Will’s gaze shifts away from the screen to the floor. A long silence, before he finally looks back. “I’ll be honest, all this is something I hoped would never come up. Farrah was traumatized by the whole thing. Still is. One of the few topics we don’t really speak about.” The idea jars as his family always makes a thing of their openness: We don’t hide things. We talk. He looks back to her. “If you knew what she went through . . .”
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
“Not your fault. They should never have bloody let kids on that island with that creep. People had reported him, you know? Years before the attack. The sicko had been photographing the kids while they were at the camp.”
Elin hates hearing the pain in his voice. It’s still raw for him. “I get it, but you can’t blame yourself. Every family will have felt the same. Easy to say in hindsight.”
He meets her gaze. “I know what you’re about to ask. Why I pressed the button on LUMEN, why Farrah would want to work there.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to explain. People cope with trauma in all sorts of ways.”
“No, I want to tell you, explain why we were so touchy the other night. LUMEN, it was meant to be a fresh start for us both. When our team got the job, at first I couldn’t even contemplate working on it, but in the end, I decided to put my hand up, turn the negative into a positive. I never imagined Farrah would want a role there herself, but when she suggested it, I thought, That’s my sister. Doesn’t run from a fight, but toward it. Ballsy.”
He’s right, but Elin knows all too well that there’s a fine line between ballsy and stupid. If it becomes a trigger . . . She hesitates. “Look, I know this is hard, but we found something else, an odd screen saver on her laptop. Pretty threatening. Something along the lines of I know what you did. I know that you lied.” His face darkens. “I’m wondering whether this note and Farrah’s disappearance link to her testimony. The fact that I found a photo from her time on the island as well—”
“I don’t get it,” Will says flatly.
“Maybe what it’s implying about her lying connects in some way to her testimony.” She stumbles over her words, hearing how it must sound.
“Ahh, now I understand.” He makes a small noise in his throat. “Just come out and say it. You’re asking if Farrah lied in her statement.”
“No,” Elin says quickly, floundering. She’s doing this wrong. “I’m just wondering if there’s something about that night that she might have had doubts over.”
“Elin, stop. I can read between the lines. You’ve found this note and you’ve done what you always do with people. Immediately seen the worst.”
She doesn’t reply right away, not because he isn’t right; she is judgmental, but that’s not the case here. “This isn’t about judging Farrah, it’s about trying to find her. If she did lie, then it’s important, because her testimony was central to Creacher’s conviction. If that conviction was based on a lie, then it might mean he wasn’t responsible. If that’s the case, it means that whoever was might still be out there. On the island now.”
Will briefly closes his eyes. When he opens them, his expression is resigned. “You’re right. Farrah did lie about Creacher in her testimony, but it’s not for whatever messed up reason you think. It’s because of me.”
“You?” Her hand tightens around the phone, fingertips briefly eclipsing Will’s face.
“Yes. Farrah did lie, but it was nothing to do with her. She did it to protect me.”
67
So what exactly do you want to talk about?”
“Like I said, you and me.” Hana raises her voice above the strengthening sound of the wind. It’s pulling at the tops of the pines overhanging the pool, making them shift and sway above them. “And Liam?”
“Liam?” Jo echoes, walking around the pool. Bending at the waist, she rolls up her yoga mat, tucks it under one arm.
“Yes, Liam. I know what happened.” Hana’s proud of herself then. Proud of how calm she is. In control. She knows now she’ll remain steely throughout this conversation, won’t be easily swayed by Jo’s charm and easy patter. “I know it all, how you lied. All this time.”
“You know it all.” Jo’s voice stutters, misfires. “How?”
“You don’t need to know how. You just have to know that I know what you did.” Hana doesn’t recognize her own voice, the deadened quality of each word.