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He’s gathered all his most trusted workers here, including Logan, who Frederic still considers an honorary resort staff member, even though he gave up his position as chief bartender at the Tiki Palms over two years ago.
“Tell me what happened,” Frederic orders as he takes his seat behind the desk. His eyes lock on me.
I clear my throat, trying to ignore my racing heart as I give him my firsthand account of yesterday. Logan’s hand is laced in mine as I talk, and when I get to the part about finding Lucy’s body (leaving out any reference to Logan’s ring), he gives it a tight squeeze.
Frederic is silent for a moment when I finish, leaning back on the stool with his hands placed over his curved stomach as if he’s digesting my words before straightening up again.
“We need to control the narrative,” he says in his normal commandeering tone, each of his vowels extended by his French accent. “As you have all heard, the police have deemed this an accident. They found no bruises on the victim’s neck.” I feel my cheeks grow hot, but Frederic doesn’t bother looking in my direction. “That is good. But it is not enough. We need to make clear to our staff that this was not our fault and keep this accident as quiet as possible. We are sad for this girl, yes, but it was her mistake. It could have just as easily happened on Koh Phangan or Koh Samui. It could have happened anywhere. It was. Not. Our. Fault.”
We all nod in agreement, knowing we have no other option.
“We will hold a meeting. Tonight. All the staff must be there.”
“Tonight?” Neil asks. He steals a glance out the window, and we follow his gaze. The afternoon sun has already begun to grow heavy, and several of the guests who returned to the beach following the storm are packing up their belongings to head back to the hotel. “Isn’t that a bit last minute?”
“No,” Frederic responds, not one to mince words. “It is good. I have talked to the lawyers. They said we cannot let this get out. And I have to return to Bangkok. We get this out of the way as soon as possible.”
None of us have the courage to question this decision. We’ve all seen him fire staff for much less.
“Neil and Greta,” Frederic orders, “you make the rounds and alert everyone that we will be meeting on the upper level of the Tiki Palms in one hour. Cass”—he tosses a piece of paper in my direction—“here is the staff list. Call everyone else who is not on duty, and make sure they get here. And, Logan, I need you to take care of the bar during the meeting. I cannot find Sengphet anywhere. I have no idea where he’s fucked off to. Doug, you come with me to my office and help me prepare my speech.”
Without waiting for a response, Frederic is out the door, Doug riding his coattails and the others not far behind him.
“See you after the meeting,” Logan says, stopping to give me a kiss before he heads toward the bar, leaving me alone in the dive shop.
I pick up the landline, about to start on my assigned list of calls, when my cell dings. It’s a message from Brooke.
I open my messaging app, expecting a text, but it’s a video. A grainy, faraway film of Lucy, apparently at the Full Moon Party. Knowing what comes next for her is disturbing, and my first question is immediate.Who took this?But before I can type it, another message from Brooke comes sharp and fast on to the screen.
Daniel posted that. He was following Lucy. He might have had something to do with her death.
I think of Daniel’s unreciprocated come-ons to Lucy before the Full Moon Party. Sure, he was joking around, but maybe he was more pissed off about her rejecting him than he let on. And then I remember his muscles cutting seamlessly through the pool, as if he were breaking glass. He would surely have been capable of overpowering her petite frame.
Rather than responding to Brooke, I boot up the old dive shopPC for the second time today and plugDaniel Ayadebointo Google. Almost immediately, the page returns a litany of results, but it’s the one at the very top that catches my eye—a link to an article posted by a small London-based newspaper.
I click on it, and Daniel’s face fills my screen. While his face is familiar, in the photo, there’s a darkness about him I don’t recognize from our time together. His features are hardened, the scar running across his cheek prominent and severe.
My eyes dart to the top of the screen, to the article’s headline. Time seems to stand still as my brain processes the words.
Hackney Man Convicted of Sexual Assault Flees Country, Violates Parole.
13
BROOKE
When I leave my room, the sun has just begun to dip behind the mountains, casting the entire island in shimmering pink rays. The beauty of this place is undeniable, but today it feels different. The gray of Lucy’s death seems to dull the effect of the late-afternoon sky—although I seem to be the only one who notices.
The quiet and discomfort that seemed to run through the resort earlier today have already faded as the possibilities of the night draw nearer. A low excitement buzzes among the guests wandering through the grounds, a combination of hope for further partying mixed with the salaciousness of yesterday’s news—a guaranteed icebreaker for meeting fellow backpackers. I can already hear it: Lucy’s death becoming nothing more than a pickup line.Did you hear about that girl who died? Makes you want to live every minute to the fullest, doesn’t it?
As I walk out of my room, I check my phone. I initially didn’t plan to text the video to Cass, but her eagerness from earlier convinced me. She seemed so invested as we searched Lucy’s roomand later as we scoured social media, but how far is she willing to go? I figured the video could serve as a test of sorts. To see just how committed Cass is to figuring out what really happened to Lucy. But she hasn’t responded.
I hadn’t pegged Daniel as a killer, but what other reason could he possibly have had to follow Lucy around the other night, filming her? Cass had mentioned offhand that Daniel had seemed into Lucy and that Lucy hadn’t reciprocated. Could that have been enough to set Daniel off? I’ve known guys who’ve been drawn to violence for less.
I think back to our conversation after they found Lucy’s body, how casually he led me to the conclusion that her death wasn’t an accident. Could that have been part of his plan? Trying to shift the blame to cover up what he’d done?
I stop at the medical center first, even though I know there’s little chance Daniel’s still being treated. When the cheerful receptionist at the front counter confirms as much, I head toward the Tiki Palms, but a quick glance around shows me Daniel’s not here.
I turn down the beach until I reach the dive shop and then double back. Frustration simmers in my gut. I’m walking aimlessly now, with no idea where he could be. I don’t even know what room he’s in.
