Body of Local Journalist Discovered, No Leads. Oh, God.
“Are you all right?”
She needed to be alone. Somewhere safe. But there was nowhere. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to pass out.
“Rose?”
Will’s hand rubbed her back but she could barely feel it.
“Just focus on breathing,” he said.
What the fuck was she going to do? Her skin was prickling. Cold and hot and shivery all at once. Her fingers were going numb. She couldn’t feel her feet. Her heart was beating too fast, way too fast. Clattering between her ribs and her spine.
“Rose. Just breathe.”
Will got off the step and bent down in front of her; she tried to focus on his eyes, looking into hers with concern. He put a hand against her chest.
“Follow,” he said and breathed in slowly, and Rose followed. Then out, letting it whoosh from her mouth.
“Again.”
Will’s hand was an anchor. Pulling her back from the panic. Letting her feel her fingers again as she wrapped them around Will’s wrist. She breathed again. Then started to laugh. A weak, scared giggle.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t say sorry. You scared me. Who was that? Are you hurt?”
“Jonesy. I’m fine,” she said. Rose was trying to focus on breathing, but her mind was still so scattered it was hard to talk.
“That piece of shit,” Will said and began to stand.
“Don’t,” she said.
He took a deep breath, this one more for himself, she suspected, and reached out to take her hand. He held it tight as she walked up the stairs into the tavern. She hadn’t slept in her room since Steve’s attack, and she was glad she didn’t have to tonight. Smelling his blood was the last thing she needed right now. She made a mental note to herself to wash the sheet properly tomorrow. It was still in the sink in her room; she hadn’t been able to stomach finishing cleaning it.
Will pulled her singlet off her and put her down on her stomach on the mattress.
“It’s just a scrape,” he said. She heard him go into the bathroom and wet a towel. He dabbed it onto her back; she winced.
“What was going on with you guys tonight?” Will asked.
Slowly, she told him the story. About what she and Mia had seen at the factory. About how she’d taken the security video and given it to Damien.
“Do you think I did something stupid?” she asked.
He lay down on top of her, putting his cheek between her shoulder blades.
“Yes,” he said, his breath stinging the scrape on her back, “but I also think it was brave.”
“Thank you.”
She tried to breathe deeply, but in the silence her mind started racing again.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“What?”
“Anything. Something that’s got nothing to do with any of this. Tell me about your family.”
“My family?” He laughed, a light, easy sound. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” she said, still smelling Jonesy’s rank breath in her face.
“Okay, well, my mum is amazing. Her mother was indigenous and so my mum is really passionate about land rights. She’s a lawyer. She’s one of those people who is the sweetest person you’ll ever meet at home, but at work people are terrified of her.”
Rose smiled. That was the kind of person she’d like to be. “And your dad?”
“My dad was brought up in Brunei. He moved here when he was a teenager. He doesn’t work anymore. He just cooks and goes on long walks with our dogs and calls me every day.”
“They sound nice.”
She was feeling a little stronger again, more herself. He put his arms around her waist then pulled her onto her side.
“Feeling a bit better?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need a Band-Aid?” he asked.
“No, it’s fine.”
“Good. I know how much they make you cry.”
“Shut up!” she said, elbowing him in the ribs, but unable to stop herself from laughing.
* * *
The first thing Rose did when she woke up the next morning was go into the hallway to call the Sage Review. She got the receptionist, her affected voice telling her that Mr. Freeman was in a meeting. The woman told her to wait and some awful piano music began to play. Rose wondered how big the office was. In her imagination it was huge, white and sparkly. Windows that went from ceiling to floor. Ten stories up at the very least. But now maybe she’d never see it. She had decided she was going to ask the editor to pull the article before it went to press tomorrow.
The piano music went on and on. She opened the door to the back and leaned against the wall, feeling the muggy air from outside, which was already starting to heat up. Looking down to the spot where Jonesy had pushed her into the wall, she remembered what Lucie had told her. About fainting in the street and everyone stepping over her. Lucie must have thought things were different in her hometown, but she was wrong. Colmstock was probably worse. You knew the person lying weak on the street, but you stepped over them anyway, maybe even gave them a kick.
Lucie. She hadn’t thought about her since they’d left her door.
The piano music clicked off, and the receptionist came back on the line saying Damien was going to be tied up for at least a few hours.
“But tomorrow’s paper hasn’t gone to press yet, has it?” she asked, charging back toward Will’s room. It hadn’t. She quickly thanked the receptionist, asked her to tell Damien to call her then opened Will’s door.
“Will!”
He opened his eyes with a start. “What?”
“Wake up.” She sat down on the bed, crossed her legs in front of her. “Do you think that maybe Bess wasn’t her real name?”
Will blinked, rubbed a hand over his face.
“I don’t know why she’d make it up,” he said.
“But it’s possible, right? It’s just...this old friend of mine went to the city for a while and came back with a kid. Her name’s Lucie. That’s why I didn’t think of it.”
He sat up, propped his elbows on his knees. “Do you think it could be her?”
“I have no idea, but it’s possible,” she said. “Only one way to find out!”
* * *
It was odd to walk down the street next to Will. He looked so different from everyone they passed and didn’t seem to fit with the ugly houses and decaying fences around them.
His eyes were dark again, and he hadn’t said much since they began. His hand was constantly swiping at his face.
“How do you deal with the flies here?” he said. “It’s nonstop.”
She shrugged. “You stop noticing it after a while.”
“I can’t imagine you growing up here.”
She grinned at him. That was a big compliment, in her opinion.
“Have you met them?” He swallowed. “Lucie’s kid?”
“Yes, only briefly. She’s a girl. Her name’s Nadine.”
“Nadine,” he repeated, his face drenched in emotion.
“She’s gorgeous,” Rose told him.
He reached over and took her hand in his.
“It’s this one,” Rose said, as they reached Lucie’s house.
Will looked up at it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous,” he said, then laughed a panicky high laugh.
“Come on,” Rose said to him. She tugged his hand, and together they walked down the path. Rose knocked, praying that Lucie would be home.
There was a shuffle inside. Footsteps. Then the door swung open and Lucie stood in the doorway, looking surprised.
“Didn’t expect you to come back,” she said to Rose.
Then she looked at Will. Rose waited to see recognition appear in her eyes. It didn’t.
“Who’s your friend?” she said.
Rose turned to Will. The disappointment on his face was crushing.
31
I think I’ll break one soon.
Frank must have read the words at least a hundred times. The note was taped up on the wall next to the first one on the board. The paper, the handwriting, it was all identical. It was definitely from the same person.
Frank sat in a chair, staring up at the scrawling letters. Feeling as though, somehow, he’d figure it all out just by looking at them. Like it was some sort of jigsaw puzzle. But it wasn’t. He knew that. It was just some sick fuck with terrible handwriting and a thing for little kids. Some freak who wanted to taunt him.
Everyone bustled around the station. The phones were constantly ringing. Parents of the girls wanting someone to yell at, nosy idiots calling to blame their neighbors, lonely oldies who just wanted to voice their concern and people wanting to pat them on the back for their performance in Rose’s bloody video. It was constant, and he thanked the Lord that he wasn’t the one who had to answer the damn things. When he got home he could still hear the phone quietly ringing in his ears.
His head was pounding. Having a night off the sauce was meant to make him feel great, but it didn’t. He felt like complete shit, worse than a hangover. Still, he was in strife with the chief, and turning up with even a hint of liquor on his breath could have been the end of him. He’d been reprimanded twice this week. The first was because of Rose. The girl was causing him nothing but trouble and she didn’t even give a shit. Everyone seemed certain he’d spilled the beans on the notes, no matter how much he denied it. The thing was that he couldn’t prove it. Especially now that she was so angry with him. There was no way for him to find out for sure where the leak had sprung from, although he was fairly certain he had guessed right with Bazza.
Where was Baz, anyway? He was meant to be here, with Frank, staring at the damn notes and trying to come up with a new lead. The guy was no bloody help.
The second time Frank had been reprimanded was yesterday, which was Rose’s fault too, now that he thought about it. When he’d got home from Eamon’s he’d felt like absolute shit. The way she’d looked at him when he’d tried to apologize, it still made him shiver with embarrassment and shame.
Maybe Jonesy was right. Maybe she was a bitch.
When he’d woken up that morning he had a heap of missed calls. He’d drunk himself to sleep, anything to stop the writhing humiliation and rejection in his belly, and been too far gone for even the shrill ring of his cell phone to wake him. When he’d hurried into the station, still stinking of his nightcaps, the chief had brought him straight into his office and served him his balls for breakfast. The note had arrived at four in the morning and every other cop in town had been at the station from five. This was Frank’s case, and he hadn’t got there until eight. That made him look bad. Rose thought she was fucking with him even more with that security footage she’d given to the papers. Turned out it was the first good thing that had happened since that first bloody doll appeared. Now at least people knew he’d do whatever it took to get the sick fucks off the street. That wasn’t why she’d done it. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that. The girl who he’d broadcast his affection for despised him, and she wanted the world to know it.
Last night, he’d had to sleep without any help even though the shame and humiliation of the day were fucking tenfold.
He stared up at the board of notes and photographs. The dolls’ glass eyes stared benignly back. If he could find the connection between the families, he was sure he could crack it. They vaguely knew one another, sure, but so did everyone else in this town. They were all so different—Rose’s sister with her absent parents, Carly Riley’s arsehole dad, Lily Hane’s weirdo brother. They were all strange enough, but then there was Nadine Hoffman. Her mother and grandma seemed to be doing a decent enough job raising her. He’d pressed her about the kid’s father, but she’d maintained he didn’t even know he had a daughter. Whoever the guy was, Frank couldn’t rule him out. The Hoffmans knew the Hanes, but not the rest of them, and Carly was homeschooled, so that ruled out a teacher. The phones started ringing again and Frank threw his head back in frustration.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, when Bazza finally ambled his way into the station.
“Hospital.” Baz pulled off his jacket and swung himself onto a chair, leaning back and staring up at the board.
“Who’s in the hospital?”
Bazza didn’t even look at him.
“Don’t tell me you went to see the faggot.”
“So what if I did? Thought he might have some info.”
“Bullshit. Mia put you up to this, didn’t she?”
Baz just shrugged.
“Don’t let her get on your back already—you haven’t even had a ride yet.”
“She’s saving herself.”
Frank wanted to groan, but didn’t. Mia was nowhere near a virgin; anyone could have told him that. Jonesy said Mia had sucked him off outside the tavern without even being asked. But the truth was, he liked the two of them together. Baz seemed happy. In fact, he seemed fucking joyous. He came into the station every morning with the biggest grin on his dumb face, and he wasn’t even getting laid. Mia was a good egg. Looking after her father the way she did, never giving you a hard word at the tavern no matter how far off your chops you were. She was good for Bazza, and if he wanted to believe he was going to bust her cherry, Frank wasn’t going to ruin that for him.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’ll be okay.” Baz kept it vague, and Frank was happy about that too. It wasn’t something he really wanted to think about right now. He had enough on his plate.
“Frank?” one of the uniforms called, a phone pressed against his chest.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Riley.”
Great. The guy was skinny as a beanpole but he scared the shit out of Frank. He had the sort of eyes that told you he’d kill you without even blinking if he could get away with it. Frank had been over to their place a bunch of times for domestics. He had a feeling that was why the kid was always hanging out behind the courthouse in the first place. If Mrs. Riley was tending the grocery store, she’d send him there to play rather than having him be home alone with her husband. Frank didn’t blame her, although she was probably blaming herself for it now. Poor woman.
“I’m out following a lead,” he said.
The uniform looked at him, unimpressed. He knew why. If Mr. Riley wanted to talk to Frank he was going to give the guy hell until he did. Mr. Riley wasn’t the best family man in town, but still. He’d had the worst time of it, his business literally going up in smoke, his kid dying. Now there was all this business with the dolls. It would have destroyed most men. Somehow, it had done the opposite to Mr. Riley. Made him even more determined. Maybe Frank should be trying to take a page out of his book. The crap he’d been through made Frank’s week look like a walk in the park. There was still time to fix all this.
He turned away from the uniform toward Bazza and sat up as straight as he could.
“We’ve got to get this guy,” he said. “‘I think I’ll break one soon’... That’s intent right there.”
“Makes me sick,” Baz said.
“We’ll get him.”
Things were going to be all right. He was going to cut down on the booze, he decided. Refocus. He’d sort things with Rose too. The girl had gone out with him and he’d been a gentleman. You couldn’t just go on a date with a man and then treat him like dirt. No. She wasn’t going to blow him off. He would win her over. She owed him a second chance.
32
“We’ll figure it out,” Rose told Will. “Seriously, we’ll keep lookin
g until we find her.”
He was sitting on the side of the bed, as she pulled on her work clothes.
“I know,” he said. “I just shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. It didn’t even make sense that she would change her name. I’m starting to think maybe she’s not here at all. What if she just sent the letter from here? Or what if the thing she was scared of already happened?”
Rose took his head in her hands. “We’ll find her.” She leaned to kiss him. “Okay?”
“I hope so.”
Rose listened at the door to make sure no one was coming, then went out into the corridor. She paused, leaning on the wall with her eyes closed and listening to the sounds of Mia setting up for the night. The crinkle of plastic as she put a new black liner into the bin. The wet sucking-thunks of her clipping the beer taps back into place. The clinks of glass as she unpacked the dishwasher. The quiet whir as she turned the stereo on and then the beginning of a harmonica playing over piano.
Sitting on the back step, she breathed in the smell of hot rubbish and pulled out her phone to call Sage again. Damien hadn’t returned her call, and she didn’t want to leave it too late. The receptionist answered, telling her again in her snooty voice that the editor would call as soon as he had the chance.
The fear that had overwhelmed her earlier had subsided, leaving just sweaty detachment in its wake. She was so close, and now she was going to blow it. Again, her life would be all about rejection letters and Eamon’s. It would be even worse now that the whole town hated her. Part of her felt like she’d rather die.
* * *
Frank watched Rose and Mia work. They weren’t speaking to each other, mostly just dancing around each other as they did various tasks. Maybe they’d had a falling-out.
He knew he shouldn’t be here right now. There were only three places he should be: the station, out on the streets looking for the freak or at home catching some z’s. But he’d been working hard; he deserved just one drink to take the edge off. One beer was okay, normal. If he couldn’t have a beer with his mates after a hard day then he really did have a problem.
Little Secrets Page 21