“And had they?” Stevie said.
“No,” Sebastian replied. “Nothing had been taken. We just found . . . Rosie and Noel. So we got rid of the plants before the police arrived.”
“Carefully,” Theo added. “We tried to disrupt as little as possible. When we got there, the floor was soaked—there were puddles of water everywhere, so there were no footprints. We still used other objects to avoid stepping on the ground. We removed everything from upstairs, very carefully, and got rid of it. The only things we altered downstairs were the axe and the rope handle.”
“Where was the axe when you arrived?” Stevie asked.
“Exactly where it always was,” Sebastian said. “Standing upright by the door. It had a long handle, so I’d use it to hook the rope pull. That’s what I did that morning. I grabbed it and pulled the hatch down. I didn’t see Rosie and Noel until I had come back down the ladder.”
“We had to cut the rope handle because it had blood on it,” Theo continued, “and the police might go up there and find residue of the plants. We had to clean the axe because Sebastian’s fingerprints were on it. We cleaned the handle and threw it in the stream. I’ve never regretted what we did that day. We couldn’t help Rosie or Noel, but we could help Sebastian. If those plants had been found he would have gone to jail, and maybe he would have been accused of murder.”
“No regrets,” Sooz said.
This was generally echoed around the room.
“And my aunt knew?” Izzy said.
“Of course,” Theo replied. “It was all of us. She helped.”
“All of us,” Sooz said.
“Every one of us,” Peter added. “We used a brigade system to take the plants down. We loaded them into a car and got rid of them.”
“And then I phoned the police,” Theo said. “As quickly as I could.”
“And what about the lock on the shed?” Stevie asked.
“What we said about that was true,” Sebastian said. “We found the lock intact and the door ripped open. Must have been easier for the burglars to crowbar it open rather than mess about with the lock.”
Stevie had to move away from the fire. It was too much heat. She moved to the darker side of the room, nearer to where David was perched.
“Question,” Yash said, raising his hand slightly. “You still haven’t explained why you have crime scene photos and police reports.”
“My aunt had them,” Izzy said. “We found them in her house. She’s been researching this case.”
“You mean, she’s looking for the burglars?” Yash replied. “For some DNA evidence or something? She never mentioned this to me. Did she say anything to any of you?”
A chorus of shaking heads.
“If Angela is researching the case,” Sooz said, “is that where she is? I mean, she’d have to be here, right? Where else could she look? And why not just tell us she was doing it?”
Because she thinks one of you did it, Stevie thought.
“What does she have?” Julian asked. “What did she learn?”
“Only what the police knew at the time,” Stevie said. “She has the photos, the statements, the notes, the coroner’s report.”
“The entire police file?” Julian said.
“And one other thing. Who is Samantha Gravis?”
Six blank looks.
“Who?” Sooz asked.
“This was in with the police file.”
Stevie pulled out the newspaper article and passed it around.
“I don’t know who this is,” Julian said.
“Nor do I,” Theo said, passing it to Sebastian, who shrugged. Peter and Yash held the clipping between them and studied it.
“You know,” Peter said, “there’s something. Vaguely something I can’t place.”
Yash frowned in thought. The others crowded around the sofa. Sooz leaned low over the back of the sofa, her elbows on her friends’ shoulders.
“Well, the article is dated the day we arrived at Merryweather—June twenty-third, 1995,” she said. “That was also the day that Rosie and Noel were killed.”
They all conferred, trying to make sense of it. Their confused buzz seemed genuine. They really did not seem to know who Samantha Gravis was, and they wanted to figure it out.
Stevie was on the verge of asking something when Janelle appeared in the doorway.
“Dr. Quinn was just on the phone,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Stevie ushered Janelle to the far side of the entrance hall, under the disapproving portrait of the man and his dog. This made Stevie too nervous and was still within hearing distance of the sitting room, so she motioned them into the library and shut the door. She slapped at the wall, looking for the light switch, but was unable to find it. This talk would have to happen in the dark, which suited Stevie just fine.
“Figured some stuff out,” Stevie said. “In there. About what happened.”
“I heard,” Janelle replied quietly.
There was no “great job, Stevie!” or “you’re brilliant!” or “this makes everything fine!”
“So I’m getting closer,” Stevie said quickly. “Not there yet, but if we figure out who Samantha Gravis is—”
“You did hear me say that Dr. Quinn was on the phone, right?”
Stevie sucked in her lips and bit down hard.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I didn’t pick up in time,” Janelle went on. “So she called Nate. I heard Nate saying that we were in the student lounge watching a movie. And since we’re not in a student lounge watching a movie . . .”
The wind was picking up outside, and the trees were running the tips of their bare branches on the house, skinny fingertips tapping and scraping. There was a hollow whistle from the fireplace.
“Okay.” Stevie breathed out the word in a violent exhale. “I can explain . . .”
“Nate already did.”
“I was trying to find a time to tell you . . .”
“That you lied and said we had permission to come to this house when Dr. Quinn actually thinks we’re in London?”
“Yeah,” Stevie said, curling in on herself a little. “But you know why I did it.”
Nothing from Janelle for a moment. The dark library may have been a bad choice for this discussion. The windows were tall and cast long rectangles of moonlight on the floor. The books stood as silent sentinels, witnesses to Stevie’s shame. There was some kind of threatening piece of art nearby, something with beady eyes. The air smelled faintly of furniture polish, book dust, and judgment.
“I know why you think you did it,” Janelle said. “You think you did it because you had to help Angela and you had to get us all here any way you could.”
“You said you wouldn’t come if Quinn said no . . .” Stevie shot back.
“But don’t lie,” Janelle countered, an edge of emotion in her voice. “You should have told me what she said. Vi didn’t know. When did you tell Nate?”
“When we got here,” Stevie said quietly.
“I guess David knew, not that it matters for him. He doesn’t have to answer to Quinn.”