Emilia snaps open a small compact and frowns at the dark circles under her eyes – even under the make-up they are showing through. She hadn’t imagined seeing Ciaran for the first time in months on three hours’ sleep and a stomach full of anxiety. She had dragged herself to bed at 3 a.m. but the video had played over and over in her mind, Luca and Hayley’s desperate pleas echoing in her ears as if she was reliving a distant memory. As if she had been there.
‘Emilia.’
She snaps the compact closed and shoves it back into her bag. She would recognize that voice anywhere – in a crowded room or at nothing more than a whisper. She had missed it.
‘Hi Ciaran,’ she says, standing up as he closes the door of the café behind him and approaches. He smiles widely at her, but his face is pale, his eyes looking smaller than usual. He must have been up all night at the station. But he is still beautiful, his eyes full of warmth, dimples pressing under his cheekbones.
‘Hello, stranger.’ He stops in front of her. She feels an awkwardness she didn’t expect.
Luckily, Ciaran has never been awkward. He reaches towards her, his arm wrapping around her neck, his lips pressing into the top of her head. She clutches his waist, her fingers curling around the wool of his coat. But tears prick her eyes. She can’t cry … she mustn’t cry … but – he smells the same. This is the man she loved. The only man she has ever truly loved. She is such a fucking idiot.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he says, holding her by her shoulders and meeting her gaze.
‘You too,’ Emilia says, gesturing nervously to the table. ‘Here, I got you a coffee.’
‘Thanks. I’m so sorry I can’t stay long. I’ve literally got under an hour before I have to be back at the station. I just went home to shower and eat something when you called.’
‘Has it all gone mad?’
He glances around at the other mostly empty tables and takes a seat before speaking, his voice lowered. ‘The FLOs have been with the families all night. We … once we realized that the people named in the confession you told us about had actually gone missing, we knew it was likely they were dead, but that video … Whatever we’re dealing with: this isn’t a run-of-the-mill murder.’
‘Glory chaser?’
He tilts his head. ‘Seems like it … or –’
‘Or what?’
‘Or, the boyfriend’s behind the whole thing.’
‘I don’t know … I mean – why would he do that? If he wanted to kill his girlfriend because she’d been cheating, why would he announce it on a forum? And the confession was about him too.’
‘The video didn’t show him being killed. Only she was forced to confess. Only she was held at gunpoint.’
‘But you could hear him. He was distraught. And he kept saying, “Please, don’t” –’
‘Maybe that was to throw us off. Maybe all of it, naming himself, making sure he “went missing” too, being distraught on camera – maybe it was all to make people believe it was someone else.’
They stare at each other for a moment.
‘That room they were in – any ideas?’
‘Well, you used to be a detective: do you think there’s anything in that footage that could lead you anywhere?’
Emilia sighs, shaking her head. The CCTV was zoomed in all the way, so that you couldn’t see Hayley’s surroundings. And the hand-held camera was the same. All that was visible was the cement floor beneath her. It could be anywhere. ‘No,’ she mutters. ‘But the confession and the video – have they been traced?’
‘No. Whoever’s done this knows what they’re doing. It seems like they used several programmes to scramble the IP address and it was also uploaded through the dark web. It just leads nowhere if you try to trace it. Brings up a different IP address every time, all over the world. They keep scrambling it.’
‘And the website – is it being taken down?’
‘Wild wants to keep the forum live – if someone is going to name victims, it’s a vital piece of evidence. They’ve tried to go to the host and order a take-down of the video, but so far it’s still up. And it’s been shared, thousands of times. Even if we get it taken down, it’s out there now.’ He shrugs and then shakes his head, his eyes darkening for a moment. ‘Look at me … I’m talking to you as if you’re still my partner.’
Their eyes meet, tension radiating in the air between them at the word ‘partner’. They had been partners in every sense of the word. And now they are … what? Friends? Strangers? Do they know each other at all any more?
‘I’ve been following it ever since the confession first went up, Ciaran,’ she says. ‘I’ve been doing everything I can. I know I’m not an officer any more, but I want to help –’
‘But you can’t, Emi,’ he says, softening the harsh truth with a soft whisper. ‘Leave it to us. Please.’
‘I won’t compromise anything –’
‘It isn’t that,’ he says. ‘It isn’t good for you to get involved, to linger over something like this.’
Her lips part, ready for her rebuttal, for her assertion of, ‘I’m fine.’ But that won’t work with Ciaran.
‘It makes me feel like … I feel like if I can help with this, maybe I can –’
‘It won’t bring her back.’
His words sting, another quick lash of honesty.
‘I know that,’ she mutters. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’
His gaze softens, his mouth turning downwards at the corners. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just … I don’t want you getting caught up in this. The police are searching for bodies, the families are being prepared. They’re still trying to trace the video, we’re talking to everyone who saw them last. It’s all we can do for now. But … this isn’t for you. Not any more.’
She nods, not wanting to argue with him. It won’t lead them anywhere. The only place it can lead them is away from each other. And she doesn’t want that – not again – not now when they’re within touching distance. ‘I know. I’m sorry … What’s going on with you otherwise?’
He smiles, acknowledging her deft change of subject with a tilt of his head. ‘Not much. Always so busy with work now … Sam is having a baby.’
‘Really?’ Emilia says, her face breaking into a beaming smile. She had always liked Ciaran’s brother. ‘I’m so happy for them. Joanna must be so pleased.’
‘They were both over the moon.’
‘That’s so lovely.’
‘And Pete has a new girlfriend –’
‘Oh, thank God. I thought he’d never get over Francesca!’
‘None of us did! I’ve only met the new one a couple of times, but she seems really nice. And he seems happy, so …’
Ciaran’s voice fades away. Emilia blinks slowly, unable to look away from his arresting gaze. But an awkwardness soon takes over and she glances down, staring at the wood of the table, her nails subconsciously scratching at the surface.
‘What about you?’
She lifts her head, her heart racing. ‘No, I … I’m not seeing anyone.’
‘No, I meant, what’s going on with you –’
‘Oh shit,’ she says, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘Sorry, I –’
‘Seriously, Emi, it’s fine.’ He sighs. ‘I haven’t been dating either.’
Her face is hot, her chest slick with sweat under her three layers, but the look in his eye is like a rush of cooling air, like stepping out into the snow.
His phone buzzes loudly on the table.
He closes his eyes, sighing deeply.
‘So sorry.’
‘It’s okay –’
‘Jones,’ he says, answering the call.
He pauses, listening, and then his eyes dart towards her. Emilia frowns as he angles his body away from her and responds with one word: ‘Where?’ He nods as the answer comes. ‘I’m on my way.’
Tingles spread up Emilia’s arms, the hairs standing on end.
They’ve found something.
‘Emi, I’m so sorry. I wish I could stay here longer and we could actually catch up but –’
‘You have to go.’
‘Yeah. I really am sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she says, smiling at him. She wants to ask him what’s happened, what’s been found, and where? But she can’t. Not after his speech about this not being for her any more. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’
They stand and he pulls her into another hug, lowering his head to rest his chin on her shoulder. ‘I’ll call you, okay?’ he says, his breath fluttering her hair.
‘Okay.’
He squeezes her waist and then releases her, his smile spreading across his face, a warm glow in his eyes. ‘Don’t leave it months again, okay stranger?’
She smiles. ‘Bye, Ciaran.’
He walks away, looking over his shoulder one final time as he opens the door before waving goodbye with a familiar salute.
But he wants her to stay out of something that she simply can’t stay out of. She needs to know what they’ve found.
She stands quickly and strides out of the café, dashing across the empty road to her car. Ciaran has just pulled away. If she hangs back just far enough, she can follow him. At least being a private investigator has taught her how to stay hidden.
She stays two to three cars behind him at all times, her eyes scanning traffic but always keeping him in her line of sight. She can’t lose him. She needs to know what’s happened.
He has driven north from the café for fifteen minutes. But he doesn’t turn left when they reach the crossroads to head towards the station. No – he has carried on straight, eventually driving past the turning for Emilia’s flat. After ten minutes on the main road, she mirrors his turns – right, then right again, and then left. Ahead is the park. Emilia walks there all the time. At this hour on a Saturday, it’ll be empty, occupied only by the odd jogger or dog walker.
But as they drive closer, Emilia’s eyes widen. There are several police cars just outside the entrance to the park, uniformed officers lining the pavement.
Ciaran pulls up abruptly, swinging into an empty bay. Emilia slows, leaving more distance between herself and the car in front of her, which is also braking to gawk out of the window. But Ciaran doesn’t look over his shoulder or glance around at all. He strides straight towards the gates, his pace quickening, pausing only to nod at the officers and duck beneath the crime scene tape that is stretched across the entrance.
Shit.
Emilia drives past, following the road around, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. As the hedge line lowers, tapering away behind black railings, she can finally see inside the park.
The frost-covered grass is dotted with the monochrome of police. Some are maintaining the police barricade and sending away curious onlookers; others stand in conversation in small groups, their faces stern. And behind them, not too far from where Ciaran entered the park, others are erecting a white tent.
Emilia’s heart slows, her breathing slows, as if she and the car are moving through time at half-speed, watching the world swim past. She indicates and pulls over quickly.
Reaching towards her glove box, she pulls out her binoculars. Ciaran would think she was crazy if he could see her now. Who does she think she is, sitting in her car and spying on people with binoculars?
But they’ve found someone. They’ve found Hayley or Luca. Maybe both of them.
She lifts the binoculars to her eyes and turns a dial.
The scene comes into sharp focus.
There on the ground, the tent being erected around her fluttering gently in the early morning breeze, is a woman.
Pink tinged hair. Blood splattered clothes. Red chipped nail polish.
Hayley.