Suspicion

By Ann Neville

Suspicion

A Mystery for Young Adults

When Sam Bennett dies in mysterious circumstances, suspicion falls on 18 year old Joe Mercer—permanently excluded from Trenwith High School, always hiding behind his hoodie, except for when he's hooning around on his motor bike. Then it's his full-face helmet that provides his camouflage.

But did he really do it? His best friends, wannabe NFL player Seb Howell, whose smile can make girls lose their balance, and Seb's girlfriend Emily Bennett, Sam's daughter, think not and set out to prove him innocent.

Joe is charged with Bennett's murder and, while in prison, he realises his feelings for his childhood friend, Emily, have grown from 'brotherly' love to something more. But Emily is Seb's girlfriend and Joe knows he must respect that. Besides, Emily would never want to be with a loser like him.

As Emily's pen tattoos reach further and further up her arms, their suspicions lead them to her mother. She, like Joe, has motive and opportunity. And neither of them can, or will, account for their whereabouts at the time of Bennett's death. The case is complicated further when another family member confesses to being involved.

It is not until the final harrowing court scene that the truth of their suspicions is exposed and the murderer's identity revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Neville
• Release date: Aug 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386563075

Ann Neville

Ann Neville has a M Ed, Dip Ed Management, Dip Ed Leadership, Grad Dip in Creative Writing, and Post Grad Dip Publishing. She is an accomplished facilitator and research writer in the education field and has studied all forms of violence including physical, verbal, exclusion, sexual harassment, racial abuse, deprivation of human rights and cyber bullying. She writes both fiction and non-fiction, and runs creative writing workshops for both children and adults. 

Book preview

Suspicion

1

Joe

Joe loathed football. He loathed watching it and people who played it. He even loathed people whose only sin was to watch it. With two exceptions: his best friend Seb, and Seb’s girlfriend, Emily.

With his hoodie covering half his face, Joe hoped he’d be hard to recognise. He slunk over to the East Stand, which had been commandeered by Trenwith supporters. But his jeans gave him away — crotch at knee-length, the color of blue-tinted coffee dregs. He always wore them. They were the only ones he had.

It was the quarter-final of the Secondary Schools’ Football Cup. He shouldn’t even be there but Seb was playing for Trenwith High School against their arch rival, Grammar. No way was the mess Joe was in now going to stop him watching them play today.

Grammar students horsed around in the opposite stand shouting abuse at the Trenwith supporters which they, of course, maturely ignored. Yeah right! Just as well they were separated. Rivalry between the two high schools was legendary, and not just in football. Joe didn’t like soccer either but he almost wished he’d gone to the soccer match last winter where tensions boiled over into a full scale riot.

From the mass of Trenwith fans, decked out in their maroon and yellow scarves, came a chorus of We are the Champions, We are the... The players weren’t even on the field yet but already the noise was deafening. Joe watched the fake-tanned legs of Trenwith cheer-leaders jerk up and down as if controlled by a crazed puppet-master. Legs weren’t the only things bouncing up and down. His eyes latched like metal to a magnet to any... well, not legs!

Emily Bennett was easy to spot amongst spectators in the Trenwith stand, her coat a blaze of orange. When he got closer he saw her trade mark purple Doc Martins were topped by the gaudiest socks he’d ever seen — black, orange, purple and shocking pink stripes ridged up her jeans like malleable corrugated iron. No wearing school colors for her. Joe guessed it was something to do with trying to identify herself as someone other than the high school principal’s daughter. She stiffened when he slouched up beside her. He liked Emily, even though she was a football fan. It wasn’t her fault that her boyfriend played football. Anyway, she’d probably been brain-washed since she was a kid by her father. As well as being the school principal, he was the football coach, after all.

She tilted her head from side to side as though trying to decide how to react to him. Things were awkward because of her father and what was happening to Joe, but she smiled at him. Then she pulled her stripy scarf tighter against the wind and rammed tight fists deep in her pockets, eyes cemented on the players’ tunnel, no doubt waiting for Seb. Seb, who Joe had come to support as well. Seb, who only had to smile to make girls lose their balance.

It always seemed ridiculous to Joe that there were people who wanted to be around someone just because they were handsome or pretty. It was like picking your cereal because of what the box looked like instead of how it tasted. Not that Seb wasn’t a good guy. He was. Not as good a mate as his brother, Shelby, had been. But a good mate never-the-less.

Just when he thought the crowd couldn’t get any louder, there was a roar. The teams ran onto the field and bagpipes screeched from the Grammar stand. Losers. Trenwith could match that and then some! A trumpet blared. In fact, the whole trumpet section of the Trenwith Brass Band fired up in support. Sure drowned out the bagpipes. Joe shook his head. Not great for the long-term hearing prospects of the Trenwith student body though. He stuck the heels of his hands over his ears.

A blush crept up Emily’s neck when Seb ran out of the players’ tunnel onto the field. Joe hunched further into himself. Maybe one day someone would look at him that way. He'd like that someone to be Emily but knew that was never going to happen.

The ref blew his whistle and the battle began. Some whacky Trenwith student started up a mock radio commentary of the game.

A jump ball to Grammar. They’re under pressure, fire it down the middle, caught by Howell, takes a hard hit but stays on his feet. Brought down inside the 40. It’s Grammar down to the end zone, coming from left to right. Oh, no, touchdown.

Joe, along with everyone else in the East Stand groaned. Then the trumpets blasted out again. At half time the score was 14-7 to Grammar. Joe shrugged. No worries. Trenwith was within easy reach and there were still another 40 minutes left.

‘I’m freezing,’ said Emily. ‘Want a coffee?’

They bought hotdogs and Fairtrade cups of coffee from the kiosk. Warmth from the cup seeped into Joe’s white-cold fingers. He breathed in the pungent steam to thaw his nose, and the hotdog did the job of heating his insides.

Emily was wearing merino gloves. Pity. Not only did she have more ear piercings than a sieve, she was also a living artwork. Joe loved checking out the latest tattoos on her hands. Fake, of course, done in henna and sometimes in felt-tip pen. She’d tried to get real ones but the tattoo guy told her she had to be 18 before he’d touch her. Well, he said he would when she was 16 if her mother or father signed a form and went with her. Like that was ever gonna happen. She could have made a fortune if she’d patented her designs and published them as one of those ‘mindful coloring books’ that were all the rage these days. Joe rolled his eyes. He couldn’t think of a worse way to spend time than coloring in a book, apart from playing sport, of course.

‘Thanks for the food, Em. I needed that,’ he said.

‘No problem. I wish...’ She gazed at the far goal posts, blades of grass licking round the bottom of the poles, a clear blue sky framed at the top, ‘I just wish I could do something to help.’

‘Nah, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ Emily stared at him for so long he felt his own neck heating up. He pulled his hoodie closer and fiddled with the cord twisting it round and round his finger. Sighed with relief when the game restarted and Emily's attention turned back to Seb.

The second half of the game was as tense as the first, the score seesawing between the two teams. Joe’s throat was so raw from shouting and cheering, his voice was reduced to a croak. Just before the final whistle, Trenwith made a desperate attempt at a field goal. It had to go over if they were to win. Joe held his breath as the ball hung in the air before gliding over the crossbar. Yes!

Trumpets blared and a sea of maroon and yellow erupted from the stand. Frenzied stamping of feet sent vibrations juddering like a concrete drill through Joe’s body and set his back teeth on edge. He felt exhausted — imagine how the team must feel. They’d had to dig deep to grind out the 24-17 victory over Grammar.

He grinned at Emily before giving a quick nod to a not-too-battered Seb as he and the team did a victory circuit of the ground. Pumped with adrenaline, Joe leapt from one seat to another down the grandstand and headed for the changing rooms to wait for Seb.

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Joe managed to sneak into the changing room just before the team burst in. He pulled his hoodie over his nose to block the smell of sweat-heavy air permeating the room. Tough out on the football field? Sure, but it wasn’t much better for the team in the changing room after a win. Why couldn’t they show excitement the way girls did, with screams and hugs? Oh no, had to be macho physical stuff like head locks, punches, slapping of backs. If Joe hated sport, he hated this atmosphere even more but, chances were, he’d never have this opportunity again.

From his hunched position squatting on a corner bench, he was surrounded by thighs, some muddy, some cleaner, but all of them red and glistening with sweat. Sprigs clacked on the concrete floor and Joe was pretty sure no-one would notice him through the aura of steam rising from each player. He leaned his forearms along his match-sticks posing as thighs feeling uncomfortable with both his skinny frame and the atmosphere.

Mayhem reigned. That is, until two blokes in suits walked in. Then there was sudden silence. Joe saw Seb freeze and realised they must be selectors from the Youth Development Squad. According to Seb, they were his ticket to his dream, his obsession of becoming a professional football player. They must have watched the team’s every move on the field looking for young talent. This could be Seb’s chance to make the big time.

Joe hunched his shoulders. Would Seb be chosen? What a coup if he made the squad. That’d show smart-arse Lachlan, poncing around in his Norse Projects Parka and Nudie Thin jeans. Joe and Seb’s clothes were all ‘pre-loved’. Still, his rational mind told Joe Lachlan had just as much chance of being picked as Seb did. He scowled. Lachlan already had what his mother called ‘a silver spoon’ in his mouth, while poor Seb had to work his butt off to get where he was.

‘Congratulation, Trenwith. A well-deserved win.’ The pin-striped suit of Selector Number 1 was too small across his bulging shoulders, the fabric at the back puckered up. Joe fully expected the seams to rupture at any moment and reveal some monster hulk.

And he was fascinated by Selector Number Two’s nose. Must have loved football to let his nose get that munted. Probably started out the way most noses do, kinda straight and narrow. Now it was more bent than an old stile warped by heavy rains.

Selector Number Two said, ‘We’d like to invite a couple of your team to join the development squad. Unfortunately...’ It was like he’d pierced each of the players with a pin. They deflated and their faces drooped. ‘Unfortunately we can’t decide which two. So we’ve chosen three instead.’ Instant re-inflation occurred. ‘Congratulations to those three – Lachlan Mackie, Shaun Pickering and...’ Joe sat motionless, not breathing, eyes fixed on the filth-encrusted floor, a stone settling in the pit of his stomach.

‘And Sebastian Howell.’ Oh my god, oh my god. Joe watched Seb slump onto a bench. Nerd Alert! It looked like Seb might start blubbing. Now that would definitely not be cool. Joe hoped he’d be able to pull himself together.

There were more head locks and slapping of backs — sporting of those not picked, Joe thought. He wasn’t sure he would have been so generous.

Mr Bennett must have felt the same. ‘Congratulations to the whole team,’ he said eyeballing each team member individually.

That was when he spotted Joe. Joe shrank back against the wall and tugged his hoodie down further. He felt, rather than saw, Mr Bennett move close to him but his words were directed at the team, not him. Not yet.

‘You’re a machine. If one cog isn’t moving properly neither can any of the others. So, all of you, celebrate tonight. You deserve it. But do it safely. And remember, practice is at five pm sharp on Tuesday.’

The bench creaked as Mr Bennett sat down beside him. ‘Joe, you know you’re not supposed to be in here. You’re in enough trouble already. Why make things worse?’ But Joe had had enough of his nice guy approach. He groaned inwardly and prepared to be patronised by Mr Too-Good-To-Be-True.

Mr Bennett was Seb’s hero, not his. Seb said that because Mr Bennett believed in him, he had started to believe in himself. It wasn’t like that for Joe. For him, it was a different drama that played out. First Mr TGTBT would rationalise Joe’s problem. Yawn. Then he’d view it from different perspectives. Double yawn. The final act involved TGTBT dreaming up some sort of agreement as though he could force a positive outcome for Joe by sheer brilliance of thought.

Well, not this time. With a counterfeit smile, Joe pushed himself up and shouldered his way through the hush of the changing room to the door.  Seb called out his name, but Joe was in no mood to listen to anyone.

2

Emily

The kitchen smelled of garlic and onions. Emily’s mother, a health-food fanatic, was dicing vegetables for a stir-fry. She’d been to a night class where she discovered it took 78 calories of fossil fuel to produce one calorie of beef protein, 35 calories to make one calorie of pork, 22 calories for one of poultry, but only one calorie of fossil fuel to produce one calorie of soybeans. So now she was on a mission to save the world.

‘By eating plant foods instead of animal foods, we can conserve our non-renewable sources of energy,’ her mother said. Blah, blah, blah. Emily was totally over it. Besides, even the thought of bacon had her salivating. And, oh, for the crispy skin and delicious savory flavor of roast chicken. Obviously that wouldn’t be on the menu tonight.

Emily loved her mother and tried to be supportive of whatever her latest obsession was. Last year's fetish was gluten-free. This year, they not only had to be vegetarian but also waste-free. Heaven help anyone who put the something in the rubbish bin that should have gone in the recycling. It was Emily’s job to empty the disgusting contents of the bokashi bucket into the, of course, organic garden. Just thinking about it made her want to heave. And now her mother was trying to persuade her father to install solar panels on the roof. Next thing you know, she’d want a composting toilet! Ugh. Being an eco-warrior had its limits.

Emily grabbed a handful of carrot sticks and raided the fridge for dip.

‘Mum, Seb and I are going to the movies tonight. Is it okay if he comes for dinner before we go?’

‘I suppose so but... oh Emily, I wish you’d...’

‘Mum, don’t start, just don’t. I already know what you think of him,’ Emily said with a drawn-out sigh. ‘You’ve told me enough times.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. I’m just trying to look out for you and...’ Mrs Bennett shook her head and looked at the ceiling as though hoping for answers to materialise from there. Emily couldn’t figure out why Seb bothered her mother so much.

‘What don’t you like about him, Mum?’ Emily tossed the thick rope of her plait over her shoulder. She batted at a tendril that had broken free and was dancing around her face.  ‘He’s a prefect, captain of the Premier Football team and he coaches one of the junior teams. I really