You Had It Coming by B.M. Carroll (snow like ashes series .txt) 📗

‘Hello. Sorry to gatecrash like this.’ In normal circumstances, Bridget would ask the lawyer to leave so she could have a private word, but he looks rather worse for wear. It seems equally impossible to ask Jess and Megan to leave him to his own devices. There are people everywhere, but the noise level offers a certain degree of privacy. ‘I’m here to let you know that Dylan O’Shea has died …’

‘Oh.’ Megan’s eyes are wide, her mouth agape. ‘Oh my God.’

Jess is tight-lipped. Her shock is contained, but just as forceful.

‘His body was found at his home this evening, along with a written statement in which he admits to shooting William Newson and framing Thomas Malouf for the crime.’

Megan grabs on to the back of the lawyer’s chair to steady herself. Jess is untethered, dazed, white as a sheet. Music booms from the hall next door.

Bridget forges on. ‘The statement confirms that you were both given GHB on the night of the party. The twist is that Dylan was drugged too, although he didn’t discover this until recently—’

‘What the fuck?’ Jess’s eyes narrow with disbelief. ‘What does Dylan being drugged have to do with anything?’

‘Thomas gave him a lesser dose, just enough to loosen his inhibitions – his actions that night were certainly compromised by the drug. Dylan never got over what happened. According to his father, he never had a proper relationship with a girl, didn’t pursue close friendships, and kept a low profile at work – he was constantly fearful that someone would find out. The shame and guilt had a significant toll on his mental health. A few months ago, he discovered that Thomas had drugged him, that Thomas was still using GHB to prey on other women, and that William Newson had got him off another charge. It would seem that these developments sent Dylan over the edge.’

‘Oh my God.’ Megan’s brown eyes are blurry with tears. ‘I never thought I’d feel sorry for Dylan O’Shea!’

Jess is fighting the urge to cry, her mouth trembling with the effort. ‘Don’t feel sorry for him. Don’t! What type of person does this kind of shit?’

‘Someone deranged.’ The male voice takes Bridget by surprise. Billy: she’d forgotten about him. ‘Someone who believes their actions to be justified when any sane person knows differently … Where did he get the gun?’

The question is calm and deliberate. Bridget realises that Billy doesn’t care about where the gun came from: his intention is to diffuse some of the emotion with cold hard facts, a technique she often employs herself.

‘Both the gun and the motorcycle were stolen. At this point we’re assuming that Dylan acquired them through the black market. We’ve already found evidence of membership to a shooting club.’

Billy nods. The ensuing silence contains the beginnings of acceptance. This is the point where Bridget might step forward to hug the women if she weren’t acting in a professional capacity. The hug would portray the depth of her sympathy, as well as her emotional connection to the case and her admiration for them both. Words feel like a poor substitute. She chooses them carefully.

‘I know this has been a difficult few weeks. I’ve had to ask intrusive and upsetting questions, dredging up bad memories. I just want to say how brave you are. When I’m not at work, I’m mum to a seventeen-year-old girl and a fifteen-year-old boy. If my kids turn out like either of you, I’ll be the proudest mum in the world.’

62

ONE MONTH LATER MEGAN

The girl, Hannah, is only sixteen. She regains consciousness on the way to the hospital. Confusion registers in her bloodshot eyes, followed quickly by horror.

‘You’re all right.’ Megan squeezes her hand. ‘You’re safe. Everything is fine.’

Tears well. Her mouth trembles.

‘Sorry. I’m so stupid. My parents …’

‘Your mum and dad are meeting us at the hospital. They’ve had a shock but they’ll be okay once they know you’re okay.’

Hannah’s skin is cold and clammy, despite the foil blanket tucked around her. Her heart rate is slow, her pulse irregular. An IV is attached to the pale smooth skin in the crook of her elbow.

Megan gently wipes some vomit from the girl’s chin, a task that’s part and parcel of most Saturday-night shifts. She doesn’t mind, even though the smell sticks to her skin and clothes. She’s going to Billy’s place straight after work; she’ll have a shower there.

It’s slightly startling when she thinks about Billy, and how quickly he’s become embedded in her life. It started with drinks on the night of his fight – with Seb, Jess and Alex – before catapulting into a full-blown relationship. Billy is smart, uncomplicated and certain about what he thinks and feels. Megan doesn’t have to second-guess him, or be on standby for him to let her down: he makes his feelings very obvious.

‘I really like you,’ he said on that first night, a little bit drunk but clearly genuine. ‘I mean really, really, really like you.’

In response, Megan has opened up about her own feelings, including her remorse over Dylan, how she vacillates between anger and guilt and sorrow. If she’d spoken to him, granted him the opportunity to tell his side of the story, would that have changed how things turned out?

‘Why don’t you talk to his family?’ Billy advised. ‘It might help you and them.’

Poor heartbroken Mr and Mrs O’Shea. Megan’s chat with them was both revealing and cathartic. She discovered, among other things, that the Malouf family had bullied Dylan in the months leading up to the trial. You’d better stick to the story, or else … We’ll ruin your life if you ruin Thomas’s life …Just shut up and do what the lawyer tells you to do. The bullying had intensified Dylan’s feelings of helplessness and fear. Who knew what his testimony would have been without their influence? A guilty verdict, albeit disastrous for the boys at the time, could have saved three lives twelve