Page 29 of The Vanishing Place

It was the middle of the night by the time Effie’s fist reached Lewis’s door.

She was exhausted and hungry and cold. But she didn’t feel any of it. The guy she’d eventually hitched a lift from—just one passing ute in forty minutes—said she looked like shit.

Effie pounded on the wood, leaving a little bit of herself in each knock, until Lewis appeared in front of her, dressed, like he hadn’t even tried to sleep.

“What happened?” he asked.

He didn’t slam the door in her face, he didn’t shout at her, he didn’t tell her to piss off. He just moved to the side, letting her into his home.

“Lewis. I fucked up. I really…” Effie coughed and clutched the wall. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop.” He took her hand, stilling her. “I’m going to look forward to this apology,” he said, giving her a smile. “So I don’t want you rushing through it now.”

Effie smiled back at him, although she couldn’t make it reach her eyes.

“Come on,” he said, leading her inside.

Effie sat on Lewis’s sofa, an untouched plate of toast in front of her, and talked him through what had happened. The girl. The body. Her brother. The drawing. The face in the trees.

“The kid was distraught, Lewis, and she was hugging the floor, really hugging it, like her mother’s body was still there.

” Effie rubbed her face. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think, with the drawing…” She groaned.

“Shit. I know it’s mad, but I think when Anya ran away the first time, there were two bodies.

That it wasn’t just Four. I think my brother and sister were both killed in that hut, and that someone has moved Tia’s body. ”

Lewis reached out to comfort her, but Effie shook her head. The nearness of him was too much.

“Okay then,” he said, “say there were two bodies.” He let out a puff of air. “Who could have moved her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Your dad?”

Effie sighed. “I don’t know. I saw something, someone, but I can’t be certain.” She looked at him. “There’s something out there, Lewis. Something in the trees.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at the window. “I’m not sure. For years I lived in that forest. I knew every sound of it. Every whisper in the trees. But it was a different feeling I got this time. It was like…like it frightened me.”

She ran her hands through her matted hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired and hungry.” She let out a long breath. “I just need to find her.”

“We will.”

Lewis took her hand this time, locking her fingers with his, and Effie let him.

“Are you ready for what’s about to happen?” he said.

She nodded.

“Cos tomorrow’s going to be a shitstorm.”

Lewis stood and handed her a blanket. “I’m going to make some calls,” he said. “And you need to sleep.”

“I can help.”

“I’m not forcing you into pajamas or even into a proper bed.

But you won’t be any use to that girl if you don’t get some rest.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll scare the shit out of those Christchurch cops looking like that.

And if I’m being honest, you kind of smell.

” Lewis smiled and started to walk away.

“The shower’s down the hall on the left. ”

“And your room?” she asked, her heart pounding.

He stopped and turned.

“It’s just…I could do with some company tonight.”

He looked straight at her, at the girl he’d known a lifetime ago, and for a moment Effie forgot how to breathe.

“I know about Charlotte,” she said. “June told me.”

Lewis didn’t move, he didn’t look away, and Effie’s heart hammered.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

“It’s the first door on the right,” he said. “T-shirts are in the bottom drawer.”

Then he walked out with his phone already to his ear, and the ache in Effie’s stomach grew.

—

Lewis was up and gone by the time Effie opened her eyes.

She hadn’t heard him come in; she’d fallen asleep to the soft pacing of his footsteps in the hallway.

They hadn’t spoken—hadn’t so much as touched—but the dent and smell of him was still in the covers next to her.

Effie stretched a hand out, letting the fading warmth soak into her skin, then she reached for her phone.

She unlocked it, read through the hundred messages from Blair, and typed a reply.

I wanted to message you first. No doubt it will be all over the news by tomorrow night. Even in the UK. A runaway bush girl and two bodies. The press is going to have a fucking field day. It’s not good, Blair. I messed up. I lost her.

I’m not okay.

Blair’s reply was instant.

Do you want me to fly out? I can be on a plane in twelve hours. I could do with a few good movies. Also, I secretly love plane food. Weird. I know. I’m judging myself. X

Effie let out a jolt of laughter. She actually laughed.

No. But thank you.

I’ll have my phone on and my passport packed. Super horrid photo, taken when I was hungover. No makeup AT ALL. But I’ll do it for you. X

Effie squeezed the phone tight, then stepped from Lewis’s bed, ready for the shitstorm.

—

The next twelve hours were hell. Even with a missing kid and one—maybe two—dead bodies, things took time to mobilize. It didn’t help that Christchurch was 550 kilometers away.

Charlotte—his wife—was 550 kilometers away.

Lewis made call after call, and Effie looked through the photos on her phone, over and over, searching for anything.

Normally, another sole-charge officer would have been called in from Franz Josef to help secure the scene while they waited on the big guns.

But the scene was in the middle of the bush, and the potential murder weapon was missing, so normal was out.

Lewis had checked and there was absolutely no precedent for this on the West Coast. Anya, like her name, was an anomaly.

But by 8 p.m., the small police station had been transformed into a bustling incident headquarters.

Laptops had been set up on desks, large evidence boards had been pinned to the walls, and the place was littered with half-drunk cups of coffee and leftovers from dinner.

Both Effie and Lewis had been interviewed, and she’d handed over the drawing and the notes from Tia.

Now they were waiting for instructions. It was no longer Lewis’s case; that had been made clear.

It was up to Detective Morrow and the real cops now.

“Arseholes,” Effie had whispered.

She sat on a plastic chair and stared at the photo of Anya on the wall.

Lewis had taken it shortly after she’d turned up, her dress still bloodied and her eyes hollow.

There were photos of her ankles too, the skin raw and scarred, and a picture of a badly healed scar along her forearm.

From a knife, perhaps. The dress had been sent to the lab in Christchurch, but Effie didn’t hold out much hope.

The blood would provide DNA, maybe, but that didn’t seem particularly useful given that the entire family lived off-grid.

Like ghosts in the trees. But they had Four’s blood, and if they could get Anya’s, they might be able to find proof of Tia on the dress, drips of her sister soaked into the fabric.

“We’re heading out at 5 a.m.,” said Lewis, handing her a coffee. “The weather should have cleared by then.”

Effie turned to the window, an onslaught of rain and wind battering the glass, and tried not to think about Anya. Shivering. Wet. Alone. She closed her eyes. Or maybe she wasn’t alone. And maybe that was worse.

“We’ve both got a spot to fly out on the Eagle,” Lewis said. “Glorified spectators, I’m told. No touching.”

“How considerate of them,” she said, her voice cold, “giving a seat to the only person who knows where to go.”

“The locals have already mobilized,” said Lewis, sitting next to her. “Hanging up on journalists left, right, and center, and blocking emails. It will get out, of course, but we’re among good people. The locals are on our side. At the moment, the press is just sniffing. Shooting in the dark.”

“And this lot,” said Effie, gesturing toward the room of people.

There were eleven of them in total, the whole shebang: Criminal Investigation Branch, the Armed Offenders Squad and the dog team.

“They’re doing their jobs,” said Lewis. “Morrow’s a good detective. Hard. By the book. But she knows what she’s doing.”

Effie let out a sigh. “I know. I’ve been watching her.” She turned to Lewis. “But even the best detectives can’t catch ghosts.”