Darkhouse. Alex Barclay

him.

      O’Connor sat in Martha Lawson’s kitchen in a stiff wooden chair that pressed into his spine. The radiator behind him was turned up high. He shifted forward. He had already shaken off his suit jacket and hung it on the chair beside him. He ran through the same gentle line of questioning as Frank had, but quickly moved on.

      ‘Does Katie suffer from depression?’ he asked. The question hung in the silence.

      ‘She’s sixteen years old!’ said Martha. ‘Of course she doesn’t suffer from depression!’

      Frank and O’Connor exchanged glances. Between them, they’d been to the scene of four suicides in the previous five months, all of them teenagers.

      ‘Depression can start even younger than sixteen,’ said Frank, gently. ‘You may not even have realised that’s what it is.’

      ‘Was she sleeping a lot?’ said O’Connor. ‘Emotional? Irritable?’

      ‘Isn’t that every teenager for you?’ said Martha.

      ‘Do you think she was feeling negative or hopeless? Or could she have been worried about anything?’ said O’Connor.

      ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Martha muttered. ‘I don’t think she would have told me.’ She bowed her head and let the tears fall.

      Frank’s eyes moved over the family photographs on the sideboard. The biggest one was Katie in her white communion dress, her hands clasped around a prayer book and a white satin bag, her parents standing proudly behind her. In the second, she was dressed in pink trousers, a white top and big white trainers, sitting on a bench, laughing with her father.

      ‘Do you think she was badly affected by Matt’s death?’ asked Frank.

      Martha followed his gaze. ‘She was devastated. She adored him. But she was young when it happened. She’ll always miss him, I know that, but I wouldn’t have thought it was something that would trouble her at this stage.’

      When she turned away, O’Connor leaned down slowly and turned the dial on the radiator. His face was red and his eyes looked dry. He kept blinking.

      ‘Does she drink or do you think there’s a chance she could be involved with drugs?’ he asked.

      Martha looked back at him, confused. She glanced at Frank for support. His look was apologetic.

      ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, she does not. She isn’t allowed. I don’t keep drink in the house. And where would a girl like Katie get her hands on drugs?’

      Frank was saddened by her reaction. Did Martha really think she would only get drink from her own house? Or that drugs were hard for a teenager to come by?

      ‘To be honest, I’m getting very nervous about these questions,’ she said.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said O’Connor. ‘For us to do our job properly, we have a list of standard questions that we ask people in a situation like this. We’re not judging you or Katie or anyone. I don’t know Katie, so I’m trying to get a handle on her. That’s all. It will help us to look in the right places for her.’ Frank nodded.