by Jack Jordan
‘So, we know you’re aware of the location of the carotid arteries, the major vessels transporting blood to the brain, and that if they were cut, the brain would die. You would know where to cut, wouldn’t you, Dane, if you wanted to end somebody’s life?’
‘Don’t answer that,’ his solicitor said.
‘Hayley lost a lot of blood before she went missing. Someone had to know where to cut her to make her lose that much blood.’
Dane felt a drop of sweat slip down his neck. The room was too hot. He needed to get out.
‘Why did you hurt Hayley, Dane? Was it because she broke up with you? Slept around behind your back?’
‘My client doesn’t need to answer these ludicrous questions, DI Roster.’
‘She got through a lot of guys in college, didn’t she? You couldn’t have liked that, knowing that half the guys in your year had shagged your girlfriend.’
‘DI Roster,’ the lawyer warned.
‘She slept with your friends, too. Did that make you see red? Did you decide to stop her before she humiliated you any further?’
‘I …’
‘She met you the night she disappeared, didn’t she, Dane?’
‘She never showed,’ he replied, licking the sweat from his top lip.
‘Dane, stop talking,’ his solicitor said.
‘You sure?’ asked DI Roster. ‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘We were meant to meet at the beach to talk, but she didn’t turn up.’
‘Why would you be meeting up to talk, Dane? You’d broken up months before, hadn’t you?’
‘We were still friends.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard,’ DI Roster said. ‘Hayley’s friends seem to think that the two of you despised each other. So what was there to talk about?’
‘I …’
‘Yes, Dane? What have you got to say?’
‘I want to go home now.’
‘This is over,’ his solicitor said. ‘If you want to speak with my client again, you’ll need sufficient evidence. You won’t waste any more of our time with your speculations and fabrications.’
DI Roster’s eyes never left Dane’s. Dane blinked and looked away. His legs quivered under his weight as he stood. His head felt light.
‘When you’re ready to start talking, Dane, we’ll be here. It would be better for you to tell us before we find out the truth.’
The truth burned inside him as though it had set fire to his lungs.
His solicitor stood up and guided him out of the room with a hand on his back. He wiped the sweat on his trousers.
‘They haven’t got anything, Dane,’ he said. ‘Just stay low and you’ll be fine.’
‘Unless they find the body,’ he whispered.
EIGHTEEN
Ican’t believe it,’ Rachel said.
‘I can’t either,’ Naomi replied. ‘It’s been a week, and …’ She could still feel the murdered woman’s hair tangled around her fingers, but she couldn’t tell her mother that. ‘And I’m struggling to come to terms with it.’
In the end, she had decided to tell Rachel what had happened. It wouldn’t have taken her long to discover the truth. Rachel had a way of worming things out of her daughters; she had always told them there shouldn’t be secrets between them. If only she knew.
‘I told you …’ Rachel cleared her throat. ‘I told you not to go out after dark.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Naomi took her mother’s hand.
‘Why would someone do such a thing?’ Rachel asked as she rummaged in her bag for a tissue. ‘Harm women like that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You could have died. I could have lost you.’ She pulled Naomi into a tight hug. Her tears were wet on Naomi’s cheek.
‘I’m okay, Mum.’
‘Are the police protecting you?’ she asked as she pulled away.
‘They don’t think I’m in danger.’
‘Of course you’re in danger. The attacker knows what you look like and will know you went to the police.’
‘Whoever it was, whoever killed that woman, didn’t kill me, so they must think I’m safe.’
‘They’re risking your life on a hunch.’ Rachel stood up. ‘I’m going in to speak with the detective. I won’t let them leave you in danger like this.’
‘Mum, I’m fine, sit down.’ Naomi felt the air for her mother’s hand. When her mother didn’t reach out, she lowered her own hand back down to her lap. ‘It’s been a week and nothing’s happened to me.’
‘That’s because you haven’t left the house. You’re too scared to go out, aren’t you?’
Naomi picked at a thread in her jeans and wrapped it around her finger until the tip swelled.
‘I’m going to go down there and demand they do something. I’m not having your life at risk so they can save a few pennies. I know the superintendent’s mother; I’ll make sure something is done. They have to treat you just like anyone else.’
Naomi knew she wasn’t talking about her blindness. She was referring to the colour of her skin.
‘Mum, please don’t. They will get in contact when they know something, I’m sure.’
‘They haven’t contacted you? They can’t leave you in the dark like this. I’m going to talk to them.’
‘Mum—’
‘You can’t stop me, Naomi.’
Naomi sighed. There was nothing she could do or say. When her mother was set on something, the best thing to do was to get out of her way.
‘I love you, Mum,’ she said.
She heard her mother sniffle back tears.
‘I love you so much, Naomi. I can’t lose you.’
‘You won’t.’ Naomi stood up, and Rachel pulled her close and wrapped her arms around her.
‘Promise me you’ll fight this.’
Naomi was sure Rachel was talking about any repercussions from her discovery of the body, but deep down she wondered if she knew about her suicide attempts. She let her mother hold her and listened to her tears, the beat of her heart.
‘I promise, Mum.’
It was only then that she understood how selfish she had been trying to take her own life. As she stood on the cliff, she had told herself it was her decision whether to live or die, but as her mother’s tears soaked through her blouse, she realised how much pain she would cause. If she committed suicide, it wouldn’t just be her own life she would destroy.
Rachel pulled away. ‘I know you don’t need mirrors, but you could at least have one up on the wall for your emotional mother. I have mascara all over my face!’
Naomi forced a laugh. ‘There’s a small mirror in the bathroom, I think. I can’t remember if Dane took it with him.’
‘I have a pocket mirror in my bag,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll go and sort myself out and then go to the police station.’
She squeezed Naomi’s hand and made her way upstairs.
Naomi couldn’t stop her mother from going to the station, but she didn’t have to tell her that the detectives wouldn’t be there. Amber O’Neill’s funeral was being held at noon, and every officer in Balkerne Heights would be attending the service. And so would she.
Naomi had made a mistake. It was wrong for her to be there, surrounded by Amber O’Neill’s family and colleagues, as her coffin was lowered into the ground. The mourners had their own special memories of the young woman: her first steps, her first wobbly tooth, her first promotion. All Naomi had was the memory of her corpse cooling beneath her fingertips.
She leaned against the tree and tried to hear the vicar’s speech over the sound of the rain pattering against the leaves and dripping onto her shoulders.
She had chosen her spot an hour before the service, led to the grave by the vicar himself, and waited for the mourners to arrive. She didn’t want to intrude, but she needed closure as much as the rest of them. She had thought being here would give her that, help her forget the feel of the cooling flesh beneath her hands, but as she stood behind the tree, listening to
the incessant squeak of the device lowering the coffin into the ground, she wished she had stayed at home.
People cried at the graveside. Raindrops rapped loudly against the army of umbrellas and slithered down Naomi’s skin, reminding her of the alley. When she thought of the attacker breathing on her, her neck warmed with the memory, as though she was back there with the body cooling at her feet. She swallowed the memory down.
The service ended and a heavy silence hung over the crowd as the rain calmed to mere spittle and sunlight pierced through the clouds. Naomi pressed herself against the tree and held her breath as the mourners made their way towards the church hall for the wake, weaving between graves with the dead at their feet. Birds sang in the treetops, oblivious to the pain of those beneath.
Once the sound of footsteps had dissipated, Naomi walked in the opposite direction, her cane knocking raindrops from the grass.
‘Naomi!’
She froze, blinking away the rain. Whoever it was, they wouldn’t want her there. She was a physical embodiment of Amber’s death – she had been there and felt the body with her own two hands.
She walked on with her head down.
‘Naomi!’ The man was closing in. Naomi recognised his voice and stopped.
‘Detective?’
‘I thought it was you,’ Marcus said, out of breath. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I shouldn’t have come. I just thought that if I did, I might get some closure. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he replied. ‘I understand completely. Do you want to come to the wake? I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘No, no. I’ve intruded enough.’
They stood in an awkward silence as the rain began to thin.
‘I still haven’t heard anything,’ Naomi said. ‘This is the first time I’ve left my house since it happened.’
‘We’re working hard on the case, Naomi. As soon as we have answers, I will call you personally.’
‘And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit at home and hope the killer doesn’t come for me?’
‘I can’t discuss the case, but please trust me. I promise I will make sure no one else is hurt.’
Thunder rumbled above their heads.
‘Are you allowed to do that?’ she asked.
‘Do what?’
‘Make promises.’
‘It can be our little secret.’
Naomi didn’t think she could bear to keep any more secrets.
‘You’d best head inside,’ she said. ‘For the wake.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a while, just to get out of the rain?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Well, I’ll be in touch.’
Naomi listened to him walk away and sighed.
She trusted Marcus when he said he wanted to help her, but she couldn’t believe that he could guarantee her safety. However hard he worked, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was on her own, and that whoever was responsible for the murders wasn’t done with her yet.
NINETEEN
Naomi walked along the beach as Max jumped through the waves rolling towards the shore.
It had been a week since she slept with Dane and she could still feel his lips against her neck, his warm tongue tasting the skin on her thighs. The guilt hadn’t dissipated; it had sunk into her bones. But for those few short hours that they’d been together, all the pain she felt inside had evaporated with his tenderness, and she had been made whole again.
The emptiness inside her had been her companion longer than anyone else: Max, her family, her ex-husband. It had appeared the night she woke in the corner of the bus shelter. As she’d walked home from Amber’s funeral, she’d wondered whether her blood mother was dead or alive. Was she buried in the very same graveyard? Had Naomi unknowingly passed her tombstone? Or was she still out there, searching for veins between her toes to inject the substance that she loved more than her own flesh and blood?
Naomi’s first memory was of her mother slapping a used syringe from her mouth. She had been sucking on the needle, rolling her tongue around it, tasting the metal. It was the only way she could identify objects in her small, dark world. As her mother slept on the sofa with heroin swimming through her veins and strangers comatose in other parts of the room, Naomi would crawl across the dirty carpet popping things in her mouth, remembering the shapes of them with her tongue and lips. She could still recall the sound of her mother’s belligerent scolding, and the feel of rough hands snatching her up from the ground, with a grip so tight it pinched at her skin. The memory always ended with the sound of the bolt sliding across the other side of the bedroom door, and her own infant cries bouncing off the walls.
She shook away the memory. It didn’t matter if her mother was dead or alive – she was dead to Naomi. Her real mother was Rachel, the woman who loved her and had taught her everything she knew.
‘Max! Come, boy!’
Max followed the waves in towards the sand and shook salty water from his fur. He padded towards her and panted against her jeans. Naomi leaned down and secured his harness with the tips of her fingers, trying to keep the bandages dry.
They walked back the way they’d come. Max would lead her towards the concrete steps by the sea barrier, and it wouldn’t be long before they were at home by the fire, drying off and dozing. The more she slept, the more days were put between her and the night in the alley. It wouldn’t be long before it was just another dark part of her past.
Max stopped in front of her and let out a slow growl.
‘Max? What’s wrong?’
He barked in a way she hadn’t heard before, his jaws snapping at the air.
‘Hello?’ she said.
The wind whistled around them and whipped a lock of hair across the bridge of her nose. She swiped it away and tucked it behind her ear.
Max growled again and pulled against the harness, the sand moving beneath his paws.
‘Who’s there?’
She listened to the howl of the wind. Someone was blocking their path, breathing the same excited breaths as the person who had stood at her front door. And the stranger in the alley.
She tried to turn back, but Max wouldn’t move.
‘Max, come!’
He growled through bared teeth as she eventually managed to drag him away and headed up the beach.
‘Quickly now,’ she whispered.
She listened to the heavy breathing behind her and the sound of trouser legs rubbing against one another with wide strides.
Her nose hit the beach first. Sand filled her mouth and coated her eyes.
She lifted herself up with her arms, the stranger’s touch pulsing on her back where she had been pushed. She spat sand from her mouth. Max growled and leapt. A man’s cry echoed along the beach.
‘Max, no!’
Her eyes streamed as the sand scratched with every blink and burrowed beneath her eyelids.
Max’s growls were muffled; his teeth had sunk into fabric or flesh. Feet shuffled in the sand and kicked it into the wind until it was darting into Naomi’s face and hitting the back of her throat. Max let out a yelp.
She choked on sand and swallowed it down.
‘Don’t hurt him! Please!’
She crawled along the beach and clawed at the air with one hand. Max’s cries reverberated along the shore.
‘Please stop!’
Sandy tears slipped down her face. As she came closer, she heard the impact of what sounded like punches against Max’s ribcage, knuckles against bone.
‘Stop it!’
She reached out and found the stranger’s leg. She slipped her fingers beneath the hem of the trousers and dug her nails into the skin. Something warm and wet splashed against her face. Blood. Max’s blood.
‘No! Don’t hurt him!’
Wet hands snatched her coat and dragged her to her feet. She could smell the blood and feel the heat of the stranger’s breath against her te
ars. She remembered the night in the alley, the hot breath that had escaped as a laugh. It was him. The man holding her by the scruff of her coat was the man who had killed Amber O’Neill.
He pulled her up until her feet were off the ground, kicking helplessly in the air, and launched her aside. Sand billowed up around her as she landed on the beach, her head slamming against a protruding rock.
Everything began to spin. Sand blew across her with the wind. The sound of the sea was muffled now, but she could still hear Max’s pain-filled yelps, and the faint pleas slipping from her own mouth. No. Please stop. Not him. Kill me instead.
Naomi came to with fistfuls of damp sand squeezing between her fingers. Her shoes and jeans were soaked through. The sea was lapping up over her, tucking her in. She could barely open her eyes. She clenched them shut and turned towards the waves, splashing water into her face and washing the sand from her eyes.
Night had fallen. There was a sharp chill in the air and her whole body was frozen. She was alone on the beach, hidden in the dark.
The water felt like ice against her skin, but she welcomed it as she scooped it up again and again. Her head was throbbing, mimicking the beat of her heart. The bandages on her hands were soaked through and lined with sand.
Max.
‘Max?’
Her voice was lost amongst the rush of the waves. The wind howled in from the sea and crept up the cliff face.
‘Max?’
She scrambled up from the water and tried to stand, but lost her footing. She fell to her hands and knees and crawled, feeling the beach beneath her fingers. Seawater dripped from her jaw and slanted down her neck with the wind. She snatched at the sand, packing it under her fingernails, and called out his name until she felt his paw.
‘Max!’
He was cold and wet, sand embedded in his fur like mites. She traced the top of his back and then his ribs towards his stomach, and felt the cuts between the bones.
‘No …’
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she lay beside him and pulled him close.