The trouble with falling asleep before ten p.m. was that Alice’s body woke her at six, fully rested and raring to go. As she lay in bed, the sunlight creeping beneath the line of the curtains, she tried hard to drift back to sleep. After ten minutes of trying to get comfortable, she gave up, pushing the blanket back and stretching her arms up and over her head.
Ben hadn’t come up to bed, and she didn’t need more than one guess to figure out where she’d find him: exactly where she’d left him and Dave.
The memory of what she’d heard from outside the lounge door flashed through her mind: now I can’t stop thinking that maybe he had something to do with what happened to that girl.
The question was who was the he they were referring to? Dave hadn’t confirmed exactly who had gone to Bournemouth with them, though she knew Johnny was there, as was that Abdul who had the keys to the abandoned bar they’d ended up in. But who else? Dave had described it as a night out for those who hadn’t made it to Malia the week before, but from what she’d overheard, whoever he was had been at both stag parties.
And, what was that they’d said about a fight in Malia? Ben hadn’t mentioned a fight, but now that she thought about it, she had noticed some bruising on his torso after the trip. He’d dismissed it as a drunken stumble, which she’d initially accepted, knowing how clumsy he could be even when sober. Thinking back to the bruising, she tried to remember whether it had resembled fist marks, but came up blank.
Showering and dressing, Alice tried to think things through. She didn’t know whether the police had confirmed the victim’s exact time of death – Ben certainly hadn’t mentioned it – so had he and Dave only been speculating about one of their group being involved? Whatever the answer though, clearly they knew more than they’d been letting on until now.
Reaching for her phone, she opened Facebook and loaded up Ben’s profile. He’d been tagged in a few pictures from the trip to Malia, and she located the group shot she’d been searching for and used her fingers to zoom in.
Studying the faces from left to right, she spotted Ben and Dave, Johnny, Scott, Pete, James, and two others she’d met but whose names she couldn’t recall. Eight of them in total. Could one of this group have been responsible for killing Kerry?
She shuddered at the thought. She’d met all of these men. Could one of them really be a killer?
What she needed now was an image of the group from Bournemouth, but given the secrecy of the event, she doubted Ben would have been careless enough to take any photographs. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have uploaded them. Dave had mentioned some pictures he’d shared with the police though – maybe if she could get hold of them, she might be able to identify which of the eight were in both Malia and Bournemouth. She wouldn’t want to betray a friend, but if passing the list of names to the police cleared Ben’s name once and for all, it would be worth it.
Heading downstairs, she could hear heavy snoring echoing from the lounge. Gently pushing the door open, she surveyed the mess. Half-crushed cans of beer were scattered across the low table, and an empty bottle of vodka was precariously resting upside down in an empty tube of crisps. A rancid smell – a cocktail of sweat, BO, and stale lager – hung like a cloud just below the ceiling.
It was no wonder Ben hadn’t attempted to come up to bed. When he started on the vodka he was a noisy and restless sleeper. He probably hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Either that or he’d passed out on the sofa before he’d had chance to think about it.
She spotted a pile of matchsticks on the table top, and some playing cards. They’d probably been playing poker. Tentatively stepping over Ben’s outstretched legs, she carefully avoided the empty cans on the floor until she made it to the long curtains at the back of the room. Ducking behind them, she opened the small window at the top before re-emerging. At least that would help dispel some of the pong.
Treading carefully back through the carnage, she fetched a bin liner from the kitchen and slowly made her way around the lounge, dropping cans into the sack. Both men continued to snore loudly but almost harmoniously. As she reached for the tube of crisps, the bottle fell onto the floor, striking the edge of the table as it went. Alice held her breath, waiting for them to wake.
Neither man stirred, oblivious to her presence in the room.
There was no sign of Ben’s phone – it was probably still in his pocket – but she did spot Dave’s near the pile of playing cards. Leaning over, she discreetly picked it up, careful not to bump into him.
Stooping, she tried to work out how deep a sleep he was in. If she could just get his thumbprint on the sensor, the screen would unlock and she could send any images on it to her own phone. If he woke while she had hold of his hand though, he would demand to know exactly what she was doing and then she’d have to come clean.
It felt like a risk worth taking, if only to see who had been in Bournemouth that night. Dave was left-handed, so it was a reasonable assumption that she’d need his left thumb. Calmly sinking to her knees, she held the phone in her left hand and carefully pressed her thumb and index finger around his wrist, lifting it ever so slightly. His snoring didn’t miss a beat. Twisting the arm so his palm pointed up, she carefully selected his thumb, but as she did his rhythm suddenly altered and the snoring stopped.
Alice froze.
She was staring straight at him, willing his eyes to remain closed as she continued to grip his thumb. A single bead of sweat travelled the length of her spine, but she remained rooted to the spot.
‘Alice,’ he mumbled, and her breath caught in her throat.
His eyes remained closed.
‘Alice,’ he groaned again, before his face dropped to the side and the snoring returned.
She exhaled slowly through her mouth, manoeuvred the phone so the sensor was just below his thumb, then brought the two together. The first attempt failed, but suddenly the screen unlocked. Clicking on the gallery icon, she swiped until she found the images from Bournemouth, stopping momentarily when Kerry Valentine’s face filled the screen.
Alice hadn’t realized just how pretty Kerry had been. The outfit she was in left little to the imagination, but beneath the hard stare and make-up, Alice was sure she could see regret in those eyes.
There were half a dozen images of the group laughing and drinking and Alice quickly forwarded them to herself before deleting the message from his phone’s records. Lowering the phone back to the table, she was about to stand when she spotted a piece of paper underneath the pile of playing cards. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now it was hard to see how she’d missed it.
Sliding it out, a fog of confusion descended as she read the contents. It was scrawled in Ben’s terrible handwriting and a pen rested nearby. At the top of the page the word ‘Suspects’ had been double underlined, and below it was a list of names she recognized.
Had Ben and Dave been doing their own sleuthing during the night? Pulling out her own phone she snapped an image of the list before dropping the bit of paper back to the table.
She left the half-full sack of rubbish on the floor where it was and headed out of the living room. Her heart was racing as she pulled the door shut and pocketed her phone. She needed some space now, and she’d never get that if she stayed here. Grabbing her car keys, she thought of the one place she wouldn’t be disturbed.