Page 48

Day Ten

Friday, Day Before the Auction

The following morning, Mum decided she’d come down and watch our surf lesson.

The undercover officers were keeping track of us, Declan had said.

I had spotted some well-built men and women who looked like tourists.

Two teams would be on standby tomorrow, one for the auction and another at the port at The Mount.

We had only a day to figure out how the campground was involved and where the heroin was hidden.

“It’s one thing to have people ready to make arrests,” Declan said before we left.

“But if we don’t know what the hell is happening, we’re totally on the back foot.

” The previous night’s conversation meant it was doubly strained, and I was quiet around him.

We all waved to Snow as he sauntered out of the waves twenty feet away. Snow gave the thumbs-up, but something behind us caught his eye. His mouth moved in a discernible “Fuck.”

I spun around to catch what he was looking at.

A police car had pulled up outside our house, its yellow and blue stripes screaming panic .

Dad? Without a word, we sprinted back to the house.

Declan, who ran every day, surged ahead.

Mum, behind me, whimpered in a slow jog.

A few seconds later, Snow bolted past me.

Declan reached the police car first, then Snow. They stood at the curb, talking to the two police officers who had gotten out of the car. As I joined them, Dad appeared on the front deck with a barking Fred. Thank God. He was okay. I breathed out in relief.

Neighbors rushed to us. “Everything okay?” and “Can we help?”

We waited for Mum, who, ignoring all of us, jogged unstably up the gravel path to fall on Dad with a teary hug.

One of the police obviously knew Snow. “Sorry, mate,” he said as we hurried up the path. “Only family and other persons currently living or staying in this house.”

“I am family,” Snow insisted. Not true and never will be .

Dad called to the cop. “Yes, whatever this is, he’s family.”

The policeman said, “Sorry, but still no.”

Declan patted Snow on the back and promised to give him a call after whatever this was.

Inside, the two police officers, dressed in navy trousers, vests bulky with pockets, and checkered caps, stationed themselves near the dining table, clipboards under their arms. Both were taller than Declan, well over six feet, hefty like rugby players.

One was in his twenties, the senior officer in his thirties.

They introduced themselves and warned us they were wearing body cams, not widely used by police in New Zealand. This was serious.

The four of us fanned out in front of them, about a body’s length away. Declan pulled a chair out for Dad and helped him sit.

Dad leaned forward, tapping his forehead. “That’s where I know you from. You’re both in Sarge’s regional rugby team, aren’t you?”

The more senior officer gave a polite but stiff smile, as if to cut off any further conversation. He asked if I was Ms.Isla Joyson. When I said yes, he asked the other three to introduce themselves, give their addresses, and state how they knew me.

The senior officer pried pages from his clipboard, thrust back his shoulders, and cleared his throat.

“We received an old diary last night,” he said. “The person who handed it in alleged that they’d seen it in Ms.Joyson’s possession. They said Ms.Joyson told them it was Janey Saunders’s diary. Five pages were written on. These are photocopies.”

He handed the pages to me. My hand trembled with rage.

“If you are referring to the diary I had in my possession, you also need to know that a diary I believed to be Janey Saunders’s was stolen from my backpack last night.

” I pulled myself up straighter. “It was taken from a locked drawer in my bedroom. I believe it was Sarge who stole the diary, as my mother and I both saw him leave our place in a hurry on our return from the beach at five o’clock.

Sarge knew I had a backpack in which I had kept the diary, and he knew our routine for walking the dog.

He has been hostile toward me since Janey’s death because I knew he didn’t investigate properly.

And I suspected he covered up Janey’s death, either to protect himself or someone else.

Yesterday, I’d been to The Mount and questioned Superintendent Thatcher Bell about the day before Janey died.

He was on the entry desk at the time and obviously told Sarge I had the diary.

I can give you all the details because I have a recording of my conversation with Thatcher Bell. ”

I felt sick, but I’d gotten it out. Surely it would work ?

Mum stepped forward, shaking with fury. “Instead of wasting your time here, you need to interview Sarge—and arrest him.”

“Sarge, diary, Janey, The Mount? What’s going on?” Dad wobbled to his feet. “I don’t understand anything of what you said.”

Declan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and addressed the officers.

“Let’s stop here. Where are you going with this?

Is this an accusation? Of what?” He wouldn’t want to insert himself here, as it wasn’t his jurisdiction, and he wouldn’t want to break his cover, but he was still playing the role of boyfriend—comforting, defending me.

The two officers looked shell-shocked. “We have a process,” the senior officer said. “We can’t answer your questions until this process is complete.”

Frustration boiled through me.

Dad sat down again, muttering to himself.

The three of us read the pages together—Mum over one of my shoulders and Declan over the other, his hand around my waist, each of them murmuring as they finished a page.

The pages were familiar to the three of us, but especially to me, because I’d scoured them again and again, raking the words for clues. They were copies of Janey’s diary.

I frowned. “Where did this come from?”

Curious, I held out the fifth page. It was another diary entry in the same handwriting. I ran my eyes down it.

My blood ran cold.

I’m scared of Isla. She keeps threatening me.

She says we have to be best friends again.

She says if I’m not her friend, she’ll harm me.

We used to be best friends, but that was when we were little kids.

But she got all controlling and super jealous, and I had to find some other friends.

She can’t accept it. She keeps demanding I meet her on the beach at night to talk.

I’m too scared to meet her, but I want this to stop.

“This is Sarge’s doing,” I said. “He’s forged this.

” His meaty, red-knuckled fingers had made this italic writing.

He was cleverer than I thought. My ears rang as if I had dived too deep underwater.

“Five of us saw the diary yesterday, and it had only four pages. Sarge knows I think Janey was murdered. He knows I think he didn’t investigate properly.

And this makes me believe he either killed her or he’s covering for whoever did.

Because now he’s trying to pin Janey’s murder on me. ”

Declan clutched my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Isla. We’ll sort this out.”

Being so tough for so many years had stunted my emotions. But they all came rushing back. They’d handed me her thoughts and feelings. Saying her name aloud, seeing her words again, her pain, and that someone was trying to frame me for her murder, my voice cracked. My vision blurred with tears.

“I saw this diary for the first time two days ago.” Mum’s lips trembled. “It’s been in our garage for twenty years, but I didn’t know I had it. It only had four pages. This fifth page is a forgery. Isla knows what’s going on. She’s worked it out. You have to listen to her.”

In tandem, the two officers focused on Mum.

She told them how she’d seen Janey’s mother dropping off a box of Janey’s things and that she’d kept it without looking inside.

The senior officer took a step back. “Neither of you handed the diary in to the police.” He narrowed his eyes. “Most people would have done that immediately. You must have known it was evidence of a suspicious death.”

A suspicious death that your old boss called suicide.

“Don’t answer that,” Declan fired out to me and Mum. He frowned at the police. “Officers, you can’t ask any more questions without a lawyer present.”

Dad leaned forward shakily, holding out his hands. “Can I read these pages you’re talking about?”

Taking them from me, he read the pages, gasping every few seconds. “Oh, that poor girl, that poor girl.” His chair scraping the tiles, he thrust to his feet more abruptly than I thought he could.

He faced Mum, his eyes flicking wildly, his breath shallow. “This diary has been in our garage for twenty years, and you didn’t tell me?”

Mum turned to him, her eyes pleading. “I never knew what was inside.”

Dad shuffled to the kitchen island and poured a glass of water, waving off offers of help.

The senior officer stepped toward me. “You are a person of interest at this stage. We will be sending this diary to the lab to be analyzed. We are also permitted to tell you that next, we will visit Mr.Saunders, your next-door neighbor.”

Mum and I exchanged glances. I saw both sadness and horror in her expression.

I felt sweat on my forehead, though I didn’t know which way to feel.

Mr.Saunders was going to find out about the diary through the police.

He’d realize why we hadn’t told him—because we suspected he could be Janey’s creeper.

If he wasn’t, he’d be devastated. A small, unspoken cry scoured my throat.

“This is an outrage.” Dad shuffled back to us, red-faced. “ Hasn’t Isla suffered enough?” He was so emotional he stumbled. Declan and I lunged for him, steadied him, and sat him down. Dad’s breathing quickened. He gasped, clutched at his heart.

“Oh my God,” I said. “Dad? Dad? Is he having another heart attack?”

Mum and I dropped next to him. Declan took his pulse while checking the time on his watch. “Do you have pain in your arms, chest, or legs?” he asked.

“Here,” Dad said, his hand on his chest.

“We have to get him to the hospital.” I glared up at the officers, my entire body rigid. “Now.”