Page 71 of A Game of Lies

Lucas’s face is ashen. He leans against the fence to steady himself.

‘So what happens now?’ Zee says.

‘We find the murderer and lock him – or her – up,’ Leo says.

‘I meant with this.Exposure. Who wins?’

The others stare at her.

‘It’s just that …’ Zee looks around the group. ‘My stats are really picking up, and nowExposure’s going to get even more attention, and I thought …’ She trails off.

‘Show’s over,’ Leo says. He turns to Henry, Lucas and Ceri. ‘Everyone will be accommodated in the stable rooms until you’ve given statements and the preliminary investigation has been concluded.’

‘Our stuff’s still in camp,’ Henry says. ‘Do you mind if I just nip back and—’

‘No.’ Ffion is firm. ‘You’re coming with me.’ Leo is staying in camp so they can test the cameras, and she leads the others down the mountain. Ceri, Lucas and Henry follow, and Dario brings up the rear.

‘Me too?’ Zee calls after them hopefully.

Ffion shakes her head. ‘But don’t go far – I want a statement from you.’

‘How was he murdered?’ Ceri asks, as they pick their way down the path.

‘Was he shot?’ Lucas says. ‘Because I heard a shotgun this morning – or was it yesterday morning?’

‘That’ll have been someone shooting rabbits,’ Ceri says. ‘You hear it all the time.’

‘No talking!’ Ffion stops so suddenly the others almost plough into her.

‘Steady on!’ Henry says crossly. ‘You’re treating us as though you suspect one of us of—’ He stops, his determination waning under Ffion’s stare.

‘And?’ she says coolly.

They continue to the courtyard in silence.

The CSI tent outside Miles’s studio hides the work of the crime scene investigators Ffion knows are inside. Henry and Ceri stare, transfixed, as they pass. Lucas looks away, and Ffion sees his lips move in silent prayer. One by one, Ffion delivers them to their allocated rooms, wondering as she does so whether she is walking with a murderer.

‘What’s your secret, then?’ Ffion asks Lucas, as she hands him his key.

He blinks. ‘Is this an interview?’

‘Should it be?’

The vicar holds her gaze. There’s a look of despondency in his eyes, and his shoulders sag like ancient cushions. ‘Only God can judge us,’ is all he says.

Next door, Henry wipes clammy hands on his trousers when Ffion asks him the same question. ‘Ah, you see I …’ He coughs. ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you? I know it’s an outrageous thing to say, but Miles dying like this has done us all a favour. I really would rather no one knew.’

‘If it’s illegal,’ Ffion says, ‘I’m duty-bound to—’

‘Gosh, it’s nothing like that!’ Henry looks horrified. He flushes. ‘I’m an alcoholic. I’m on a final warning at work – I came in drunk a few times – and I promised them I’d quit, but …’

Ffion follows Henry’s gaze to the bed, where he’s been unpacking the bag that has been waiting for him since he and the others set off for theExposurecamp. Ffion sees an ironed shirt and a pair of cream trousers, and she imagines him at home, picking out an outfit for the media interviews, not knowing what horrors would later unfold for him and his fellow contestants. Next to the small pile of clothes is a bottle of whisky. Ffion glances back at Henry. ‘You don’t look the type.’

‘Big red nose and drinking Stella on a park bench?’ Henry gives an empty laugh. ‘I’m what they call a functioning alcoholic, which is the technical term for a middle-class alkie who drinks Merlot instead of own-brand vodka and who’s still holding down a job.’

The definition hits a little close to home, and as Ffion walks away from Henry’s stable, she thinks maybe she’ll do Dry January next year. Just to prove she can.

She walks back across the courtyard, ducking inside the CSI tent. ‘Okay to check something on the cameras?’

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