By mutual consent, we agreed to continue the conversation in the nearest pub. The walk down was as silent as the walk up. We took the only route along a path flanked with bramble and nettles and pitted with tree roots, rabbit holes and badger setts. The path briefly widened out to where someone had started a fire and the chalk-white sides of the quarry were visible. Impossible to evade the sense of danger only a few feet away, I stayed clear of the massive drop on the other side of the fence. Trees, so impossibly green, made your eyes squint.
My gaze eventually dropped, mesmerised by shifting shapes in the water below that had claimed so many. Some said there were hidden rocks and obstacles, but shock was the primary factor in almost every death. I knew that sudden immersion in water that never had a chance to heat up had a stunning effect on the human body. Rapid cooling, restricted blood flow followed by panic as muscles refused to respond and fatigue set in. Is this what befell Drea Temple after the smack to her head? Not a great way to go, although better than smashing yourself to bits in a car crash.
Finally, we arrived at the bottom. The sun beat down on a rocky shore and semblance of a beach, giving it a deceptively benign appearance. This is where the sun-worshippers had assembled and, from here, taken to waters of dubious quality. Despite the beautiful day and sunlight glinting off the surface, it bled with unknowable terrors.
I let out an involuntary shiver as we travelled past barbed wire and an easy to scale five-bar gate, police notices and signs warning, in no uncertain terms, of the dangers. At the end, where the land met the road, boulders like sentinels sat squat and immobile to prevent cars from driving through.
The short distance to the car park was down a narrow road piled high with bracken on either side. A kiosk open for teas and ice cream did a mean trade with those who were there for the eats rather than the walking.
Silently, I climbed into Chancer’s Jag. In close confines, the air felt dense and heavy as if a storm were brewing. Chancer didn’t particularly look like a man caught in a bind. He seemed capable, in charge, as if he had the drop on me.
He drove a little way to the nearest pub, a place that served home-cooked food and local craft ales. I wasn’t driving and ordered vodka, Chancer a pint of beer. All sorts of things were burrowing through my mind, none of them nice.
Chancer took a gulp and eyed me. “So, what’s this all about?”
I shook my head. “You first.” He leant back expansively, legs apart, a gesture I knew so well. “Don’t try and bullshit me.”
He met the warning note in my voice with an amused smile. “What has Zach told you?”
His side of a sorry story. “I’m not interested in Zach,” I said, with what I hoped was sincerity, “I want to hear how you knew her.”
“Simple. Zach introduced me.” Chancer scratched the side of his cheek. “If memory serves me correctly, we first met at The White Hart.”
“You met her more than once?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Two, or three times? More?”
“Jesus, Molly, you make it sound like a date. There was a group of us. I was going out with Edie, in case you’d forgotten.”
Low blow. “I hadn’t forgotten. Did Edie meet her?” Had Edie lied?
“No,” Chancer said vehemently. “She hated the White Hart. More of a lad’s boozer back then.”
“What was Drea like?”
“Completely bonkers.”
“In a good way?”
“A lovely way. I liked her a lot. Off the wall, a little bit alternative, she had bags of personality.”
“Did you find her attractive?”
“Whoa,” Chancer said, as if he’d spotted a trap an inch before he was about to step into it. “If you’re trying to suggest something, don’t.”
“It’s a simple enough question.”
“Which you’re blatantly pushing. Every red-blooded male in the room found her attractive.”
“Sex-magnet?”
“Zach certainly thought so. He was embarrassing to be around.” As I feared. “What is this, Molly? You seriously don’t think Zach had anything to do with her disappearance?”
I narrowed my eyes. How much did Chancer actually know? “You knew Drea and Zach were drug buddies?”
Chancer took another drink, by way of an answer.
“Come on, you must have known.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“I don’t believe this.” Any warmth in Chancer’s voice had evaporated. A shiver passed through me. I was glad I was in a public place in a bar packed with people. I stood my ground.
“Were you with Zach on that New Year’s Eve?”
His voice lifted in anger. “I was not. I was at my folks celebrating. I saw Drea a couple of days after Christmas and I never saw her again.”
“On your own?”
“Like I said, it wasn’t what you think.”
Something in the back of my mind detonated. And like magic, it all made sense. I’d never questioned Chancer’s bond with my brother. Others had but never me. I’d believed that their relationship was based on loyalty and friendship. How stupid I’d been. How naïve. ‘Quality’, Zach had said. And a high-end product requires someone to provide it, who moves in the right circles, is good at numbers, percentages, returns, someone connected who didn’t necessarily sample it, although might if his deal worked out and he felt like celebrating.
I wanted to scream, and I wanted to run. And I was furious that he’d duped and let me down so badly.
“You supplied him. You supplied her too.”
“Fuck this,” Chancer said, snatching up his keys.
“I never took you for a fraud.”
He stood up. Fuelled with anger, an ugly twist to his mouth, he seemed bigger and bulkier and more than capable of hitting a woman. The pub fell silent. Drinkers turned. Chancer threw me one last eviscerating stare and strode out. My face on fire, I watched him and then took out my phone and shakily ordered a cab.