Alison shook her head. ‘Those were it.’

If she was telling the truth, that backed what we thought already: Orla and Gemma were out. ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That’s perfect. Tell us: have you ever put up any cards?’

Eyes skittering. I said, ‘Nothing wrong with it if you did. Sure, that’s what the board’s for; it’d be a waste if no one used it.’

That twitch of a smile again. ‘Well . . . yeah. Just a couple. Just . . . when something was bothering me and I couldn’t talk about it, sometimes I . . . But I stopped ages ago. I had to be so careful, and then I was always scared someone would guess they were mine and get angry ’cause I put it up there instead of telling her? So I stopped. I took mine down.’

Someone. One of her own gang, Alison had been scared of.

She was as relaxed as she was ever going to get: not a lot. I said, easily, ‘Is this one of yours?’

The photo. Alison gasped. Clapped her free hand over her mouth. A high humming noise came out through it.

Fear, but no way to read it: fear that she had been caught, that there was a killer out there, that someone knew who it was, reflex response to any surprise, take your pick. Petrified of bleeding everything, Conway had said. It blurred her like streaming rain on a windscreen, turned her opaque.

I said, ‘Did you put that up?’

‘No! No no no . . . I didn’t. Honest to God—’

‘Alison,’ I said, soothing, rhythmic. Leaned forward to take the photo back off her, stayed leaning. ‘Alison, look at me. If you did, there’s nothing wrong with it. Yeah? Whoever put this up was doing the right thing, and we’re grateful to her. We just need to have a chat with her.’

‘It wasn’t me. It wasn’t. I didn’t. Please—’

That was all I was getting. Pushing would do nothing but lose my next chance as well as this one.

Conway off in a corner, still playing invisible, watching me. Gauging.

‘Alison,’ I said. ‘I believe you. I just have to ask. Just routine. That’s all. OK?’

Finally I got Alison’s eyes back. I said, ‘So it wasn’t you. Any ideas about who it might have been? Anyone ever mention having suspicions about what happened to Chris?’

Head-shake.

‘Any chance it was one of your mates?’

‘I don’t think so. I don’t know. No. Ask them.’

Alison was sliding back towards panic. ‘That’s all I needed to know,’ I told her. ‘You’re doing great. Tell us something: you know Holly Mackey and her friends, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Tell me about them.’

‘They’re just weird. Really weird.’

Alison’s arms tightening around her middle. Surprise: she was afraid of Holly’s lot.