Really smooth, Gray.
“Okay, you’re good to go,” said the man, giving me a wan smile.
It could have been worse. They could have taken me into a room and held me up with strip searches and questions. Even made me miss my flight. I’d heard of that happening.
I was the last one through the gate. Just minutes to spare now. Good. Because I wanted this plane in the air. Waiting was going to turn me into a sweat machine.
I found my seat and settled in.
The flight attendant gave the safety speech, and then the plane started down the runway.
I instructed myself to go to sleep if I could manage it. Because I wasn’t going to stop running once I got to my destination.
43. Constance
I OWED IT TO ROSEMARY TO find the people who’d murdered her so cruelly. I’d dragged her into this. And she’d paid the price, in the worst way possible.
But I wasn’t going to stay. The best way to find them was to find Kara.
I sensed that Rosemary would understand.
Rosemary’s phrase replayed in my mind: Exposing flaws means closing doors. Remembering that had kept me from blurting everything out at the police station. I didn’t know who I could and couldn’t trust. I had to play it safe, else risk having every door that was currently open to me locked tight.
I couldn’t become Rosemary, but I could use the things I’d learned from her in the brief time I’d known her. One of those things was only revealing the information that I absolutely had to. Leaving no stone unturned was another. And using a phone that couldn’t be traced to me was yet another thing Rosemary had taught me—she’d shown me how to buy a phone to use for private conversations with her the day before she died.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed in my hotel room, I browsed the news online. I needed a distraction to keep my mind from spinning. It was a habit of mine to read the news every day. I always read every story at my favoured sites, collecting all the stories, all the terrible and quirky and strange things. People at their worst, at the end of their rope, on the edge. The stories made me somehow feel better and made me feel that my own life wasn’t out of control.
I still had a news page open from Sydney. Back in Australia, I’d been anxiously checking Sydney news every day for stories about young girls who’d been found dumped and dead somewhere. There had been a girl, around Kara’s age, but she hadn’t been Kara. She’d been a pretty, dark-haired aspiring model. Dead and dumped. Like trash.
Today, the news was filled with murders. So many murders.
I felt ill suddenly. Leaving the tablet on my hotel bed, I grabbed a glass of juice. Like a drill sergeant or a priest hearing confession, I made myself pay the price for my obsession with the daily news—dropping to the floor and commencing ten push-ups. James had told me many times to quit reading the news so much. But I couldn’t quit. I was addicted.
Inside my handbag, my phone jingled. I wasn’t used to the new ringtone yet. No one had this number, not even the police. Except for Gray.
Fetching it out, I answered breathily. “Hello?”
“Constance. It’s me, Gray.”
“What’s happening?”
“Just a sec. I can barely hear you. I need to go where it’s less noisy.”
The push-ups had made my heart squeeze, I’d gone at them so hard and fast. I held the phone to my ear and waited for Gray.
This was the first time he’d called me so far. Before, it’d been me calling and desperately wanting clues from him. Now, he obviously needed something from me. Perversely, a brief flicker of satisfaction passed through me. I wasn’t the needy one now. Gray was knocking on my door.
A news story on my tablet caught my eye. Suspect flees after knife and rope found at crime scene.
Anger rattled inside me. Yet another person murdered, and the murderer trying to get away scot free. I clicked on the story. A strangled gasp rose and died in my throat.
A picture of Gray Harlow accompanied the text.
Police are seeking information about a person of interest in relation to a crime scene that has been established at an unidentified bushland setting in Sydney’s western suburbs. The burned-out car of missing Sydney mother Evie Harlow was found days ago, with Mrs Harlow’s handbag, phone and shoes found buried a short distance away.
Police also discovered a knife, tape and rope buried at the scene. These items have been positively identified as belonging to Evie’s husband, Gray Harlow.
According to a close family friend, Marla Atkinson, Evie had recently left her husband due to problems in their relationship. Evie arranged for her two young daughters, aged two and four, to remain in safety with Marla. Mr Harlow allegedly took the girls by force the following day.