Your Guilty Secret

by Rebecca Thornton

  ‘Look, a hawk,’ I said. She followed my finger. I watched it hover above us. In that moment, I decided to quell any more thoughts of ringing Conor, or tipping off the paps.

  ‘Isn’t it stunning?’ I said, and she nodded. Her eyelids looked like they were getting heavy at that point and I had a sudden thought she might drift off and that I could drive for a bit, alone with my thoughts. I broke all eye contact with her in my rear-view mirror.

  I pressed my foot down and for the first time in months, I felt absolutely free.

  August 27th 2018

  0900hrs

  For the press conference, I decided on a pair of white cotton trousers, a pale yellow T-shirt and the yellow espadrilles that I knew Ava loved. Anna, Conor, Joan and Detective Mcgraw all stayed downstairs whilst I got ready. I wore no make-up but I applied a thin layer of moisturiser to freshen up my skin, and some lip balm. I brushed my hair into a loose ponytail and chose a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses, packed a small bag and I was ready to go.

  ‘I’ll go with Conor.’ I said, but Detective Mcgraw shook his head.

  ‘Oh no you don’t. You come with me. Anna, you and Conor follow behind.’

  I needed to speak to Conor and work out a plan of action but for some reason, he wasn’t looking at me. Not even when I glared at him, willing him to face me.

  ‘Conor,’ I said eventually. ‘Look at me.’ He lifted his head slightly and I caught a slight frown. ‘Look, I’m sorry. About Frankie Spearman.’

  ‘It’s OK. I just wish you’d said something. My job has been pretty full on since Ava went missing.’ I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t the one whose daughter had disappeared. ‘England,’ he said. ‘You just need to fill me in about what happened. With another press conference coming up, I need to know.’

  ‘Soon,’ I said. I hoped he’d understand – that I’d tell him the rest of it when I got a chance, although it didn’t seem as though Detective Mcgraw was going to let me out of his sight.

  ‘Will I be able to see Matthew?’ I asked.

  ‘He won’t be coming to the press conference.’ Detective Mcgraw opened the door. I heard movement behind me, coming from the kitchen. I couldn’t face the idea of Joan alone in my house. What if Ava came back? Who would be there to greet her? Joan. The person she wished was her mother.

  If only I had told the truth about the pool annexe from the beginning. If I hadn’t tried to keep that part out of it. And England. Why had it been necessary? Now I was being taken into the station after the press conference, it all seemed so silly. So pathetic given what had been going on. I remembered someone telling me that one’s true colours come out in times of trauma and stress. I felt blanketed in shame.

  ‘Come on,’ said Detective Mcgraw, pushing me out the door. I blinked into the bright sunshine. It stung, even with my sunglasses on. I folded myself into the front of his car which was parked just outside the house.

  ‘I’m coming with you two,’ Anna said, opening the rear door before Detective Mcgraw could object. She got in and slammed the door. ‘Just so you don’t play any games with my client,’ she said. I’d never felt so grateful to anyone. I watched Conor climb into his black Porsche and swing it round to face the exit. I looked down the driveway, right to the bottom of The Hidden Hills, where I could see crowds of people lined up waiting to see me. How peculiar, I thought, that they should be there, waiting to catch a glimpse of someone in the midst of their fear and grief. Of course, there were those that wanted to offer support. Perhaps light a candle for my daughter. And I was grateful. Then Detective Mcgraw’s phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’ he answered. My throat tightened. ‘Yup. Understood.’ He carried on driving, forking left towards the back car park of the station.‘Sorry, change of plan,’ he said. I could still hear the crowds, shouting my name. ‘Lara, Lara.’ I absorbed their chants. ‘We’re just going inside the station first, before we head back out to the press conference. Just need to have a word with a colleague, about security for the media,’ he said, but his jaw had started clenching tight. We drove on in silence. Conor was right behind us. I turned in my seat to face Anna.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m here,’ she said reassuringly.

  When we pulled up at the back entrance of the station, three policemen ushered us quickly into the building. I felt a strange sense of calm come over me. Perhaps in part, this was due to the fact I’d left home. That the station had an official air to it, and I knew that we were being helped. Or perhaps the shock had started to wear off, and the adrenaline could no longer keep up with what was going on. But when we walked into the station, and headed to the reception, I heard Detective Mcgraw shouting.

  ‘Television off,’ he screamed. How weird, given we were only going through security. I started to feel more and more uneasy. The girl behind the counter cowered into herself and fumbled for the remote control. She aimed it at a small box in the corner of the room. I caught Anna looking at Detective Mcgraw then her mouth pulled into an o.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Conor had followed us in and he started to open his arms towards me but he was pushed back by Detective Mcgraw. He pulled me into a side room that had empty coffee cups, doughnut wrappings and coloured sugar sprinkles all over the table.

  ‘In here,’ he said. ‘Anna. You as well. Conor, you out.’ I looked at his face and that was when I knew. When you look at someone’s features and you know that within them is buried knowledge of the worst news you could ever imagine.

  I heard the television turn back on. The drone of a reporter’s voice. Something shifted. Everything stilled. Detective Mcgraw said nothing, because by that time, the sound had been turned right up. He looked like he wanted to kill someone right there and then but of course it was too late because we’d already heard the hurried voice echoing around the entire building.

  ‘Dead body . . . Found . . . Gash to the head . . .’ It was then that I started to gag, white spots appearing in my vision.

  And still, the voice went on. ‘Unconfirmed . . . Ava King . . . Far from where she went missing . . .’

  I felt a hand on my arm. I didn’t know whose it was. All I could think was that I’d let her down. The last memories she’d had in this world. She’d never understood them. They’d have terrified her poor little brain. And she would have been wondering why we had not come. Me, or Joan.

  Why we had not saved her.

  London, December 2004

  There was a cup of tea on a worn-down table. I reached out for it in the hope that it might be for me – I’d got used to people bringing things without me asking, but then I saw a smudge of pink lipstick on the rim. Someone had scratched their initials into the wood. I traced it with my fingers wondering what people would think if I etched my name next to it. Lara King woz ere.

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ Joanne said. ‘I’m going to do some work on the more immediate problem we have. Your rep. It’s front page and the news reports live are using it as their lead. We’re going to have to work on a strategy for you for tomorrow. I think you’re going to need to lie low. And then make a public apology on a family TV show. Like BBC Breakfast.’

  It had only been a matter of months since I’d been interviewed on that show. And now I’d be grovelling, trying to win back the public vote so I could go back to doing what I loved. How could I have been so stupid.

  ‘I’ve cancelled all your recordings this week too,’ she told me. ‘Look. I’ve seen enough of this in my lifetime to know it will blow over. But I need you to listen to me. I need you to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do,’ I told her. But I hadn’t. I just wanted this all to be over. But Joanne had looked at me with such seriousness and intent, that all I could do was agree with her.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ll leave you to it now.’ She shut the door and I was left with two police officers and Ben sitting in the corner, slumped over his knees. Good way to spend a hangover, I wanted to joke but all that came out was the
tail end of a breath.

  A slight woman, in her fifties or so, sat down with a piece of paper and a clipboard. ‘I’m Detective Orla, and this here’ – she held out her hand to a sandy-haired man with a square, lined face – ‘is my colleague Detective Simmonds.’ He nodded at me, giving me a small grin. ‘It’s OK,’ I thought he was saying. But then I remembered all the shows I’d seen. Good cop, bad cop. I turned away from him.

  ‘We wanted to talk to you,’ Detective Orla said, ‘about last night.’ I looked over at Ben who was staring at his fingernails.

  It’s my fault. God it’s my fault, he’d been saying all morning.

  ‘Miss Carys Lockwell,’ she went on, ‘has filed a serious complaint of assault. Would you like to say anything about this?’ She handed me a picture of a girl with peroxide-blonde hair and brown eyes. She looked different from last night, in the white glow of the picture. Her skin was clear and smooth, eyes bright. There was a black smudge under her chin.

  ‘She’s in hospital.’ Detective Orla leaned, back waiting for my reaction. ‘She suffered concussion as a result of a fall, after being pushed down a fire escape. And that’s not all,’ she told me.

  ‘What?’ it came out as a small laugh but my body flooded with fear. ‘What do you mean it’s not all?’ I told myself that it was all OK. I tried to remember what Joanne had told me. That it would all blow over, but no one answered me and so I asked again, ‘What do you mean it’s not all?’ I tried to sound casual but then I started to feel hysterical. ‘Tell me. Please. Just tell me what else.’

  Detective Orla passed me a picture. I didn’t know what it was at first. All I had been able to make out were black and white dots, forming shadows and shapes, like one of those optical illusions. And then I realised. I looked closer and noticed the writing on the top of the polaroid – just underneath the white border. Carys Lockwell. 12th September 2004. That was a date exactly three months earlier. I couldn’t breathe. I thought about the life inside her stomach. And then the white rim around her nostrils. I felt desperate, for both of us.

  ‘She . . . she was OK,’ I had told them. ‘She was fine when I left.’ I opened my mouth. I was going to tell them she was coked-up to the eyeballs, but then I realised it would look like I was shifting the blame. I couldn’t say anything about the necklace either, and the fact that I thought she’d stolen it, because that would have given me a motive for pushing her down the stairs.

  ‘Well.’ Detective Orla rubbed her hands through the back of her hair. ‘She’s not OK now. She’s in the hospital, being monitored and she’s had a miscarriage.’ I gasped, clutching at my neck. The necklace, I thought. All because of that necklace that I thought she’d stolen. ‘Now, Miss King, I’m sure you’re accustomed to getting whatever it is you want, whenever you want, but here, when you’re with me, you’ll be getting the same treatment as everyone else.’

  ‘I . . .’ I looked at Ben but he had his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Oh God.’ And at that moment, I felt like I was watching everything though a thick pane of glass. I was no longer connected to ‘me’. I had wanted Ben to say something. Anything. That he had believed me. But he stayed silent and that’s when I knew it was bad. Really bad. And that it would help if I apologised, at least for parts of what had happened. But I couldn’t. For some horrendous, inexplicable reason, I just couldn’t say the words.

  Ryans-world.com

  Entry: August 27th, 0915hrs

  Author: Ryan

  There’s probably hundreds of us here already, waiting for Lara to make an appearance at the press conference at ten. I’d caught wind of it early. Raced down here in my beat-up car whizzing behind Casey, who was veering from left to right as she did her make-up behind the steering wheel. I thought that was the end of us but she seemed to be pretty used to driving with no hands.

  We’re all here now. The road has been blocked off and we’re waiting for a glimpse of Lara. I’m lucky enough to be right up front. There’s a makeshift table with some bottled water and microphones angled like wilting sunflowers. I keep thinking of Lara speaking into one of them, head bowed, begging for her daughter to come home. And then there’s the huge screen placed up at the front which is meant to be showing televised clips of Ava but instead, the cameras are panning across the crowd, our faces projected onto the wall.

  It’s super quiet. Just some people shuffling around. The noise of cars in the background. And then everything went sombre and I swear to God the sky actually went dark. Like one of those eclipses when the world goes a funny color and you’re not quite sure if this could be the end of everything. And that’s when people stop moving altogether. It’s like we’re all suspended in mid-air, freeze-framed in our own show. I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s happening. No one seems to know anything. Call it collective unconscious, if you will. If you happen to believe in all that stuff.

  And that’s when I look over at Casey. She’s on her cell, doing this weird gulp thing in her throat. Like a frog on a lily-pad. Her eyes are all bulgy and she can’t stop with the throat and she’s doing this flicky thing with her line of vision. And I can see her, nodding, her mouth moving. ‘Shit’, she’s saying. ‘Shit. Oh God’.

  And that’s when I know. All of a sudden, the camera pans across the crowd again and everyone starts to wave. It stops on me and Casey. I wave, smile, but by then, I already know.

  I look at myself on the screen, my limbs wooden. How I’d cleaned myself up in the past few days, to be on screen. How proud my mother would be if she could see me now. And Granma, if you happen to be watching. ‘Tidy yourself up boy,’ you keep telling me. Well, look at me now. Nice haircut. Looking smart. Taken off all my jewellery. I know I fucked up at drama school but look at me now. And all the time I’m having these thoughts, I’m waving at the camera, waving, smiling.

  But I know. I know this to be true. They’ve found a body.

  Unconfirmed. But I know it’s her.

  She’s dead.

  Twitter: @ryan_gosling_wannabe

  LA TIMES ONLINE – BREAKING NEWS: BODY FOUND

  BY MANNY BERKOWITZ

  August 27th 2018

  Posted: 0945hrs

  It has been confirmed that a body has been found in Laurel Canyon today by Darren Anderson who was out walking his dog. We cannot confirm anything about the identity of the corpse but early reports indicate that the deceased is a child, most likely, Ava King.

  The body was found a far distance from where the initial search had taken place – around six kilometers if initial reports are to be believed – which gives rise to questions about the case itself and what happened to the six-year-old daughter of global superstar Lara King.

  Darren Anderson spoke to the press earlier about the moment he found the body.

  ‘I can’t say too much at the moment. But the whole area around here has been cordoned off where me and my dog Jasper take our daily walk so we took a different route into the canyon, quite far from where the search had been taking place. We climbed down the rocks. Jasper went down first, sniffing around as usual, until I noticed he was barking and becoming agitated. This sometimes happens when he comes across another animal but when I looked down to where he was, the air was black with flies. My first thought was that it must have been a dead animal. We get road kill around here all the time. But as I stepped closer, I smelled something that I knew wasn’t animal. I can’t tell you how I knew it was human, because it’s not something I’ve smelled before. But with the heat, the God-awful heat – let’s just say that I will never forget that smell until the day I die.’

  Anderson is being treated for shock at the scene. The autopsy report will confirm the tragic events.

  MORE TO FOLLOW.

  August 29th 2018

  1100hrs

  I identified the body as that of my daughter, Ava Frances King. Detective Mcgraw bought me a polaroid photograph, and placed it face down on the table. I noticed the pattern in the grain of the wood.


  ‘We have someone here,’ he said. ‘To help us through this process. She’s outside.’ But I shook my head. At this point, I didn’t trust anyone.

  ‘Fine. Please state your name and relationship to the deceased.’

  ‘Lara King. I’m her mother.’

  ‘I’m going to turn the photo over soon. Are you ready?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Is this her?’

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘It looks like she died from an accidental fall. Initial reports suggest that she tripped and cracked her skull on a rock. The way she fell is in line with the gash on her head.’

  I stayed in the police station room for over an hour after that, gasping for breath. I think at that point, someone entered the room. Spoke to me for an hour about help and bereavement, except to this minute I could not tell you what was said, or what she looked like. It was helpful, at the time, though. When she left, Detective Mcgraw brought Anna back in, so he could question me for another two hours.

  ‘We’re still trying to shut down the conference,’ he said. ‘But the press are persistent. Now, what I want to know is why did you lie about being near the annexe on the twenty-third of August?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Why did you not tell us about Matthew’s drug taking?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why was Ava’s body found at a distance of six kilometres from where you reported her missing?’

  ‘I don’t know. She must have run off. Or it was the car I heard. Drove her six kilometres away. Dumped her. That’s what happened. It must have been. She fought back. Got frightened. Someone offered her a lift home and tried something on with her. That’s obviously what happened.’

  ‘What? So she ran six kilometres in the space of about fifteen minutes between the time she went missing and you rang the police?’