41
When he got back to the station, Abbie was waiting for him with the forensic results for the blood on the leaves they’d found in the woods.
“It was animal, not human. Thank God. After what you told me, I was worried you’d witnessed a murder.” She paused. “There’s nothing more on the body,” she added.
“How about the results for the fabric I sent off?”
She shook her head. “They haven’t come back yet.”
It shouldn’t take much longer, Jack was thinking. “We didn’t get anything out of Xander Pascoe.”
“I didn’t think you would. Maybe I should talk to Charlotte again—and Evie, too. There has to be something we’re missing.”
“If you talk to Charlotte, I’ll go round to see Evie,” Jack offered. It made sense. He’d do it on his way home. “I’ve been thinking about Miller.”
“What about him?”
“I don’t trust him. There’s the fact that he didn’t report the incident in the woods. And have you noticed how often he’s at Evie’s?” Jack had certainly noticed. More often than not, it was Miller parked outside overnight.
“Spending the night shift in one’s car isn’t exactly popular,” Abbie told him.
“That’s my point. Underwood’s been there a couple of times, that’s all. Check the rosters.”
Then Jack had another thought. It was a long shot, but it could make all the difference in the world.
* * *
He saw Abbie again briefly later on, just before he left the station.
“I tried Charlotte,” she told him. “But it went to voice mail. I left a message, but she hasn’t called back.”
“Keep trying her.” Jack could sense they were on the verge of something. And if Xander was involved, after his visit, time wasn’t on their side. “I’m going to call in on Evie on my way home.” He knew she was going to ask about the graves.
“Hopefully, by tomorrow, we’ll have something more from forensics.”
* * *
“Would you like to come in?”
Jack nodded. “Thank you. How are you? You look better.”
“I’m okay.” Evie sounded wary. “I seem to be stuck where I was when you were last here. A few more things have come back, but not much.”
“I’m sorry.” He’d hoped for more. “I’ve been to see Xander Pascoe. Do you remember him?”
Evie shrugged. “Vaguely. From school.”
“He and Casey were an item for a while. Do you remember that?”
Evie paused. “All I can tell you about Xander is that when you mention his name, for some reason, I feel embarrassed. I feel ashamed, too. I also know I don’t want to talk about him. It makes me uncomfortable. And I have no idea why.”
Jack frowned. “There must be a reason.”
“You know more about me than I do.” Evie shrugged. “Yes, there probably is, buried with everything else someplace I can’t get to.”
He had to ask. “Has anything at all come back to you about when Leah went missing?”
Evie frowned. “There are things that don’t make sense. I couldn’t begin to tell you why.” She looked at him. “I’m no help, Jack.”
“You know what I think?” He fixed his eyes on Evie. “It makes sense that you came here to get away from Nick and your old life. And if you hadn’t moved into your aunt’s old house, you might have gone unnoticed, but I think either someone saw you or you saw them. Either that, or you know something that could harm them. And the most likely explanation is it’s linked to Leah.”
“Why?” Evie frowned at him. “How can you say that?”
“I’m still working it out. I’m sure it’s to do with Xander Pascoe, too. We have other leads we’re following up.” Jack didn’t want to tell her about how hostile Xander was, or about what he’d seen and heard, or about the traces of blood in the woods. He changed the subject. “Have you seen Charlotte recently?”
Evie shook her head. “She came round the other night. She said something about man trouble, but she didn’t say what.”
* * *
As Jack drove away, he was deep in thought. Evie had told him nothing new. He was pretty sure she wasn’t intentionally hiding anything. In spite of what Nick had said, she didn’t strike him as devious. He was halfway down the drive when his cell buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was PC Evans.
“Hi, Sara.”
“Jack, Abbie thought you’d want to know. It’s about the graves. They’ve dug one up and found a cat buried there. I’ll forward you the e-mail. It’s not good reading, but I thought you’d want to know. The cat’s throat was cut, and it was mutilated in various ways.”
Jack felt sick. It was like the dog he’d found last year. Who were these sickos who enjoyed torturing innocent animals? Then another thought occurred to him. That night in the woods, when he’d heard an animal being slaughtered, that terrible cry. Could it have been a cat? He felt his blood run cold. Evie had mentioned a missing cat.
But Sara interrupted his thoughts. “Oh God, Jack. That’s not all. There’s more. They found a third grave. It was farther in than the other two. It’s been there a long time. They’re digging it up now, as we speak.”
“Okay. Thanks, Sara.” Jack was filled with dread. Please, God, it’s not a small child.
As soon as he’d hung up, Jack dialed Abbie’s cell. “Sara just told me about the third grave.”
“Thank God they spotted it. I hope there aren’t more.”
“You know they found a mutilated cat?” Jack paused. “Did Evie tell you her cat was missing?”
“She mentioned it to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I believed her.” Abbie sounded distracted. “Can you check with her? I still haven’t spoken to Charlotte. I’m on my way over to her house. I’ll let you know when I reach her.”
CASEY
2005 . . .
It’s always there, the knowledge that you can end it. End the pain, the suffering, the unfairness, because whatever you try, there isn’t always a cure.
From the moment you’re born, you’re molded into something you have no control over. Forget what people say about how you can change. The best you can hope for is the ability to fool them all, so that they leave you alone and go away.
I no longer wanted anyone in my life. But to be alone was unbearable in a world where each day was bleaker than the previous one, growing darker, heavier, until I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. It was worse this time. Months passed in which I barely ate, just drank myself into unconsciousness, until there was only one thing I could do.
Did you know there is beauty in the tides? In their ever-changing color, their ebb and flow, in the pull of the moon, the power of the swell? Forces that we can’t control, that at best we can only harness to our own advantage. Take big-wave surfers. Scientists, athletes, philosophers, who know their element, know their own limits, yet know, also, just how much they can push nature, balancing courage with restraint, science with instinct, in the quest to catch a wave and stay alive.
They know, also, that there is no margin for error. That the sea is unforgiving. But most people don’t think about how the same knowledge, of storms, rip currents, swell, can help you another way.
At the right time, when no one’s watching, they can carry you away. A single act of insignificance by just one worthless person who wouldn’t be missed, exerting their right to decide their own fate, to end their unhappiness forever.
To die.