“And the boy’s statement about seeing her on the island?”
“Nothing came of it. Police scoured the woodland, spoke to staff, the other kids, the boatman, but we drew a blank.”
“But once the Creacher killings happened, you joined the dots.” Above Elin, the long branches of the pine shift, their shadows dancing sideways across the path.
“Yes. Understandably, I wondered if the cases were linked, if the girl might have potentially been Creacher’s first victim, but that hypothesis tripped itself up before it even got out of the starting gate. A few days into questioning Creacher, we found out he wasn’t on the island when Lois went missing.” Johnson hesitates, as if he’s about to say something else, and then stops himself. “And by that stage, the sighting of Lois on the mainland was substantiated by several people.”
“Did they ever find her?”
“No.”
“But surely that would imply what the boy was saying might have been the truth.”
Johnson sighs. “I’m not sure. All I know is that the running away theory . . . it’s what they rolled with at the time and they weren’t keen on revisiting Lois Wade’s case. If the wind’s blowing one way, you know what it’s like.”
Elin can read between the lines: Lois Wade’s disappearance and the sighting of her on the island were very obviously a thorn in the side of Creacher’s conviction. The police had made up their minds he was good for it, and Johnson’s theory would have been an awkward inconvenience. If the cases were proven to be linked, and Creacher wasn’t on the island when Lois Wade went missing, that would imply someone else was responsible. Having Lois Wade simply “missing” made Creacher’s conviction a whole lot easier to swallow.
Elin understands why: as she’d said to Steed, there would have been immense pressure on a case like this, from press and public, to get answers and fast. But in doing so, they’d possibly let the real killer go free. If that was the case, it has seismic implications for what’s happening here; her theory that whoever killed those teenagers also killed Bea Leger and Seth Delaney is now looking increasingly likely.
“So what happened after that?”
“I persisted, foolishly, as it turned out. Couldn’t let it go, but when I tried to broach it—and particularly the boy’s testimony—it went nowhere. Shortly after, I got pulled off the case.” A pause. “Someone more experienced came in.”
More experienced. They both know why he was pulled: his “alternative” theory would have slowed the path to a conviction.
“I went to the SIO, asked him to take another look, given the fact that Lois Wade still hadn’t turned up, but by that stage, the ball was rolling. With a case like this, it comes down to who is telling the best story, defense or prosecution, and in this instance the prosecution’s story about Creacher . . . it was compelling. He fit the bill, and then when the girl came forward to give her testimony, it was pretty much game over.”
“Girl?”
Johnson clears his throat. “Yes. One of the other kids from the Outward Bound course. Eyewitness. She came forward a little while after, said she saw Creacher the night of the murders.”
“Saw him where?”
“By the tents. Said she woke up, heard a disturbance. When she put her head outside the tent, she saw him running away from the camp.”
“She could ID him in the dark?”
“Apparently so. Told us she flicked her flashlight on.”
“That quickly?”
“So she said.” There’s a heavy silence.
“You had your doubts?”
Another sigh. “Yes. I hate to say it. She was a kid, and clearly traumatized, but there was something odd about her statement. Too perfect, a colleague said at the time, and I knew what she meant. The way she spoke, the poise . . . it bothered me. And of course the fact that it took her a few days to come forward—”
“A few days?”
“Yes. Said she was scared to say anything before, thought he’d get to her too.”
“Do you remember the girl’s name?”
“I do, all of that case is crystal clear to me. I probably shouldn’t have, and this is to stay between you and me, but I’ve kept my old notebooks. Her name was Farrah.” Johnson hesitates. “Farrah Riley.”
61
Look.” Maya drags her gaze up to meet Hana’s. “I wanted Jo to tell you herself. As far as I knew, she was planning to.” Placing the sketchbooks on the bed, she rubs at the patch of hard, shiny skin on her palm.