She Lies in Wait

by Gytha Lodge

  “Or at least, pretended to be eager,” Hanson chipped in.

  “He was up first,” Jonah pointed out. “He could have gone and made sure he’d covered his tracks before he woke anyone. I’d like to check those statements in detail for anything about the next morning. Any traces they might have seen that were later forgotten.”

  Hanson and Lightman both nodded, and O’Malley raised a hand.

  “I tracked down the dealer who supplied Daniel Benham with those drugs,” the sergeant said. “I went and had a little chat with him, and he could potentially be persuaded to come in and give a statement.”

  Jonah blinked, slightly knocked back by the speed of that development. “When did you do that?”

  “Yesterday evening,” O’Malley said with the ghost of a grin. “He’s an interesting one. He confirmed how the sale had worked, via Jojo and her brother. He felt Daniel Benham largely did it to help him out, but denied any further involvement with any of them. I’ll type up a report.”

  “Thank you, Domnall. That’s…excellent work. Anything else?”

  “Mackenzie’s ex-girlfriend will be here by twelve thirty,” Hanson volunteered.

  “That’s great. All right. Off we go.”

  * * *

  —

  CORALIE CHECKED HER phone again, but there were no messages. Not from any of them. And she felt a sick surge of loneliness that wasn’t helped by the isolation of a hotel restaurant at breakfast.

  She hadn’t really expected Topaz or Connor to be in touch, though they might have wanted to rage at her for betraying their secrets. She’d almost been looking forward to it, despite the guilt that twisted her stomach. Jojo wasn’t going to message, obviously. She’d never bothered to contact Coralie in all the years they’d known each other.

  But from Brett and Daniel that behavior hurt. She’d messaged each of them twice last night. She could see that all her messages had been read, and yet neither of them had replied.

  After everything between them all, it was hurtful. It made her feel excluded, and afraid. Were they talking to the police about her now? Had they turned on her?

  She’d suddenly had enough of waiting. She snatched up her phone and the key-card for her room, and left her breakfast half-eaten.

  She was already calling Brett’s number by the time she’d reached the corridor.

  * * *

  —

  THE DCS ARRIVED at Jonah’s office shortly after the briefing. Which, in his experience, could mean there was trouble brewing. Jonah gave him a nod, and let him into the office, thinking that there might be more trouble once the DCS knew about Mackenzie.

  “I don’t know if you’ve been reading the news,” the detective chief superintendent said, closing the door behind him, “but there’s a lot of Secret History–type speculation going on about a group of kids getting up to warped practices. I’d like you to be able to issue an update today, to calm the theorizing.”

  “It’s only the third day of the case,” Jonah protested.

  “But you’ve had some developments?”

  “We have, but there’s nothing I’d be happy giving to the press.”

  Wilkinson let out a huff of air. “Fair enough.”

  Jonah could tell that he was disappointed, but he’d known Jonah long enough to trust him. “I do have a few things to pass on, though.”

  “Tell me,” Wilkinson said, and pulled up the chair opposite Jonah’s desk.

  So Jonah summarized for him the poor investigative work into Mackenzie, and the teacher’s strange attitude toward Aurora. And then he went on to tell him about Connor, and the fact that he was now the most likely suspect in Jonah’s eyes.

  “I want to look hard at everything related to him,” Jonah finished. “I’d particularly like to know whether he was brought in so many times because something just didn’t quite ring true, or whether it was pure bigotry.”

  Wilkinson was pulling at his lip thoughtfully. “I can see the need to look into him. But we need to make Mackenzie our prime suspect.”

  “Don’t you think there’s a lot more pointing at Connor Dooley?” Jonah protested.

  “That isn’t clear yet,” the DCS said. “Mackenzie has gone almost uninvestigated.”

  “He seems to have no knowledge of the place her body was hidden.”

  “How do we know that for certain until we look into the man’s movements?” Wilkinson countered. “I know, I know. We don’t want to ignore a potential lead toward Connor Dooley. So have one of the team keep looking at him. The rest can focus on Mackenzie. We’ve got to do it right this time,” he added more quietly. “If corruption occurred thirty years ago, we need to be absolutely squeaky clean now.”

  Jonah felt a dull sense of resignation settle over him. He knew the chief was right, however much it seemed like the wrong course of action.

  “All right,” he said. “As you say.”

  Wilkinson rose, and then offered, as a form of amelioration, “I’ll give your apologies at the Community Cohesion meeting.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jonah said, trying to pretend he hadn’t forgotten all about it.

  24

  Aurora

  Saturday, July 23, 1983, 1:00 A.M.

  She couldn’t think about anything except the vomit. Everything had been reduced to the heaving of her stomach and the opening of her throat as it poured out of her.

  She was sitting with her head and body turned sideways, one hand instinctively pulling her hair out of the way.

  Part of her was afraid of the sickness. Of having damaged herself somehow by drinking.

  “Hey.”

  There was suddenly an arm round her. A gentle rub at her arm. But she was unable to look up and see who it was. Her body was fully involved in being twisted and bent double, retching and retching what looked increasingly like water.

  “Let me get you some orange juice.”

  It was Benners, she realized. She didn’t want him to leave her, even to go and get something that might help. She was too afraid. Too miserable.

  But the retching eased up a little, and she was able to nod. She didn’t want him thinking she was pathetic, either.

  She finally felt like she was ready to stop just before he came back. She looked up and saw a warped version of him through eyes that didn’t seem to want to stay focused. She could still read the sympathetic smile as he settled himself next to her and tore open the carton.

  “Here you go.”

  It was difficult to drink it from the ragged spout. It ran out of her mouth and down her chin in a tepid rush.

  She stopped drinking to wipe her chin. “God. I must look awful.”

  Benners laughed. “Nobody looks great like that. But it’s all right. I’m not judging you.” He lifted the carton again. Her hand followed it, slack and uncoordinated. “Come on. Have some more. You need to get something else into your system.”

  She tried again, and got a thin stream into her mouth. A mouthful. Another.

  And then the nausea rose back up, and she turned to the side again and released the juice in a rush.

  Benners let her puke, rubbing her shoulder again and making soothing noises. Some of her hair swung forward and he caught it for her.

  “It’s miserable, isn’t it?” he said. “But you’re doing fine. I still end up like this every few months. I think I’m on top of it, and then I have a few and I get cocky. Alcohol does that. It’s like its method of reproduction. Once it gets you, it whispers in your ear and tells you to keep on going.”

  Once she was done, he lifted the carton again. “It’ll stay down soon. And you need the water and the sugar.”

  She didn’t want to drink, but she took it to please him. She drank a lot more this time and immediately felt better for it.

  “I shouldn’t have drunk anything,” she said, af
ter she was certain it was staying down.

  “That’s not true,” Benners argued. “You can’t go around avoiding doing everything in case this kind of thing happens. This is a moment or two of life. A few minutes of misery, and then usually a pretty rancid hangover the next day. But this—this suffering, right now—is what makes the liberation and the joy you felt earlier sweet. How can you enjoy pure bliss without suffering for it?”

  She still couldn’t see his face properly. He seemed to be sliding sideways.

  “But how can you call it bliss when you know this is coming?” she asked him. “When you have a moment of joy, and then this lands on you?”

  “Because that’s what makes it bliss,” he said. He leaned close to her, making his point so earnestly that it was hard to disagree. “If it wasn’t temporary, then it would just be normal, wouldn’t it? Normality. And then it would become immediately boring. Disappointing. Nothing.”

  She was suddenly afraid that she smelled of vomit. She leaned away from him.

  “Sorry. I’m browbeating you.” He grinned at her.

  “No,” she said. “You’re right. I just…I saw Zofia like this a few times, and I decided I was never going to do that.”

  “Zofia…The blond one? Who used to get the bus sometimes?”

  Aurora nodded. “Her parents took her away. She’d got friendly with some of the sixth-form girls who were really into drink, and ended up in hospital after a party. They decided the school was bad for her.”

  Benners nodded, and then shrugged. “But we’re not going to let you get like that,” he said. “You can have fun without it ending badly.”

  “I suppose so.” She gave him a slight smile. “I’d rather not puke again, though.”

  “We can have some harmless, non-drinking fun for the rest of the night,” Benners said, and started to clamber to his feet. “Come on. It’s still warm by the fire and I left Jojo and Connor arguing about synthetic music.”

  She needed his help to stand, and then to balance. He let her lean on him the whole way, his feet sometimes stepping sideways to avoid hers. She still trod on him twice.

  “I don’t fit in,” she said, halting suddenly. “I’m not one of you. Or one of anyone.”

  “No, you’re not one of anyone,” Benners said. From close by, he looked taller. Fiercer. “You’re one of you. Just one of you. And that’s worth more than anything.”

  And then she lost his attention, as his head turned sharply. They were close to the fire. There was illumination limning every tree trunk. It reminded her of Bonfire Night, and then, suddenly, of a horror movie where the gates of hell had opened.

  Benners took her hand and tugged her forward. Her balance was no better and she went crashing into one of the trees, her shoulder scraping it.

  He paused for a moment, but then pressed on, until they were at the edge of the clearing, the fire turning everything a rich, sensual orange.

  Someone there gave a cry of what sounded like pain, and she pushed past him to see, her heart pounding behind her ribs. Her breath short.

  There were two forms by the fire, huddled up beside it, one of them making strange sounds. She kept walking until she was closer, not able to make them out.

  And then her double vision slid into one for a moment and she realized that Connor was crying. His whole body was heaving as he sobbed, and Jojo was curled round him, shushing him.

  “It’s OK,” she said. “It’s OK.”

  “I hate him,” Connor said. “I hate him.”

  It was almost as bad as finding them naked together. She felt her cheeks burning as Connor glanced up and saw her. He looked like he hated her, too, just then.

  “Sorry,” she said quietly.

  She and Benners were close to the tent; the sleeping bags; the supplies. Aurora pulled herself free of Benners and ducked down. She had to put a hand down three times to steady herself while she pulled a sleeping mat out from the pile and picked up one of the tightly packed sleeping bags to go with it.

  Benners gave her a strange look when she stood up again. One that was between embarrassed and disappointed.

  He followed her as she walked back into the darkness, away from Connor and Jojo and that intimate moment of grief, and away from Topaz and Coralie and Brett. She stopped only once she couldn’t hear anything anymore. On what looked like a smooth enough patch of ground, she threw the mat down.

  “Are you going to be all right this far out?” Benners asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  There was a pause while she made a mess of unpacking the sleeping bag, and then couldn’t lay it straight. She could feel him hovering behind her.

  “Do you want me to stick around and talk for a bit?”

  Aurora shook her head. “I want to go to sleep.”

  She waited for him to argue, or to agree. But Benners said nothing while she unzipped the sleeping bag and climbed in laboriously. In the end, only his quiet footsteps on the fallen leaves and twigs let her know he had gone.

  25

  Jojo was solemn as she repeated, for the benefit of the tape, everything she’d told Jonah at the climbing wall. She detailed how she had worked to cave in the entrance from above while Brett had stood below, and how much she regretted not looking inside first.

  “To the best of your knowledge,” Jonah asked, once she was done, “was there anyone outside that group who knew about that hideout? Before or after?”

  Jojo’s eyes moved to his face, and then away again. “I don’t think so.”

  “You didn’t see anyone else close to the camp that night? Nobody mentioned spotting someone who could have seen the group coming and going from there?”

  Jojo shook her head again. He found himself looking at the definition of the muscles in her arms.

  “Did you climb back then?” he asked her, and he could see that she was disconcerted by the way she looked up at him. Lightman, sitting beside him, gave no reaction, which was one of the best things about the sergeant.

  “I—yes. I’ve climbed since I was eight. My older brother, Anton, got me into it when he worked weekends at the outdoor center near Ashurst. Well, he let me try it properly. I basically lived up trees by then anyway.”

  “So you’ve always been outdoorsy? Strong?”

  “I guess so,” she said hesitantly.

  He was thinking about that broken bone in Aurora’s hand. Wondering about whether there had been someone to hold her and someone to attack her. And he thought further about Connor and Jojo cuddled up together that night.

  But he felt instinctively that he would get more out of Jojo if she felt that he was on her side, as she had at the climbing wall. That they were almost friends.

  He smiled at her. “I was thinking how strange it is that you ended up friends with someone like Coralie. She’s not exactly…a strong, active type.”

  “Oh,” Jojo said with a wry smile. “Well, Coralie and I were never that close. It was all about Topaz for her. I always thought it was more than friendship for Coralie, and I know she’s had girlfriends as well as boyfriends since, so it probably was. She liked Benners a lot, too, actually. He was quite protective of her even if he found her a little vacuous. I guess we were just thrown together.”

  “How did that play out later?” Jonah asked. “The friendships?”

  “Aurora vanishing definitely made us closer for a while,” Jojo said. “I think…I think it was hard for us to talk to anyone else. They hadn’t been through that loss. Everyone else was always gruesomely interested…and Brett became a core part of the group after that, too. And having thought he was a bit of a twat, I ended up liking him.”

  “But then Topaz and Connor moved away.”

  “Yes, that was…what, seven years ago, though? Not so very long. They still come back every now and then. They’re just a little more o
ut of reach.”

  “Did you miss them?” he asked.

  Jojo seemed a little startled by the question. “I suppose so,” she said in the end. “At that point…I suppose I was trying not to feel too much about anything. It was only a year after I’d lost Aleksy.”

  Jonah nodded. “And how did he fit in?”

  “Pretty easily,” she said with a slight smile. “Aleksy may have looked chiseled and hard, but he was a bit of a goofball underneath it all. He liked to joke around and prank people, and our group needed a bit of that. He left a big gap.”

  “Was he particularly close to any of them?”

  He saw the momentary tightening of her mouth, as if she were thinking of refusing to answer. He expected her to tell him it had nothing to do with him. But then she seemed to change her mind.

  “Daniel, Brett…and Topaz really. Connor and he were never quite as close. I think because Connor’s so bloody serious. And Coralie was a little bit mystified by him, though she wasn’t averse to being teased.”

  “Have you been talking among yourselves since?”

  He saw a very slight flush appear on Jojo’s cheeks.

  “Well…I know you said not to, but…I felt like I needed to talk it all through. What had happened. Over again. I wasn’t…I just had a chat to Daniel and Brett. Separately. Just over the phone.”

  “Not Topaz?” he asked, interested. “I would have thought, given that it was her sister…”

  “No,” Jojo said a little awkwardly. “No, I didn’t feel it was as easy to talk to her.”

  “But you’ve always been close to Connor?” he asked.

  “Yes…I suppose so.” She nodded. “We’ve always understood each other.”

  “Did that understanding ever cross any lines?”