I put Alien on, hoping that I’ll be too lost in memories of Katy to watch another episode of that show. I thought about calling Detective Lane for an update, but I know ten years of silence means there isn’t one.
Alien isn’t the type of film I thought Katy would like; it’s loud and violent and ugly. I sink into the sofa and pull a blanket over me. But it’s strangely uncomplicated. Maybe that’s what she liked about it. Katy was always deep in a book, head in a political article, lecturing me on the state of the oceans as I served dinner. She cared about everything so deeply. I watch as an Alien spits venom and melts someone’s face. Maybe it was good for her not to care about something.
I think about something Joanna had said, about their relationship being uncomplicated, that Katy didn’t tell her things, that they didn’t speak about work, and it’s hard for me to believe it. Joanna is sweet and laughs a lot; she’s everything Katy is not, and opposites attract, but Katy wasn’t one for secrets. Or so I thought.
There’s a light knock, and I lick my lips, realising I dozed off on the sofa, my head on my shoulder, as the credits roll across the screen. I quickly check my phone; it’s nearly time for the next episode. Why couldn’t I stay asleep, just for a bit longer? But there’s another light knock.
I reluctantly unfurl myself from the blanket and walk up the hallway towards the front door. Behind an oval of stained glass, I see the head of a man, but I don’t recognise him. I sigh, annoyed at myself for forgetting someone was coming to collect the TV I fixed earlier this week.
‘One minute,’ I call, but there’s another knock, a little harder, like they haven’t heard me.
I swing the door open and Professor Travis is standing there.
‘Grace?’ he asks, then he shakes his head like he’s being stupid. ‘Sorry, I know this out of the blue.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to speak to you, but I didn’t know how to reach out.’
I look up and down the street. It’s dark out now, just a few streetlights and the glow from people’s homes. He shifts uncomfortably, pulling his parka jacket tightly around him and bracing from the cold wind. I don’t want him to come in, but I’m too intrigued to send him away.
‘What do you want?’ I ask.
He looks behind me. ‘Can I come in?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
He nods. ‘Okay, well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and’– his teeth start chattering – ‘I didn’t have anything to do with Katy, I promise.’
I stare at him, pulling my own cardigan around my waist, then start closing the door. ‘It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?’
‘Please,’ he says, shooting forward, placing a hand firmly on the door to keep it open. He pulls it away quickly. ‘Let me explain myself.’
I look back at the empty house. I am completely alone.
‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but I don’t have long.’
He smiles. ‘Thank you, I won’t keep you long, I’m guessing you’ll be watching the show?’
I nod as he comes in, a deep smell of sandalwood and citrus wafting past as he throws off his coat.
‘You can keep your shoes on,’ I say, as he starts wiping his feet.
He follows me through to the lounge and I clear a space on the chair opposite the sofa. The house is messy, tools lie haphazardly across the dining table, exposed wires and metal hinges litter the floor.
The TV is still on, showing a still of Alien. He points at it. ‘Good film,’ he says, innocently.
‘Why are you here?’ I ask, ignoring him.
‘I should have reached out a long time ago, but it wasn’t really my place, you know? I thought it might look suspicious, but’ – he frowns – ‘I guess enough time has passed.’
I wince as he says it. ‘Not enough time could pass.’ I look up at him. ‘It’s all still fresh to me.’
He nods. ‘That was a stupid thing to say.’
‘Please just say what you came to say.’
He stutters before composing himself, then taking a short breath he says, ‘The day Katy went missing, there was something … I don’t know … off. She seemed scared.’
‘You told the police this.’
‘I did.’
‘Then why tell me?’
‘Because I don’t think they’re right about what she was working on.’
‘You’re not the first person to tell me that, you know. Seems to me this little redemption show you and the others have going is working out quite well for you.’
He softens, smiling. ‘I can see where she gets it from.’
‘Don’t say that,’ I say, choking. I lean forward. ‘Don’t you dare fucking say that.’
He holds up both hands defensively. ‘I thought Katy was going to make a fantastic journalist. She was the best in her class by miles. She showed so much promise, and I just want you to know I never took that from her.’
‘I know what they said about you and other students. Flirty emails, inappropriate meetings in that little office of yours.’ A new thought crosses my mind. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
He doesn’t seem bothered by this. ‘I’m a journalist too,’ he says. ‘Or I used to be.’
‘That’s reassuring.’ He doesn’t reply. He’s staring at the snow globe sitting on the coffee table between us. ‘Why don’t you tell me exactly what she said to you that morning, word for word.’
‘It was ten years ago.’
‘Well, think hard,’ I say.
‘She said she wanted protection for one of her sources, that she hadn’t disclosed any information to anyone. It was all very secretive, but she seemed nervous, and I almost think if I’d pushed a little, she would have told me. It’s like she was carrying this burden around with her and she was looking to offload it, shake herself free, but there was an urgency to it too.’ He screws up his face and places his head in his hands, his glasses falling on his lap. ‘She was writing a story, her first story, but she couldn’t go public with it yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘She didn’t have enough evidence.’
‘But she had a source?’
He nods. ‘So she said.’
‘But that makes no sense. If Katy had a source then surely they would have come forward. If what she was working on had anything to do with her disappearance, then someone must have something to say about it.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sources don’t always turn out to be good people, or reliable people. That’s why you need evidence.’ He picks his glasses up. ‘What they said about me and those girls, it’s true. All of it. I did send flirty emails; I did try to start relationships with some students. But never Katy, I promise you that.’
‘I don’t think your words really matter to me,’ I say bluntly.
‘Maybe not, but I hope they help, in some way.’ He puts on his glasses, reaches into his coat pocket and slides a folded piece of paper across the table. ‘Your address was not the only one I was able to find.’
I look down at the table and back up to him. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s Graham’s address. He’s living on the outskirts of Bath.’
‘Why…’ I try to find the words, but I’m too consumed by what I’ll say to Graham, what I’ll do to him, it scares me. I see it all play out like I’ve done a thousand times, but I never went looking for him, I never tried, but now it’s in front of me. It’s too hard to ignore. ‘You think he had something to do with this?’
‘A few weeks before Katy went missing, I saw them fighting, off campus. She stormed away and he followed her in his car. I know this looks like I’m trying to deflect, but I listened to what you said on the show, I saw how cut up you are from not getting the justice you deserve. He’s a coward, he went into hiding and now he’s showing his face? He doesn’t deserve to do that. And I thought’ – he points towards the piece of paper – ‘even if you never get the answers you want, it might bring some closure, saying what you’ve always wanted to say to him.’
‘I don’t know if it would,’ I whisper.
‘Well, it’s there if you want it.’ He looks at his phone and points at the TV. ‘I’ll leave you to it, it’s about to start.’ He gets up, throwing on his coat. ‘I am really sorry for your loss.’
‘I didn’t lose her,’ I say quietly, but we both know that’s not true.
He leaves, just as a reminder pops up on the TV telling me The Disappearance of Katy Harper is about to start. I don’t know how much more I can bear – I reach forward and pick up the address – but this helps.