All These Perfect Strangers (25 page)

‘They'll be turning over every stone and seeing what crawls out. You'll be interviewed.'

A stomach-clenching moment, but not one of real surprise. I had guessed that everyone who had been at the bar would be interviewed.

‘I won't be that helpful,' I said. ‘I mean, I was at the rally, but so were about half the university. It's not like I saw anything.'

‘No, not Leiza Parnell, I mean the first girl. They are opening an investigation into her death as well.'

In the clear sky above us a dart of black plummeted to the ground, only to swoop up at the last minute, and a magpie landed safely on a branch above our heads. It looked around, beady-eyed and judgmental. Saw us. There was a moment of stillness as it tried to work out if we were friend or foe.

‘Rachel?' My voice sounded so faint that I had to reassure myself I was actually talking aloud. ‘But that was an accident.'

‘Possibly.' Dale shrugged as though he wasn't making any judgment. ‘A bit late getting started, obviously. Now they've got two girls who knew each other and who are dead within a couple of weeks of each other. There was a Rohypnol tablet found on the second girl's body. The first girl had it in her system. Maybe that's a coincidence, or maybe we are dealing with two murders and maybe they're connected.'

It wasn't just sleeping tablets any more. Now they had a name, a step closer already.

‘Rohypnol?' I said.

‘Prescription sleeping tablet,' Dale said. ‘Strong, addictive. Not widely used. Some suggestion that in the US it's used as a date-rape drug. Pressure is on for the manufacturer to add a dye to it so it can't be used like that. Still, haven't seen much evidence of it being used here.'

'Couldn't it just have belonged to Leiza?'

‘She wasn't prescribed it. Haven't found any in her room. It's possible the first girl could have taken it herself. Mixed with cocaine, that's a lethal combination, but still she might have done it for the buzz.' He sighed as he put the empty cup down on the bench beside him. ‘But there was no Rohypnol in her bag. Practically everything else you could think of, but not that. Ever heard any talk of girls getting their drinks spiked here?'

It was the way he said this so casually – a little too casually – that made me wonder why Dale was telling me this. Maybe he wasn't my friend. He was a cop after all, not to be trusted. He must be part of the investigation, maybe he was wearing a wire, waiting for me to say something incriminating. I was a suspect, of course I was. I found Rachel and I was at the bar at the time Leiza was killed. I didn't have an alibi for the whole time. Did the police think it was me? I stared at his clothing: a tracksuit and a t-shirt, like he had been working out in the gym first. Could you hide recording equipment under that?

But Dale wasn't looking at me. He was watching a couple of boys who had started kicking a soccer ball on the oval. One began to bounce the ball against his knee and then his head before gently tapping it over to his friend.

‘Before now I wouldn't say that we've seen any evidence of it being widely used. Campus doctors don't prescribe it. Women's Health Centre hasn't dealt with anything out of the norm. Nor the drug clinic. Doesn't make sense.'

He stood up, interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms behind his head. I heard muscles and joints pop and creak beneath his t-shirt stretched tight across his frame. There were no square-shaped bulges, no unexplained lumps, just the start of a tyre of flesh around his middle. ‘Anyway, that's all for the A-Team who are getting imported in. Them and the Drug Squad.'

‘So, you're not investigating?'

‘No, a murder investigation's much too important for us local yokels.'

‘How do you know all that stuff then?' I asked.

‘Everyone knows it. Already on the radio. Be in tomorrow's paper. That Joe McCardle is a bloody leech, but he's a good journalist and he's got his teeth into this one. No better gossips than cops.' His arms dropped to his sides. ‘Still, one crisis at a time. Better go try and fix the bloody tape.'

And then I remembered that I had run into him. He didn't know I was going to come along. He was catching up on lectures, as I should be. I had asked him questions about Leiza's death. He was telling me what I had asked for, even giving me a heads-up about being interviewed. He was looking out for me. Protecting me.

‘I can't face the library. I'll see you at Torts,' I said, almost wanting to apologise. I felt a surge of relief but my legs still felt weak.

‘Yep. Take care of yourself, Pen.' The half-salute goodbye and Dale was gone. The magpie was spooked by his leaving and took off from the branch. It jumped into the air, an act of faith, and then, wings beating fast, the displaced air audible, it began to move higher, heading to the trees on the far side of the oval.

I sat there for a long time, thinking about my Rohypnol. I had been prescribed them a couple of weeks before Tracey's committal and a month before my hearing. I had to stand up in court and blame everything on her. Then I would get a slap on the wrist as an accessory. That was the deal. It was Bob who had organised for me to see Frank, partly because it would look good for my case, but mostly because I was falling apart.

‘For Christ's sake, you're a bloody doctor. Do something,' Mum had said. ‘She's a basket case.' And he had prescribed these little tablets with his serious face on as he gave me warnings about the potential for an overdose.

The moment I held them in my hand I felt better. I kept them with me always, in my bag at school, on my bedside table at night. If it all got too much, I would just swallow the lot of them and go to sleep forever. I didn't need to give evidence if I didn't want to and knowing that actually gave me the courage to do it. I stood up in the court room and told them Tracey shot the gun, that I had told her not to, begged with her, pleaded, but she wouldn't listen.

‘Why didn't you tell someone straight away? If not the police or your mother, what about a favourite teacher?' asked Tracey's expensive city barrister, going through the motions in a case he obviously thought was hopeless.

Tracey and I had been kept apart since we had been arrested. She hadn't been at school. I had heard rumours she had been kept in detention. Other people claimed that she had been staying with relatives. I hadn't been game to ask anyone directly.

I shot a quick glance at Tracey. She had a half-smile on her face at the ridiculous idea of having a favourite teacher. Teachers were the ones who got you into trouble, not out of it. No one went to teachers for help. There were girls who were throwing up their lunch every day in the toilets, getting beaten at home, cheating in tests, and the teachers never heard any of it.

‘I was too scared,' I answered, and the prosecutor gave me an encouraging nod. I expected her barrister to ask, ‘What of?' but instead he said, ‘Did she explain why she shot him? What did she tell you?'

Tracey's face was all I could see as I struggled with what to say. I wanted to yell at her that this was all her fault but at the same time say I was sorry. She didn't look at me, just stared at her own barrister, folding her arms as she leant forward. I didn't have the words to describe that night, so I did what I had been told. Tracey said not to tell anyone. Bob said the same thing as well. It was too late to start now.

‘Nothing,' I began.

‘Speak up,' said the magistrate, his eyes almost non-existent in his red fat face.

‘She didn't say anything,' I said.

Tracey turned away, her face blank. She was switching off, as if this was a school lesson that wasn't worth bothering about.

Giving up.

·  ·  ·

But I wasn't going to give up. No one could prove that it was my Rohypnol that had ended up on Leiza's body but I still needed to find out what had happened to my tablets. I knew where to start asking. I needed to talk to the only person who had been in my room the night Rachel had died, the person who I had invited in.

It wasn't until Sunday that I worked up the courage to go to the second floor of Page Tower and knock on Rogan's door. Listening, I heard voices, a girl's soft laugh and Rogan murmuring something in answer to her, and I almost walked away. But then he called out, ‘It's open,' so I went in.

It was Emelia. She had slipped off her shoes and was posing on his bed, skirt artfully rumpled to display her long legs, hair distressed in a come-hither kind of fashion, like she was expecting someone to pop out and photograph her.

With her usual lack of imagination, she pouted when she saw me.

Rogan's face went from smiling to serious. A touch of guilt was there as well or maybe I just wanted to see that.

‘Oh . . . hi,' he said.

‘Can I talk to you for a moment?' The ‘alone' was not said. I hoped it was obvious.

‘I'm kind of busy right now.' He gestured towards Emelia. ‘Can't it wait?'

Before I could say no, Emelia got up. She made a production of it, stretching and arching her back. Looking at her watch, she picked up the remote and switched off the television that had been on mute.

‘Don't let me intrude.' She gave an arch smile.

‘No, you don't have to . . .' Rogan began, which was the reaction Emelia wanted. She looked pleased with herself.

‘Promised the girls I'd take them for a spin.' Her wrecked Honda had been replaced by a gleaming silver BMW. ‘I'll see you at dinner, Joshua,' Emelia practically purred. I could hear the rustle of money in every word. The use of Rogan's real name was for my benefit, I guessed, that ring of ownership to point out that he had been acquired and was now her property. Nothing more to do with me.

She stepped past, and for a moment I thought she'd kiss him. He even moved forwards and gave her an awkward peck, looking sheepish. I wondered if they were sleeping with each other. Rachel had told me that Emelia only slept with her last boyfriend twice, on Christmas and his birthday, claiming that sex was for ‘plebs'. I almost had to stifle a smile at the thought. Emelia gave me an appraising look. ‘Bye, Penny,' she drawled. I moved into the room to let her past.

Rogan's room was the same shape as mine but furnished differently, a room full of gadgets and clothes. This was a student with money. An impressive-looking camera was placed next to a couple of Walkmans on the bookshelf, a VCR next to the television. I wondered whether I should sit down, as I hesitated beginning the conversation that I had been practising in my head for a couple of days, but Rogan started talking instead, trying to pre-empt what he thought I might say.

‘So, I'm seeing Emelia now, so what.' He refused to look at me and began moving books around his desk, perhaps hopeful that I would just disappear.

It should have been easy to start hating Rogan at that moment, dismissing me as if I was nothing, but there wasn't time for that now. I had something much more important to find out. The truth is, beautiful people get to act like that all the time and the world lets them. I had been stupid to think that it would be different.

‘Maybe it was bad timing with Rachel's death. And now Leiza. Christ, that's just awful.' There was a catch in his throat and he coughed. ‘This whole year's been awful. I might transfer back home at the end of it, rather than stay. Get away from this fucking mess. My parents want me to.'

He walked over to his stereo. A CD was out of its case, resting face down on the top of the player. He cradled it with his fingertips while he flipped open the cover and put it in.

‘I mean, I didn't even know Rachel that well. Barely spoke to her, really. And then there were all the lies, making up stuff about people. She said terrible things about Emelia and her parents.'

It was almost laughable that he thought I should feel sorry for poor little rich girl Emelia with her brand-new car. I remembered Rachel sitting on the bank of the river, telling me about Emelia's father and his cook. I had thought she was making it up at the time, but actually I was more inclined to believe it now. As far as I could work out, the only lies Rachel had told were about herself.

As I stood there, watching Rogan work himself up to a display of righteous indignation about me even standing in his room, I tried to remember what Rachel had said about Rogan. She had been vague in her reasons why I shouldn't date him, but she had said he was weak.

Slotting the CD case back into the rack, he looked at me for the first time.

‘She killed herself, and that's all very sad.' I could almost see the ‘but' forming in the air in front of me. ‘But life moves on and I have as well.'

It surprised me that he could believe it was going to be that simple. This was a person with little experience of bad things.

‘Well, aren't you going to say something? Why are you here?' He was getting angry and something flared in me in return.

‘Actually, what I came to tell you,' I said, not troubling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, ‘is that the police are investigating Rachel's death and they will want to interview you.'

Rogan recoiled and I could see him grappling with the words like he wanted to argue with me.

‘But Rachel was an accident.' The same words I had said to Dale, as though by repeating it, we could change what had happened, and make it true.

He leant back, his head resting on the wall, limp. I could still see how beautiful he was, but there was something pathetic as well. He was soft.

‘She died from a combination of Rohypnol and cocaine,' I said. This was the important part. I watched for a reaction.

His head jerked back up, alert now. ‘Roofies? Are you sure? How the fuck did that happen? Where did she get those from?'