Page 138 of The Guilty Girl

Who was the boy afraid of?

‘You can talk to me, Oscar. You saw something. Tell me what you witnessed.’

A sneer returned to his face. ‘No comment, pig.’

She shoved back her chair, a wave of agony shooting through her sore bones.

‘I’m leaving you here to fry in the heat until your parents arrive. And mark my words, kid, I will charge you with assault and lock you up.’ She felt a twinge of guilt for threatening him, but feck it, nothing else was working.

He shrugged a shoulder and forced a smirk. ‘I’ll be out in a few hours anyhow.’

And the annoying thing about it was that he was right.

‘Don’t bank on it. I know a judge who can’t stand brats like you.’

‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘The evidence will tell me a different story.’

‘What evidence?’ He sat up straighter.

‘From the stash we found in Jake’s house.’

‘The scummy bastard. He did fleece us.’

At last, she’d cracked him. ‘You admit to knowing about the drugs?’

His mouth hung open. He realised he’d made a mistake. Then a shake of his head. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You do.’

‘It’s not me you should have in here.’

‘Who, then?’

He chewed the inside of his cheek, childlike again, but she wasn’t about to fall for that ruse.

‘I can’t tell you or I’ll end up like Jake. Swear to God.’

‘Give me something, Oscar. You owe me for this.’ She twisted round and pointed to her head wound.

‘Nah, you were in my way.’

Her turn to play the silent game.

Eventually he spoke, fingers fidgeting, clasping and unclasping his hands. ‘It’s all Jake’s fault. That’s all I’m telling you. I’m done.’

She racked her brain. Jake had had drugs hidden in his room. He had been a good kid but had fallen in with the wrong crowd after his father’s death. He was a junior boxer getting ready for a big fight. And Barney Reynolds, the coach, had been hanging round the army barracks.

‘Is someone connected with boxing involved in all this?’

Oscar’s eyes widened, his jaw slackened and he bit his thumbnail. Then the glimmer of fear that had flashed across his face vanished.

‘You’re full of shit, cop-face.’

She left him sitting in the heat. She needed paracetamol, or codeine, or a shot of vodka. As the last was out of bounds, she’d have to settle for the pills.

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