Page 77 of The Bridesmaid

‘That’s a statement I never thought I’d hear on a professional scene.’

‘We’re not on a professional scene,’ I remind him, pulling a document free and turning to look at it. ‘That’s why we’re getting results so fast.’

‘Very funny.’ But there’s a softness to his blue eyes I hadn’t seen before.

My gaze drops down to the page that has just emerged.

‘This is … unexpected,’ I say, reading the text at speed, with its accompanying image. The court documents depict a strangely familiar graffiti, deeply etched into a wall.

Fitzwilliam peers over my shoulder. ‘I don’t get it,’ he says finally. ‘Silky’s court case took place before Adrianna’s kidnap, right?’

‘Right.’ I nod firmly. ‘A few weeks before.’

‘Then why would there be an artist’s impression of Adrianna’s kidnapper in Silky’s court files?’

‘It isn’t an artist’s impression of the kidnapper,’ I say. ‘This figure was drawn on the school dormitory wall.’ I look closer. ‘Part of Silky’s court case was that it was never removed. The school left it up to scare the girls into behaving, or something. Look.’

Underneath the graffiti image, in tiny writing, are three scratchy words:

Trinity Is Coming.

Chapter Sixty-One

ADRIANNA

When I arrive back at Fortune House, Georgia almost falls over as she rushes to greet me. The silk scarf holding her curls from her face is slightly askew.

‘Where have youbeen?’ she demands.

‘I was on the beach,’ I say. ‘Georgia, do you know where Petra and Ophelia were just now? Because there was writing, in the sand.’ I’m caught between not wanting to scare her, and ensuring she takes the threat in the sand seriously.

‘Dri,’ says Georgia, ‘there’s been some news—’

We’re interrupted by a voice from the stairs. ‘I came as fast as I could.’

‘Mark!’ I rush toward him, momentarily forgetting the frightening message on the sand. I press my cheek against his chest. I flick my eyes to Georgia, but for once she doesn’t pick up on the cue to leave.

‘Mark,’ Georgia interrupts, ‘did you check your social media?’

I feel a lurch in my stomach. In the Kensington family, that statement is loaded to say the least.

‘What is she talking about?’ I glance up at Mark’s face, hoping his expression will rescue the moment. It doesn’t.

‘She doesn’t know?’ he asks Georgia, dumbfounded.

‘Dri,’ she squeezes my hand. ‘A video of Simone’s death was uploaded onto social media last night. They found the killer.’

I’m settled over Mark’s laptop, with Georgia. I grip her hand tightly. Mark’s finger hovers over the button to play Silky’s late-night upload.

‘It’s got two million shares now,’ he says grimly. ‘You’re sure you want to see it?’

‘I want to see it.’ I feel as though my eyes are glued to the screen. It holds a frozen shot of the Plaza ceiling, instantly recognizable by its famous cornicing. As the video rolls into motion, a wide-eyed face comes into shot.

Silky. A smear of blood on her cheek. Her dark eyes roll to the camera.

‘I did it,’ she whispers. ‘I killed Simone.’ Her face crumples. ‘It was anaccident.’

The camera goes black. We all sit in silence for a moment. ‘The video is timestamped the night of the murder,’ explains Mark. ‘Police verified it.’