘WHAT THE FUCK?!’ the goth bellowed loudly.

  ‘Someone gag him!’ snapped Richard. ‘Quickly!’

  Mark reacted first, grabbing a fist full of fallen leaves and twigs and shoving them into the struggling goth’s open mouth. He immediately tried to spit it all out. Andy tore a strip from the boy’s shirt.

  ‘Hold his arm!’ Andy ordered Mark. He looked up at Robin who was watching, slack-jawed and useless. ‘Hold his other arm down, you prat!’

  Robin did as he was told. Andy tied the strip of material around the boy’s head, pulling it up over his mouth and nose. The goth’s screams were immediately reduced to a gurgling moan.

  Mark and Robin, both kneeling on an arm each, looked up at Richard, clearly wondering what they were supposed to do next.

  Richard was aware that standing there with his mouth flapping open and closed like a goldfish was, in effect, transferring leadership to Andy. Unless he took charge now, he was done.

  ‘So, you had him gagged and pinned down on the ground…’ prompted Boyd. ‘Go on.’

  Now that Ledger was talking freely, allowing him the time to pause and think his way ahead was not a good idea.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ coaxed Minter, his voice light and friendly. ‘You’ve started; you might as well get it all out.’

  Ledger nodded. ‘I just wanted to scare the crap out of him. You know? But…’

  ‘But what?’ Minter asked.

  ‘Andy…’ he began, looking first at Boyd and then the recording machine. ‘Andy was going batshit crazy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Boyd.

  ‘I mean… exactly that. He was big. The biggest and the strongest. And, to be honest with you, he was beginning to scare me.’ Ledger shook his head, his face crumpled with emotion. His voice began to quiver. ‘He… he was out of control. I couldn’t rein him in. He took over…’

  ‘He looks like a ladyboy,’ said Richard. He grinned. ‘You reckon he’s got one of each, lads?’

  Andy laughed. He loved the idea. ‘Shit, yeah. I gotta see this…’ He got up from the boy’s chest and grabbed hold of the waistband of his jeans. The goth squirmed violently kicking out at him.

  ‘Let’s have a butcher’s, shall we?’ He jerked the boy’s jeans down to his knees and stared at the Y-fronts revealed beneath. ‘Shit, that’s disappointing. I was expecting lady panties, or are they under those?’

  He grabbed the boy’s Y-fronts and jerked those down to his knees too. All four boys stared at his exposed genitals.

  Andy staggered back, disgusted. ‘Ah, fuck! So he’s just a normal bender, then.’ He looked down at him. ‘You lot like it up the arse, don’t you?’

  He looked around, searching for something.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Robin asked.

  Just then the goth worked an arm free from beneath Mark’s knees and started flailing.

  ‘Shit! Get his arm!’ snapped Andy. He looked at Mark. ‘Grab it!’

  Mark did as he was told, dropping his weight down on to the boy’s arm and pinning it back down to the ground once more.

  Andy resumed his search.