Page 50 of Bay of Plenty

Snow is my way out of everything. He is my soulmate, like in the magazines. We will end up together and be perfect.

We have the best tans on the beach. And he always orders hokey-pokey ice cream—my fave too.

We will live in a cottage on the beach, and he’ll teach surfing, and I’ll stay home with the kids. No, scrap that. I don’t want to have kids. I don’t like childhood—no one should have to have one. We’ll be happy, the two of us.

“I knew it. Snow was involved.” Fury rushed through me. I bet hehadgone to meet her that night.

“Hang on.” Kui clutched my arm. “This only proves that Janey had a crush on Snow. But so did all the girls in your form.” I certainly did not have a crush on Snow. “You can’t make that leap.”

Again, Kui was protecting Snow.Everyone is.

Snow had gotten away with something when it came to Janey’s death. He was the last person to see her. That was how it seemed. Maybe I even wanted the two cases to be connected, to make it neat.

Shaking, I handed the diary to Bevan, and she read on.

30 November 2004,OhopeBeach

Dear Diary,

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t go on. Maybe I should be the one who goes to the top.

Her face drained of blood, Bevan pulled the suicide note from the file she’d given me. The dark wind creaked the corrugated iron roof.

“This is Janey’s suicide note from our files at the newspaper.” She held up the note against the diary.

“Same words, same handwriting,” I said.

My words sounded jagged to my ears, as if I’d run to the top of the cliff to try to stop her.

A whoosh of air escaped Mum’s mouth. “She was so… desperate.”

“I want to go back and tell her, ‘You’re not alone, Janey.’” Kui rubbed her face. When she took her hand away, her eyes were red and dazed.

Bevan turned the page and pointed to the third and final entry. I read it out loud.

1 December 2004,OhopeBeach

Dear Diary,

The cops came to the house, what a mess. They nearly found out. I can never get that close again.

Now I have a deadline—it has to happen tonight. Everything is set at the top, so no excuses.

Tomorrow, the creeper will be dead.

I saw myself reflected in a window, the diary in my hand, the cliff looming behind me. My natural red curls were fighting to return. I reached up and touched them. I saw a glimpse of the person I wanted to be, my real self, and I knew what I had to do. I had to investigate this diary. If I didn’t, my mission to right wrongs was merely a lofty journalism goal I liked to hear myself say. Even if I nailed the heroin story and got hired, I couldn’t respect myself if I didn’t try to find Janey’s killer. It wouldn’t bring her back, but it would reveal the truth.

“She talks about a mess, that the cops came to her house,” I said.

“When I copied the Janey file for you, I also searchedpolice reports that day and the day before,” Bevan said. “Definitely nothing like this. Maybe the police didn’t pass it on to the newspaper for some reason.”

“Hopefully there’s a record of it at the police station,” I said. “That file is twenty years old now. Maybe, like your files, they didn’t make it onto microfiche. Maybe it’s a paper file in the basement. Kui, do you know anyone at the station?”

“No one I want to get in trouble,” she said firmly. She took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time to talk to Sarge. He’s a good guy, Isla. I’ve already told you about how he helped the boys out through the years and took an interest in them, which is more than I can say for many of the Pakeha cops. Why not ask for the information yourself? You might be surprised.”

Was she right—that I should make amends? He was the obvious person to seek help from. I had to be more open-minded about people. Perhaps the way he’d investigated Janey’s death was because he was misguided, arrogant, or lazy—rather than deliberate. Was I holding a grudge against him because he was imperious and dismissive and part of the old guard? I couldn’t let personal feelings blind me in this investigation.

We started to talk about how to approach Sarge. I tried to concentrate but felt my mind slipping. Waves of anger built inside me. Those waves boiled into fury—I couldn’t ignore my disbelief any longer.

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