Isla thinks back to the first morning she went to ask questions at Atypical. The bright lights, the expensive computers, the free food and the edgy music. She was blinded by the brilliance of it all. During his interview Jay was good-looking, yes, but also funny and charming. He made Isla laugh in a way that felt genuine. Could he have killed Nicole? And if Jay had left the office and walked Freya home, could Freya have known where he was headed to next? Or did she perhaps follow him and see something she shouldn’t have?
It wouldn’t be the first time a man hurt a woman, but it all seems too simple.
Chapter 54
Freya
Ten days after the murder
Freya’s phone buzzes continuously in her pocket.
Hey, baby . . .
Hi
Nice to meet you, Freya
Hello, Freya
Whaddup, cutie
Hey, wanna chat?
What are you wearing?
She switches her phone to silent. She needs a break from thinking about this, just for a moment.
Her head and body ache, but her drive has pushed her out of bed. Today, she will sort her life out. She will start by confronting Jay. He has been avoiding her ever since he said he would try to figure out the source of the messages. If he can’t do it, she will simply do it herself. All she wants is for everything to feel normal again, to feel the warmth and security of his affection like she did before. As she closes the front door behind her, her gaze flicks left, and then right, looking, assessing, wondering if there is someone waiting for her in the shadows.
She paces to the office, cappuccino and croissant in one hand, navigating the steep, winding roads without having to check the street names. The route feels part of her now, natural. Despite the drama tightening its grip around her, she is starting to feel like she is a hotshot young programmer working for a kickass startup, and not an imposter.
The bustle of her commute can’t take her mind off Jay. She has a feeling he doesn’t want to see her, and she can’t understand why. She felt this acutely the day before.
She was sick yesterday and tired to the bone. The police visit and the chilling text messages hadn’t helped matters, either. By 2 p.m. her eyes were streaming when she tried to focus on her screen.
It was probably the cumulative exhaustion of the past few days, and the constant reminder of Nicole’s empty desk. Her head kept on slumping forward as she typed and she kept on forgetting what she was meant to be working on.
Jay was in a meeting, so she sent him a message,
Feeling ill. Going home x
Hours later, the lethargy that had crawled into her bones was still hanging on. Every inch of Freya’s body ached as she forced down some cereal for dinner. She’d never had a mother to dote on her when she was sick, never had a special meal she ate but it didn’t stop her longing for that feeling of being a child again. Stupidly, she thought Jay may have read the desperation between the lines of her message and surprise her with an unexpected visit. Kate would be shocked if she knew this, but Jay already had his own set of keys to their place. She kept checking her phone, and looking towards her bedroom door, but both remained motionless.
Finally, as if on cue, her cell lit up the darkness of her bedroom. It was a message from another unknown number.
Hi . . .
Through the fog of her fatigue, she started to feel strange. Perhaps it was best to ignore the message. But the stranger continued.
I want to do things to you, the things that you wrote about in your advert. Why did this keep happening? She wanted answers.
What things? she texted.
Another message. I want to tie you up, I want to make you scream.
Her blood turned cold. This was no longer an annoying coincidence, it was something that struck fear deep in her heart.
What advert? she replied, suddenly wide awake.
Don’t play coy, you little tease. You know what, bitch? Forget about it. You’re not that hot anyway.
Freya’s nausea intensified and she threw the phone across the room. Isn’t this what they did to Nicole? Someone out there was making a point. They knew what she and Jay had done, and wanted to punish her.
She fell into a fitful sleep, taunted by the message and hurt by Jay’s silence.
But today was a new morning, crisp and sunny. She was going to toughen up and tell Jay that she informed the police of their prank, and confront him on his change of behavior. Even if the prank had nothing to do with Nicole’s death, she needed to do the right thing. If they are meant to be together, he will be principled enough to understand why this is so important to her.
She walks straight to his desk. Better to do it early before she chickens out. Yet even though it is past 9 a.m., he is not there. Her colleagues are fretting around the office, visibly upset. Through the glass windows of Julian’s office, she can see him on the phone, running his fingers through his unruly mop of hair.
Julian pushes open the door to his office. ‘Everybody! Stand-up meeting! Now!’
His uncharacteristic show of aggression scares her. A memory of his body pressing against her flashes through her mind. With Julian, who is the myth and who is the man?
He pushes open the door of his office.
Freya walks to the main meeting room, and Virginie falls in step with her.
‘Here we go again. Is there no end to the drama in this place?’
Freya clenches her fists. ‘I’m nervous. What’s happened now?’
They squeeze into the crowded room and find a space at the back. Freya makes the mistake of looking down at her phone. Fifty new messages. Shit. She has got to do something, today.
‘People, hi, can we have some quiet please!’
Everyone shushes around the room manically.
He continues, ‘Great, thank you. I wanted to take the time to speak to you all in person so you hear the news from me and not in the press. Unfortunately, Jay Singh, a highly valued and respected member of our team, was taken into police custody in relation to Nicole’s death late last night. It would appear there is some new evidence that links him to the scene of the crime.’
The room is silent. Freya can’t breathe. Her cheeks flush as she avoids the curious eyes of colleagues.
Dear God, it’s her fault. She remembers the detective, Simon’s, interest in her story about the prank, and the way he kept on focusing on Jay. She has implicated her own boyfriend, the person she loves. In her rush to confess, she remembers the detective’s interest.
Her mind spins. Freya listed Kate as her alibi, and Jay listed Freya as his. Even though Kate had not seen Jay that night, she had begrudgingly agreed to confirm that Jay was at their house. Because it was clear that he was – his boxer shorts were lying on the floor of her bedroom and his jacket was strewn across the sofa the next morning. If, or when, there is a trial, she will have to take a stand, and relay the events of that evening under oath. Her testimony could send him to prison.
The acrid smell of Julian’s sweat fills the meeting room. ‘Stunts like these are common in murder investigations, but because of the high-profile nature of our company, this particular nugget of information is bound to get a lot of press. Remember that Jay is innocent until proven guilty. There must be a reasonable explanation for this. Please, everyone, I want you to stay calm, and –’ he looks at them each in turn, and Freya is almost certain his gaze lingers on her a few seconds longer than everybody else – ‘under no circumstances, say a word to the media.’
Virginie pulls her aside as everybody walks solemnly out the meeting room. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course not! I don’t understand what is happening! Jay didn’t murder Nicole. He slept in my bed that night!’ She doesn’t mention the hours before, when they were apart, Freya with Kate, and Jay someplace unknown.
‘That’s the thing with men,’ Virginie says. ‘They think of themselves first, and often that thought process is driven by little more than sex. Try not to be t
oo upset. You can do so much better.’ Freya had always suspected Virginie disapproved of Jay. They never seemed to speak to one another directly. Still, this is not the time for I-told-you-so’s.
‘Thanks for that, but I need some space. I’m going to the restroom.’
As soon as she locks the door, Freya goes on to Twitter to get the real story. A search for the hashtag Nicole Whittington reveals the sordid details of her worst nightmares. A source has shared that DNA evidence has been found on Nicole’s body, and it matches Jay’s sample. She doesn’t have to dig much further to discover the truth: it wasn’t just any DNA. It was Jay’s semen.
She remembers their long kiss goodnight at the top of her street, the way Jay squeezed her ass and said, ‘Wish I could come home with you right now.’ He gave her his coat then, which she wrapped tightly around herself to ward off the winter chill.
Tears scorch her cheeks and a hot rash breaks out on her neck. Freya forces her mind to go there: Jay unhooking the clasp of Nicole’s bra with the same deftness of touch, his lips grazing her neck, his eyes focusing on her, and in that moment, wanting nothing more. Knowing it happened in the past stung, but the fact that he wanted Nicole when Freya was so willing to give him everything sears the most vulnerable part of her. He told Freya he loved her, for goodness’ sake! It’s too much to take – she dry heaves over the toilet bowl.
As the hours creep on, her sadness turns into anger. How dare he share a bed and a secret romance with the woman who bullied her? How little respect did he have for her that he could make her look like such a fool? It’s the deceit that kicks her in the guts, the sheer level of planning that would have gone into it. Why pretend to side with Freya in the first place? Why play that stupid prank at all? What kind of sick, sadistic relationship did they have?
She was such an idiot to trust him. Just a stupid graduate, fresh out of college who doesn’t yet know the ways of the world. Her hands shake. She wants to stand up at her desk and shout, ‘How many of you fuckers knew this was going on? How many of you laughed at my expense?’ She wants to throw her brand new cellphone and watch the screen shatter beneath the point of her ill-fitting high heels, breaking all those unwelcome messages into tiny little pieces. She has never felt more powerless.
She rustles through the mess of papers on her desk until she finds the business card. She needs to tell her story, start to finish, to someone who will listen without judgment, someone who will order her thoughts. She needs to set the record straight. So she does the only thing she can do, the one thing she is not supposed to do.
She calls the journalist.
Chapter 55
Isla
Ten days after the murder
Isla shouldn’t be here. This coffee shop is a forty-minute trip from the office and Freya is already ten minutes late. Kenneth warned her not to leave her desk and gave her strict instructions to only transcribe soft-news PR pieces in the office, but this was the only time Freya wanted to meet. Witnesses like her get jumpy at the slightest obstacle or change in plan, often viewing it as a sign they shouldn’t talk. Isla was not about to take that risk.
So she sits and waits, her left leg bouncing up and down, waiting for an acceptable amount of time between her first espresso and her second, purposefully not checking her phone. Twitter is alive with theories on Nicole’s death.
@JamesGray Jay is Julian’s prodigy and has his whole career ahead of him. Why would he sabotage that for a woman? This smacks of a political smear campaign.
@PeterSmithers Why is nobody focusing on Nicole’s history of mental health issues? This is not a cut-and-dried murder case. She must have done something to provoke the attack.
@AllyBarnes Can we all just acknowledge the fact that she had sex with the guy? What if he had nothing to do with her death and she killed herself in a really brutal way? She was disturbed.
Her phone rings. It’s Kyle, the news editor. One bored afternoon of bonding over emo-punk of the late 2000s and their favorite graphic novels has resulted in over seven years of easy friendship.
‘What!’
‘Isla, where the hell are you? Kenneth has come to check on you at your desk and he is pissed.’
‘I’m busy, out on an errand.’
‘It isn’t a story, is it? Kenneth says you’re not allowed to be out on a story. Isla, Isla?’ He was always a bit of a prude deep down, despite his hardcore punk front. She hangs up and shoves her phone in her bag. Kyle can improvise and she’ll buy him a rare comic book to make up for it. Right now, she can see Freya arching her neck and searching for her.
She looks worse than the first time Isla met her – pale-lipped and bristling with nervous energy. Her face seems puffy, as if she has spent the past few days drinking. She has, however, made an effort, which Isla can tell from the new clothes she is wearing.
‘Nice dress.’
‘Thank you, I made it from an old pattern I found.’
‘Wow! I would never have guessed. Coffee?’
‘Oh, no thank you. I can’t seem to stomach the stuff this week.’ Isla nods understandingly. She can’t picture being so stressed that she would go off coffee. Something must really be eating at her.
She looks up at the clock as she really needs to get back in the next hour, but Freya looks too fragile to jump straight in to things. Isla takes a deep breath and focuses in on her. ‘So tell me a bit about yourself.’
Freya trots out a neat story about always being interested in computers, which culminated in her being accepted into the College of California to study a Bachelor of Computer Science. She was active on campus, with skills that made her stand out. This led to her being headhunted by Atypical. It’s the kind of dry narrative delivered in the stock-standard animated tech startup tone that she hears every day in this city, but Isla can tell by the fire in Freya’s eyes that she truly believes it.
‘That’s your career history, not your story.’
Freya looks uncomfortable, which is exactly what Isla expected. She is still in the heat of her twenties, when a career is seen to define a person. While Isla wouldn’t exactly call herself the glowing symbol of work-life balance, she does know that the late nights, hurried meals and emails on holiday don’t amount to as much as you’d hope.
Freya steels herself to speak again. ‘OK, my mother fell pregnant with me when she was nineteen, and in her freshman year of college. She tried to look after me for one year but it was too much for her, she didn’t have the resources to do it. Eventually I was placed in foster care. While some families were lovely, it never worked out for one reason or another. I bounced from family to family, home to home. The fact that I managed to do well at anything at school, let alone get accepted into the top coding college and be headhunted by Atypical, feels like a miracle. I guess that’s why I emphasized it so much.’ She’s smart, Isla will give her that.
Her phone is vibrating in her coat again. It keeps going on and on until she can’t ignore it a moment longer. ‘Excuse me, Freya . . . Hello! What is it?’
‘It’s me, Kyle, again, your only friend left in the office? Isla, you have to get back right now. Kenneth is moving your desk!’
‘What? To where?’
‘Um, you don’t want to know. Just get back here from whatever it is you’re doing, OK?’
Isla really hopes there is a reason Freya brought her out here. She swirls the espresso on her tongue – it’s a damn good one, she should buy some beans before she leaves – and tries once again.
‘You mentioned when you called that you had something to tell me about that night?’
Freya leans forward. ‘I was sleeping with Jay.’ It’s the kind of secret shared between friends and, if Isla is honest, doesn’t bear much weight on her story. It also doesn’t explain why she would look so guilty.
‘Too,’ she corrects herself. ‘I was sleeping with Jay too.’
‘I’m sorry, you must feel awful.’ She adds carefully, ‘Did you love him?’
With that, a seal
is broken and Freya’s story begins to flow. Of course she loved him. They met on her first day of work, and the attraction was instant. She wasn’t looking for love, but what do you do when you find it anyway, say no? She thought it was going somewhere special. They dated for a few weeks and were officially boyfriend and girlfriend after a month. He told her that he loved her. They had started to make plans together. Never once did Freya imagine that there was someone else, let alone Nicole.
‘I find it impossible to believe he was there at her house,’ she says.
Ah man, if Isla had a penny for every time a woman didn’t believe her man could have committed a crime, she could have retired from journalism and opened her dream home décor boutique years ago.
‘Freya, I know it’s hard to stomach, but sometimes men cheat, and the ones who are really good at it know how to get away with it. I don’t know if you’re aware but there was evidence of semen found on Nicole’s body.’
She visibly shudders. ‘Yeah, I know.’
Isla’s phone starts buzzing again, so she picks it up and cancels the call. This is where the true story is, buried somewhere in the timeline.
Freya continues. ‘I can accept that they had sex, and that he was cheating on me, but murder? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Why?’ asks Isla.
‘Because, even though there was a part of the evening after he kissed me goodbye that we weren’t together, later in the night he let himself into my apartment and slept in my bed. He came home to me. His alibi is true. I think it was someone else.’
‘Why is that?’
The noisy café fades into the background. Isla can only hear Freya’s raspy voice.
‘I added to my statement the other day. There was something I wasn’t truthful about. That night, Jay and I pulled a stupid prank. We wrote a dating advert in Nicole’s name and posted it online. I didn’t expect anything to come of it. I just thought that a few guys would send her messages and she would feel annoyed and embarrassed.’
The Pact Page 18