‘Tom, be careful,’ warned Mrs Barrow. ‘Once you’ve said it, you can’t take it back.’
Tom grimaced.
And then he confessed everything.
Yes, it had been him in Cierra’s room. Yes, they’d been having an affair. Yes, Eliza had been in the room that night, she had helped him out the window and then to the hospital. Yes, they could check the hospital’s records. Yes, he knew he was in real trouble. No, no, no, he had nothing to do with their disappearance. No, no, no, there was nothing he wasn’t telling them.
Later, when Con was outside to get a break from fluorescent light and some fresh air, he caught sight of Eliza across the car park. Constable Cavanagh was going to drive Eliza back to Monica North’s house – likely an awkward place for her to be, considering her testimony against Tom.
When she caught Con’s eyes, the look of utter betrayal on her face made him stop. Obviously, she now knew Cierra still hadn’t been found.
Con ducked his head, ashamed, and fled back inside.
Did the end justify the means? He wasn’t so sure anymore.
CHAPTER 35
ELIZA
When Eliza was dropped off, Monica wasn’t home – she was still at the station, where she had tearfully ignored Eliza.
She was so angry at Con! She quickly collected her things and drove herself back to her own house. She’d shared that cottage with Denni for most of last year, just the two of them, auntie and niece . . . but really, Eliza had been of a blend of big sister and mother.
She drove up the driveway to her cottage, at the end of a steep block, the long grass brushing the underside of the car. The lawn was overgrown with blackberries and bracken ferns, and a riot of bursting yellow daffodils.
The cottage itself was small, crooked, haphazard on the steep country block, although the previous owners – an elderly couple with a lot of grandchildren – had edged the whole front wall with a large timber deck. The walls were trailed with deep green English ivy that grew wild up to the roof.
Eliza had fallen in love with the entire house at first sight, and had bought it from the elderly couple for a steal. She could barely stand to look at it now; this would be her first night sleeping in the house since Denni’s death. The rusting barbecue on the deck, the creak of the rooster weather vane, the broken back fence – every part of it brought back painful memories.
But Eliza had to live here now. She couldn’t stay at Monica’s.
But it was the truth. I don’t need to feel guilty about telling the truth . . .
Tom deserves to take the fall, no one is denying that . . .
She sat in the parked car, smothered by guilt over Wren. What would her niece’s life look like now? How long until Monica forgave her?
She pounded the steering wheel in anger.
All because Con lied to me. How could he do that? How could he?
She climbed out of the car and stood in front of the house.
I was tricked. He led me into doing exactly what he wanted. Him and the commander both!
Never again.
A couple of hours later, Eliza lay back in the little bath, full of hot water and lavender oil, holding a glass of wine on the edge of the tub. Gentle music played from her phone while afternoon rain played on the roof, a comforting pitter-patter.
I have permission to be okay.
But she’d forgotten how creepy the house was, creaking and cold. As though Denni’s ghost – malevolent, vengeful – haunted the walls.
Then she heard pounding on the front door. She lurched, spilling the wine. The knocking continued.
She climbed out of the bath, wrapping a white bathrobe around her, and crept to the front door. She opened it a crack.
Madison stood there, her hair wet and clinging in the rain, her red lips drawn back in a snarl. ‘You witch,’ the girl hissed. She shouldered her way forward and forced the door all the way open. She had something in her hand: a small wooden statuette.
‘Get out of my house,’ said Eliza, rage boiling up.
‘I’ve heard all about your “confession”. You’re a liar. A liar. I know what you really are. How did you get into my room?’
‘Your room? What the hell are you talking about?’ spat Eliza.
‘This.’ Madison held up the statue in her hand. It was a carved figure of a woman, about the size of a carton of milk, rough and messily hewn from light brown sassafras, shards of bone driven where its eyes should be and a rough rope noose around its neck.
Eliza stepped back. ‘What is that?’ she said in disgust.
Madison dropped the statuette on the floor, trembling. ‘Don’t lie to me – I know you’re the one who put this in my room! This is one of Denni’s statues! I know you’re lying about Cierra, too!’
‘Denni’s statues?’
‘Why did you help us? You played along with the fight, you did what I said, but now you’re claiming you weren’t sleeping with Cierra?’ Madison’s voice shook, and her eyes kept coming back to the statuette, like iron filings to a magnet. ‘You know what I can do to you, so why did you go along with our plan only to mess with me now?’
‘Aren’t you happy, you little bitch? Everyone’s looking at you. Everyone’s watching your videos. Poor little Madison, her sister and her friend are missing. Poor little Madison, her friend Georgia is dead, just like poor Denni. Good for you, you got what you wanted.’
‘Shut up!’ shrieked Madison. ‘You took the girls! I’m going to tell everybody!’ Madison looked at the statuette again, whites showing around her eyes. ‘Where are they? Where are they?’
‘Get out of my house. Get out!’
‘Or what, you’ll call the police?’ said Madison.
‘No. I’ll make my own video, telling everyone how you blackmailed me, how you planned for the girls to disappear.’
‘You can try,’ said Madison, her pale hands clenching and unclenching. ‘Don’t you realise I’m three steps ahead of every one of you?’
‘Then I’ll tell everyone about the Kundela Game.’
Madison froze. A beat later she sneered, but it was forced. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know Denni was playing. If it had anything to do with her death —’
‘Stupid bitch.’ Madison turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
The thud of the door set the timber walls creaking. Denni’s ghost, raging.
Eliza fought to regain control of herself. Madison had left behind the statuette. She turned it over in her hands, touching the bone fragments in its eyes, then shuddered. The thing was hideous, and sickly, like the taste of blood in her mouth.
Denni made this . . .
She left it on the little table by the door and walked back to the bathroom, biting her lip. She let the water out of the bath, the drain squealing, and dried herself with trembling hands. She dressed herself and headed back out to the kitchen, tying the red scarf over her forehead.
The statuette filled the room with a slimy menace.
There was another knock on the door.
She straightened her back and wrenched it open, ready for Madison, but it was Detective Gabriella Pakinga. Her eyes were bright, her face flushed.
‘I heard you gave up on trying to protect Tom.’ She sounded excited. ‘And I heard about Con’s dirty trick. But I think I’m close to something, and I need your help . . . I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m not on the case anymore.’ She was taking off her denim jacket when her eyes caught on the statuette. The blood drained from her face.