Chapter Fifty-Two Holly
Chapter Fifty-Two
HOLLY
I leave the other girls to their club night, marveling at their stamina. Though I suspect I have committed some terrible faux pas by not going along too. I caught a flash of Adrianna’s exhausted face, before she quickly rearranged her features into ‘night club excitement’.
I head for the kitchen determined to find something to eat, but it’s locked and so I go to my cabana, hoping Fitzwilliam has gotten hold of Silky’s sketchbook. Maybe she’ll have drawn some answers to my questions about Trinity and boarding school.
There’s nothing comparable to the total pitch black of a tropical island.
The hum of wildlife is deafening. Night birds, insects, and some kind of nocturnal toad determined to get in on the party.
The sky above is inky, dotted with a thousand white stars.
My feet feel out the comforting straight lines of the plank walkway leading to back to our off-shore huts.
As I break out of jungle, the sight of the ocean takes my breath away.
It’s lit up from within, spotted all across the shore with bright blue lights.
Like a starry sky from a distant beautiful planet.
The warm sand is scattered with an unfamiliar species of small lizard, racing in and out of the darkening tides.
‘Wow,’ I say softly, taking it in.
A figure steps from the dark.
On instinct, I lurch backward, nearly falling from the wooden gangplank beneath me. Strong hands grasp at my dress.
‘Holly?’ It’s Fitzwilliam. He pulls me back to safety.
‘Oh my God!’ I put my hand to my heart. ‘You scared the life out of me.’
‘Sorry. I just wanted to wait until you got back, so you didn’t walk alone in the dark.’ He hesitates. ‘Holly, didn’t your mother ever tell you not to walk around at night, on an island with a murderer on the loose?’
‘She didn’t tell me much, actually,’ I admit. ‘My mom wasn’t around growing up. She had this whole music scene going on.’
‘Sounds like my dad. Apart from the music.’
He follows my gaze out to sea. ‘Beautiful, right?’ he says. ‘That star-studded effect is phosphorescence. You only see it at certain times of the year. It’s the kind of thing wedding proposals are made of.’
There’s a sudden awkward silence that I swear doesn’t come from me.
‘Did you find anything out?’ he asks hopefully.
I nod slowly. ‘Adrianna agreed to testify at a court case, against Kensington Manor School, on the night of her birthday party.’
‘Really?’ He thinks for a moment. ‘I guess the family don’t own the school any longer. But, still … You think she would have actually done it?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I guess the question is, did someone believe she would?’ I consider. ‘And who would stand to lose if she did?’ We’re both thoughtful. ‘I take it you didn’t get Silky’s sketchbook?’ I suggest.
He shakes his head. ‘There’s some extra luggage waiting to be delivered, but I couldn’t get to it without being seen. I’m going to try and sneak in tomorrow morning. Ortiz is going to get us the fingerprint results back then as well,’ he says.
‘Not much time,’ I murmur, ‘if we need to leave by ten a.m. tomorrow.’ Disappointment sags inside me. And the terrible feeling that time is slipping away. Fitzwilliam clears his throat and thrusts what appears to be a small cardboard box in my direction.
‘I … uh … got you something,’ he adds, completely failing to dissipate the weird mood he’s created.
‘Is it a five-carat diamond ring?’ I suggest.
‘I wouldn’t propose with anything less than six. And no, it’s not.’
The box is warm as I take it. I can smell something chargrilled and delicious. ‘Is it food?’ I ask hopefully.
‘It’s nothing much. Just chicken and rice,’ he waves it, and hands me a wooden fork. ‘The staff meals are pretty good. Thought you’d appreciate something more than a shaved leaf salad, or whatever they were serving up on the beach.’
‘You’re a life-saver.’ I pop open the lid. ‘There was nothing,’ I tell him. ‘No food, at all.’ I’m about to shovel an overloaded forkful into my mouth, but I catch the look in his eye and restrain myself.
‘You have no idea how hungry I am. These women don’t eat.’ I swallow several smaller bites, savouring the rapidly easing pain in my stomach.
‘Maybe breathe between mouthfuls,’ he suggests, with a slightly strained expression.
‘OK.’ I plop down on the sand. Take a demure mouthful, like I’ve seen Adrianna do.
‘Can I ask you a personal question?’
I shrug. ‘Sure.’
‘Why did you quit working for Simone?’
I pause, forkful halfway to my mouth, hunger fighting anxiety.
‘I didn’t like the direction she was taking the show.
Wrongfully Accused is supposed to be about justice, but the moment Leopold Kensington dangled the chance of big ratings, it was like Simone forget all about ethics, and became obsessed with Adrianna.
Just like the rest of the world,’ I add, with a small amount of bitterness.
Fitzwilliam regards my expression. ‘Maybe it was personal in some way,’ he says. ‘For Simone.’
I swallow rice with effort.
‘I have another question,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘Why are you still working as a forensic scientist?’
‘What’s wrong with me being a forensic scientist?’ I’m relieved he’s changed the subject.
‘I’d expect you to be running your own company. Your own lab, at least. At college we all assumed you were going to become a forensic lawyer, for one of the big law firms.’
I almost choke on my rice. ‘You did?’
‘You had the highest grades,’ he says, with a slight smile.
‘But you never started acting the part.’ He eyes the ruffled dress Georgia gave me.
‘You could easily have gotten into one of the big law firms, but you’re still working as a forensic technician with blue hair and a lip piercing, seven years after graduating. ’
‘Yeah, well.’ I chew some more. ‘Those big firms have their entries all sewn up with people like you, all at the same country club.’
‘Holly,’ he says, ‘when the internships came around, I never saw you in the interview room. Did you even apply?’
I scuff sand with my foot. ‘It’s different for you,’ I say, looking into my rice.
‘Guys like you bounce back from rejection. People like me don’t.
’ I lift my eyes to the stars. ‘Why did you become a cop, anyway?’ I ask, keen to move the conversation away from myself.
‘You didn’t seem like the type to flunk out. ’
‘No,’ he agrees. ‘There was an incident. At college.’ He sounds like he’s choosing his words very carefully.
‘Made me realize the importance of good policing. I took some time out, then decided that maybe lawyers weren’t changing the world for the good the way I thought.
Decided I wanted to try and make a difference on the ground.
’ He looks straight ahead to signal the subject is closed, and I feel a prickle of guilt. I misjudged him, I realize.
‘OK, I’m done eating.’ Fitzwilliam stands and proffers a hand to help me up.
We head down the plank gangway over the water, and I fill him in on the way, about Silky’s random disappearance, and addiction issues.
‘Let’s just get a good night’s sleep,’ says Fitzwilliam, unhappily. ‘I’ll come by first thing.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
After Fitzwilliam leaves, I turn out the lights, and flop, fully clothed, on the luxurious, lemony scented cotton sheets.
The dredge of sand being pulled and dropped by the ocean swell sounds rhythmically outside.
I imagine the graceful turns of the small sharks beneath my room, flitting in and out of the glowing shallow waters.
My mind drifts to Silky, out in the dark. I can’t help but imagine her, lost and frightened somewhere on the island.
As the exhaustion of the day knocks me into a deep, dreamless sleep, I picture Silky, alone, staring out onto a black sea under a starless sky.