Eleven Reasons: The heart-wrenching sequel to Eleven Rules (The Eleven Series Book 2)

by PJ Vye

  Everyone randomly stared at each other, like she’d just asked them to hand over their first-born child. “Now.”

  If Carrie had been here, Sunny knew she would’ve put up a fight. Taking their phones was an invasion of privacy. Violoa couldn’t scare or bully them when Carrie was around. But without her to stick up for them, everyone began handing over their phones, using a post-it note to write down their password and name and stick it to their device. Sunny did the same and avoided looking at Violoa, even though she felt the director’s eyes on her.

  “Ready?” said the taller uniformed man.

  Sunny nodded and followed them into the television room.

  “Am I in trouble?” she asked. Why did it feel like she was being interrogated? The financial running of the refuge had nothing to do with her. Why weren’t they interviewing Violoa? Had Violoa framed her? How had Carrie got them to act so fast? Was the evidence that obvious?

  “That depends,” said the shorter officer. “Did you log into the Upolu Victim Refuge account and Violoa Tua’s personal accounts and steal her money?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mataio spent three weeks in hospital followed by another two weeks of bed rest at the prison. After an MRI, ultrasound, body scans and full blood work, the doctors found no physical reason why he’d been unconscious for three days. They described it as a self-induced coma and diagnosed a mental condition. He was prescribed therapy and anti-depressants.

  He felt lethargic most of the time, and the simple act of getting up to shower still had him exhausted and needing a nap afterwards.

  He’d just laid down for yet another a nap when a guard tapped on his door and told him to move to the visitor’s room.

  Ronson looked even worse than the previous visit. His hair was thinner and greyer, if that was possible, and even though Mataio felt completely worn out from the hundred metres he’d walked from his cell to the visitor’s room, he still looked a damn sight healthier than the man in front of him.

  “Glad to see you’re looking better,” Ronson said in greeting.

  Mataio didn’t feel like he could say the same. “Thanks.”

  “We’re not releasing this publicly just yet, but we’ve charged Fui with the murder of La’ei Euta.”

  Mataio didn’t allow himself the luxury of feeling grateful. The autopsy must be wrong. Ronson must be wrong. It just wasn’t possible. He’d killed her. He could still hear her scream his name over the sound of his pounding feet on the path as he ran away. The accusation in her voice—the hate and the anger. It was the way his dad sounded when his mother ran—how the running made it worse. Better to face the hatred. La’ei had been dying, and she knew it. And she’d been angry.

  “Of course, the murder charges against you have been dropped. You’ll be charged instead for assault and battery, and be re-sentenced.”

  Mataio nodded to show he understood.

  “The charges against you for using an experimental drug on your cousin, still stands.”

  “What if Fui didn’t do it?” Mataio asked.

  “He did it.”

  “What if he didn’t?”

  Ronson ignored the question. “With time served, you might be out of here in a month or two. They’re probably going to move you to a low-security prison next week so you can begin your rehabilitation.” Ronson placed The Australian newspaper on the table between them. “Did you see this?”

  Mataio read the headline and said, “They’re bringing the release of C2HO forward to tomorrow?”

  “Yep. So the press release from the Fui murder charge will coincide with the release of the drug. There’ll be a shit-storm if people know about it. I’ve petitioned the courts to keep this from the papers. At least until Fui is sentenced.”

  “Is Fui pleading guilty?”

  “No,” said Ronson. “He’s saying he didn’t do it. I need you to be a witness for the prosecution.”

  “And say what?”

  “Exactly what you told me.”

  “I hit her, I ran, I came back and she was dead.”

  Ronson nodded. “We have forensics, Mat.”

  Mataio looked up. “Like what?”

  “Fui was there. We’ve got everything we need for a guilty verdict.” Ronson took a long look at Mataio, as if the detective knew he wasn’t convinced. “You didn’t kill her, Mat. Fui did.”

  The words flew around in Mataio’s head a while before they settled somewhere in his chest. The darkness threatened again but this time he shook it away. How could he argue with science? He didn’t kill La’ei. He’d hurt her. He didn’t kill her. When she’d screamed his name, it was because she wanted his help, not because she hated him. He’d let her down twice. He’d hit her and then hadn’t protected her from Fui.

  If it were true, Michael Fui was a dead man.

  “Why?” asked Mataio. “Why would he kill her?”

  “She was pregnant and a minor. Maybe he saw it as a way out.”

  If that was true, then Mataio had not only spent the last twenty-two years paying for something he didn’t do, but he’d allowed her death to go unavenged.

  “I’ll testify,” he said, with an energy he didn’t recognise in himself.

  Ronson’s cancer may have eaten away at his body, but his instincts were healthy. “You’ll still be a prisoner, with all the constraints. You understand?”

  “Is Fui on remand?”

  “Already serving time at Loddy for assault.”

  “Figures.” Who did he know at Loddin Penitentiary? Kimbo would know someone.

  “You’ll be prepped, and you’ll need to stick to the plan. This needs to be by the book, you understand? He’ll pay for killing her, the usual way. The legal way,” said Ronson, his meaning clear. “Tell me you understand?”

  Mataio nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  His limbs were heavy as he walked back to his cell. He felt his fever spike again and he needed to lie down. It took several hours before the reality of Ronson’s news settled in his brain.

  La’ei had been alive when he left her. He knew that, for sure.

  The man who killed her, would pay with his life. This, he also knew for sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Hang on.” Sunny thought she’d misunderstood. “Say that again?”

  “Did you log into the Upolu Victim Refuge account and Violoa Tua’s personal accounts and steal over a quarter of a million dollars?”

  “What? No!”

  “Did you access any bank accounts today that weren’t your own?” He spoke slowly, drawing out each word as if she were an idiot.

  Sunny felt offended on behalf of all women. “I heard you. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I didn’t access any bank accounts that don’t belong to me.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “How could I possibly know?”

  “Violoa thinks you do.”

  “Why?”

  “She said you’ve been asking for extra shifts. You needed the money to travel abroad. Is that true?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t steal it. Are you sure she didn’t take it herself?”

  “Take money from her own accounts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Fear of being investigated.” She shut her mouth too late. Damn it.

  “By who?”

  Where was Carrie? Had she been arrested? Why would she leave Sunny here to face this alone? Carrie would know how to answer these questions. “I don’t know.”

  “If you don’t tell us what you know, we’ll arrest you for obstruction.”

  She looked into his face. It wasn’t hard to guess he meant it. “I honestly don’t know who took the money.”

  “Do you know where Carrie Andersson is?”

  “She went to town, I think.”

  “What time will she be back?”

&n
bsp; “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever seen the holding cells here in Apia?”

  “No,” she whimpered.

  “They’re not very nice. Lots of mean fafine (bitches). Don’t make us arrest you.”

  Shit. “I don’t know what to tell you. I honestly don’t know where the money is.”

  “Are you involved?”

  She sat silently a minute. Violoa’s been skimming money from the refuge. They should be interrogating Violoa right now, not her. “There’s been some talk.”

  “Yes?”

  “People donate a lot of money. Sometimes we wonder where all that money goes. We don’t seem to get much of it here.”

  “Go on.”

  “We often don’t get paid. When there’s no cash, we get paid in whatever there’s plenty of. Sometimes it’s rice or pasta or flour. Toilet paper. Tampons. A lot of the donors don’t trust Violoa either. That’s why a lot of the donations come in as goods, not cash.”

  “Why would you ask for more work then, if you don’t get paid in cash?”

  She shrugged. Sunny couldn’t admit that even toilet paper and pasta were valuable commodities when you struggled to pay the rent each week.

  “So, who do you think took the money?”

  “If I had to guess, it was Violoa.”

  “That makes no sense.” The tall police officer stood and moved toward her. “Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

  “Wait, wait,” she said, startled. This was getting real. “Maybe the money’s been frozen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe she’s under investigation by some authority you don’t know about, and the money is being held until the investigation is complete.”

  The tall police officer moved back to the door and closed it gently. The shorter cop moved in closer. “Whose authority?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who told you there was an investigation?”

  Sorry Carrie. “Carrie Andersson reported her.”

  “To who?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know the details because I didn’t want to be involved. I have a little girl,” she said, sending an imploring look to the cop at the door. He looked like he had kids, too. “I can’t get in trouble for this. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Knowing about a potential felony and not telling authorities is illegal.”

  “We’re just trying to help these kids. They’re being taken advantage of. Violoa is stealing from them every day. You’re interrogating the wrong person.”

  “Are we?” The short cop cocked his head to one side. “I love it when a papa’e tagata ese comes in here and tells us how to do our job. Don’t you just love these white foreigners, Falou?”

  Falou nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Arrest me if you have to. I can’t tell you where the money is because I don’t know.”

  The short cop slammed his hands down on the table. “That’s a valea excuse. Bullshit! You made an assumption based on what? Something you think you know? Then you back up someone else’s story because you think you know them? How long have you known Carrie Andersson?”

  “I met her here. Three months ago.”

  “Do you know her family? Where she’s from? Anything about her? Do you have an email address? Are you Facebook friends?”

  Sunny had to think hard. What did she know? Carrie never really talked about her life in Sweden. “I have her phone number.”

  “It’s already disconnected.”

  “What?” That didn’t make any sense. Carrie told her she’d be back before the end of the concert. Had something happened to her? “Do you think she’s okay?”

  “Oh yeah. I think she’s on a plane to South America by now. We’ll never see her again. Or the money.”

  It took Sunny a second to understand what they were saying. She felt bile rise in her throat. “Excuse me.” She jumped up and both men bolted toward her until she vomited in the rubbish basket. They backed away.

  She sat back down and the short cop wrote a few notes on his spiral pad.

  “We’re going to need a copy of all your bank account details.”

  Sunny nodded her agreement.

  “We’ll be watching them, in case there’s a payback.”

  “I swear, if I’d known—”

  “Save it,” he said, his hand up.

  She stopped talking.

  “You know, Violoa might not be as likeable as you, with your lovely manners, and pretty fingers and delicate skin. But she works her susunuina off to give these families a place to stay when they’ve got nowhere else to go. They have nothing when they come here and she takes them all in. She puts her life at risk every day, when the fale teuoloa who beat them come demanding something in return for the labour they lose. How do you think she pays off those arseholes, eh?”

  Sunny’s voice was small and defeated. “With the donations?”

  “You bet your skinny arse. So alu ese with your judgements and ideals.” Sunny knew he’d just told her to fuck off. “Your naivete has put all these kids at risk. I hope you can live with that.”

  Both men left, and Sunny put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  She didn’t hear Violoa enter the room until she spoke. “You’re fired.”

  Sunny looked up, her face stinging with tears. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe she would—”

  “And I spoke to your boss at the Sheraton. You can expect a call from him, too.”

  “What?”

  “They don’t want an employee they can’t trust.”

  “No, please don’t. I’ve got—”

  But Violoa had already left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The day of the C2HO release, Mataio spent entirely in bed.

  The realisation he didn’t kill La’ei didn’t come all at once. Tiny pockets of awareness shifted to an ocean of regret. If he’d stayed with her, helped her, carried her home… if he’d been man enough to own his anger at the time… She’d still be alive.

  If La’ei was still alive, imagine the world he’d be in now?

  Mataio started a prayer that lasted all day and into the night. He hadn’t prayed in a very long time—probably not since the night it happened. He’d asked for forgiveness then. Asked God to let him die instead. Now he prayed for the anger and hate he felt boiling inside him to be taken away. He needed the strength to forgive Fui, but it seemed so far off. A distant idea, as crazy as forgiving his own father for killing his mother. Could he ever do it?

  He couldn’t. He knew it. And so, he’d pray again. And again. Pray for the hate to leave him.

  Pete brought in two days’ worth of newspapers and dropped them on his desk. “Still in bed, you lazy git? How long before you join us in the real world, eh? We’re out working, busting our arse and you get the high life in here, eh? You’re not even sick. Look at you, eh.” Pete slapped Mataio’s feet and he cringed.

  “Thanks for the papers.” Mataio sat up slowly and pushed a pillow behind his neck.

  “Anything else I can get you, eh?” asked Pete, with a little more concern in his voice.

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  “When did you eat last?”

  Mataio considered it. “Can’t remember.”

  “I’ll go see what I can do, eh,” he said, bringing the papers to Mataio in the bed. “Did you see this?” Pete pointed to The Age headline photo. “People lining up down the street for this stuff. More interest in this than the COVID-19 vaccine. You’d think they were giving out free iPads.”

  Mataio laughed, but it came out a disappointing cough.

  “Can’t see what the attraction is, eh. I manage to stay in perfect physical health without needing no drug, eh.” Pete lifted his shirt and patted his wrinkled, grey stomach as evidence. “Been reporters and cameras camped out the front of the prison for ages, eh. Sarge says you too sick to see ‘e
m, eh.”

  “Some breakfast would be good, Pete. You think you could get me something?”

  “What’ll happen if they run out of the C2HO you think? People will go nuts, eh?”

  Mataio lifted The Age and began to read. “I don’t think they’ll run out of C2HO.”

  “My Mary says she gonna get her some. Doesn’t cost as much as they thought it would, eh. She gonna get some for Bronwyn, my kid, too. She needs it. Fat as a pig she is. You reckon it’s safe then, eh? Well, you made it so you’re gonna say it’s safe, but I don’t want my wife and kid taking it if it’s not safe, eh. Like if they grow another arm or somethin’. I’d rather they were fat.”

  “I think it’s safe,” said Mataio, and turned the page. Then the next. The Fui murder trial wasn’t mentioned at all.

  Pete, happy to take Mataio’s word for it, clapped his hands together and said, “Yeah, good, eh. Breakfast. Be back in a tick.”

  “Hang on, Pete. Do you know anyone in Loddy?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so, eh. Why?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Mataio and waved him on. Then as an afterthought said, “The toasted muesli, if you can.” His appetite returning was a good sign.

  Pete gave him a thumbs up, then over his shoulder called, “Kimbo has a brother there, I think. At Loddy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You could sell your story.”

  “No,” said Sunny, still in her pyjamas mid-afternoon.

  “People will be interested.” Laurence indicated the day’s newspapers spread across the couch between them. “It’s all anyone’s talking about. It’s only been out a month and already being called the miracle cure for just about everything. Diabetes, heart disease, kidney disease, sleep apnea. Even snoring. People love it and they want to know everything.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Laurence gave her a knowing look. “Just because you don’t tell me, doesn’t mean you don’t know anything.”

  Sunny rested her head against the back of the couch and groaned. “I need to get out of this place. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be back in the UK, having drinks with my mates on a Monday night when the only thing I had to worry about was what time the last bus left.”