by Anni Taylor
“I’m not certain. I’ve had a busy night and morning. It’s Kara’s close connection with Wilson Carlisle that’s been concerning me the most. I don’t know what his game is. And because I don’t know, I’m pulling out all stops. The sooner we locate Kara the better. The fact that he had a young girl like Kara living with him tells me quite a bit about him. He might have been grooming her, gaining her trust. Let me explain further. For the past few years, a great deal of my work has been in locating trafficked persons. Very young persons, I might add. From age twelve upwards. There are groups trafficking from the Balkans and former Soviet Union to London and Greece and other countries within northern Europe. And I—”
“You think Kara’s been trafficked, don’t you?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m not jumping to that conclusion.”
“We need to go to the police. Get them in on this.”
“Constance, please. I’m afraid there’s nothing for the police to act upon yet. And it’s not always a good idea to go in blindly. I’m afraid that I suspect a small number of people of high rank—police and politicians and others—of either turning a blind eye or having some involvement in certain shady activities. And sometimes, when you expose one of these bad apples, you lose all paths to your target. As a detective, I had that unfortunate experience. To put it simply, sometimes, exposing flaws means closing doors.”
“Okay, I’m jumping the gun. But it’s simply not like Kara to have anything to do with someone like Mr Carlisle. Something very wrong is going on.”
“Look, there’s a chance Kara could have just decided to go travelling. This whole thing might be nothing to do with Wilson or any other shady character. But, as I said, I’ve been monitoring trafficking pathways for years. And to that end, sometimes I’ll take photographs of missing persons down to airports and docks. And so I did that with Kara’s photograph.”
I realised I hadn’t let Rosemary finish what she was telling me before. “What did you find out?”
“I found out that Kara was seen boarding a private flight to Greece.”
I hesitated, swallowing. “Are you sure it was my Kara? Not just another young blonde girl?”
“I showed them several photos, of different girls. I pretended to be looking for all of them. That’s a method I often use. I know exactly what police would say. I just let them think I’m a plainclothes detective. Two of the staff members picked Kara out. And also, one heard her speak. He said she sounded like Blanche from The Golden Girls. That’s the right accent.”
For a moment, I let myself luxuriate in that thought. Kara had been seen and heard. Proof my baby girl was alive. I prayed she was okay. But the thought of her being trafficked was terrifying. “Where in Greece? Did they know?”
“Athens. But Constance, we can’t be certain she’s there. We don’t know if she went somewhere else after that. This was days ago.”
“It’s the best we’ve got. We have to go there. Right now.” I tossed my drink in the trash. “Should we go together or separately?”
“It could be a wild goose chase. I need you to remember that. Tracing people takes time, especially if they haven’t put down roots anywhere. But yes, I’ll be travelling there today. We can go together. It makes for a better cover to have two women travelling together. Dress touristy.”
“I’m all ready to go. I bought clothes this morning.”
“Wonderful. Then pack up your things and meet me at my hotel room. Room 2416.” She gave me the name and street of the hotel. I committed them to memory. “Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”
“Yes, of course.”
“There’s something else.”
“What is it?”
She hesitated. “The workers at the airport—one of them also identified Evie Harlow.”
“What?”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense. But he was certain.”
“Why did you have Evie’s—?”
“Remember you gave me her name yesterday? I looked her up online and then printed out photographs from her social media accounts. It was to cement her face in my mind in case I spotted her in any public photographs taken of Wilson Carlisle in Australia. To see if she has a connection with him, too. I didn’t intentionally add her photograph to the pile I took with me down to the airport. I just needed a variety of girls. But one of the workers identified her.”
“What if he just wanted the money you were offering?” I said dubiously.
“Of course that was the first thing to cross my mind. But he also correctly identified Kara, and he was also the one who correctly told me what her accent was like. He also said that Evie came the day after Kara. Which matches up with the timeframes.”
“Is that enough? Did he hear Evie speak?”
“No. But he did describe a bracelet she was wearing. He remembered it because it was unusual. It was a silver chain with charms of tiny swords and war hammers.”
“That is distinctive. I’ll call Gray and ask him to confirm the bracelet.”
“Constance, no, I’m sorry. You can’t tell Gray. Or anyone. Not yet. Obviously, this is going to become a police matter at some point, at least in terms of Evie. Maybe in terms of both Evie and Kara. But I need a bit of time. Right now, there’s no firm proof. I want something solid before we go to the police with this.”
I felt like such a total beginner. Putting my foot in it and making mistakes. Rosemary was right.
“I’ll see you soon,” she told me and hung up.
I rushed back to my hotel and up to my room.
Where did Gray’s wife fit into this? Had she faked her own murder and then gone off overseas? Had she and Kara met up somewhere in Greece? Nothing was making one iota of sense.
I’d been to Greece with James on his business trips. But really, all I could claim to know of it was a resort pool and some monuments. James had been off at his meetings while I’d basically stayed at the hotel. Greece was quite a few degrees more foreign to me than England. The difficulties rose in magnitude. There was also the nagging thought that Kara didn’t want to be found.
I GAVE the cab driver the name of Rosemary’s hotel.
The driver pulled up outside a modest hotel—at least, modest in comparison to the grand, vintage hotel opposite, even though it rose higher than the vintage hotel. I paid my fare, dumping some cash into the driver’s hand and letting him figure it out. Pounds totally confused me. If he swindled me, I wouldn’t know. There was a time that being swindled would have bothered me, but those days were long gone. I didn’t need to count my dollars now.
I called Rosemary so that she could come down and meet me, but she didn’t answer. Perhaps I was meant to go straight up. I tried the elevator, but it wouldn’t budge. Apparently, I needed a keycard from the reception desk in order to operate it.
Deciding that I couldn’t be bothered with that, I took the stairs. I was fit enough. At least, I thought I was. By the fifteenth floor, I was puffing and sweating profusely, my hands wet on the metal stair bannister. Now I had nine more floors to go. I dragged my feet up each stair, cursing myself that I wasn’t doing more hill runs. I made a mental note to add hill runs to my schedule.
I stepped out onto the twenty-fourth floor. Snatching some tissues from my bag, I dabbed at my face. Rosemary had asked me to look like a tourist, and I did—just a sweaty, dishevelled one with her hair stuck to the back of her neck.
The halls were stuffy and narrow, the carpet worn, everything boxed in. I took a breath of air-conditioned air that didn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it.
I located room 2416 in the rabbit warren of hallways. The door was slightly ajar. I knocked. And knocked again.
Perhaps she was in the shower and left the door open for me.
Would it be bad etiquette just to enter? Would she accuse me of being American if I did that?
Opening the door fully, I stepped inside.
God, please don’t let me surprise Rosemary as she’s walking naked out of the shower
or something.
The room was empty, the decor as dated as the corridors.
“Hello? Hello?” Tentatively, I walked through and tapped on the half-open bedroom door. “Hello?”
I pushed the door open.
A scream rushed from my lungs.
Rosemary was here. On the bed. Blood all around her. Throat cut. Blood soaking into her white shirt and making thin trails into the waistband of her skirt. Her skirt was pushed up and her underwear gone.
I backed away, horror flashing in my mind. There was nothing I could do to help.
The taste of bile soured my mouth as I reached the elevator. I couldn’t make it move. Fingers fumbling, I jabbed at the elevator emergency button.
“Hello” came a female voice. “Are you experiencing an issue?”
“Help . . .” I forced my suddenly rasping voice to work. “She’s dead. She’s dead! Oh God . . .”
37. EVIE
THE POLICE CAME AT DAWN.
They took the bodies of Saul and his murderer away. In the monastery scriptorium, a detective grilled each of us in turn about the events of the night before.
Poppy stepped out into the garden with red, weepy eyes from her police interview. “Poor Saul. I just can’t believe this happened to him. Doesn’t seem real.”
Brother Vito appeared and told us that the police had requested we wait outside the monastery walls while they searched the monastery and grounds. We were led out through the gate and onto the hills, where the peacocks scattered in surprise at the intrusion.
Far below, a police boat chugged around the entire island, checking the perimeter.
I walked the hills with Poppy, Richard and Cormack, the sultry breeze lulling me into a sense that things would be okay despite what had happened last night. Even Richard and Cormack had completely mended their differences after Richard’s revelations about living in the Las Vegas drains.
Beyond the bare hills, the island displayed vegetation and a small river.
“Found the vineyards.” Cormack shielded his eyes from the sun. “Way over there.”
We continued on to the vineyards.
Dark grapes weighed down the lines of carefully cultivated vines, the splatter of ripe grapes on the ground immediately reminding me of the blood I’d seen last night. I turned away.
“What a setup.” Richard whistled. “They should open up some kind of tourist operation here. Who wouldn’t want to come and stay at an authentic old monastery and taste the wine made under a Greek island sun?”
“Complete with monastery murders,” quipped Poppy, still sniffling and dabbing at her damp eyes. “No thanks.”
“That was a bit of bad luck,” said Cormack. “But see it as an adventure. Something to tell the grandkiddies about. You know, like when you’re very, very old and the most fun you’ve now got is to shock the family.”
“Are you planning on having lots of grandkiddies, Cormack?” asked Poppy playfully. “Maybe with Kara?”
“Hell no,” he answered. “Not me. No kids, no grandkiddies. When I’m old, I’ll be buying a motorcycle and travelling the world. I’ll write my story in chapters, on the walls of public bathrooms. And my story will be that outrageous that eager fans will follow from bathroom to bathroom, from country to country, until they reach the end of my story. And there they’ll find me, dead at some road café. With a pen in my hand and a smile on my face.” He smirked. “And the keys to my bike thrown where no bastard is ever going to find them. And the bike will remain there forever as a memorial. To my last stand on the earth.”
I laughed, glad that Cormack was distracting me from my thoughts. “I’ll read every word.”
“What are you going to write about our time on this island?” said Poppy.
Cormack seemed to think for a moment. “I’ll write that we were warriors.”
Richard pulled a mock scowl. “Man, you go on with a lot of shit.”
Cormack winked. “But it’s good shit.”
“I’ll tell you what’s good shit,” said Richard. “And that’s the monk’s wine. And I bet they’re holding out on their really good stuff. We’ve got to find a way to get into the good monk’s wines before we leave this place.”
Poppy gave one of her trademark giggles. “Yeah, let’s get drunk as skunks on the monks’ finest wine.”
“Not now,” said Cormack. “When this is over. I’m not putting up with any hungover bastards in the challenges. And we’re down to sixteen people now. That’s only four in each group.”
“I hope I get you three in my group tonight. That’s if the challenges are still going to run.” I squinted at a series of teeth-like objects that topped a nearby hill to the left. “Is that a cemetery?”
“I love old cemeteries,” cooed Poppy. “Let’s go look.”
We made our way up the craggy hill to the set of graves. The hill fell away at the summit to a sheer drop, the sea rushing in over rocks far below. The tombstones were cracked, with vines snaking through the cracks and covering the weather-worn inscriptions. I tried pulling away some vines, but none of the inscriptions that I found were legible. The stones had been out here too long.
“They certainly didn’t bother looking after these graves,” I remarked.
“You’re right there,” said Cormack. “Damned shame to let history go like that. Probably a wee bit too hard to tend the graves out here though. It’s a bit wild and woolly. Probably fierce winds in winter, too.”
Ruth stomped past us as if she owned the hills. Something about her always seemed kind of savage.
“I bet she’d push you off the edge if you looked at her the wrong way,” said Richard darkly, echoing my private thoughts. “I still don’t trust her. I stick by my theory. The mentors are using moles to keep a watch on us.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of a technobabble thing called cameras?” Cormack raised his eyebrows at him. “They’re already watching us in the challenges.”
“Yeah, okay,” Richard replied. “But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s numbers. I wasn’t lying about my gambling stories.”
Cormack gave half a shrug. “If you’re so good with numbers, why didn’ya figure out that gambling wasn’t making you rich?”
Richard’s expression grew strained and defensive. “I just had a run of bad luck. For a few years. It started when my boyfriend—the bastard—just up and walked out on me one night. I fell into a black hole with the black dog. Then I found out Jack had taken all the money I’d stashed away. I couldn’t pick myself up after that.”
I winced. “That would have added insult to injury.”
“Yeah.” Richard shook his head woefully. “Shows that you can’t trust anyone. Everyone’s just out to get you.”
“Squeezy hug.” Poppy wrapped her arms around him and smacked a kiss on his temple.
Sister Dawn appeared on the hill opposite, waving at us. “You can all come in now. The police have finished. We’ll have a meeting in the garden in an hour.”
“Where did she pop up from?” Cormack shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, guess that’s us then. We can get out of this blessed sun. Ruining my delicate Irish complexion, it is.”
“Play you a game of pool,” said Richard. “And I’ll flay the pants off you again. Figuratively.”
Poppy yawned. “Didn’t catch a wink last night. I bet none of us did. Going to go have a nap.”
“I’m gonna stay and poke around the graves,” I said, staring out to the ocean. I didn’t want to go back to the monastery just yet, not if I could help it. Being out here in the open was a welcome reprieve.
“If you find out anything creepy, be sure to tell me.” Poppy winked at me just as she turned and stepped away with Richard and Cormack.
I pottered around the graveyard until they disappeared from view and then walked towards the ocean. On a high outcrop stood the crumbling chapel I’d seen the first night I’d arrived here. As if drawn to it, I headed up the incline. The chapel, made of stone, had survived t
he centuries, but none of the interior furnishings remained—if there’d ever been any. The windows were just open spaces, with no indication there’d ever been glass panels fitted. It seemed like somewhere just to kneel and pray and be alone. Wooden steps led up to a small stone altar. A long, fraying rope hung from a brass bell that had developed a greenish patina. I wondered if anyone ever used it.
Closing my eyes, I breathed the salt-tinged air, trying to make myself believe I was standing on the beach with Ben. My parents would be making lunch in the holiday house, the constant boom of the ocean like a brainwashing chant calling Ben and me to it.
A sudden voice behind me made me flinch. “What do we have here? A little lost goat on the mountaintop?”
Snapping out of my daydream, I wheeled around.
Ruth stood in the chapel doorway. “Wasn’t everyone told to go back?”
“I chose not to.” I wasn’t going to give her an explanation.
“Better take better care. You’ve seen what can happen to people who are alone and not where they’re supposed to be.”
Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t stayed out here. I hadn’t calculated being alone with Ruth on the edge of a mountain or trapped by her inside the chapel. She’d seemed different in the third challenge. But it had all been pretence.
Before I could answer, she shrugged and headed away, humming a tune.
38. GRAY
LILLY LET OUT A BLOODCURDLING SCREAM. I took two stairs at a time up to her room to find out that Willow had hidden her dinosaur in retribution for Lilly throwing her iPad.
I was too strung out to apply any parenting methods, instead ordering each of them to bed. I hadn’t sent Willow to day care today because I didn’t want Princess Pout telling Willow any more nasty stories. I didn’t know if Marla knew the latest news about Evie, but I wasn’t going to risk it.
But now, I had both of the girls home twenty-four-seven. With Verity telling me I was doing it wrong at every opportunity. A physical therapist had taught Verity and me how to do postural drainage and percussion on Lilly’s back and chest—but naturally, Verity didn’t trust me to do it right. Truthfully, I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t ever want to see Lilly that sick ever again.
