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“I’ll pass it on. I can’t promise you’ll hear back. It’s entirely up to her if she calls,” said the woman, taking the paper and disappearing back into her office.
Rachel arrived back in court during the testimony of a nurse from Neapolis General who’d done Kelly Moore’s rape kit. Rachel scooted into an empty seat near the back row. The nurse’s name was Tracey Rice. She was taller than average, slim, with shoulder-length light brown hair. She spoke confidently, clearly experienced at testifying in court. Rachel’s phone vibrated shortly after she sat down. The call was from a phone number that she didn’t recognize. She ducked out of court to answer it.
“Neapolis Social Services gave me your number,” said the voice of an obviously older woman. “My name is Kitty McLean. The woman from Social Services said that you want to speak to me urgently about Hannah. What do you want with Hannah? She’s not in trouble again, is she?”
“Not that I know of,” said Rachel, keeping her voice low. The hall echoed loudly. She didn’t want her conversation broadcast to everyone within earshot. “I’m trying to get hold of Hannah. I’m a reporter. I do a podcast and Hannah—”
“A pod-what, dear?” Kitty interrupted. “Speak up; I can’t hear very well.”
“It’s like a radio program on crime.” Rachel raised her voice. “Hannah wrote to ask for my help in looking into her sister’s murder. I’m trying to get in touch with her, as I have some questions.”
“Hannah’s sister wasn’t murdered, dear. She died in an accident.”
“What sort of accident?” Rachel asked carefully.
“Her sister went swimming at night. She drowned. Terrible tragedy, of course, but definitely not murder. I don’t know why Hannah says such things.”
Rachel asked Kitty for Hannah’s contact information. Kitty left her waiting on the phone line while she looked for her address book. It took a couple of minutes until Kitty’s frail voice was back on the line as she slowly recited Hannah’s phone number.
“I doubt she’ll answer you,” said Kitty. “She hasn’t answered any of my messages. In fact, I haven’t been able to get hold of Hannah for weeks.”
“You must be worried?”
“Not at all. Hannah’s a grown woman. It’s her way to disappear every now and again. Sometimes for weeks. Sometimes for months. The last time she disappeared, she went to India. Spent three months at a yoga retreat. Wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone the entire time. A vow of total silence. She came back a vegetarian. That didn’t last. Maybe she went back again. Always said she would if she had the chance.”
“I don’t think she went back there,” said Rachel. “I think she’s in Neapolis.”
“Neapolis?” said Kitty, her shock obvious even over the phone line. “Why on earth would Hannah go there? I’ve never heard her say a good word about the place.”
“I think it’s to do with her sister’s death.”
“Well, now that you mentioned it, the anniversary is coming up. Twenty-five years. Hannah does get into a mood at this time of the year,” said Kitty, weighing the possibility. “But she always swore she’d never set foot in that town again. I’m sure she’s in India at one of those places she likes. An ash-something. What are they called?”
“An ashram?” suggested Rachel.
“That’s right. One of those. I have your contact details, dear. I’ll ask Hannah to call you when she’s in touch. Bear in mind that it could take months. It’s how Hannah is.”
Rachel finished the call, but the guard outside the courtroom wouldn’t let her back inside. He told her that she’d have to wait for a recess. Rachel was disappointed. She’d been hoping to use the nurse’s testimony on rape kits for her next episode. She texted Pete and asked him to contact the hospital to arrange an interview with Nurse Rice.
Rachel sat on a bench in the hall outside the courtroom and rang the phone number that Kitty had given her. It went straight through to an automated voice mail. Rachel tried several times with the same result. Eventually she left a voicemail: “Hannah, this is Rachel Krall. I’d really like to talk to you. Please call me.” Rachel recited her phone number before disconnecting the call.
A loud bang from the courtroom made her look up. The doors had swung open and people were streaming out noisily for a restroom break. Rachel grabbed her bag and headed to the courtroom. As she waited by the doors for the crowds to clear, someone tapped her on the shoulder. Rachel swung around to see the guard holding out a large brown envelope.
“Ma’am, you dropped this,” he said, handing her the envelope.
28
Hannah
I was waiting outside the courtroom the other day. It was the day when kids from Lexi’s party testified that Lexi told Scott Blair that Kelly was “easy” after she kicked Kelly out of her party. On the wall above my head was an air conditioner. It rattled something awful. A drop splashed on the old courtroom bench right next to me, and then another. It made me remember something else.
It was the hottest summer for years. The heat was so bad that we had to use our old air conditioner even though it had sprung a leak. It rattled noisily when it worked, dripping water into a steel soup pot we’d left on the floor, until one afternoon the motor spluttered to a grinding halt.
After that, sleep was impossible in our tiny bedroom. Jenny and I took our mattresses to the porch and slept outside. There was a cool breeze that came in at night. Mom managed with a rickety fan in her room, which we turned into a crude air conditioner by hanging a damp towel over the wire cage.
One afternoon, a few days into the heat wave, Jenny and I werelying in the living room watching a TV show and sucking ice cubes when we heard Mom scream our names from the garden.
We rushed in a panic to the backyard, thinking that something terrible had happened. When we reached the rear porch, Mom was standing on the grass in a cotton sundress, translucent from sunbeams behind her. Her arms were outstretched. Her face lifted to the sky. Rain trickled down her sunken cheeks and neck all the way down to her bare feet.
