Violet sits on the bed. There’s a six-pack of bottled water under there, a back-up I bought in case my suite is compromised in some way. She says, ‘Like . . . only a block away from here, in his hotel bed, murdered.’
‘I know. It’s utterly horrific.’
‘I told the police there’s a madman on the loose. A psychopath. Some guy killing Columbia students.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They said what you said. That there’s a chance they may not be connected. Not connected? You believe that? A girl, and then her boyfriend? Same school? Of course they’re fucking connected.’
‘It’s a nightmare.’
I’m still surprised his body was found so quickly. I’d expected him to be discovered after forty-eight hours, some manager or cleaning supervisor knocking on the door and yelling a warning, then opening the door. But within twelve hours? Did I forget something? No, I did not. The door sign was on, I know that. Maybe he bled out so much it dripped through the floor to the ceiling below? Scarlet raindrops. No, that’s impossible. Not with all the towels and bedding. The smell? Even though I turned the air-con down to sixty Fahrenheit? There wouldn’t have been any smell.
‘What are you thinking about?’ she says, opening her water bottle.
‘My sister,’ I lie.
‘Oh, Molly, fuck, this is even worse for you, I know it is. I liked Scottie so much but this is much harder for you. Goddamn, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.’
‘Grief isn’t a competition,’ I say. ‘Mum told me that before she left for London. Saw it on Dr Phil or something.’
Violet smiles. ‘I’ve talked to some friends, some people who knew Scott, and people who knew Katie, but those two mixed in such different circles, you know. Not many people were friends with them both. Talking to you, it helps make sense of it all.’
‘There’s no sense in any of this,’ I say.
‘Amen to that. I hope whoever did this rots in hell.’
‘Oh, I think they probably will.’
‘Scottie’s parents are on their way down from Connecticut. His dad’s not well as it is – heart arrhythmia and a pacemaker – so I’m not sure how they’ll cope with all this.’
‘Thank God they have each other,’ I say. ‘Mum and Dad have been supporting each other these past weeks. People talk about marriage being outdated, but my parents lean on each other for support. If they’d divorced years ago, as they almost did – money worries, you know – I don’t think either one of them would have survived this.’
Violet looks away, over at the wall.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Not important,’ she says.
‘Tell me.’
‘You talking about divorce reminded me. Professor Groot’s wife served him with the paperwork this morning. Right there in front of his fucking class. Served him as cool as ice and then walked right out of the lecture. Groot could not believe his eyes.’
Chapter 43
The hostel room is too narrow to sit and talk for long. Too tight. Airless. We step out on to the street and there’s some kind of news crew: a woman with an umbrella held over her head, a guy holding a camera, another guy making sure pedestrians don’t get too close.
Violet looks at me and I look at her.
‘The Sofitel is right over there,’ she says.
‘I know.’
We walk a block to the diner and there are even more film crews. The police have taped off an area outside the hotel reception and there are two squad cars parked on the pavement.
We go inside the diner and it is warm and familiar. Zuma was nice and all, but I prefer this place.
‘I’m not sure I can eat anything,’ says Violet. ‘I feel sick to my stomach.’
A waiter I don’t recognise approaches and I say, ‘Two coffees, please.’
‘Coffee?’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Scottie’s dead in a morgue and I’m drinking coffee. What the fuck, you know?’
‘Are you going to talk to his parents when they get here?’
She takes a paper sachet of Sweet’n Low from the pot and flips it between her fingers. ‘I don’t know, I’m not sure. Maybe. I wasn’t his girlfriend or anything so I don’t know what to say to them, you know? Like, where the hell do I even start? I don’t know what to think any more. Those poor people.’
‘I wish I could go to the funeral,’ I say. ‘I know it sounds morbid or whatever, but attending KT’s cremation, the service, the peacefulness of it all, coming to terms with the truth – it helped me. I think I’d have broken down if it wasn’t for that goodbye. I think I’d have lived in denial of what really happened.’