The Pact

by Amy Heydenrych

  The room feels brighter, and Freya isn’t so scared anymore. Julian is a good, principled man. Like a true CEO, he is able to pick apart a situation and see what the problem is. For him to acknowledge her pain makes her whole soul flood with light. The constant stress of the past few months begins to release. Everything is going to be OK now. Julian understands her. He’s on her side.

  She stands to leave and he holds his arms open. ‘Come over here, you can’t leave without a hug.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do next,’ she says, a little desperate. ‘This is the worst thing I have ever done.’

  ‘You are too hard on yourself. By not talking to anybody, you’ve built it up into this big thing in your head. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence.’ They are hugging so tightly that his stubble rubs against her skin.

  ‘But she’s gone now,’ she whispers.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re going to fix this together. Don’t go reporting it to the police or anything just yet. They have enough on their plate as it is.’

  She feels it before she realizes what it is. His hand incrementally lower down on her waist than it should be, yet again. A new look in his eyes. Freya is light-headed, the world swimming around her, a thick blur of office chatter, the boiling kettle, the grind and growl of the coffee machine.

  Then, as quickly as it transpired, the spell is broken. Julian steps away from her, sits back down and types furiously in response to an email.

  ‘Looks like we have a few more investors on board for our East African project!’ He smiles. ‘Can you imagine the hundreds of women’s lives we are about to save? I get shivers just thinking about it.’

  Freya forces a smile in response. She floats out from the close confines of the room, back into the office, back to work, back to Virginie filling her in on the latest news coverage of Nicole’s case.

  Maybe she imagined it. Yes, she probably imagined it. He probably just made an honest mistake. She is in enough trouble as it is. She can’t afford to make a scene now. Julian is a good man, she’s sure of it. She is so desperate to believe it, that she’ll chant it, over and over, until it feels right again.

  Chapter 51

  Freya

  Nine days after the murder

  After her interaction with Julian, she feels emboldened. She will not cow-tail to Jay’s pact, or even Julian’s advice. She trusts her own conscience, and it is telling her to report her side of the story to the police.

  Walking through the door makes her shudder. Even though her report is small in relation to everything else that probably passes through this station, she can’t shake the paranoia that she could easily be arrested.

  ‘Hi there,’ she says to a ruddy-cheeked young woman at reception. ‘I’d like to report – wait a second—’ She makes it to the bathroom just in time to be sick.

  She hears footsteps outside. A gentle rap on the door. The woman’s soft voice. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes.’ She wipes her mouth clean. Opens the door. ‘Nerves just got the better of me, I think.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it happens to many people who come in here. Trauma, you know? Are you here to open a case?’

  Her mouth goes dry. Just tell them about the prank. It’s so simple.

  ‘No, I’m here to add to a statement I made?’ Her tone is weak, her sentence sounding like a question.

  ‘No problem,’ the young woman says, swiveling her chair closer to the computer screen in front of her. ‘I just need the name of the key person in the case and then I can call up the lead investigator.’

  ‘Nicole Whittington.’ The name alone still has the power to flood her body with raw terror. ‘And my name is Freya Matthews.’

  She recognizes him the moment he walks through the doors and turns towards her. He has a kind, open face that is emphasized by his shaved head. Her panic slows. Maybe a man like this will understand.

  ‘Detective Simon Cohen,’ he says, ‘and you are Miss Freya Matthews? I remember taking your statement the other day.’

  ‘You remembered my name.’

  ‘It’s a talent of mine.’ He smiles.

  He walks Freya to an interview room alone.

  ‘So, how can I help?’

  ‘I’m here to add to my statement.’

  His expression looks puzzled. He holds a pen poised in his left hand. ‘Sure . . . go on.’

  She spills the whole story faster than he can write it down. Every time she repeats it, she feels more and more stupid. It is hard to capture the fire that blazed in her chest that night, the humiliation that needed to be released once and for all.

  He taps his pen on his notebook. ‘So both you and Jay Singh wrote the advertisement?’ His face flushes red. Not a promiscuous sort, then.

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘And whose idea was it to do this?’

  Jay grabbing the laptop, typing in the name of a dating site, writing the first sentence.

  ‘It was both our idea. It just evolved after the conversation we were having.’ This doesn’t feel right. She wanted to keep Jay out of this.

  ‘About Nicole Whittington being difficult that night?’ Simon’s eyes have narrowed.

  ‘Yes. She’d been bullying me for some time, and that night she accused me of keying her car. The situation had grown out of hand.’

  It doesn’t follow logically from her last statement, but Simon asks, ‘Did they have a romantic history at all?’

  The picture at Jay’s house. The hurt in Nicole’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, they did. But it was over long before I started at Atypical. I think it played a role in her rage towards me, but she was a complicated person with a few mental health issues, as I’m sure you have discovered.’

  Simon looks away too quickly.

  ‘And Jay Singh was with you the whole time?’

  ‘Yes!’ The obsessive focus on Jay makes Freya uncomfortable. They were both equally at fault. They took turns at writing those filthy words. Yet it was her own decision to report her role that night. This feels wrong, as if she is accusing Jay of something without meaning to. She isn’t even sure if word has got to him yet that she has broken his trust. ‘Uh, I think he should come here and speak for himself.’

  Jay had been with her since that first bottle of champagne, and had walked her home. Although, he didn’t walk her all the way home, did he? As soon as they reached the beginning of her well-lit street, he mumbled an excuse about leaving something at the office, kissed her and walked away. She didn’t think much of it, as they often met at each other’s houses, out of sight of their colleagues.

  Simon meets her eyes intensely and lowers his voice. ‘Ms Matthews, I’m going to ask you something now and I would like you to answer with complete honesty.’

  Freya’s whole body begins to quake. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Did you delay sharing this information with me because you felt intimidated in some way?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean . . .’

  ‘Let me be specific. Did someone tell you not to share this information with the police? Jay, for example?’

  Freya thinks back to her and Jay’s conversation. Easy, breezy Jay telling her to relax and not waste police time. To mention this now would feel like a betrayal. Love forgives the little things. Love protects. Love is supposed to keep its promises.

  ‘No. I just, well, I didn’t want to waste your time with a petty story. I was embarrassed.’

  He softens. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. People make mistakes, and do things for all sorts of crazy reasons. You wouldn’t believe the cases we see in here that are a result of bullying. Kids as young as six pushed to the edge by it. Unfortunately, bullying plays a role in too many suicides as well.’ He closes the case file.

  ‘Thank you for coming to me. Every little piece of information helps my investigation. And if you would like some counseling for bullying, please take some of the helpful flyers at reception.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure – I can’t r
ecommend counseling enough.’

  Freya makes to leave. ‘Wait, one more thing before you go. Do you maybe remember what you wrote in the advert?’

  Freya is mortified at the thought of reading her drunken words out loud. He clicks idly through the dating site. Nicole’s profile still exists, but the advert is gone. Simon swears under his breath.

  ‘It would have helped to read, word for word, what was said.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’

  Freya runs over the elusive contours of the message in her mind, like a word that is at the tip of her tongue. Of course she remembers, how can she forget? But to say it out loud would feel too extreme, too incriminating. Besides, in her pocket, her phone displays one new message. It is sexual, dark and dirty. It is presumptuous, brazen and clear in its desire. And it is the exact same message Jay and Freya wrote that night.

  Chapter 52

  Freya

  Nine days after the murder

  A tall woman with long, platinum hair walks purposefully towards Julian. She ignores the turning heads, and sheds her thick white coat to reveal a white pantsuit beneath it. The only hint of color is her lipstick, which is as dark as clotted blood. The atmosphere in the office shifts. Whoever she is, her power ripples over every person here. She darkens the door of Julian’s office, and Freya is certain she sees him shrink in his seat.

  ‘Who is that?’ she whispers to Virginie.

  ‘It’s Atypical’s silent partner, the brains behind this operation. Ruth Johnson.’

  As if she hears the women mentioning her name, Ruth turns to face both of them. Julian joins her and gestures for Freya to come to his office.

  Her stomach lurches. Ever since their encounter the other day, Freya has been avoiding Julian.

  ‘Freya! Lovely to see you. There is someone who has come to join us who I really want you to meet.’

  Why now? Why so soon after a member of the Atypical team has been murdered? Something doesn’t feel quite right about this. But then, Freya meets Ruth’s gray-blue eyes that focus on her, bright and warm. Every gesture she makes is slow and assured. Her authority announces herself in the in-between spaces, in what she doesn’t have to say.

  ‘Allow me to introduce you to my co-CEO, Ruth Johnson,’ adds Julian, now looking a bit weaker.

  ‘Hello, Freya,’ she says in a soft, low voice that vibrates with warmth. ‘I am Ruth, one of Atypical’s founding partners. I’ve been traveling for the past two years, but Julian needs all hands on deck for this East African project, so I have come back. This kind of work really inspires me.’ The new development illuminates a spark of hope. Atypical could live up to being the company she dreamed about after all.

  There is an ease in how Ruth moves around Julian, brushing carelessly against him, leaving no space between them. Freya wonders if they were lovers once, or close friends.

  ‘Ruth has been so looking forward to meeting you,’ says Julian. ‘I’ve been harping on and on about how special you are. I’m going to leave you two to get to know each other better.’

  She feels it coming on despite her misgivings . . . the glow. Julian still thinks she is special, even after what she did. They value her here. She is safe.

  Her mind whirs at a breakneck pace. Say something, anything, she thinks.

  Thankfully, Ruth speaks for her. ‘I was so excited when Julian told me you had started here. I’m assuming he didn’t mention this when you joined but I have been tracking your achievements for quite some time and insisted that we make you an offer.’

  Freya can’t look her in the eye – the praise is too much to process. To think that during all those years of striving, during all the extra hours waiting tables, during all the small wins, the broken shoes she couldn’t afford to replace, those desperate moments where she feared she would amount to nothing, there was someone looking out for her, someone who recognized her potential. She never expected this feeling, how much it hurts to be appreciated.

  ‘Ruth . . . I . . .’

  ‘You know, Julian thinks we hired you for your talent, but to me you’re worth so much more. You have something he couldn’t even see, because he wouldn’t know what to look for. I know the kind of hunger that pushes you to come in early, stay late and take on extra projects, that fear you’ll never quite be good enough.’

  Freya feels as if Ruth can see right through her. Every day she comes into work, she fears that this is the day she is found out for being insufficient, a fraud.

  Ruth continues, ‘I know because I’ve been there, and I’ve come from nothing too. We’re just the same, you and me.’

  Freya sees it then – under the platinum dye, perfect blow-dry and airbrushed makeup – a softness masquerading as toughness, a vulnerability faking at strength. Ruth will know what to do, how to make this right. Maybe she can mentor Freya. People are always sent into your life at the perfect moment. This is the lifeline that she was looking for. At that moment, despite all the despair and fear of the past few weeks, Freya feels a little more positive. Ruth is someone to be trusted.

  Chapter 53

  Isla

  Nine days after the murder

  Isla is sprawled on the couch with a large bag of peanut butter M&Ms, a bowl of popcorn and a blissful three hours ahead of interior design show reruns. Her mother is miles away, watching on a sofa of her own while talking to her on the phone.

  ‘You know how funny it is that you’re addicted to home décor shows but you can’t bring yourself to buy anything other than the bare essentials?’ She laughs.

  ‘Just you wait and see, Mom. One day I’ll have one of those homes with perfectly seamless indoor and outdoor space, with floor-to-ceiling glass and cream lounge sets that have never seen the face of a grubby butt cheek.’

  She cackles over the line and Isla can just imagine her expression. ‘My girl, I’ve raised you better than that.’ Tonight, like many nights, Isla misses the mismatched furniture of her family home, the walls covered in photographs and her scrawled pre-school art. She aches for the familiar smell of roast chicken and her mom’s unparalleled crispy potatoes cooking in the oven, the hours spent leaning against the kitchen counter drinking wine and laughing. She hasn’t found any place quite like it in San Francisco. She doesn’t know where to start.

  ‘How’s that story going?’

  Her heart sinks. The story. It hasn’t been going anywhere at all. After sourcing the identity of the phone number, she sent the lead to Simon, but she’s unsure if he did anything with it. He was distracted on the call, talking at a hundred miles an hour. Either way, it felt like the honest thing to do. If Jay Singh is truly involved, the police can pursue the lead and release the information to the press.

  A beeping noise interrupts the call. ‘Wait, Mom, I think someone is trying to get through on the other line. Let’s talk later . . . Hello?’

  Silence. A faint voice. ‘Isla, is that you? This line is really bad.’

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon. There’s been a new development, which we are confirming in the media shortly. I wanted to talk to you first though. Turns out you were on to something with the phone number.’

  Isla’s hands shake as she rifles in her bag of M&Ms and shoves a handful in her mouth. Several fall out the pack and onto the carpet.

  ‘You were right. It’s Jay Singh.’ It feels so obvious now. During her interview with him he was too smooth to be innocent.

  ‘Some physical evidence has been discovered on the body, and we have got the results back. It is a dead-on match for Jay’s DNA sample that we collected at the office. Then, as luck would have it, Freya came into the station and added to her statement. The information painted Jay in a very suspicious light, giving me a concrete reason to follow the lead.’

  Isla’s heart starts to pound. Her instinct about Freya was right – she was protecting Jay! She wants to say something, but Simon is speaking too quickly.

  ‘Along
with his iPhone, we took in his Apple Watch as evidence this morning. The call history confirms that he spoke to Nicole that night, and, here’s the interesting bit, the data on his Apple Watch shows he walked exactly 1.5 miles at 10 p.m., just a few hours before Nicole’s time of death.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We went and measured the distance between Atypical’s offices and Nicole’s apartment and it didn’t match. But then I recalled Freya’s statement about Jay walking her home. The distance between Freya’s and Nicole’s apartments is 1.5 miles, which matches the distance captured on the watch. This is the kind of data that will really help us in court.’

  ‘Amazing! Do you think you will be able to pull the actual GPS locations as well?’

  ‘If we’re lucky, but we’re hoping for a confession before that.’

  Simon takes a sharp breath. There’s more. ‘We’re going to his house in the next hour to make an official arrest. Thank you for everything you shared with us, Isla. I think this is it, I really do.’

  ‘So,’ she says, ‘what is your theory of what happened that night?’

  ‘I really shouldn’t be throwing theories around, but I would hazard a guess that this is a crime of passion. If Jay killed Nicole, it’s because he didn’t have the self-control to stop. That fits in with the picture Andy Higgs painted of him too.’

  Self-control, it’s a word Isla scoffs at now. Hardly any man has it in her experience, especially under the influence. It’s the reason Isla feels sick to her stomach when she passes a nightclub. The potential for violence is coiled in the beat of the music. It’s why she swapped her punk, checkered skirts and Doc Martens for gray sagging jeans that hide her legs. Hide your body, hide your weapon and you’ll always be protected.

  Nicole’s crime-scene pictures looked chaotic – even in the static photographs Isla could feel a frantic, menacing energy bouncing around the room. Yet for all the blood and mess, the injuries themselves were efficient. She will have to go back and check, but she’s almost certain that it only took a few minutes for Nicole to die.