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We got back to the Jordan house just as the sun was going down. We broke out from the trailhead into the lawn, and even from a distance we could see that the house was a hive of activity. There were more vehicles, lots of them, and more people. Returning searchers, but others too. Two officers passed us as we crossed the lawn. I thought they were coming to talk to us, but they just nodded as they passed and kept on going. One of them was carrying a large roll of police tape.
“Why are they going out so late?” I asked Andy.
He shook his head. His eyes were narrowed and fixed on the house. As we got closer, I saw Jamie Jordan standing off to the side, directing caterers who had set up a barbecue station. The caterers were grilling hot dogs and handing out food to returning searchers.
“Jesus Christ,” Andy said. “They’re treating this like a fucking PR exercise.” He stalked ahead of me, over to the barbecue area.
“Mom,” Grace said, alarmed, but I was distracted by the other activity at the house. There were two white vans, unmarked, pulled up right outside. I saw men in white plastic overalls leaving the house. Matthew Wright was there, standing with his back to us, his arms crossed. One of the men in overalls approached Matthew, removing a mask and head covering as he did so. The man in overalls was in his sixties, maybe. He was thin and balding, and what was left of his hair was cut very close. He wore round, wire-framed glasses, and he had a set expression on his face.
“Stay here, Grace,” I said. I walked toward the house, leaving her behind me.
“Anything?” Matthew was saying to the balding man. I got closer, trying not to be too obvious about it. Matthew had his back to me, and the other man was very focused on their conversation. There were other people about, not quite as close as I was. I took out my phone, turned so that I was facing away from Matthew and the balding man, and held my phone as if I was fascinated by whatever was on my screen. At the same time, I strained my ears to listen. Matthew kept his voice low, but the balding man spoke loudly, like someone who was hard of hearing.
“Nothing. No blood, no indication that anything happened in the house.”
“Right. Okay.”
“There’s just one thing. The whole house smells strongly of detergent.”
“You mean, like, bleach?”
The balding man shook his head. “More like the kind of floral scent you get from fabric cleaners. We ran some tests. The living room floor has been cleaned with a detergent that contains sodium percarbonate.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Matthew said.
“Sodium percarbonate is a chemical that some manufacturers have started putting in their fabric cleaners. They market it as active oxygen. They say it kills viruses and bacteria and so, you know, there’s a lot of demand. The problem for us is that active oxygen interferes with luminol. It stops our tests from working. You could have blood all over the floor, you clean it with a detergent with sodium percarbonate and that’s it. We could spray luminol all day and still see nothing.”
“Did you search the house for cleaning products?”
“Sure. There’s nothing in the house with active oxygen in it. Maybe whoever used the product finished the bottle. But like I said, it’s not something they put in floor cleaners, as a rule. So, to me, that’s suspicious.”
As I listened to them talk, my breathing started to come faster. My lungs tightened. I turned around. I saw Simon Jordan near the barbecue stand with his mother. Andy was there too, shoulders back, chest up, looking antagonistic. I felt like everything was shifting and spinning around me. Grace was standing by herself, her hands stuffed in her pockets, her face still so pale. I tried to slow my breathing. I drew in one long breath, and then another one. I was conscious only of the air entering and leaving my lungs, and a kind of roaring in my ears. I turned away and started walking toward the barbecue. Behind me, I heard Matthew say my name, but I had broken into a run. Simon saw me at the last minute. His mouth dropped open in disbelief, just before I reached him and punched him with everything I had.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Matthew
Leanne Fraser’s fist connected with Simon Jordan’s face like she’d been training for the moment all her life. His head snapped back and he staggered backward, but she kept coming, kept reaching for him. Matthew had seen the hit coming, a moment too late to stop it. He got there in time to stop it from going any further. He caught up with Leanne, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her backward, while everyone else was still frozen in shock. Leanne was stronger than she looked. He had to lift her off the ground and carry her backward, and she fought him all the way, struggling and twisting. Matthew carried her back toward his police car, aware all the time of all the eyes watching. It would be a miracle if the whole thing wasn’t being recorded on someone’s cell phone.
Matthew bundled her into the back of his car and shut the door. Leanne tried immediately to open it, but it didn’t open from the inside. She banged at the windows with her forearms, and when that didn’t work she leaned back on the back seat and kicked at the window with her booted feet. The windows were reinforced, and her feet bounced off. There were other voices by now. Jamie Jordan’s voice rose above the clamor, shouting something about pressing charges. Matthew got into the car and drove away. He didn’t really have a choice. The alternative was to sit there while Leanne Fraser lost her mind in front of fifty people and their cameras.
“He killed her. He killed her. And you know it.”
“That was stupid,” Matthew said. She kicked at the back of his seat.
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up.”
“You need to calm down.”
“Shut the fuck up!” She screamed the words at him. There was a security partition between them. If there hadn’t been he figured she would have reached through and hit him. She bashed at the partition with her hand. It barely moved. She tried again to break the window to her left, this time with her elbow, and using all her strength. Her elbow bounced off the reinforced glass. Leanne groaned and bent forward at the waist and cradled her arm. She took deep breaths, like she was trying to breathe through pain, or maybe nausea. Or both.
“You need to stop,” Matthew said. But Leanne was past hearing him or anyone else. She turned sideways on the seat until she was half lying down, and she started kicking the partition. She kicked it and kicked it, screaming at him to let her out, to take her back. Matthew kept driving, slow and steady. Eventually, the kicking and screaming stopped. She straightened up in the seat. She grew quiet. Matthew checked on her through the rearview mirror. She was staring out the window of the car, and the expression on her face was completely blank.
“Leanne?”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t so much as twitch. It was like she hadn’t heard him.
“Leanne!” Matthew said her name again, louder. It took three times before she finally reacted. She blinked like she was waking up, and turned her face toward him.
