My thoughts are interrupted by the voice on the other side of the door. ‘I’m going back to the police station now. I’ll see you later.’
‘Sure, see you later,’ I say and make a big show of running the taps and flushing the toilet a couple of times. When I come out of the bathroom the room is empty and the documents I had placed on the bed are gone. She must have taken them with her.
11
Scarlett
I’m at the beach with Christina. We’re not talking, just lying on sunbeds under a parasol, looking out to sea. Christina is sullen and irritable today. I can imagine only too well the malicious headlines if the paparazzi see us now – heartless mother sunbathing while the search for missing daughter goes on – but we have to be somewhere, we can’t hide in our rooms all day, and this is as good a place to be as any.
Overhead the sky is blue but out to sea it’s a menacing grey. There’s going to be a storm. On the horizon there’s a bank of bullet-grey clouds massing and moving in our direction. A dark sheet from the clouds to the sea marks the line of approaching rain. I reckon we’ve got about thirty minutes before we get soaked.
After the frantic efforts of the last few days, exhaustion has set in, numbing the intensity of my grief but making my mood as desolate as the leaden skies. If I were a cartoon character in a graphic magazine, I’d be drawn with a big black cloud right above my head.
We found a spot at the very far end of the beach hoping to be left in peace. Ever since Katie disappeared the local hacks have been prowling round the entrance to the hotel, and there’s always a risk of coming face to face with them if they get the chance to dodge the security guards. They loiter in the grounds or stalk the beach in the hope of snapping a picture of us or scooping an interesting quote from one of the guests. I always thought I’d like to be famous. But this kind of celebrity is not for me. If you believe half of what’s been said or written about me in the press and on social media, I’m negligent, lazy, drunken, promiscuous, disgusting, evil, perverted; I should crawl under a rock and die. As for Christina, it’s even more vicious. She can’t do anything right! I’m sick of their vitriol and lies. If I could get away with it, I would smash their cameras on the rocks.
Christina didn’t say much about her interview with Costa this morning. She was tight-lipped and withdrawn when she came back from yet another trip to the police station. It’s becoming part of the daily routine for each of us – a one-to-one session with Costa. I didn’t dare ask her what Costa made of the documents she came back for yesterday because I didn’t want her to know I’d been going through her private papers in her room (but in truth I can’t actually be sure whether she gave him the papers or just took them away because she didn’t want the police to find them). I’ve got my suspicions but I want to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Over coffee she opened up a little and told me that Costa’s in the process of getting witness statements from all the staff and guests at the hotel. He’s also about to launch a new poster campaign. He’s still quite upbeat, hopeful that something positive will come of the enquiries: if Katie was abducted or wandered off at the beach while I was sleeping under the influence of drugs, someone must have seen something. They’ve had the dogs in action again too – scouring the beaches and coastal paths in a ten-mile radius from the hotel and from the site where Katie’s swimsuit was found. But so far, nothing new… The trail goes cold at the cave.
We’ve been kicked out of our rooms this morning while they are being searched. The police are looking for evidence and recovering fingerprints. About time too! I suppose Costa finally realised a police search of both our hotel rooms was long overdue. Better late than never but if they wanted to ‘secure the scene’ they should have done it as soon as Katie went missing. So many people have been coming and going. Inevitably, it’s going to look bad for me. They’ll find my fingerprints everywhere in Christina’s room. What hope of clearing my name!
Before I left my own hotel room this morning, a police officer asked me for the code to the safe. I’ve been using the same code as Christina – Katie’s date of birth. The officer put on her white cotton gloves and emptied the contents out onto a dustsheet she’d placed on the bed.
‘I’ll check over the safe first then you can put your valuables back in before you leave the room,’ she said.
She itemised everything – my passport, jewellery, wallet and keys and started to dust the passport and my wallet with a soft brush for fingerprints.
‘Anything missing?’
‘Yes, yes something’s missing,’ I said. ‘Katie’s passport is gone and a pink Sleeping Beauty purse that she insisted on putting in the safe.’ Tears pricked my eyes as I recalled how pleased with herself Katie had been, feeling so grown up as she placed her purse in the safe along with my wallet. ‘On the first day of the holiday, Damien gave her ten dollars to buy ice-creams. She was so excited.’
The police officer looked up. ‘The child’s passport is gone?’ she said. She pulled out her pager to report this finding.
‘I haven’t touched the safe since the day we got here.’ I felt my cheeks begin to burn. ‘Christina must have taken it. Look in her safe.’
*
Naturally this incident has added to my unease, even though Costa insisted the search of our rooms was routine procedure, now that the investigation has changed from a search and rescue operation to a case of suspected abduction.
‘Nothing to worry about’ he said cheerfully but I knew he was being disingenuous. Our rooms are being treated as potential crime scenes now and the police are belatedly taking steps to preserve, record and recover evidence
‘Let’s go and get some lunch’ I say to Christina, jumping up from the sunbed. ‘You need to keep up your strength and we’re going to get soaked if we stay here much longer. The strengthening wind, blowing through the branches of the coconut palms, creates the sound of pattering raindrops as if the downpour has already started. ‘The restaurant should be quiet now,’ I say. ‘It’s almost three o’clock.’
I lead the way as we amble over to the Reef Terrace where there’s an empty table in the corner, sheltered by a fig tree. My favourite summer hit is playing on the beat box…
I wanna dance in the waves 'neath the Mexican sky
Are you with me? Are you with me?
The refrain takes on a new mournful and haunting quality in my head, strangely incongruous and ironic, yet reawakening memories of heady beach parties and night clubbing from a former life.
The metal chair scrapes as I pull it out and a lizard darts off into a chink between the stones.
One blink and he’s gone.
‘Let’s start outside,’ I say, ‘and we can take cover when the rain comes.’
Christina says she doesn’t care where she sits or what she eats, she’s not hungry anyway, so I order the daily special for us both – grilled snapper and conch fritters.
‘Sounds delicious’ I say brightly.
The rain’s coming down in sheets, we’ve retreated to an indoor table and my stomach’s rumbling by the time the food arrives more than half an hour later. I bolt it down while Christina picks at her fish and scarcely touches the fritters. I detect a shadow of reproach as she eyes my empty plate.
‘There’s nothing wrong with your appetite,’ she says reproachfully.
Despite the suntan, she looks exhausted, eyes circled with dark shadows, fragile and angular. She must have lost at least five kilos since the day Katie went missing.
‘Did Costa take your fingerprints?’ I ask her. ‘He asked me to give my fingerprints “on a voluntary basis, to facilitate their enquiries”. I mean God, I could hardly say no.’
Christina shrugs.
‘I gave mine too. It will help them to distinguish between our fingerprints and any unexpected ones they find.’
I can’t believe she’s so cool about it. I’m indignant.
‘He’s treating us like criminals,’ I say. ‘Does he think that we’ve taken
Katie, that we’re hiding her somewhere?’ The hypocrisy of what I’m saying (given my own doubts about Christina) only hits me when the words are out.
Christina looks at me blankly.
‘He’s just doing his job,’ she says. ‘Can you stop asking questions for one minute? Leave me in peace.’
But I can’t let it go. As we drink our espressos, I probe Christina a little further to find out what Costa said to her. He’s asked us both to keep our interviews with him private and not to discuss the investigation. But seriously, what does he expect? We’re not going to sit here talking about the weather!
‘Of course we’re going to compare notes,’ I say. ‘And what we choose to talk about in private is really none of his business.’
‘He’s giving us the official line,’ she says wearily. She pulls a face as she swallows two pills down with her coffee. ‘It’s the only way I can get through the day,’ she says crossly, when she notices me looking disapprovingly at the packet of sedatives.
Her voice is tired and depressed.
‘The harsh reality is that in his eyes all three of us, not only Damien, are now suspects – and each of us could be acting alone, or with an accomplice, or all three of us could be in it together.’ Her voice rises as she says angrily. ‘For all I know, you could have planned this with Damien. You could have hidden Katie away somewhere on the island hoping to collect a reward for her safe return before making a run for it.’
For the second time today, I feel my cheeks flush.
‘Thanks…’ I say bitterly. ‘At least she’d be alive, if only that were true…’
Christina covers her face with her hands.
I bite my lip. That was cruel. I need to be more careful choosing my words.
On reflection, I have to accept the wisdom of Christina’s words. I’m flip-flopping in what I believe myself. One minute I’m convinced it’s Damien who has abducted Katie and that Christina is the innocent patsy, the next that she’s a part of the plot, and the next that she’s mentally unstable and has staged the whole abduction. I just keep getting this uncomfortable feeling she’s hiding something from me. So here we are. We’re both suspicious of Damien and we’ve both got our suspicions about each other – it’s a triangle of distrust.
In truth, I don’t know what to think any more, I don’t even trust myself.
‘Costa’s poisoning your mind against me,’ I say. ‘He’s trying to turn us all against each other. It’s a deliberate strategy – divide and rule.’
I pour Christina some more coffee and she drinks it in silence.
‘His attitude is making us paranoid.’
I give vent to my frustration.
‘What makes Costa so sure that any one of us had a hand in it? Even Damien could be innocent. I know he’s a jerk and his conduct has been appalling…’ I hesitate but somehow I doubt she’ll take offence any more to me referring to him in these terms. ‘… It’s just possible he’s telling the truth? Maybe he did go on a bender at the casino?’
I drop three sugar cubes into my coffee and stir briskly. This isn’t the time to be worrying about my waistline.
‘Surely the most likely scenario is that Katie was abducted by a stranger, perhaps someone already known to the police – some psycho who wandered up to her on the beach, maybe someone who’s been watching her since we got here, waiting for his opportunity. When the sick bastard noticed I was asleep, he took her by the hand and walked off with her. It happens…’
Christina doesn’t flinch, just sips her coffee and gazes out to sea. The sedatives must be numbing her pain and grief.
‘Well, officially stranger abduction is still the police first line of enquiry, or so Costa claims,’ she says, her voice clinical and detached. ‘As I told you, they’re now launching a proper appeal for witnesses, this time to Katie’s abduction. In the next forty-eight hours they’re going to try and speak to every member of staff and every guest now staying at the hotel, and they’re also going to email everyone who was staying here when Katie disappeared who’s now gone home. The hotel manager tried to veto it to avoid the bad publicity but Costa got his way.’
‘Well, that’s a start. But it’s too little, too late,’ I say. ‘They should be going online, using the power of social media. Katie could be anywhere by now. Someone might be hiding her on the island. But she could just as well have been taken off the island. I know they’ve been monitoring the airport but they can’t search every boat heading out to sea. They can’t be watching every marina, every dock, every stretch of coastline.’
I tip the dregs of my coffee down the back of my throat, savouring the bittersweet taste.
‘Our best chance of finding Katie is if someone recognises her and reports it to the police. We need to get her image out there so that everyone’s on the lookout.’
‘That’s exactly what I said to Costa this morning,’ says Christina impatiently. ‘I’m all in favour of using mass publicity and social media when the time is right. He says he’s fighting the powers-that-be on this one. The authorities don’t want him doing anything that’s going to sully the reputation of this place as an island paradise. They’ll try to block anything that will damage their precious tourist industry. A mass online publicity campaign will be bad for business. That’s the official line. It’s as cynical as that.’
That stinks. But I know it’s true. It will suit everyone here much better if the police can prove that Katie’s abductor is someone close to her, a foreigner visiting the island, rather than an unidentified local who could strike again.
‘Well, if he won’t do it, I will,’ I say. ‘It’ll be easy enough – I can get all my Instagram followers to help… I’ve got thousands, literally. We can make Katie’s picture go viral. Just say the word and I’ll do it.’ I scroll through my phone. 5,759 followers, correction, that’s just gone up to 5760… as we speak. It’s a very good place to start.
‘For God’s sake, Scarlett, this is not all about you! If you start messing around with social media, it’s going to disrupt the investigation. All sorts of fake leads will be flying round causing distractions and wasting police time.’ Christina loses her temper and thumps her fists down on the table setting the crockery clattering on the metal top. Heads turn to check out the commotion but Christina’s past caring. ‘This is not the Scarlett Reyes Reality Show!’ she yells. ‘All you seem concerned about is salvaging your reputation, interfering in the investigation and putting yourself out there as some kind of Lara Croft character in an action-adventure movie. You’re one of the main suspects, don’t forget. Just let the police do their job.’ She kicks back her chair and stands up, gesticulating wildly, as she prepares to walk off. ‘This is not all about you!’ she hisses at me. ‘If it was up to me, you would have been arrested by now. To say you were criminally negligent is the most charitable interpretation of your behaviour.’
A waiter hurries over to ask if he can be of any assistance. His presence at her shoulder knocks the wind out of Christina’s sails. She knows she’s making an exhibition of herself. She sits down and says calmly, ‘Anyway, how come you’ve got so many followers? You’re a nanny, not a film star!’
I’d rather not go into details and I’m scared it’ll set her off all over again if I do, so I keep my response brief. ‘Oh, I’ve done some modelling and a few short films for YouTube channels when I was a student,’ I say evasively. ‘It’s easy to pick up followers.’
When she hears this, Christina looks alarmed but doesn’t explain why. She twists her hair nervously round her fingers. I note that she’s had her nails manicured at the spa. Bright purple! The media will pounce on that if they see it – anyone would think she hadn’t a care in the world!
‘Let’s wait. Give the police another day,’ she says sternly. ‘I’d like to wait and see if anything comes of this witness appeal they’re working on right now. Costa seems to think he’s got some important leads to follow up. He prefers the softly-softly approach,’ she continues, ‘to keep the
investigation under the radar.’ She must sense the fact I think she’s being weak because she raises her voice once more. ‘I couldn’t give a damn what the authorities think but the key point is mass publicity could put Katie in more danger. We must tread carefully. A media circus could lead the abductor to panic, to harm Katie, to kill her and try to dispose of the body. It’s really tough but I’m going to have to be patient.’
I look at Christina in astonishment – those sedatives really are numbing her brain. How can she bring herself, so coldly, to even contemplate the possibility of this horrific fate for Katie? In her place, I’d be screaming at the police to do anything and everything in their power to find my daughter, and to do it now.
Yet on reflection, maybe she’s right. If Katie is in fact in the hands of a stranger, possibly a mentally deranged sexual predator, then mass publicity could drive him to the final horrific act. At the very least, it could drive him further underground.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s give Costa forty-eight hours. I’ll get it all set up and if the police appeal comes to nothing, we can press the button on our own social media campaign.’
The waiter clears our plates and stands awkwardly by Christina’s chair while she signs the bill to the room. I feel sorry for him. He’s not sure how to treat us. The usual big smiles and friendly banter are naturally inappropriate, yet expressions of sympathy would be an intrusive and unwelcome familiarity. It’s the same for all the staff, and the other guests too. We’re spoiling their fun. Our presence at the hotel has just become an inconvenience and an embarrassment.
‘Since we’re banned from the rooms for the afternoon,’ I say, ‘let’s walk to Crooks’ Bay. The exercise will do us good and we can see what progress the police are making down there. We’ve got to do something and it’ll be a chance to get away from the hotel and the tourists and the hacks.’
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