‘Of Rose.’
‘What kind of pictures?’
‘You know. Those kind of pictures. There was a vent in the ceiling of her room, and Tim and Bryce set up one of George’s cameras in it. They took photos of her in her room. Undressing and whatever.’
‘Not Marcus?’
‘He knew about the photos but I don’t think he was really involved. He was close to Rose. Tim and Bryce were always the leaders, even though they were younger. Marcus was a sweet boy. He never wanted to cause trouble.’
‘Did you tell your husband?’
‘No. I didn’t think it was worth it. I reasoned they weren’t pornographic, more opportunistic. I went crazy at them and made them destroy all the photos. Grounded them. They claimed she knew all about the photos, that it had been her idea in the first place. I told George they’d been talking back to me. He was away on business anyway.’
‘Did Rosalind know about this?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I didn’t want her to know. Like I said, I think it was just kid stuff. Not good, obviously, but probably just pushing boundaries. They were always hard to manage and I didn’t think it was worth making it into a bigger deal. They were just messing around. Oh god.’
‘Ms Wilcox? Lila?’ I say, when she doesn’t answer.
Her voice shakes now. ‘They were just kids … You don’t think that the boys are involved in what happened to her? God.’
Tapping my pen against my teeth I try to imagine it. ‘I really don’t know,’ I say.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Sunday, 27 December, 3.02 pm
‘It feels weird being here.’ Melanie Cousins shifts her gaze furtively to the left, then to the right, the small piercing high in her ear sparkling in the sun.
‘Because of Ms Ryan?’ Tara Boffin shades her eyes from the glare and notices Melanie’s piercing, wishing her mother would let her get one like it.
‘Yeah,’ replies Melanie. ‘Mum’s still beside herself about it.’
‘Same. Mine’s obsessed. Keeps shushing everyone when the news comes on.’ Tara hasn’t minded though; she’s been devouring the news on Ms Ryan’s murder, searching for information online long after everyone has gone to bed. Some of the comments she read at the end of one report were probably the worst things she has ever read.
‘Do you think the guy’s still out there?’
‘I guess so. They haven’t caught him yet.’
The girls walk over the rocks to the left of the playground. The sun has shrunk the often watery pools to nothing. Tara concentrates to keep her balance. She’s larger than Melanie and less steady on her feet. The slighter girl scrambles over the rocks easily.
‘Want one?’ Melanie holds out a cigarette.
‘Sure.’ Tara tries to hide her huffing.
They sit companionably together in silence, smoking.
‘Do you think it hurt?’ Melanie asks.
‘When she died?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I reckon. I read she was raped before he killed her.’ Tara shudders.
‘I heard it was after, like when she was already dead.’
‘It’s so gross,’ says Tara.
‘Yeah.’
A woman who has been walking her dog near the playground stops in the middle of the path and lifts her hand to shield her eyes and then waves at them enthusiastically.
‘Who’s that?’ says Melanie, stubbing out her cigarette.
‘Don’t know. Maybe our next-door neighbour?’ says Tara, also killing her cigarette and managing to burn the tip of her thumb at the same time.
‘Quick, let’s get away from here where she can’t see.’
Tara follows Melanie, who weaves expertly through the bracken down to the water’s edge. ‘In here,’ says Melanie.
Tara looks at the gaping entrance to the concrete tunnel and stops short.
‘C’mon!’ The walls give Melanie’s voice a masculine edge.
‘I don’t know, Mel.’
Melanie’s voice starts to fade away, disappearing into the dark void.
‘Okay, wait. I’m coming.’ Tara steps tentatively into the nothingness, the slosh of shallow water underneath her shoes.
There’s a flicking sound and then a yellow glow; Melanie is illuminated by the flame as she leans in to light a cigarette. ‘For you?’ She offers the lighter to Tara, who obliges by shifting forward and letting her catch the end of the cigarette with the flame.
‘What is this place?’
‘An old drainpipe or something. I don’t think it’s used for anything. Matt and I come down here sometimes to … you know.’ Melanie raises her eyebrows.
Tara pictures Matt pinning her friend against the dark concrete wall, kissing her, and the two of them having sex in this dirty place, and thinks that as much as she’d like to have a boyfriend she wouldn’t like him to bring her here. Especially not since Ms Ryan was murdered a few metres away.
‘Wow. This is cool,’ says Melanie.
‘What?’
‘This. Look.’
Tara makes her way over to where Melanie is standing next to the wall, using the lighter like a torch. ‘I think we should get out of here. What if the water comes on or something?’
‘It won’t. Jeez, relax. And look at these. I’ve never noticed them before. Some of them are really good.’
Tara takes in the artwork on the curved wall. Melanie’s right, some of the pictures are impressive. Complicated patterns, dramatic graffiti and excellent likenesses to people. Brad and Angelina are wrapped around each other in an awkward embrace, their heads large on tiny bodies. There is a cartoon of the mayor that makes her giggle, his recognisable features twisted into a squinty pig-like creature.
‘I like that one.’
Melanie moves the lighter to where Tara is pointing, illuminating a picture of a large glowing gem. Somehow it looks lit up; the artist has used white shading and silver paint to give the gem its own light. It’s abstract, but beautiful. Tara’s never seen anything quite like it before.
‘Yeah, that’s really cool.’ Melanie takes out her phone to snap a picture of it.
Tara drops her cigarette in the water while Melanie’s not looking. She is queasy from the smoke and feels a mild flutter of panic as she turns back towards the small circle of daylight, but her eyes keep being drawn to the glittering gemstone, as if it’s a rare archaeological find, noting the tiny words—JM + Gem. Always—at the very sharpest point of the jewel.
Chapter Fifty-nine
Monday, 28 December, 10.06 am
From the tearoom I see Felix pulling into the car park and I bolt out the front before he has the chance to get out of the car. Kenny sniggers as I rush past. Felix wasn’t in yesterday and had been mysteriously in Paxton on Saturday ‘looking into things related to the case’. He has been ignoring my calls, and seeing him now has tipped my simmering over to a fully fledged boil.
‘Why are you ignoring me?’ I hiss.
He looks up at me, squinting. ‘What?’ He takes his time gathering his bag. Putting his keys in his pocket.
‘You’re ignoring me,’ I say, though the sight of him has numbed me somewhat.
‘I had a day off, Gemma,’ he replies, putting sunglasses on. ‘I needed a break.’