by Jane Casey
What I had forgotten, of course, was that Petra had no love for Darcy. She straightened up and said to me, ‘I’m going to have a look around.’
‘Fine.’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting.’ Darcy had turned the cheerfulness up to eleven, obviously hoping to breeze through our first encounter since her confession. ‘You don’t have to stop talking because I’m here.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ I forced a smile. ‘What’s up?’
She leaned on the counter, her head close to mine, and dropped her voice so Petra wouldn’t be able to hear what she said. ‘I was just wondering how you were today. After what we talked about last night, I mean. Did you read through the sketchbook?’
I had lost an hour flicking through it when I’d given up on sleep, reading the notes Freya had left for herself. It was as close as I could get to hearing her voice. At times, it was almost like having a conversation with her, as I’d laughed at the funny remark she’d overheard in a café and scribbled down.
‘I had a look.’
‘What did you think?’
‘I thought what you did was evil,’ I said levelly.
‘Evil is a strong word.’ There was more than a suggestion of a pout on her face. Darcy couldn’t or wouldn’t see that her behaviour wasn’t the kind of thing you could brush aside, but I steeled myself to be stern.
‘I know. And I also know you came in here to see if I’d forgiven you for the part you played in making a fool out of Freya.’
She flinched. ‘If you want to put it like that.’
‘I told you, it’s not my place to forgive you. I didn’t even know her.’ I looked over at Petra, who appeared to be immersed in a scurrilous biography of Marilyn Monroe. ‘You should be apologizing to her sister.’
Darcy shot out a hand to grip my wrist. ‘You can’t tell her. Don’t tell the Leonards. Don’t tell anyone. I’d have to leave Port Sentinel if everyone knew. I told you the truth but it was private. Off the record.’ She was beginning to sound hysterical.
I freed my arm with some difficulty. ‘Calm down. I’m not going to spread it around. But I think you should explain what you did to them. It’s the only way you’re ever going to be at peace with yourself.’
‘I’m not ready for that,’ she whispered. ‘It’s too hard.’
‘Now, maybe. But one day, you’ll do it.’ At least, I hoped she would. Fundamentally, Darcy wasn’t a bad person, even if she was as changeable as the weather, but she was weak. I still wasn’t sure I’d seen the real her. I wasn’t actually sure that Darcy herself knew what the real her was like.
In the meantime, reformed character or not, she could make herself useful.
‘Let’s talk about something else.’ I held up the jeans. ‘Look at these. Aren’t they lovely?’
‘Oh my God. Seven for All Mankind.’ She reached out and rubbed the material between her finger and thumb. ‘Feel the quality.’
‘Someone donated them to us. You wouldn’t have any idea who, would you?’
Darcy narrowed her eyes, considering. ‘They’re from last year. A couple of people had them.’
‘Like who?’
‘Stephanie Cardew. She’s on holiday in Hawaii at the moment, lucky her. But I think hers were a different wash. They were darker.’ She frowned. ‘Natasha had a pair just like these and I haven’t seen her wear them for a while. I think they belonged to her.’
I dropped them as if they were red-hot. ‘Suddenly I don’t like them so much.’
‘Don’t blame the clothes because someone mean owned them.’ Darcy stroked the denim lovingly. ‘I’d buy them but they would never, ever fit me. Natasha’s tiny.’
‘Isn’t she, though.’ I caught Petra’s eye; she was looking wild, as if she were about to rush out and confront Natasha. I held her gaze for a couple of seconds while Darcy was drooling over the jeans. Leave this one to me. I’ll sort it out. ‘Are you sure they were Natasha’s?’
‘As sure as I can be.’ Darcy was sounding more certain of herself. She peered at a small bleach spot on the left thigh, a mark that I hadn’t noticed. ‘Yes. Natasha’s, definitely. She wore them loads. She was gutted when she dropped bleach on them. Maybe that’s why she gave them away.’
I wasn’t actually shocked to learn that the jeans were Natasha’s, but having Darcy confirm it made my heart race so fast that I was surprised she couldn’t hear it. I made conversation for a few minutes, chatting as if nothing of consequence had happened. I didn’t trust Darcy enough to tell her what we had found, and Petra evidently felt the same way. She had gone back to the Monroe biography, reading it from the end. Darcy talked. I smiled. The clock on the wall ticked. Nothing had changed; there was no urgency about what I had found out. There was no reason why my hands should slip on the counter top, slick with sweat. Stupid adrenalin, kicking in when it definitely wasn’t required.
I could have kissed Sylvia when she poked her head out of the back room. ‘How are you getting on? Making progress?’
‘I’m doing too much talking,’ I said ruefully. ‘I haven’t finished these bags yet.’ To Darcy, I said, ‘I’d better get on with it.’
‘I could help,’ she offered.
‘I can manage.’ I walked over to the door with her, holding it open. I had to stop myself from pushing her out. ‘Thanks for dropping in.’
She stopped on the threshold. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? With me, I mean?’
‘It might take a while, Darcy.’ She looked properly crestfallen and I felt sorry for her, despite the fact that she had chosen to betray her friend. What would Freya do? ‘Be nice’ was the answer that suggested itself to me. ‘I’ll give you a call later on. We can go for an ice cream.’
‘Frozen yoghurt instead?’ Darcy suggested. ‘I’m inspired by those jeans. I’ve got to lose some weight.’
‘It’s the best day of the summer so far. You can have yoghurt. I’m having ice cream.’
‘Ice cream is like frozen lard.’
‘Ice cream is delicious,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
When I turned back after closing the door, Petra was standing right behind me. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘I’m going to finish my shift.’ I had another hour to go; I already knew it would feel like a hundred years. ‘Then you and I are going to go to the police and show them Freya’s pendant.’
‘And say what? That it was stolen?’
‘And say that she was murdered.’ I gave her a grim smile. ‘Maybe this time they’ll take it seriously.’
‘So that’s how you’ve been keeping yourself busy.’ I felt my face flame as Dan Henderson smirked at me. The jeans were folded on his desk; the pendant with its broken chain lay across his blotter. ‘You must have a very vivid imagination, Jess. You’ve made up quite a story.’
‘I haven’t made up anything.’ My heart had plummeted into my boots when the desk sergeant told me I had to speak to Dan. So far he was living up to my expectations, refusing to believe a word I said and being faintly insulting at the same time. Knowing I would probably fail, I tried again. ‘I heard about Freya’s death when I got here and it bothered me. Something wasn’t right. Then I found her sketchbook, which proves she was happy, and that she was going to meet her boyfriend the night she died – although, as I said, someone tipped me off that he didn’t even exist – he was just invented to distract Freya from Ryan, by Natasha Watkins and her friends. And then I found the pendant.’
‘In a pair of jeans you say Natasha Watkins used to own.’
‘I’m sure it would be possible to prove they belonged to her if you looked into it. The pendant was Freya’s favourite piece of jewellery. She never took it off. And it’s broken, look. Someone took it away from her with force.’
‘Or she caught it on a branch when she was running through the woods.’
‘And Natasha Watkins happened to find it? That doesn’t seem likely. What would Natasha have been doing there, anyway, unless she was pretending t
o be the secret boyfriend?’
‘This is the boyfriend who gave Freya the necklace, but didn’t exist.’ The sarcasm in Dan’s voice was off the scale.
‘You’re making it sound as if none of this makes sense, but it does.’ I changed tack. ‘There was an autopsy, wasn’t there? Did she have any injuries to her neck?’
‘She had injuries to her neck. She had injuries everywhere. She fell off a cliff and landed on some rocks. She wasn’t a pretty sight by the time her body was recovered. There was hardly an inch of her that wasn’t damaged in some way.’
I winced. ‘OK. But specifically her neck?’
‘I don’t remember.’ Dan leaned forward, lacing his hands in the approved listening-parent manner. ‘Look, I appreciate that you’re trying to help. I can understand how you might be fascinated by Freya, since you look so alike. I can even understand why you would fixate on Natasha Watkins. She’s a pretty girl. I remember from my schooldays – the other girls would gang up on the pretty ones.’
‘That’s not why I mentioned her,’ I ground out through clenched teeth. ‘And I don’t dislike her because she’s pretty and I’m jealous. I dislike her because she killed my cousin.’
‘You’ve no proof of that.’
‘The jeans belonged to her. The necklace belonged to Freya, who was wearing it the last time anyone saw her, as far as I can tell, or as far as anyone will admit. Natasha must have encountered her before she died. She pulled the necklace off Freya’s neck by yanking on it so the chain snapped. Then she put the whole thing in her pocket and forgot about it. She donated the jeans to the charity shop to get rid of them in case there was any forensic evidence on them linking her to Freya’s death, but Sylvia forgot about the bag of donations and hid them, and it was only today that I found them and the pendant. Natasha probably thinks they were sold months ago. She probably thinks there isn’t anything to connect her with Freya.’
‘The jeans weren’t in her possession when you found them. Anyone could have put that in the pocket. You could have done it yourself.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ I said, shocked. ‘It was there when I unfolded them. Petra saw me find it.’
‘There’s nothing to prove these are Natasha’s jeans, though.’
‘Darcy said—’
‘Darcy says a lot.’ Dan shook his head. ‘Not proof.’
‘If Natasha admitted they were her jeans . . .’
‘It still wouldn’t prove that she put the pendant in the pocket. Or that it was ripped off Freya’s neck in malicious circumstances. Or that Freya was murdered.’ He stood up. ‘You’ve got a bee in your bonnet about this and I can understand why. It would be much more exciting if she’d been killed. But there was an inquest. The coroner was quite clear. It was an accident. Death by misadventure. And I told you to stay out of it, didn’t I?’
‘If I’d stayed out of it you’d never have known Natasha Watkins was involved. If you could just look into it—’
‘Not going to happen. I have enough real crimes to deal with. I don’t need to invent more work for myself.’
I looked at his in-tray, which was almost empty. ‘Yeah. You look as if you’re run off your feet.’
‘Was there anything else I could help you with?’
‘No. Just Freya’s unsolved murder.’ Frustration made my voice waver and I dug my nails into my palms. I would not cry.
‘That’s enough.’ Dan said it quietly. ‘Leave it now. We’ve talked about it, and about Freya. It’s time to leave her in peace. Enjoy your holiday. Stop trying to rake up trouble.’
I was shaking, I discovered. ‘What happened to justice? What about the Leonards? Don’t they deserve the truth?’
‘This is the real world, Jess. There’s no such thing as justice.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ I was taken aback.
He shrugged. ‘I’ve seen a lot of court cases but I’ve never seen anyone get the sentence they deserve.’
‘At least ask Natasha to explain how she got the necklace. I can’t take this any further. You can.’
Dan shook his head. ‘I’m not going to harass the girl on your say-so. Charles Watkins is an important benefactor in this area. He would not be pleased if I started upsetting his daughter.’
‘His daughter the murderer.’
His eyebrows snapped together. ‘You’re getting into dangerous territory, accusing people of murder.’
Anger gave me the courage to go on. ‘What if I don’t forget about it?’
‘If I hear you’ve been talking about Freya’s death being murder – and I will hear, believe me – I will be very unhappy.’ Dan’s eyes were the dark grey of dirty snow. ‘There was no murder. She died in an accident. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Are you angry because you didn’t realize she’d been killed until now and it makes you look bad, or because a murder would make the town look bad?’ I held up a finger. ‘Or – wait – is it because you don’t want anyone to look into Freya’s “romantic notions”?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Very convincing.’
‘Don’t push me, Jess. You won’t like it if I lose my temper.’ Dan sat down again and scribbled something in a notebook. Without looking up he said, ‘This conversation is over. You know where the door is.’
‘Thanks for your help.’ I didn’t even try to sound as if I meant it.
‘I know you’re disappointed, Jess. You’ll just have to trust me.’
I couldn’t imagine a future when I ever trusted Dan Henderson. I stuffed the jeans and the pendant into my bag and swung out of the room without another word to him. In the reception area, Petra was waiting, her face pinched with tension. I had practised explaining what I knew on her, and her reaction had been very different from the inspector’s. She had believed me and she had been devastated that her big sister had been treated so cruelly. In that version of the story I downplayed Darcy’s role. It was for her to explain what she’d done, or not. Besides, Petra had been upset enough without sharing the full extent of her betrayal.
Petra jumped up and followed me through the revolving door onto the street. I was moving fast and she had to run to catch up.
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing at all. He didn’t believe me.’
‘Why not?’
‘He wants it to have been an accident because he made a mess of investigating it in the first place.’ That was the PG version, anyway.
‘Can’t you talk to someone else? He must have a boss.’
‘Not in Port Sentinel. And anyway, he was right about one thing.’ I could admit it to Petra, even if I had been prepared to argue it out with Dan Henderson. ‘There isn’t enough proof.’
‘So she’s going to get away with it? That’s not right.’ Petra was halfway to distraught, which I totally understood. I’d have felt the same way if I hadn’t got through the anger stage and started thinking again.
‘We’re going to come up with a plan. A plan that will get us the evidence we need, once and for all.’
‘What kind of plan?’
‘Something very sneaky.’ I hugged the bag to myself. ‘Don’t worry. I have an idea. But I’m going to need your help.’
The smile that lit up her face was brighter than the sun.
15
RECRUITING PETRA AS an assistant was a stroke of genius. Getting an invitation to dinner at the Leonards’ house wasn’t difficult; I could have managed that part myself. And in spite of the circumstances, I found myself enjoying the meal – the way the conversation flowed, following no particular logic, and the simple food that included strawberries Tom had picked in the garden just before dinner (along with a scattering of greenflies, but that just added to the general chaos). It was being part of a family that made me particularly happy. I felt as if I had slotted into a place that was waiting for me – not Freya’s empty spot, and not Will’s seat at the table, but somewhere that was just for me, where I had been
destined to fit in. Hugo had added me to his list of targets for gentle mockery, and somewhere during an argument about female tennis players earning as much as their male counterparts I completely forgot why I was there in the first place.
It was Petra who brought me back to myself, Petra who cut into the flow of conversation with a brisk, ‘If you’ve finished, Jess, we should go upstairs.’
Tilly looked interested. ‘What are you two up to? Where are you going?’
‘Freya’s room. Jess wanted to borrow a couple of her books.’ I was deeply impressed by Petra’s ability to lie; there wasn’t a hint of hesitation or uncertainty in her answer. After a couple of seconds, I realized it was my turn. I tried to remember what I’d seen on Freya’s bookshelves.
‘Last time I was here I noticed she had a copy of I Capture the Castle. I’ve always wanted to read it.’ I had read it about twenty times, in fact, but there was no one at the table to contradict me.
‘That’s a gorgeous book,’ Tilly said with a sigh. ‘One of my favourites. I remember the day I gave it to Freya.’
Oh wonderful, I’d picked the one with major sentimental value. ‘If you’d prefer me to get a copy of my own . . .’ I began uncertainly.
‘No! Of course not. If she were here, she’d give it to you herself.’ My aunt smiled at me warmly. ‘It’s just a book, Jess. And you don’t have to worry about upsetting me. I want you to get to know Freya, and the best way is by getting to know the things she loved.’
Hugo raised one dark eyebrow at me. ‘That’s a good point. How are you and Will getting on?’
I couldn’t stop the blush that swept into my cheeks, but I could and did glare at him as an answer.
Tilly laughed. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘No. It’s not like anything. He’s been very pleasant and – and welcoming.’ And much though I’d like to pretend I was hiding a more intimate relationship, I was actually telling the truth. He’d been nothing more than friendly. When he wasn’t being hostile. Or saving my life.
