Caroline’s body was no longer there, but to Kate, the memory of the burial being re-enacted in her mind brought the girl so close it was almost as if the landscape and Kate had just witnessed the burial all over again.
It didn’t take Kate long to drive back up the mountain road to the next crime scene, which was still under the supervision of Hanley himself. Although less than a mile farther up, the difference in the landscape was remarkable. To the left, the lush green hedgerows led upwards to forest and mountain peaks, while to the right, where the second burial took place, the land was flatter, more barren, seeming to run for miles with little change in the contour.
She parked well down from the cordoned area and took some general shots of the terrain. The burial site was farther in than she was allowed to go. Currently, no one other than Hanley and his team would get anywhere near it. Zooming in and out with her camera lens, she could see the line of white bodysuits moving across the area, tech guys walking in slow motion, every piece of the landscape under their intense focus. They looked at odds with the place, reminding Kate that this was another tranquil setting that would be marked forever as the burial ground of an innocent young girl.
One thing was for certain, taking both burial sites into consideration, it hadn’t been the killer’s intention that either victim would ever be found. Kate was worried about what would happen next: if he had been spooked by the finding of Caroline’s body, how would he react to the discovery of Amelia? Kate believed he would react in one of two ways. He might lie low, take his time – as she had thought he would do in the first instance. Equally, he might do the very opposite. It could trigger a new phase and God only knew where that would lead, and to whom. The only thing she was sure of was that once he knew that they had found Amelia, he would be thinking about his next move.
As she walked back to the car, some brittle branches snapped under her foot. Looking over her shoulder, she caught the light shimmering in and out between the hedgerows, just like in her old memory. She thought about Caroline and Amelia being scared, like she had been all those years ago. He had grabbed her from behind and the feeling of hopelessness had been immediate. No one had realised she’d been missing. The whole world had seemed a lifetime away, and she had been powerless to reach it. In those moments of adrenaline and terror, she had felt forcibly that her life was in his hands – he hadn’t cared if he hurt her or took everything away from her.
Kate stopped walking and willed herself to breathe deeply, to be aware of the here and now. She hated when the past crept up on her like that, taking her out of herself for whole minutes at a time. It was like a sick joke he was still able to play on her. She couldn’t save Caroline or Amelia, but she would do her best to ensure that their tormentor didn’t get to anyone else.
Ellie
ANDREW AND I WOULD MEET IN THE AFTERNOON, twice a week, when Amy had music practice. The clandestine nature of that escape, the duplicity, aroused feelings I had long since forgotten. I would drive so far and then abandon the car, walking the remaining half-mile to where he lived. His house had a rear entrance through the back garden, a black wooden door he had given me the key to. If I met anyone as I walked the laneway past the other back doors, I just kept on walking to the end. Once inside the garden, no matter what the weather, I would stop and take out the small compact from my bag to examine my face, fix my hair. Sometimes I would feel as if I was being sucked into my own reflection, as if someone else, a piece of me I hadn’t known existed, was going to meet him. Even on days when there was no need to reapply lipstick, I would do so. I always wanted to look my best.
Usually, he would be in the upstairs back bedroom, where he painted. Unlike him, I would feel awkward at first. He never did. He would stop painting when I walked into the room – I would tell him to continue, but it didn’t work that way. Andrew painted alone.
Almost at once he became a different person. The expression of anguish he wore on his face as he worked on the canvas would evaporate, and all he would seem to want was me. He could be flippant about things and yet completely in earnest, such was the complexity of his nature. Each time we were together, I knew what would happen. If I felt guilty about our meeting, he would charm it all away; in truth, he had no time for such nonsense. With him, it was all about the living, the moment, the experience; few rules applied. Sometimes I would feel overdressed, too prepared, as if I should have been brave enough not to worry about lipstick or powder or any of that nonsense. I would feel that I should have been more like him, and have abandoned the complicated frivolities that seemed to feature so prominently in my life back then.