“You’ve not felt that any of your other students since were a match for her?”
Mackenzie shook his head. And then shrugged with one shoulder. “I’ve had bright sparks every other year. There have been lots I would have tipped to become successful, and most of them have. I’ve had only a few writers or essayists or journalists out of a lifetime of teaching. But none of them…I don’t know. None of them was original like she was. Or seemed to catch on to an idea as quickly. But maybe I’ve got a skewed memory of her because of what happened….”
Lightman asked neutrally whether he’d known Aurora personally.
Mackenzie snorted. “As much as you ever know any student personally. I was shit-scared of one of the girls misinterpreting any encouragement. I’d only had two proper girlfriends and I didn’t have a clue how to go about rebutting unwanted attention. I remember a sixth-former turning up at my classroom late on a Friday when I was marking, and I pretty much shouted her out of the place. Poor thing was probably only after some extra help, but I was paranoid about being on my own in a room with her.”
“So there was never anything at all beyond the usual student-teacher relationship?” Lightman continued.
“Of course there wasn’t,” he said, and sounded more disappointed in Lightman than anything. “You get excited about students. About their abilities, and where they’ll go in life, and how you can help them. You might like or dislike them as people, but you try not to let that affect you. I’ve had smart kids who I’ve thought were absolute shits before, but it didn’t mean I didn’t bend over backward to help them.”
“Thank you,” Jonah said. “We also need to know about that night. When Aurora disappeared. We think you saw at least one of the group at the campsite. Were you aware that there were others?”
“I saw Topaz,” he said, nodding. “Aurora’s sister. I have to say that it never occurred to me that Aurora would be there. They didn’t really spend time together at school. Topaz was a very different person. She was smart, too, but she was obsessed with self-image. I assumed Topaz was with her usual crowd. Benners and…Jesus. I’ve…Connor, that was it. And Jojo. And Topaz’s little shadow…What was she called?”
“Coralie? She wasn’t with her at the time?” Jonah queried.
“No, it was just Topaz. Wandering along the riverbank. I’d joined the path there for a while and I think I scared her.”
“What was she doing?” This from Lightman.
Mackenzie gave him a blank look. He made a considering sound. “Well, she had a bag. She’d been walking the other way. I suppose she might have been going for a swim.”
“You didn’t see where she’d come from?” Jonah asked.
“No,” Mackenzie said, shaking his head and glancing between them. “Look, I…I know Topaz could be a bit of a cow to her sister, but I don’t think she had anything to do with her death. She was devastated after Aurora disappeared.”
“That’s useful, thank you,” Jonah said. “You didn’t see anything later in the evening?”
Mackenzie shook his head. “I was somewhere between two and three miles further on by the time I camped.”
“With your girlfriend?” Jonah asked. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Ex-girlfriend,” he added. “I mean, obviously, it was thirty years ago…I’m married, and not to her.”
“What time did you meet up with your girlfriend?” Jonah asked.
“Ahhh…To be honest, I can’t remember. I probably gave a statement at the time.” He rubbed a thumb across his forehead, his skin puckered in a frown.
“I’m sure we can check, thank you,” Jonah said. “And once you were there, at the campsite, you didn’t leave at any point? And you didn’t hear any sounds, or witness any other walkers?”
Mackenzie shook his head. “We weren’t that close to any of the roads,” he said. “Which was a conscious choice. The official campsites can be heaving at that time of year, and the weather was perfect. Mind you, my choice pissed Di off. She wasn’t a fan of hiking a mile and a half down a track in the dark to get there. I had to go and meet her.” He gave a half smile. “I should probably have taken that as a sign of ultimate incompatibility.”
“You had a few drinks that evening?” Jonah asked. “I think there’s a report that you’d both had wine.”
“Yes, I think we had a couple of glasses.”
“So it’s possible you would have slept through some sounds,” Jonah said.
“Oh. Yes, I suppose it is. Not the world’s lightest sleeper anyway.” He gave a slight shrug—a half smile.
“Thank you. Could I just have your ex-girlfriend’s name?”
“Oh. Diana…Diana Pitman.” He gave a short laugh. “I had to work to remember that.”
“Is there anything else at all you can think of that might be useful? Anything that occurs to you?”
Mackenzie considered for a while. “No. I don’t think there is. I…I’m not sure how much I really remember at this stage. And how much I’ve misremembered by now. I’ve probably overwritten a lot of what really happened by trying furiously to remember things, and beating myself up over not camping closer by. Not hearing anything.”
Jonah nodded. “This is my card. Please let me know if anything occurs to you. If you have anything useful, like diary entries or records of Aurora’s work, that would be appreciated.”
Mackenzie took the card, peered at it, and nodded. Jonah felt a faint dampness in his fingers as the teacher took it. The teacher was sweating.
Mackenzie nodded after that, and watched them leave in silence.
20
Aurora
Saturday, July 23, 1983, 12:35 A.M.
Everything had become fragmented. Confusing. She was dizzy with alcohol and spinning. Dizzy with contact. With the pervasive smell of Connor.
“I feel a bit…weird.”
She pulled back from him, her skin blooming into full sweat. She lost her footing slightly, and Connor steadied her.
“OK?”
“I don’t know.”
She heard a peal of laughter, and Connor went rigid. He was looking past her, toward her sister. Of course it had been Topaz laughing.
She found herself turning to look, too. Topaz was standing close to Brett, whispering in his ear. Her hand was on his shoulder and her long hair was brushing his forearm. It made Aurora feel profoundly uncomfortable.