“That was of Farrah’s year, not mine.” Will pauses. “The night of the murders, I was with Thea, one of the girls, when she was attacked. We’d wandered into the woods, Thea took herself off to pee. I didn’t even have a chance to turn my back when, out of nowhere, someone hit her.” He falters. “Hit her again and again, and I . . .” A fleeting grimace. “I ran. Left her there.”
Elin gropes for reassurances, but it’s hard because she’s thrown by what he’s saying. “You were scared,” she says finally. “Wanted to help, but thought he’d attack you too.”
“No.” Will’s voice is flat. “I didn’t even think about helping her. Can’t even say it entered my head. I ran. What you were saying the other day about being a coward, you weren’t, that day with Sam. You froze, but you didn’t run. I saved myself over helping Thea. I still think about all the what-ifs. If I’d tried to defend her . . .” He shakes his head, the pain evident in his eyes.
“I understand. I did the same,” she says quietly. “Kept going over it, making it play out a different way.”
He nods. “After it happened, I hid for a while. When I came out, there was no one there, only this stone on the sand. It was odd, it had been shaped to look like the rock.” Elin’s pulse quickens. Shaped, like the stones in the cave. “I picked it up—that’s when someone attacked me from behind. I couldn’t see properly, but I got glimpses of a dark cloak, the hood pulled over their face.”
A cloak: like the one they found in the cave.
What he’s told her proves, beyond doubt, the connection between the two cases.
“Somehow, I got past them, ran back through the woods. That’s when I found her, still there, in the clearing.” Will clasps a hand over his mouth. “There was so much blood, and she was so still, Elin. Unnatural. I stayed there for a while, part of me hoping she’d wake up, say it was all a joke, but in the end, I knew.” A sob emerges from behind his hand. “Eventually, I made my way back to camp to tell the teachers, but then I saw Josh and David’s tent slashed, and you could see, even from outside, that they were dead. The stone I found . . .” His voice pitches higher. “It was lying beside them, covered in blood. I thought, I thought—”
“That it was the same one you found on the beach.” Elin fills in the gap. She knows where this is going.
He nods. Another hiccupy sob. “I assumed I’d dropped it on the beach, so when I saw it there, I thought the worst. Knew my fingerprints would be on it. I panicked and grabbed it.”
“And that’s when you told Farrah?”
“Yes. She said that I couldn’t say anything, that my DNA would be all over the stone, and when they found Thea, they’d think it was me. Farrah hid it in the woods.”
Elin nods, one thing still bothering her about this story—the idea that the killer had brought the stone to the tent, to the scene of the crime. There’s no evidence, as far as she can tell, that the killer did this with Bea Leger and Seth Delaney.
Is it important, a deviation, or does it imply something else?
“So when did Farrah decide to make the statement about Creacher?”
“After he was arrested. Farrah said we couldn’t be sure that the police wouldn’t find any other evidence linking back to me, so she came up with the idea of saying she’d seen Creacher lurking about by the tents.”
“It was Farrah’s idea?”
“Yes, but she only said what she did because we thought Creacher was responsible. The lie was meant to cement what the police already suspected. We weren’t thinking about the consequences.” Will drags his gaze up to meet hers, shaking his head. “I should have said something when you started investigating, but I didn’t even want to consider that there might be a connection.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I can see it would have been hard to go there, and with Creacher in prison . . .” But saying the words, a seed of doubt creeps in. This was about protecting him and Farrah.
“I have to, if Farrah’s lie for me has to do with her going missing.” He shakes his head. “I should have faced it, told the police. You were right when you said you couldn’t paper over the past, but I’ve been doing it my whole life. The retreat, my name—”
“Your name?”
He nods. “I changed it after it happened. Parents did the full deed poll thing. I kept having these nightmares, Thea calling out my name. It was Oliver, but she always called me Ollie.” Tears are welling in his eyes, and he brings a hand up to wipe them away.