We sit together on a white sofa, sweating gently into the fragranced air.
“Two things,” Gwen says, knotting her fingers. “The gag order was denied. Judge said it was a waste of his time. The email’s everywhere, though. A couple of websites have issued requests for people who knew Fordham to come forward.”
Yes. I definitely don’t want to know this.
“They don’t have much…yet. One guy’s been quoted a lot though. Miss Reeves? Are you familiar with a Dean Horowitz?”
She blinks. Nods. “He used to be a neighbor.”
“He’s come forward to say he was aware of your relationship with Fordham. That actually supports the truth, so that’s good. Other than that, it’s mostly bile and speculation. But it’s early days. We’ll see.”
I find myself watching Leo very carefully, waiting for her eyelashes to tremble or her brow to dip. Maybe she’ll fiddle with the ring of blooms about her neck; anything to avoid my gaze. She told me nobody knew about her affair with Rachel until the suicide, when she was forced to come clean. Why would she lie?
“There’s something else.” Gwen hands me the print-out. “Forensics sent this report through.”
It’s a grainy image from the SilentWitn3ss clip the FBI was so interested in. Amid the crowd of travelers at the airport, two faces have been circled; one is evidently mine. I’m sitting on a corrugated bench in a corner, by the looks of it, checking my phone.
“What did they find?”
“They’re confused, to be honest. The only point of interest they can find on the clip is that in a few frames…you’re in it twice.”
Leo edges closer immediately and pulls the print-out toward her lap. “Wait. What?”
“See that second face?” Gwen points with a painted pink fingernail.
I squint at the blurred shapes ringed by the black circle. “That’s not me. Not possible.”
“The facial recognition software says it is.”
The second face belongs to a tall figure right on the other side of the image. He’s dressed in browns and blacks, his hair falling into his face. The poor quality of the photo and printing makes it difficult to determine his age or anything especially distinctive about his features, but he appears to be making his way elsewhere. Casually. No hint of a smile.
Leo says nothing, but her knee is suddenly next to mine, pressing anxiously. If a pulse could make noise, hers would be dubstep. My own follows hers, rising and thrumming in an unbearable snare.
Gwen presses her lips together. “I’m not sure what to make of this. I mean, obviously it can’t be you, but they said they ran the analysis five times for each frame, so…”
I shove the papers back at her. “Make them run it again. It makes no sense.”
There are plenty of ways it could make sense.
Shit, grasshoppers. Shit. Fuck.
SHIT.
Seven Months Ago
Leo
Aged 24
Her apartment, NYC
My mother is on the other side of the front door. I know this because she’s been knocking and calling for the past two minutes, and if I don’t answer soon, she’ll make a scene. I can’t deal with any more scenes.
Rachel shot herself yesterday. I can still see her twisted body on the floor, her legs in knots and a strange red mess where her face should have been; last night, I didn’t sleep at all. I just blinked her corpse in and out of my vision, and even in the morning, it refused to stay with the dark things, where it belongs.
Then Tuija. Choked. The police only just agreed to release Aeron after questioning. The bodies are piling up and God knows, I don’t want to be ne—
“Leo!” Mum calls desperately through my keyhole. “For crying out loud, I can hear you. Let me in. Please.”