Run Away (11 page)

Oh no, she’s going to cry again
.
Crap
.
This was a mistake
.

“I hate the idea of my boy in pain. For there to have been that much blood . . . what must they have done to him? Murder . . . it’s such a brutal word. I don’t know what I’ll do when they find the body. I can’t bear to know what injuries he’d suffered. Oh God . . .”

Kayla didn’t know what to say. There was more she wanted to ask Kathy, but she’d underestimated how fragile this grieving mother still was. Kayla couldn’t bring herself to think about the pain Sam must have gone through. She wouldn’t allow her mind to wander that deeply into the realms of misery.

She cleared her throat. “Kathy, I’m sorry to be insensitive, I really am. But would it be at all possible for you to give me some contact details for Winters? I have some things I want to ask her.”

“Sure, Kayla,” she sniffed into a soggy handkerchief. “Whatever you need. But please don’t cling onto false hope. I know there are a few things that don’t quite make sense. But digging them up isn’t going to bring him back, is it?”

“No,” Kayla sighed. “Nothing can bring him back.”

Though she wasn’t about to let go of the idea entirely.

Chapter 17

May 18, Thailand

“W
H
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Bling and I meant nothing.”

Sam’s eyes looked as sad as Kayla felt. Large, shiny, and doelike, they seemed an even darker brown than usual. If she had been watching as an onlooker, she’d have wanted to reach across and give him a hug.

Kayla smiled a little too widely. “It’s fine! Honestly. You guys are cute together.”

Sam groaned. “No, we aren’t. It was a stupid drunken mistake. Bling and I are just friends, nothing more.”

Kayla paused, pressing her lips together. Swallowing what she really wanted to say. “Yeah, well, so are we.”

“I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?” Sam bowed his head.

Kayla couldn’t summon the energy to reply. She didn’t feel angry at Sam. Or even Bling, for that matter. Neither of them owed her anything. Instead, she felt like her heart had been torn out with their bare hands, leaving her empty and sad, wishing it had never happened. Wishing she could un-­see their moment of raw intimacy. Wishing she could forget the terrifying moments in her bedroom the night before. Wishing she never had to look at Oliver again. Wishing she could run away from it all. But wasn’t that what she was already doing? Running away to Thailand to escape her broken life?

It had taken two full days for Sam to realize that she knew everything. Then, at first, he’d overcompensated with generosity, offering to carry her bags, asking her thoughtful questions, rubbing after-­sun lotion into her sunburnt back. He’d mistaken her quietness for a fierce hangover. Conversations between him and Bling were stilted and awkward, and they never made eye contact. Kayla tried her best to act like nothing had changed, but the damage had already been done, and by the second day she was even more hurt that neither of them had bothered to tell her what had happened themselves.

Between visiting the Mon village, spending time with the tribe, and exploring the temple, the group had been busy enough that perhaps neither of them had thought it timely to enlighten her. But after the first day, when they had all retired to their rooms, utterly felled by their hangovers, Bling simply climbed into her bed and read a book on her Kindle before falling asleep.

The next day, a water-­filled excursion river rafting and visiting hot springs similarly saw no confessions. Kayla was keen not to ruin the dynamic of the group. After all, it wasn’t the others’ fault that she’d developed inappropriate feelings toward Sam. So she’d kept quiet. As far as the others were aware, there had been no attempted rape, no drunken tomfoolery, and absolutely no heartache whatsoever. Even Oliver, though never meeting Kayla’s eye, was carrying on as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until two days later that the illusion was shattered. They’d been discussing how frequently Ralph and Thomas had “gotten laid like a brick” while in Thailand when the attention had turned elsewhere. Guffawing like the buffoon he was, Ralph said, “Sam is such a dark horse. You think he’s all sweet and innocent, then
bam,
he’s got one girl in his bed and another banging on his door looking for him.”

Sam closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands before looking up at Kayla and raising his eyebrows, silently asking her,
Was it you? Did you know all along?
She’d nodded, once. He looked like he might cry.

Bling giggled and slapped Ralph’s arm playfully. Kayla couldn’t help but wonder whether she liked Sam or not, and whether it’d be worse if she did. If the night really had been just a drunken mistake, then it hurt her less. It didn’t challenge her relationship with Sam. But on the other hand, if Bling genuinely cared for Sam, then Kayla knew she wouldn’t be suffering for nothing—­Bling would have acted out of genuine longing.

And as a girl similarly enamored with Sam, it was something she couldn’t hold against Bling.

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Party. There isn’t an aspiring traveler in the world who isn’t familiar with the famous dance music festival. Held on Haad Run Nok Beach, it attracts passionate partygoers in the tens of thousands to enjoy the music, the breathtaking surroundings, and, more often than not, the thriving hallucinogenic scene.

It would also mark the end of their eight-­week stint with Escaping Grey and, much to Kayla’s delight, their time spent being herded like sheep by Oliver, the dirty pervert. Her skin crawled every time he cockily gloated about his conquests the night before—­she wondered how many of them had been wholly consensual—­or whenever she saw him checking out his reflection in a glass window.

She knew she should tell someone what had happened. She owed it to his next prey, whoever she might be. But from a purely selfish perspective, the thought of pressing charges and dealing with the aftermath—­endless probing and probably a very public trial—­seemed like too much for her to cope with. In six days she’d never have to see him again. For now, that was enough.

She couldn’t help but imagine what Sam’s reaction would be if she told him. He was, as far as half-­giant men go, extraordinarily gentle, if not always graceful. The kind of man who scooped up intruder spiders with an upturned glass and a sheet of paper to return them to the great outdoors rather than flushing them down the toilet without a second thought. But Kayla had seen how protective he was over his friends. Whenever Russia attracted unwanted attention on nights out, Sam would wrap his arm around her waist and glare at her admirers, who would take one look at his houselike build and run for the hills. Or when Ralph had one too many drinks and slurred racists remarks in the presence of Bling and Dave, Sam would say, in a friendly but firm parental tone, “All right, mate. That’s enough.”

Kayla wasn’t the type to desire a knight in shining armor to protect her, but a small part of her wondered what it’d be like to have Sam defend her honor and pummel Oliver’s perfectly pointed nose until it resembled a bag of wrenches. Either way, she’d never know.

That night, the group would board an overnight bus, then take a boat to the island of Ko Pha Ngan, where they’d spend two days relaxing on the illustrious gulf coast beaches before celebrating their frankly astonishing survival of the tour at the Full Moon Party. The next morning, a bus would take the whole group back to Bangkok airport. Except Kayla, Sam, Russia, and Dave, who weren’t entirely sure they’d be on it.

They were visiting the Khao Laem Reservoir when they first discussed the possibility of staying in Asia. Oliver had long since given up on providing any sort of insight into the culture or history of Thailand, and they hadn’t seen Chanarong since Bangkok, so they wandered aimlessly around the vast expanse of water. As with most stunning sights, they could appreciate its staggering beauty but weren’t entirely sure how to react or behave in its presence. It was pretty, sure. But dedicating two hours to appreciating it seemed rather excessive, when really, two minutes would do.

It was Sam who first voiced what they had all been thinking. He’d been examining his left hand, which he’d fractured in a drunken fall. He’d fallen off the karaoke stage while singing a sparkling rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” and in traditional Sam style, landed crushingly on his hand. Testament to just how much tequila he’d consumed, he hadn’t noticed the break until the next morning, when he had to make a trip to the emergency room and put his foreign health insurance to good use. He winced as he made a gripping motion with the bandaged fist, then looked up at the group. “Does anyone else feel like it’d be completely and utterly ridiculous to go home?”

Dave slid his hand into Russia’s, lacing his skinny fingers through hers. “Completely. Home seems like another planet.”

“Not to mention one that’s light-­years away from my home country,” Russia said. “I’d never see you guys again!”

Sam threw a pebble into the water with his one working hand. “I just feel like we’ve got so much more to do here. I’m not ready to go back to reality.”

“At least your reality,” Dave replied, “doesn’t involve waiting patiently until the day you’re confined to a hospital bed, mate. You’re off to med school to become a hot-­shot doctor. Maybe if you’re quick about it, you can cure ALS before it kills me.”

Sam looked away. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Russia frowned, deep in thought. “Why don’t we just . . . stay?”

Kayla’s mouth curled upward of its own accord. She hadn’t been particularly looking forward to going home either. “Stay? How?”

“Well, I mean there are practicalities,” Russia said. “We’d have to get jobs and save up a bit of money before we traveled to Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos. Or at least I would! And there might be a bit of hassle getting the right visas. But if we all wanted to, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work? We could rent an apartment?” She’d begun talking faster, her eyes wide.

“I’m in,” Kayla said. “No questions asked.”

“Me too!” Dave and Sam said in unison.

“Bling?”

Bling hadn’t said a word. She was chewing her top lip. “I’m not sure. I’d have to make some phone calls.”

“What? Why? Check you out, Miss In-­Demand,” Russia teased.

“Well, I kind of have a job lined up for when I’m back.” The group stared at her. They’d almost forgotten about the existence of careers and such trivialities. “And I can’t really push it back.”

“Dude, make the phone call,” Sam said. “Now! We can’t do it without you,” he insisted with force. His eyes were intense with urgency. Bling looked smug at his overt desire for her to stay. Kayla’s stomach turned—­maybe Bling did like Sam. Her delight certainly suggested so. Worse still, maybe the feeling was mutual.

“I don’t know . . .”

“But Bli-­i-­i-­ing. You have to stay,” Russia whined.

“Why?”

“Well, you just do.”

Bling laughed. “I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit out a better argument than that.” But she looked like she was considering it, burrowing her eyebrows together and putting a finger to her lips. Kayla suspected she was milking it, keen for Sam to keep trying to convince her.

She looked away, trying to ignore the flesh-­searing surge of jealousy that pulsed through her veins.

Chapter 18

July 15, England

T
HE FIRST DROP
of alcohol that touched Kayla’s lips since returning from Thailand was bought for her by a police officer.

DI Winters—­“Call me Sadie”—­couldn’t have been a day over thirty. She had pale skin, gray-­blue eyes, and a long, prominent nose that sat above a wide, toothy smile. Her angular face was framed by straight blond hair, which was half pulled back with a bejeweled clasp. She wasn’t in uniform—­they were meeting after hours. The slouchy black jumper and tight navy jeans made her seem even younger.

“You’re much younger than I thought you were going to be,” Kayla admitted. “In a good way.”

“Well thank you, I guess,” Sadie beamed at her. She had too many teeth for her mouth, and the effect was a clumsy, crooked grin. “I hope you know that I shouldn’t really be meeting you like this. It’s not very . . . official of me. I’ve been doing this for a good few years now, and I’ve never felt inclined to meet a victim’s friend in a cocktail bar before.” She scanned the room as though waiting to be caught out.

“So why now? We aren’t breaking any rules, are we? I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

“No, no rule-­breaking. I can meet with whoever I like, as long as I’m not discussing the details of any cases.” Sadie shifted in her chair. “As for why now? I’ve been asking myself the same question. I suppose I just want to make sure all avenues have been explored. I’m thorough like that.” She brushed a stray strand of golden hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You and Sam were close, huh?”

“You could say that.” A vivid image of Sam’s grinning face flashed into Kayla’s mind. It was intense; a high-­definition shot in which she could make out every stubbly hair, delicate dimple, and crinkle in the skin surrounding his eyes. It disappeared almost as quickly as he had. Kayla blinked away a hot tear. “I miss him. And my brother too. Did you . . . ?”

“Know about that? I did, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry, Kayla. I lost someone close to me when I was a little older than you. Family.” Sadie rubbed her eyes and took a large swig of rosé, swallowing hard. It looked like she’d had a tough day.

Kayla didn’t know what to say. To share details of deep, dark grief with someone you’d only known for ten minutes—­and a police officer, no less—­felt rather awkward. Thankfully, the detective was already talking again, masking her discomfort. “There’s just something about Sam’s case I’m drawn to. Maybe it’s because, like I said, I lost someone too. Someone his age. And it’s not that the case is out of the ordinary or unprecedented, which it isn’t. Just that some of it . . .”

“Doesn’t add up?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I just want to get another perspective on things, I guess. Is that why you’re here too? You’re worried some of it doesn’t make sense?” Sadie asked. “You sounded unsure on the phone.”

“Kind of. I’m finding it hard to get closure. It’s like I can’t get over the discrepancies in the story and start grieving for Sam. I need to know exactly what happened and why—­a mere theory won’t cut it.”

Sadie sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Kayla. The case is all but closed. We reached a conclusion.” She paused, her frown lines deepening before relaxing again. “My heart skipped a beat when you called. Nobody else close to Sam seemed lucid enough to talk to me properly while we were conducting interviews. His parents were completely distraught, understandably. I’m sure they still are. And your other friends from the trip aren’t in the country. Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about? Anything new to add? To consider?” She swallowed. “Anything Shepherd might have missed?” There was an edge behind her voice.

Kayla shook her head. “I don’t know about that. To me, the most inexplicable part of it all is Sam being that into drugs. It’s just so . . . out of character. Although I know that doesn’t help you.” Kayla thought for a moment. “Okay, so if the story is that he was beaten and kidnapped, or . . . murdered . . .” The word stung the back of her throat. “How was there so much blood in the room? If he’d been instantly removed from it by the drug guys, or whoever they were?”

Sadie nodded slowly. “And why were there no footprints in the blood other than Sam’s?”

Kayla shuddered. Another question without an answer. Was it possible Sadie didn’t buy the official conclusion either? That she was willing to dig a little deeper than Shepherd had?

Sadie hunched her shoulders over the bar, grabbing a handful of salted peanuts from the little wooden bowl in front of them. “I mean, I know a lot of the bigger drug circles out there have a whole group of ‘bailiffs’ who chase up debt. They know what they’re doing and wouldn’t be so careless as to leave any traces behind. It does fit, I guess. That they wouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“Is that what
you
think happened?” Kayla asked.

“It’s the only theory that makes any kind of sense.” Sadie paused, crunching another handful of peanuts. “Okay. These bailiffs. Usually they’ll give someone who owes a
lot
of money—­like, not just petty debt—­two warnings. They’ll add significant interest to the debt to make it even harder for victims to pay up. They’re sadistic like that. The warnings are violent ones, like snapping a finger or putting a hammer to a knee.” Kayla felt sick. The gin she’d had churned on her empty stomach. “After that, it’s game over. They’ll beat them to a pulp, without caring much whether the victim survives. And for us investigating Sam’s case, it’s difficult. Because without a body, we can’t analyze his injuries to see if any of them were older. Consistent with this theory. If they were, it’d fit in with the timeline and suggest that they’d been chasing him for a while.”

Kayla’s stomach had fallen through the trapdoor that opened where her intestines used to be. Sam’s hand, she thought. “He was injured,” she whispered. She hadn’t meant to drop her voice. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more assured. “He fractured his hand. Said it had been a drunken accident.”

Sadie blew air through her teeth. “Did anyone see it happen?”

“I’m not sure. We never really discussed it like that. We just laughed at him for being clumsy, as usual.”

“I suppose you weren’t to know there was an alternative explanation. Can you think of anything else that happened that could explain it?” Sadie’s eyes were widening. She crammed nuts into her mouth like an excited squirrel stocking up for hibernation.

Kayla thought about it. It was difficult to know what was relevant—­you could attach significance to anything in retrospect—­but there was one thing in particular that had been bothering her of late. “I don’t know. Did Sam’s mum, Kathy—­well, you know her name—­did she tell you he’d asked her to borrow money?”

Sadie choked on a stray nut. “No?”

“Yeah. Three grand.”

“Wow.” The detective’s frown lines deepened once more. “Well, it certainly points to drug debt.”

Kayla sighed. It did.

“But you said it would be out of character for Sam? To get himself in that kind of mess over drugs?”

Kayla nodded.

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it. You can have the most conclusive evidence in the world, but if it doesn’t make sense to the ­people who were closest to the victim . . . well, it’ll never fit properly, will it?” Sadie unclipped her hair and let it fall around her shoulders, then tilted her head back and shook it all out of her face. She turned to face Kayla. “I want to do a bit more digging. Even if that just means thinking some more about it. Thinking about whether there’s something we’re missing. You know?”

Kayla nodded again. She knew.

After Sadie left, Kayla stayed in the pub a little while. Small panels of the pub’s windows were made of stained glass depicting flamboyant birds of paradise. The sun was low in the sky, its rays turned red and blue and orange and gold as they shone through. It was relatively quiet, and the lone barman was squeakily polishing glasses and chatting to a cluster of regulars. In the small empty space near the kitchen doors, a young girl was assembling a gig set, tuning a guitar and fumbling with a microphone stand.

Kayla stirred her gin and tonic with the flimsy plastic swizzle stick it came with. The ice had long since melted. She didn’t know how to feel about her meeting with DI Winters. On the one hand, the detective had made her see that the signs definitely did support the police theory. Shepherd’s theory. There was no denying that. But there had been something . . . something resembling curiosity on Sadie’s face. Like there was more to know. More to uncover.

Or am I just desperate? Desperate for something, anything, to cling onto?

The girl at the microphone stand struck the first chord. Very few ­people turned around to listen—­most were still deep in conversation or patting snooker balls around the scuffed velvet pool table. Kayla rolled the bead of her friendship bracelet between her fingertips. It was cool and smooth.
Was it really only three months ago Sam gave me this?
A tug on her heart caught her off-­guard. It felt like a different lifetime ago. A lump formed in her throat before she could stop it.
Oh, Sam
.
Where are you?

“
I will keep you close
. . .”

The young girl had started singing. Her voice was ethereal, haunting.

“
As long as the wind blo-­o-­ows
. . .”

The two middle-­aged men playing pool stopped and turned. The girl was blond and beautiful, with a tiny frame and a celestial voice. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted skyward as she strummed the guitar gently, like she was scared she’d break it if she plucked too hard.

“
I will try to keep you safe . . . safe as our memories
.
Droplets on the window, they roll down, like you’ll come back to me-­e-­e
. . .”

The lump in Kayla’s throat reappeared.
If only
. A fat tear rolled down her cheek before she could stop it. It splashed off the table, which was bathed in azure light from the stained-­glass reflections.

Everyone was watching the girl now. The barman had abandoned the glass-­cleaning rag on the bar and he stood, transfixed, just like the locals he’d been chatting to a few moments earlier. Her chords were so delicate that between lines you could hear the faint din of traffic passing through the village nearby.

“
Oh, oh, a glimmer of hope . . . Oh, oh, a glimmer of hope . . .”

The girl had opened her eyes and was gazing out of the birds-­of-­paradise window, though it felt to Kayla like she was staring straight at her. Like she knew, and that she was singing to her, telling her to hold on. That there was a glimmer of hope. Just a flicker, like a dying candle flame. But a flicker nonetheless.

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was a strange feeling. Kayla had deactivated her account after Gabe’s death—­she wanted nothing more to do with the toxic environment that had provided an incubator for vindictive abuse.

Scrolling through her timeline, over four months later, absolutely nothing had changed. There was a whiny status about how all men are shallow, a racist joke, and a cryptic, please-­ask-­me-­why-­I’m-­sad post. Kayla tried with all her might not to roll her eyes, but alas, it happened regardless.
All right
.
Let’s just do the necessary and log straight back out
.

She typed three names into the search bar she never thought she’d have to: Minya Pavlova, Daivat Singh, and Ai Ling Brewer. They had no mutual friends, so scrolling through pages and pages of total strangers took time, but eventually she found the right Russia and the right Dave. There was no sign of Bling, but Kayla remembered she had her phone number stored in her mobile. She’d just text her instead.

She sent them all the same message:

Hey guys, hope you’re all well
.
Wish I was still out there with you! England sucks, I’ve never been so utterly bored (or cold) in my life
.
Anyway, this sounds really weird, but did anyone actually see Sam break his hand? We were all drunk that night, I know, but I just wondered whether anyone actually saw it happen
.
It probably isn’t important, but I want to know either way
.
Love and miss you all! Kayla xx

Finally, she took out her phone and punched in a number that by now had been etched onto her memory. Kathy Kingfisher’s number.

Two rings, followed by a click. Voice mail.