‘I’m sure she will show up eventually.’ Freya shrugs, and tries to sound relaxed, but panic is rising in her throat.
What if?
No.
It’s too awful to even think about. It was just a prank, propelled by rage. Nothing could have gone wrong. She squeezes Jay’s hand, turns to her emails and stubs out the flicker of fear.
Chapter 37
Isla
Seven days after the murder
‘You want a ride home?’ Simon gestures towards an inconspicuous station wagon, parked at the end of Andy Higgs’ winding driveway.
‘Sure,’ says Isla. ‘I’ve found out all I need to know.’
Simon’s car is spotless and smells of cherry car freshener. He feels so close to her in this small space, close enough to touch. As the car whirs out of the gate and the glowering mansions blend into one, Isla grows light-headed. This evening had been painful, the cloying desire in the air unsettling. She held it together for the sake of capturing the story, but now the bolts and screws inside her are straining, coming unhinged. Too much time in this car, sitting exposed to Simon’s quiet kindness, and she may just fall apart.
She swallows. Clears her throat. Fills the blank space with words.
‘Do you ever wonder what goes on in these big houses?’
Simon smiles. ‘Of course, but I’ve been working in San Francisco far too long to think that high walls and expensive fittings keep evil out.’
He goes quiet, and slows down before a towering modular house with outside walls painted a deep shade of gray.
‘This place looks like a prison,’ she says. Always filling up the silence.
‘It was once far worse than that.’ Simon bites his thumbnail. Isla remembers seeing him do the same thing at Nicole’s crime scene.
‘What happened?’
‘I’d only been a cop for a year, and was still working my way up, doing odd jobs and sometimes going to the scene of petty crimes, break-ins and whatnot. But then one day, we got a call. There was a crime scene here, at this house, and they needed numbers.’
A security guard lopes to the gate, and Simon pulls the car away.
‘So it was bad, then?’ Isla prompts. This is the story, the one he has never told her before.
Simon seems lost, somewhere in the past. ‘There were six bodies. Can you imagine what that looked like? Six bodies, all hacked to death with an axe. I’ll never forget the white fur carpet in the entrance hall – it was soaked through with the blood of the mother. That really got me, the mother clawing her way to the door, trying to get help. My own mom would have done the same.’
She draws a deep breath. It is too horrible to imagine. ‘I think I remember this story from the news . . . It was the son who did it, wasn’t it?’
‘He denied it throughout the court case, but all evidence pointed to him. When we got there, we barged into the house and found him sitting alone in his bedroom, unharmed, laughing hysterically and covered in blood.’ He shakes out his shoulders. ‘Man, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I think seeing the place again, and being in this suburb brought it all back to me. Funny, how places can do that.’
‘Were you treated for PTSD afterwards?’
‘There’s a program they run for cops, but I went on anti-depressants for some time after. It helped. I think the senselessness of it all got to me. If that depth of darkness exists in the world, what is the point?’
It echoes Isla’s own feeling that she’s been having lately, every time she reads another case report or logs on to Twitter. It’s too overwhelming to process. The volume of tragedy so powerful, it’s impossible to know where to start. Sometime in their conversation, they have left the suburbs and reentered the humid, urban city that she knows so well.
‘Do you see it now?’
‘What?’
‘The point?’
‘No. The violence is still as senseless as before. But I feel more comforted in the power I have to fight it.’
‘Like in Nicole’s case . . . It was interesting to hear what Andy Higgs said today, about Jay being aggressive, and that he owns a gun.’
They’re outside her apartment now. Simon sighs as he turns the engine off. ‘Many men own a gun, Isla. I have a bad feeling about him, and the fact that he has a criminal record is extremely convenient but I need more than that.’
‘He has a criminal record?’
‘Yes, but not for murder. And it’s irrelevant if I can’t place him at the crime scene.’
Isla’s mind is spinning – to place him at the crime scene, he would need to disprove Jay’s alibi, which would mean challenging Freya’s statement, and getting to the heart of the unease Isla witnessed when she interviewed her.
‘Well, here we are,’ he says. ‘Are you OK?’
Isla fumbles in the tiny patent leather handbag she matched to her garish outfit.
‘Yeah, I’m just looking for my house keys.’
‘No, I mean are you OK after today? It couldn’t have been easy going into an environment like that . . .’
The hinges threaten to snap open. No. She can’t do it. She shuts down, the walls go up once again. She doesn’t need a savior. She has carried her past just fine on her own until now. Looking down, she pushes the car door open.
‘Thank you for asking, Simon, but I’m fine.’
Chapter 38
Freya
One month before the murder
‘Want to grab dinner tonight?’ Jay murmurs in her ear, as he leans over her shoulder and pretends to read the work on her screen. Sometimes, the clandestine nature of their office romance is thrilling – their own perfect secret that simmers between them, but then she looks up and sees Nicole watching with narrowed eyes.
‘I can’t, I’ve got to finish this project by tomorrow morning.’
Jay leans over and types on her keyboard, pressing against her. ‘Come finish it at my place. I have wine.’
While the dinners and fancy drinks have been glamorous, Freya has always dreamed of an evening like this, where she and Jay happily coexist in his private world. There is only one thing that makes everything perfect.
She knocks on the door of Julian’s office.
‘Hey, Julian, I just wanted to check if you’ve managed to set up that time with HR yet?’
He looks mortified. ‘Oh shit, sorry, Freya! I don’t seem to have enough hours in the day at the moment, what with this big client deadline coming up and all. I’m going to set a reminder to do it just after I’ve finished replying to these emails.’
‘Thanks, Julian. I really appreciate it,’ she says, but as she walks away, she somehow feels less hopeful than before.
*
Two hours later, she kicks off her shoes and curls up on the couch while Jay speaks a command into his Apple Watch.
‘Siri, put on some soul music.’
The room swells with the sounds of Otis Redding. Jay passes Freya a glass of red wine. Apart from the playlist, the only sound is the tapping on their respective laptops, and Freya’s occasional sigh when she corrects a mistake. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, feet touching.
The wine makes her giddy at first, but then the second bottle makes her thoughtful. The laptops slip onto the ground as they curl around each other, discussing global warming, music, art, poetry and the ethics of artificial intelligence. Freya talks until her lips are dry, and laughs until her throat is hoarse. At some point she realizes she hasn’t checked her cellphone all evening. In fact, she doesn’t even know where it is.
The wine has made her drowsy. A lazy Dusty Springfield song now plays in the background. As if reading her mind Jay says, ‘Want to get in bed and watch a film? I’ve got a box of chocolates that aren’t going to eat themselves.’ He takes Freya’s hand and leads her into his bedroom. She still can’t get over how different it is to what she imagined. Instead of cozy and quirky, it’s gray and obsessively neat. ‘Siri – find and play the movie Hackers,’ He
says. His Apple TV obliges.
As the opening credits roll, Freya’s eyelids grow heavy and she leans her head on Jay’s shoulder. He whispers something under his breath.
‘What’d you say?’ she mumbles.
‘Freya,’ he says, slightly louder, ‘I think I’m falling in love with you.’
‘Me too,’ she says, holding him tighter. ‘Me too.’
He tickles her back. ‘You don’t seem yourself tonight, though. I feel like you’re not one hundred percent here with me.’ His touch instantly calms her. ‘Talk to me . . . is there anything wrong? Anything I can help you with?’
Her eyes well with tears. ‘No, I wish you could. But I am completely alone in this. There is no way out.’
‘Are you talking about Nicole? She’s harmless. Her bark is much bigger than her bite.’
‘It doesn’t feel that way.’
Jay looks at her intently, his jaw resolute. ‘We need to change that then. What is the one thing you think could stop this?’
Freya furrows her brow. It’s a difficult question. Nicole’s bullying started for no reason, so there is no reasonable way to end it. How do you fight something that makes no sense? Then she remembers the look Nicole gave Freya the first day they met, the constellation of hurt and rage swimming in her eyes. Callous as she appears, Nicole must be able to feel something.
‘I want her to understand that I am a person too. I’m not an anonymous stranger that she can terrorize. I want her to know how desperate she makes me feel, targeting me day after day.’ Freya holds Jay’s hand tightly. She doesn’t mention that, on bad days, she wishes she never started working at her dream job. She doesn’t want to share with him the depths of her despair and scare him. Some days, she even scares herself.
Jay speaks slowly, and calmly. His voice alone is enough to kindle the hope that maybe this nightmare will be over soon. ‘I think it’s time you confront her. You are smart, beautiful and strong. You deserve happiness and her issues shouldn’t stand in your way. I bet that as soon as you confront her, she will shrink away and never bother you again.’
‘You think so?’
‘Definitely. I know Nicole better than you do, and she is half the woman that you are.’
Hopefulness and despair beat through Freya’s body. She kisses Jay on the cheek, but her jaw is clenched.
‘I don’t know about that. On bad days, I want her to feel the rollercoaster of emotions she has made me feel. I want her to also be petrified to step foot into the office and to feel nauseous every time she overhears me speak her name. On the worst days, I don’t want to fix this at all. I want revenge.’
Chapter 39
Freya
Seven days after the murder
Where are you, babe?
You told me you’d meet me here?
I’m at the table in the corner, just like you said.
Hope you’re wearing the lace thong you promised to put on for me.
Why aren’t you answering my messages?
Why aren’t you here?
Did you forget? Are you with someone else?
Slut.
Chapter 40
Freya
Three weeks before the murder
Where are you, babe? Can’t wait to see you xx
A message from Jay. No matter how punctual Freya is, he always seems to be early. Another thing she loves about him.
She checks and rechecks the address on her maps app. Surely she’s typed it in wrong? It’s too late and too dark to be on an abandoned street in an industrial part of town. There are body shops, tile stores and the flashing sign of a strip club with one letter that has exploded, but no sign of the kind of place Julian would host tonight’s company dinner.
She looks down at her new black heels and adjusts her red wrap dress. She was meant to feel a little French, sexy, but in the absence of an audience, she just feels silly. With a sharp pang of fear, she wonders if Nicole tampered with her invite, if the whole company is laughing and chattering elsewhere while she stands here, alone.
A homeless person lurches towards her. ‘A dollar, ma’am, please!’ She scratches around for some change, heart pounding. She hates what a life of looking over her shoulder has done to her compassion. Before she sees someone, she assesses whether or not they are a threat.
Another set of footsteps approaches. It’s Jay, looking dazzling in a white collared shirt. He shoos the beggar away with an aggressive wave of his arms.
‘You didn’t have to do that, Jay. He was just asking for help.’
‘Of course I did. This place is such a dodgy part of town, I’m glad I came out and tried to find you. I hate to think of my girlfriend being scared.’
‘I thought I’d got the directions wrong!’
He smiles and squeezes her hand. ‘I think most of us did. Julian has taken us to somewhere so cool it’s not on the map yet.’
They walk through a barely noticeable yellow door and down a flight of stairs. Freya begins to hear music, and something else, a humming rising to a roar. They descend into a room with a long table, surrounded by the bright silver of exposed machinery. Virginie is already seated at the end, deep in conversation with one of the developers she fancies, who is toying with the feather on her hat. The evening is so far removed from her reality, it feels like a steam punk fever dream.
‘This place is wild!’ she gasps.
‘It’s a functioning brewery,’ says Jay. ‘Which Julian happens to own. He likes to experiment with brewing craft beer in his spare time.’
‘And kombucha – it’s great for the gut!’ says Julian, appearing beside them. Out of the office, he is loosened, happier, the kind of guy who gets the party started. His hand snakes around her waist and lingers there. It feels a little inappropriate, but Freya just slips out of his grip. Better than making a scene.
Nicole arrives in a tight dress, which also happens to be red. She doesn’t look Freya or Jay in the eye, but Freya can tell by the way she moves that she wants them to notice her. The jealousy is as sudden as a reflex. She has the kind of body Freya imagines men fantasize over, all sweeping curves with a small, delicate waist, small wrists. An image flashes in her mind of Jay pinning them down, and tying them up with a scarlet ribbon.
Freya acts nonchalant as each dish of the tasting menu is presented, in a grand display of steam and foam. She pretends she is always this cool, that this level of luxury is normal. Her façade only slips when she tries to help clear the cutlery for the waiters and waitresses. It can’t be easy working such a big table. The whole company is here, which is over fifty of them. It’s the kind of night that makes her feel part of something exciting and important. They are today’s great minds, the chosen few, and anything is possible. If only Nicole would stop watching her.
She sits down next to Jay, and focuses on the conversation at hand. He exhales heavily before speaking, and Freya realizes he is drunk. In the flurry of firsts that characterize a new relationship, this is a big one. He’s always cocky but now there’s a hint of sexy rebellion thrown in as well.
‘Here’s my theory,’ he says. ‘Women don’t want nice guys. They want a mirror. It’s so easy to get a woman to fall in love with you – you just have to pretend to like the same things they do.’
One of the tech guys, Rod, high-fives him across the table. ‘Preach, buddy!’ Freya shifts uncomfortably, her dress riding up her thighs.
Jay continues, ‘Women say we are the superficial ones, that we focus too much on looks, but girls just want someone to fit into their fantasy. As long as they have someone sitting opposite them at brunch who agrees with everything they say, who cares what he is like?’
The music is suddenly too loud, the room too hot. Freya clutches on to Jay’s arm, harder than she intended to, and pulls him away from the table.
‘You didn’t mean that whole speech, did you? You know I see more to love than the things we have in common, right?’
She meets his chestnut eyes and is overcome by t
heir warmth. Something happens when they look at each other, a spark, something that can’t be explained away by his silly theories.
‘Of course not, I was just stirring the pot a little. Sure, I got my heart broken in the past and felt that way about women, but it has all changed since I met you.’
Their hands find each other, and the spark courses through her, calming her unease. He leans into her and whispers, ‘We have something special, and I plan to make you feel like the most loved woman in the whole of California.’
‘Just California?’ she laughs.
‘Fine, the entire universe as theorized by Stephen Hawking. Now come, let me buy you a beer.’
*
Freya sways awkwardly from foot to foot on the dancefloor. Suddenly, there is a bump on her shoulder.
‘You have something on your dress,’ Nicole says.
Freya pulls at her dress in the dark, looking for the stain. In her hurry, she exposes her bra, just long enough for Nicole to notice, and giggle behind her hand.
Jay steps forward. ‘Leave her alone. You know there’s nothing there.’
‘The tag is hanging out,’ she continues, smirking. Dammit, that part is true. Freya had bought the dress in a rush that afternoon. ‘God, Julian, why do you have to hire children who can barely dress themselves? Or who can barely afford the clothes they wear so they keep the tag on. That was the plan, right, Freya? To take your dress back to the store tomorrow?’
‘Don’t be jealous,’ Jay says. ‘You had an ass like that once.’
Everybody laughs, but Freya feels uncomfortable. Nicole needed to be called out, and she’s glad that Jay has come to her defense, but the comment makes her feel like both of them are pieces of meat.
She watches Nicole strut to the bathroom, lithe and powerful. She couldn’t look more beautiful in that moment, despite the men chuckling like boys behind her.
The lights are dim, and everybody is bathed in a blue-green glow. Freya can hardly see the food in front of her. But she is sure she spots Julian and Jay share a glance. She is certain Jay’s hand snaps forward and grabs the salt cellar, pouring its contents into Nicole’s glass of wine.
The Pact Page 13
