Cassie pursed her lips. ‘Why’s he taking photographs of us, L?’
Putting on a phoney South American accent, Laura replied, ‘Because we iz ze best-looking broads on the trail!’
Cassie giggled. Then she looked serious again. ‘Maybe we should let him know we’re aware of him?’
‘Or make a real effort to give him the slip?’
‘And how do we do that, with the tour bus waiting for us, L?’
‘Plan B!’
‘Which is?’
‘Haven’t figured that one out yet!’ Then she added, ‘But why’s he following us?’
‘He’s probably on the same tour trail we’re on. It’s the regular circuit, he’s probably just some saddo — got his bedroom walls lined with pictures of girls and lies there tossing off to them.’
‘Gross!’
The queue moved forward. There were now just three people ahead of them. Laura peered down and the gorge looked even deeper and scarier. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was quite glad her friend was going first.
‘Heard from your mum today?’
Laura shook her head and glanced at her watch. ‘Three thirty p.m. in the UK, she’s probably still in court.’
‘Sounds a cool trial, shame she can’t talk about it.’
‘Yep. When did you last hear from home?’
‘Over a week ago.’
‘You’re lucky, not having such a worrier of a mum.’
‘I guess because there’s four of us — you’re all your mum has in the world.’
There was another loud scream as a kid in a bumblebee-striped T-shirt shot down the wire; they moved up another place.
‘Think she’ll find someone else one day and remarry?’ Cassie asked.
‘Yuck.’ Laura shook her head. ‘Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t like the idea.’
‘Would you rather she was alone for the rest of her life?’
‘No — I guess — I want her to be happy. But the idea of her — you know — being with a man. That’s just like — yuck.’
The couple in front of them suddenly shook their heads, wimping out, and stepped away.
‘Shit, we’re on!’ Laura said.
Two young men in green T-shirts beckoned a suddenly very reluctant Cassie forward and began clipping her into the harness.
‘Get some photos, L!’
‘On it!’ She was setting her phone camera to video. Then she stepped forward onto the viewing platform and braced herself against the guard rail. She raised the phone and started recording Cassie’s terrified face. ‘Here’s Cassie, moments before the piranhas eat her!’ she announced for the recording.
Moments later, Cassie was launched, shrieking. She hurtled down the wire and low over the gorge. But then, suddenly, to Laura’s shock, instead of continuing on to the platform on the far bank there was a loud TWANG.
Cassie stopped dead, for an instant. She plunged down into the water then bounced back up. Then down again.
All around, people were screaming.
Her insides feeling hollowed out, all Laura could do was watch in horror as her friend dropped back down into the foaming water, then rose up again, then dropped down again, staying submerged for several seconds before springing up again, dangling and bouncing like a marionette.
If the wire snapped and she was swept along the rapids, she would be over the rocky gorge in seconds.
Shaking and feeling utterly helpless, all she could think for a moment was: This could have been me.
Then she turned to the two operators who were shouting at each other. One, looking bewildered, was stabbing buttons on a control panel. ‘Do something!’ she screamed at them then looked back at her friend, who was now dangling, legs flailing, in obvious terror, perilously close to the raging water.
A door opened behind the operators, revealing a large cog. A bulky man in overalls and covered in grease came through holding a crank and yelling at the two younger men. He gave the crank to one of them, opened a metal cabinet cover and began throwing switches inside it. Laura looked back, fearfully, at her friend.
Suddenly the wire tightened. Cassie rose a few feet, then a few more, away from the water. Laura looked back and saw all three men were turning the crank, which had been inserted into part of the apparatus close to the open door.
Steadily, slowly, inch by inch, they wound Cassie up in the air. The wire was tight now and she’d at least stopped bouncing. Staring at it, Laura was thinking, Oh God, please don’t break. Don’t snap. Don’t. Please don’t.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, seemingly inches at a time, Cassie was cranked back towards them. Laura suddenly realized she was still filming. She shoved her phone in her pocket, anxiously holding her breath.
Please don’t break.
The three men were shouting at each other again. Arguing about something. But, mercifully, sweating heavily, they were still working the handle. Cassie was coming closer.
Closer.
Now she was just a few feet from the launch platform.
‘You’re going to be OK, C!’ Laura yelled.
To her astonishment, her friend was laughing.
‘Nearly there!’ Laura called out.
And a minute later, to Laura’s desperate relief, Cassie was back over the platform and out of danger.
Laura ran towards her as the two younger men were freeing Cassie from the harness and apologizing profusely to her. All the time, she was giggling and laughing.
Laura looked down at her friend, who was now lying on the ground, alternating between crying and laughing.
‘You OK, C?’
But her friend was unaware of her presence. She was in the throes of a total fit of hysterics.
57
Wednesday 15 May
Meg was struggling to concentrate this morning because she was so worried about her daughter.
All night she had been fretting about Laura doing the zip wire today. How many other dangerous sports were she and Cassie engaging in on this trip that they weren’t telling her about? All the time with someone watching them? Laura had promised to text her after she’d done it, to let her know she was safe.
It was 10.45 a.m. when Stephen Cork called the final witness who worked for Terence Gready’s firm, an intelligent-looking woman in her late twenties, with long, layered brown hair. Her name was Sophie Butt.
Watching her closely, Meg could see, from her body language, that she was both a determined character and a loyal employee.
‘Mrs Butt,’ Cork said, ‘could you tell us the capacity in which you were employed by the defendant?’
She spoke with clear diction and had quite a posh accent, Meg thought.
‘I was Mr Gready’s secretary and the receptionist at TG Law.’
‘And how long had you been employed in this capacity?’
‘Over eight years.’
‘To what extent were you aware of Mr Gready’s day-to-day activities?’
‘Well, very aware, I kept his diary,’ she answered stiffly.
‘And in keeping his diary, you were aware of his daily appointments and meetings?’ Cork asked.
‘I was, yes.’
‘All of them?’
‘All of them,’ she said, resolutely.
‘On the morning of Wednesday November 21st last year, do you recall Mr Gready meeting at any time with a gentleman by the name of Michael Starr? Quite a distinctive-looking man, it would seem, with a prosthetic right arm.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said.
‘Does the office have a visitors’ book where guests sign in and out?’
‘No,’ she answered.
‘Is it possible Mr Gready could have met with him without your knowledge?’