Page 34 of Girl, Fractured

Ella, Ripley and Sarah Webb had crammed themselves in Sarah’s Nissan Altima.Ella and her new friend in the front, Ripley in the back.It formed a pressure cooker of awkward proximity, but Webb had insisted on the car rather than going back inside.Public spaces had ears, and privacy was a journalist’s oxygen.The rain hammered against the roof in percussive bursts.

‘Frank was murdered?Can you tell me how?’

‘Someone broke into his house, shot him in the stomach and then…’

‘Then what?’

Ella was unsure how to articulate the next part.The words alone didn’t seem to do the horror justice.‘You’re familiar with the Jennifer Marlowe case, I believe.’

‘Marlowe?’Webb released her death grip on the steering wheel, then leaned through the wheel and planted her hands on the dashboard.Ella thought it was an odd position, but grief was an odd emotion.‘I know it well.You’re not saying that…?’

Ella nodded.

‘Someone gouged out Frank’s eyes?’

‘And put stones in the sockets,’ Ripley said from the back seat.Sarah shot her a look of disbelief, which then turned to fear.Ella guessed she was weighing up the possibility of this being connected to her.No matter what people said, their own safety was always their concern in the wake of bad news.

‘A carbon copy of the Marlowe scene?That’s…’ Webb trailed off, then suddenly became transfixed by the water rolling down her windshield.

‘We understand you were talking to Frank, is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah muttered.‘How did you know?’

‘His former partner told us.Can you describe your relationship with him?’

‘Relationship?There was no relationship.We were talking because he wanted me to do a book about the Marlowe case.’

‘That would be a short book.’

‘Yes it would, which is why I turned the idea down.’

Ripley asked, ‘But did you have access to Frank’s files?’

‘I made copies of them, but why does that matter?’

‘Because the stones component of the crime is obscure knowledge.Whoever killed Frank has that knowledge.’

Sarah gripped the handbrake and momentarily opened herself up for body language examination.Until now, she’d made a barrier between herself and Ella via her arm, which Ella would have taken as a sign of suspicion under other circumstances.But Sarah’s lower body positioning – feet angled slightly in her direction, knees apart – suggested every word coming out of her glossy lips was genuine.

‘I put that info in a book years ago.Anyone who’s read it will know about the stones.’

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ Ripley said, ‘but you’re not Jane Austen.How many people are going to have read that book?And remembered that detail?’

‘Four-thousand copies sold, but yes, that’s worldwide.’

‘Mia, it only takes one,’ Ella said, then turned back to Sarah.‘How didyoulearn that detail when you first wrote the book?’

‘My dad, Thomas Webb.He was a detective, retired now.He had connections to Florida State, and he got me the files.’

‘Right.’Ella filed the name away.Thomas Webb.Someone else they needed to talk to.

Mia chimed in, ‘I’m just saying it’s improbable that the killer’s info came from that book.The stones were identical, and besides, the killer knew about Frank’s obsession with the case too.That’s not common knowledge.’

‘Well, some people know about Frank’s obsession.Not just me.’

‘How?’

Sarah swallowed a lump in her throat.She smoothed her hair and knocked a few strands out of her bun in the process.Ella took this as another sign of sincerity, because women this presentable didn’t scuff their hair voluntarily, even if they were acting.

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