‘They’ve postponed the musical,’ I tell her.
She looks relieved.
‘What happened after the rehearsal?’
Sienna glances at me but doesn’t answer.
‘You met up with your boyfriend.’
‘Yes.’
‘Danny Gardiner.’
She nods.
‘How long have you known Danny?’
‘A while.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘He was in Lance’s year at school.’
‘Lance is your brother?’
‘Yeah, Danny used to hang out with Lance. Follow him around. They were both into cars and motorbikes.’
‘Where did you and Danny go on Tuesday?’
‘For a drive.’
‘Anywhere in particular?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Now she’s lying.
Cray asks the question again, approaching it from a different angle. Sienna obfuscates and becomes deliberately vague, either covering her tracks or protecting someone.
‘Do these belong to you?’ Cray pulls a plastic bag from beneath the table. It contains a pair of muddy jazz shoes.
Sienna nods.
‘I didn’t hear you,’ says Cray.
‘Yes,’ she answers.
‘Do you own a Stanley knife?’
Sienna shakes her head, but instinctively covers her forearms.
‘We found your box of bandages,’ I say gently. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed. What sort of blade do you use?’
‘It was one of Daddy’s tools. I found it in the garage.’
‘Where is it now?’
‘It should be in the box.’
‘It’s not there,’ says Cray. ‘Do you know where it is?’
She shakes her head and digs her right thumbnail into the back of her left hand, threatening to break the skin.
‘What time did you get home on Tuesday night?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Did you see your father?’
Sienna shakes her head.
‘But he was there?’
She nods.
‘Where?’
‘In my room.’
I can almost see Sienna’s mind begin to wander. ‘I used to share a bedroom with Zoe, but then she got paralysed and Daddy moved her downstairs. I used to dream about having my own room, but now I wish Zoe were still at home and we shared a room. I’d even put up with her mess and having to share a bunk-bed. When she moved out Daddy bought me a proper bed. He said we didn’t need a bunk-bed any more because Zoe couldn’t climb the stairs.
‘Zoe and Lance hardly ever come home any more. Zoe lives in Leeds with her boyfriend. I’m not supposed to tell anyone that because she doesn’t want Daddy finding out, but I guess that doesn’t matter any more.
‘When Zoe left home she gave me her favourite pair of ear-muffs and her Winnie the Pooh bear, which is humungous.’ She holds her palm out to indicate how high. ‘She won him at a funfair. I can’t remember what she had to do, but she’s pretty good at shooting baskets. She played netball when she was at school - until the you-know-what happened. When she left home she told me I should leave too, as soon as I could. Sooner even.’
‘Why did she say that?’
Sienna reaches towards the table and runs her finger through the ring of condensation left by her soft drink.
‘She was looking out for me.’
‘In what way?’
‘She told me the places that were safe and weren’t safe.’
‘What places weren’t safe?’
‘In the bathroom unless the door was locked, in the car at night, in the shed, on the sofa and even in my new room if I found myself alone.’
Cray straightens, steeling herself, knowing she has to ask the obvious question.
‘Why weren’t they safe?’
Sienna lays her forehead on her arms and closes her eyes. ‘What did Zoe say?’
‘I’m asking you. Did your father ever touch you inappropriately?’
Her voice is muffled. ‘Not for a long time.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
The DCI looks at her silently, her face tired and poached-looking under the halogen lights.
‘Why did you stab your father?’
Sienna’s forehead rolls back and forth on her forearms. Her eyes are closed.
‘He looked like he was asleep. I thought he was trying to scare me by pretending.’
‘Pretending?’
‘To be dead.’
‘Why did you think he was dead?’
‘He was lying on the floor.’
‘Did he try to attack you?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you hit him?’
Sienna’s mind suddenly switches.
‘I should be sad. I’ve tried to cry. I rubbed my eyes really hard to make them go red. I poked them to make them water. I want to be able to cry, but I can’t feel anything.’
‘Tell me about the knife,’ continues Cray.
Sienna doesn’t seem to be listening.
‘Do you think Daddy is in Heaven? I used to talk to Reverend Malouf. He told me God had all the answers, but I couldn’t get my head around Jesus rising from the dead. If he came back, why didn’t he hang around and take his show on the road? Instead he went back to Heaven and let people forget.
‘Daddy used to tell people he was an agnostic, which isn’t the same thing as an atheist but I don’t understand the difference. Reverend Malouf tried to explain it to me once. He said an agnostic is someone who can’t make up his mind and get off the fence.’
‘You’ll have to talk to us eventually. It’s for your own good,’ says Cray.
‘Why do people say things are for my own good?’ answers Sienna, fixing her gaze on the detective. There is something in her voice, so old and so tired, that takes Cray by surprise.
Sienna continues, ‘Mum is crying, Lance is angry, Zoe isn’t here and Daddy is dead. What I do or say doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes it does. We’re giving you a chance to explain.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘You’re avoiding my questions.’
‘I’m avoiding the answers. There’s a difference. You want me to remember things, but I can’t.’
Sienna pulls her knees up towards her, holding her shins tightly. She lets her hair tumble over her face. After a long silence, she finds a voice, small and haunted, belonging to a younger child.
‘Do you know something? When Zoe got crippled she said she was lucky because Daddy stopped trying to touch her. She was his favourite, you know. The sporty one. He was proud of her.’
A groan gets trapped in her throat. Her chest convulses in a flutter of short breaths.
‘I sometimes think that if Daddy’d had a choice, he would have wished it was me in the wheelchair and not Zoe.’
Tears hover and her mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Suddenly she raises her hands and presses them hard against her ears.
‘Can you hear something, Sienna?’ I ask.
‘The rushing sound.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I can’t make it go away.’
She rocks back and forth, digging her nails into her scalp. She’s thinking about the blade. Bleeding. Clearing her mind. Finally she whispers something. I have to lean close to hear the words. It’s a rhyme that she repeats over and over.
‘When I was a little girl about so high,
Momma took a big stick and made me cry.
Now I’m a big girl and Momma can’t do it,
Daddy takes a big stick and gets right to it.’
11
The team of detectives has gathered upstairs. Jackets hang on chairs and shirtsleeves are rolled to half-mast. It’s not a big task force - a dozen at most - mostly men, mid-thirties, ageing rapidly.