by Anni Taylor
The woman half turned back to glance at us. It was obvious this was no everyday conversation.
“The police officer was asking a lot of questions,” Marla continued. “About you and Evie . . . and your relationship.”
“Guess they’ve got to be thorough.”
“I didn’t know what to say. I had to tell her what Evie told me.”
“No problem. The note says it all anyway. She wanted a break.”
“Well, she did say a little more than that to me. People are starting to ask me questions, too. About everything. People saw the police turn up at my house. I’ve had to tell them why. I had no choice.”
“Wouldn’t want you to hold back.” I was done with this conversation. Marla didn’t have any news about Evie. She was just fishing for some gossip. She wanted to be the person who knew things that other people were desperate to know. No wonder I’d heard Verity refer to her as drama llama Marla years ago.
Nodding a goodbye to her, I walked outside. Spotting Willow near a tree right down the end of the playground, I made a short, sharp whistle. A couple of mothers turned around to me with disgust on their faces. I often called Willow and Lilly like that when they ventured too far away. It wasn’t the first time I’d earned a disgusted expression for it. It was usually the stuck up mothers who you’d hear calling their brats with quiet, controlled voices: Adorabelle Rose . . . Baron Kingsley . . . Suburban princess women who lived in the new housing estates with the perfect lawns. They always looked as if they’d rust right through if they opened their mouths any wider and yelled. At least I wasn’t as bad as the parents who swore like sailors at their kids if they didn’t come running straight away. Kids called Nathan and Ethan whose parents pronounced their names as Nayfan and Eefan.
Willow sprinted to me. Princess Pout followed reluctantly, her arms crossed tightly, probably annoyed that it hadn’t been her choice to end the play session.
“Time to go,” I told Willow.
She fell silent on the drive home, finally bursting into tears as we reached the driveway of our house.
I twisted my head around to her. “Did someone hurt you today? Do I need to bop someone in the nose?”
I got a small smile, but it fell away as soon as it appeared.
“It’s Mummy, right?” I asked her. “Because she’s not here?”
She turned to look out the window.
“I’m sorry. But I can’t do anything about that.”
“You said she was coming back soon.”
“I know. But it’s only been a few days.”
“Maribelle told me that Mummy’s never coming back.”
“What? Well, that’s not right. Don’t listen to her.”
“She said she heard her mummy tell it to someone else.”
I opened my mouth to let fly an expletive but jammed it shut just in time. “It’s not true. Come on, let’s go inside. I made jelly earlier.”
In the living room, Lilly was sitting propped up on the sofa with pillows and blankets. She had the colour back in her face that had been missing for days.
With reading glasses askew on her face, Verity was asleep on the rocking chair Evie used to use for breastfeeding the girls.
I looked from Lilly to her sister. “Who wants jelly? Hands up!”
Lilly’s arm shot up. Willow begrudgingly lifted her fingers.
Verity roused and gave me a brief, tired smile.
I set the girls up at the table with bowls of jelly and custard. Lilly refused the first plate because the jelly wasn’t cut into cubes. I’d made the heinous error of simply scooping it out with a spoon. After correctly cubing the jelly, I took the rejected plate of spooned-out jelly and sat down to eat it with the girls.
With my first mouthful of fluorescent, fake blueberry–flavoured jelly, came a knock at the front door.
Verity half rose from her chair, but I held up a hand as I crossed to the door. The knock had that sound that only cops use.
It was Sergeant Moss again but with someone new. A woman named Detective Lena Devoe, with sharp eyes and a sharp cut to her blonde hair, stood beside her.
“Mr Harlow?” said the detective. “We have some matters to discuss with you.”
“Of course. My kids are inside, so I don’t want to do this in front of them. Have you found out something about Evie?”
“It would be best if you’d come down to the station, and we’ll talk about it there. Can you have someone mind your children?”
“My mother-in-law is staying with us.”
“Okay, good. Let her know and then follow us down.”
My heart galloped upward into my throat as I told Verity. I drove down to the cop station, trying to figure out what was going on. Had they found Evie and she’d told them I’d hit her or something? No—wrong. As bad as things had gotten, Evie wouldn’t make up shit like that. Hell, had they found Evie—as in found her dead? Who knew what kind of men she’d been with?
I walked into Detective Devoe’s office barely keeping it together, sweat dampening the back of my neck.
“Please have a seat,” offered Devoe.
Sergeant Moss sat on a chair at the side of Devoe’s desk, watching me thoughtfully.
The detective didn’t hold back once I’d sat myself down. “Mr Harlow, I’m afraid we found more items at the site of the burned-out car.”
I nodded as I swallowed, staring hard at the floor, trying to buffer myself for what was coming next.
“We found your wife’s handbag,” she continued. “With her wallet and driver’s licence inside. We also found her shoes and a phone. They were all a short distance away from the car, burned and buried.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak.
Breath gone.
All of Evie’s personal things?
Burned? Buried?
Detective Devoe waited for a response, but when one didn’t come, she handed me a couple of large photographs. “These were taken at the site.”
I stared down at the pictures. One of disturbed ground, only a shoe heel showing. The next photo of a half-burned phone.
“What about Evie?” My voice broke hoarsely as I glanced up at the detective and sergeant.
“Are you worried we found Evie there, too?” said Devoe softly. Too softly.
“You didn’t, right? You didn’t find her?” I was begging. As though, if her body was lying there, they could rewind time and make it not true.
“Our unit is still searching the area,” Sergeant Moss told me. “If she’s there, we’ll find her. We’ve also hauled the car away for forensic testing.”
I stared from her to Devoe. They hadn’t found her. “Someone could have stolen her car, with her things in it. Sometimes she used to leave her handbag in the car by accident. Too busy running around after the girls.” I was telling the story I wanted to believe.
Devoe gave a nod. “Yes, that’s entirely possible. Although people don’t normally go about without their shoes.”
A slow panic stirred inside me. But I refused to believe Evie could be dead. Despite everything, I still loved her. I couldn’t just switch that off. Why did the police sound so damned negative, like Evie’s death—murder—was a forgone conclusion?
Devoe leaned forward in her chair, eyes intent on me. “We’re shifting this to a missing-person investigation, with a suspicion of foul play.” She paused. “Sergeant Moss and I went to see a neighbour of yours the day before yesterday. Marla.”
“Marla told me.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. Just this afternoon. At the daycare centre when I was picking up my daughter.”
“Okay. Well, she seemed very concerned about Evie. She said that you both discussed the possibility of Evie committing suicide. Is that right?”
I inhaled slowly, remembering having that terrible thought. “Yes.”
“And that was on Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a reason you didn’t contact the police at that point?”
“No. I just . . . I ended up thinking she wouldn’t do that. I mean, her note said she was coming back in a week.”
“That’s an unusual note, Mr Harlow. We normally find that when spouses leave the family home, they don’t give a return date.”
“Well, she did.”
“Marla was also concerned that Evie had been upset of late. She said Evie told her that you’d both been arguing.”
“There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Anyway, what has any of that got to do with Evie’s car being stolen and Evie nowhere in sight?”
“We’re just trying to determine the circumstances under which she left, to help us better understand. It might be important. It might not.” She stood. “Well, we’ll be in contact when we find out more.”
Panic was a cold ball sitting low in my stomach. Evie could be in danger. I needed them to find her now. If they couldn’t, I needed to. Standing, I half turned to go then looked back. “Wait. There’s something else.”
Detective Devoe’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes?” She gestured me back to the chair.
I didn’t take the seat she offered. “The reason I didn’t contact the police is because I found out why Evie left me.”
“Please, go on,” she said quickly, dropping all pretence of that slow, measured tone she’d used earlier.
“The day that I figured out that Evie left the girls with Marla, I had the stupid thought that Evie might be cheating on me. And so I checked her computer. I found out that she’d been . . . working as an escort.” Those words were still hard to say out loud.
“An escort?”
“Yeah. That.”
“I’m guessing that shocked you?”
“It shocked me a lot. It’s not the only thing. She’d been gambling, too.”
“Does your wife normally—?”
“No. Never. She doesn’t gamble. We don’t have enough money for it.” Leaning my head back, I stared up at the bland ceiling. I glanced back at Detective Devoe to find her eyeing me curiously.
“How did you find out about the escort work, exactly?”
“There’s a website.”
“Could I have the name?”
“Sure. I can even show you the last conversation I had with her.”
A frown rippled her eyebrows. “You had a conversation with her? And this is after she left you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then, I’d really like to see that conversation.”
Using my phone, I browsed to the companions website, then logged in. Evie’s profile wasn’t there anymore, but my conversation with her was still there, in the message folder of my profile. And there was a tiny picture of Evie beside each of her messages.
Detective Devoe quickly read through the messages. “Do you mind if I take photos?” She said this while taking out a camera from a desk drawer.
“Go ahead.”
She snapped pictures of each screen, then she clicked on Evie’s username, which took her to an error page. “You know, Mr Harlow,” she said, “These messages could be seen as you stalking your wife.”
My breath stalled. “What?”
“I’m afraid that pretending to be someone else and then making pleas to your wife to come back does appear to be quite harassing. This message in particular—the one with all the swear words—does seem quite threatening.”
“You’re not serious?” I exhaled. “Look, I shouldn’t have sent the first lot of messages. But our kid was sick and in the hospital, and I was crushed that Evie read the messages and didn’t care.”
“It sounds like you were pretty angry with her.” Devoe’s bland expression contradicted her careful, prying tone. Sergeant Moss was quietly observing her, as if learning how the business of being a detective was done.
“Yes, I was angry,” I admitted.
“Did you talk with Evie again after that conversation you just showed me?”
“No.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Look, why all the questions? Why is this all about me?”
“Please don’t feel that we’re focusing on you. Our focus is on finding Evie at this stage.”
I didn’t believe her. “I want to help search the grounds. Near Evie’s car.”
“I’m sorry. At this point, we’re not allowing any members of the public at the site. There might be important things there that we’ve yet to find. And we have to finish the collection of fingerprint and DNA evidence.”
“I’m her husband, not the public. I haven’t even been told where the car was found.”
“I’m sorry,” said Detective Devoe. “But we will keep you up to date. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t even know if what I just told you helped anything.”
“It helped us build a picture.” She stretched a thin smile across her face.
Stepping around her desk, she showed me to the door.
I returned to my car, half raging and half terrified. The detective had been like a dog with a bone once I’d shown her my messages to Evie. But far worse were those photographs of Evie’s things.
Where was she?
At least if she contacted me and I knew she was okay, she could go off and live her new life for all I cared. I’d find a way of going on with the girls.
Or did something bad happen to her, after all?
A cold sweat pushed through the pores of my head. I couldn’t go straight home and let Lilly and Willow see me like this. I wanted to find Evie myself, but I didn’t have a clue where to start. I’d already called every one of her friends when I was looking for the girls.
Driving too fast through the strangled cords of laneways, I headed towards the highway. I just needed to drive. Think.
THE THIRD CHALLENGE
32. EVIE
I WOKE WITH A SHUDDER, INSTANTLY wide awake and ready, my heart already racing.
Twenty minutes to midnight.
Not long to go until the third challenge.
I watched Ruth and Kara and the others rousing from sleep in the minutes that followed. They were like me, waking close to midnight in anticipation. Kara had completely recovered from her near-drowning. She was just like she had been before—aloof and unwilling to talk.
When the bells rang out, my muscles tensed. I was a racehorse, waiting at the gate.
Three women I barely knew were up first, shouting to each other, their voices high and excited but edged with fear. Everyone pretended bravado in the day hours, but at midnight, all of that was stripped away. The last challenge had changed us. It hadn’t been hard mentally—it had just been hard physically. The massive tank and the shock of cold water and pushing your lungs to their limit. And what had happened to Kara stained the challenges with an element of danger.
Footfalls echoed as the first team sprinted from the room.
For the second time, I was forced to wait my turn.
I told myself it was fair to have to wait. But the truth was, I didn’t want fair. All I wanted was to win.
Poppy left in the first team and Kara in the second.
My turn didn’t come until the number three was flashing on my wristband.
I was just with Ruth this time.
When I rushed with her out into the hall, the men who met us were Duncan, Harrington and a young Chinese guy named Hop. There were five of us in the team. Internally, I groaned at getting Duncan and Harrington on my team. Duncan wasn’t helpful at all. And Harrington only seemed to open his mouth to complain. I didn’t know Hop at all.
The mentors greeted us warmly in the garden, Brother Sage showing us to the third challenge room. “We hope the wait wasn’t too much to bear.”
“It was brutal,” Ruth told him. “There better not be any water this time, or else!”
“No water.” Brother Sage gave a thin chuckle. “You’ll find that it’s completely dry in there.”
&nb
sp; We walked into another dark room. It had no smell or sound. No hum of a water filter, nothing mechanical. Just silence. All I could see was the red glow of the light bulb below the clock display. The door clicked shut behind us.
Then, one by one, each of the six walls was illuminated—each wall bare but for a single mirror. They were very old mirrors, gilt framed. But instead of clear glass, the surfaces were dark. The room held the usual hexagonal prism in its middle.
I inhaled a relieved breath. Nothing dangerous here.
What was the puzzle here? What did we have to do?
I rushed for the prism first, tapping and listening and trying to twist it.
Hop came to help me. But this box seemed to do nothing. It stood there silently, giving up none of its secrets.
I had to stop thinking of these things as boxes that could do a specific thing. They were there to act in sync with the rest of the room and with us, each one different. The box was uniform in colour, except for six lighter triangles on top, their points all facing outward. A six-pointed star with a hexagon in the middle. Five of the triangles had the letter I inscribed on them, while the sixth triangle had a zero.
“Well,” began Duncan. “It looks like they’ve given us some mirrors to figure out this time. Six of them. We’d better get started.”
Hop shot Duncan an odd sideways glance.
Ignoring Duncan, I glanced across at the mirrors. The glass was of a dark hue but not black. There was nothing remarkable about them.
Ruth muttered under her breath, breathing hard as she marched past me, staring into each mirror. “This is just too weird. And it’s creeping me out. I don’t like looking at myself. At home, I don’t even bother. Why do I need to? It’s not like I need to constantly check that I’m me.”
“Best to leave your emotions out of this, Ruth,” Duncan gently chided. “This is a puzzle. A question and an answer. It adheres to the laws of logic. Okay, everyone, getting back to business, can you spot any differences between the mirrors?”
Ruth turned around, scowling. “Go look yourself.”
Duncan straightened, looking confused. “It’s more efficient if I direct things.”
“For shit’s sake, go direct yourself to the nearest—” Ruth started.
