And he had known about the photos on Cole’s camera before I did. His words came back to me as if in a dream: He was showing them to us over lunch. He had some great pics . . .
Ben Howard. The one person on board I had thought I could trust.
But I pushed that thought away—focusing on the phone, and the stupidity and daring of coming in to steal it while I was in the bath. He had risked a lot to take it, and the question was why. Why now? But I thought I knew.
The answer was Trondheim. As long as the boat’s Internet was down, the perpetrator had nothing to worry about. I couldn’t make a call to land without going through Camilla Lidman. But once we started to draw closer to land . . .
I hugged the cushion harder to my chest, and I thought of Trondheim, and Judah, and the police.
All I had to do was make it until dawn.
WHODUNNIT WEB FORUM—
A DISCUSSION PLACE FOR ARMCHAIR DETECTIVES
Please read the forum rules before starting a thread, and exercise caution in posting anything potentially prejudicial and/or libelous to live cases. Posts that violate these guidelines will be taken down.
Monday 28 September
iamsherlocked: Hey guys, anyone else been following this Lorna Blacklock case? Looks like theyve found a body.
TheNamesMarpleJaneMarple: I think you’ll find it’s Laura Blacklock actually. Yes, I’ve been following it. Really tragic and sadly not that unusual. I read somewhere that more than 160 people have gone missing off cruise ships in the past few years, and almost none of those have been solved.
iamsherlocked: Yeah I think I’ve heard that too. Saw in the Daily Fail that her ex was on board the ship. Theres a big sobby interview wiv him saying how worried he is. He reckons she got off on her own accord. Is it me or is that a bit suss? Don’t they say that a third of women are killed by ex’s or partners or something?
TheNamesMarpleJaneMarple: “a third of women are killed by ex’s or partners or something?” I presume that must be in the case of women who are murdered, a third of them are killed by a partner or ex, not a third of all women! But yes, that kind of proportion sounds plausible. And of course there’s the boyfriend. Something about his statement’s not quite ringing true, and apparently he was out of the country at the time . . . hmm . . . very convenient. Not that hard to get a plane to Norway, right?
AnonInsider: I’m a regular on WD (although I’ve name-changed as I don’t want to out myself) and actually I know something about this case, I’m a family friend. I don’t want to say too much for fear of making myself identifiable or impinging on the family’s privacy, but I can tell you Judah is completely devastated about Lo’s disappearance, and I’d be very careful about implying anything to the contrary or you’ll probably find this thread gets taken down.
TheNamesMarpleJaneMarple: Anon, I’d find your claims more convincing if you dropped the mask, and in any case none of what I said above was libelous. I said I didn’t personally find his statement convincing. Show me the libel in that?
AnonInsider: Look, MJM, I’m not interested in debating this with you, but I do know the family very well. I was at school with Laura, and I can tell you, you’re barking up the wrong tree. If you must know, Lo’s got serious problems—she’s taken medication for depression for years and she’s always been . . . well, I think unstable would be the kind way of putting it. I imagine that’s the line the police will be looking at.
iamsherlocked: what suicide you reckon?
AnonInsider: Not really my place to speculate on the police investigation—but yes, that’s my reading of it between the lines. If you notice, they’re being very careful not to describe it as a murder investigation in the press.
JudahLewis01: A friend told me about this thread and I’ve registered to post this, and unlike Anon this is my real name. Anon, I have no idea who you are and to be honest you can fuck off. Yes, Lo takes medication (although FYI it’s for anxiety, not depression and if you were really a friend of hers you’d know that) but so do literally hundreds of thousands of people, and the idea that that automatically makes her either “unstable” as you put it, or suicidal, is fucking offensive. Yes, I was out of the country. I was in Russia, working. And yes, they’ve found a body, but it’s not been identified as Lo, so at this stage it’s still a missing person’s investigation, which is why you’ve not seen any suggestion it’s a murder investigation. Can you people remember this is a real person you’re talking about and not just your personal episode of Murder, She Wrote? I don’t know who the admins of this shitshow are, but I’m reporting this thread.
iamsherlocked: “unlike Anon this is my real name” not being funny but we’ve only got you’re word for that mate.
MrsRaisin (admin): Hi all, sorry to say we agree with Mr. Lewis, this thread is straying into some rather unpleasant speculation so we’ll be deleting it. We obviously don’t want to stop you discussing what’s in the news, so feel free to take it elsewhere, but please stick to the reported facts.
InspektörWallander: So what about this Norwegian polis scanner blog that is reporting a positiv identification of Laura’s body?
MrsRaisin (admin): We are now closing this thread.
- CHAPTER 22 -
I was trapped. I was not certain where, or how, but I had a pretty good idea.
The windowless room was small and stifling, and I lay on the bunk with my eyes shut and my arms wrapped around my head, trying not to give way to the feelings of panic rising up inside me.
I must have replayed the events a thousand times in my head, through the rising fog of fear—hearing, again and again, the knock at the door as I sat on the edge of the sofa, waiting for Trondheim and dawn.
The sound, though not particularly loud, had been shocking as a gunshot in the silent cabin. My head jerked up, the cushion falling from my hands onto the floor, my heart going a mile a minute. Jesus. I found I was holding my breath and I forced myself to exhale, long and slow, and then inhale, counting the seconds.
It came again, not a rough banging, just a tap tap tap, then a long pause and a final tap as if an afterthought, slightly louder than the rest. At that last tap, I scrambled to my feet and made my way, as quietly as I could, to the door.
Cupping my hand over the opening so no telltale flash of light could betray my presence, I slid the little steel cover of the peephole open. Then when my face was close enough to the glass to shield any gray dawn light from my window, I withdrew my fingers and peered through the fisheye.
I don’t know who I was expecting to see. Nilsson, maybe. Ben Howard. I wouldn’t even have been surprised to see Bullmer.
But not even for one minute did I imagine the person actually standing outside. Her.
It was the woman from cabin 10. The missing girl. Standing outside like nothing had ever happened.
For a minute I just stood there, gasping like I’d been punched in the stomach. She was alive. I’d been wrong. Nilsson was right—and I’d been wrong all this time.
And then she turned on her heel and began to walk down the corridor, towards the door to the staff quarters. I had to get to her. I had to get to her before she disappeared behind that locked door.
Slamming back the chain and the bolt, I wrenched open the door.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey, you, wait! I need to talk to you!”
She didn’t pause, didn’t even glance back over her shoulder, and now she was at the door to the lower deck, punching in the code. I didn’t stop to think. I just knew that this time I wasn’t going to let her disappear without a trace. I ran.
She was already through the staff door by the time I was halfway down the corridor, but I caught the edge of the door as it was just closing, pinching my fingers painfully, and then I wrenched it open and flung myself into the gap.
Inside it was darkness, the bulb at the top of the steps burned out. Or taken out, as I later thought.
As the door swung shut behind me, I stopped for a second, trying to get my bearings, see where the top step was. And that’s when it happened—a hand grabbing my hair from behind, another twisting my arm behind me, limbs grappling mine in the darkness. There was a short interval of panting, scrabbling terror, my nails in someone’s skin, my free hand trying to reach behind me to get a grip on the thin, strong hand laced in my hair—and then the hand pulled harder, twisting my head painfully back, and rammed my head forwards against the locked door. I heard the crack of my skull against the metal doorframe—and nothing.