“Ankita.” Will crouched down beside her. “Can you prioritize Miriama?” He lowered his voice. “Everyone’s writing this off as a drowning, but I knew her. She was too smart and athletic to stumble off a cliff or go running along the beach too close to the waves.” He’d had to push to convince the coroner to order a full forensic postmortem, rather than a less invasive evaluation.

“You don’t have to justify the request to me, Will.” Having already bagged Miriama’s hands, Ankita began to zip up the body bag. “You’ve always had stellar ­instincts—­I’ll start as soon as I get her back to Christchurch.”

“I owe you one.”

A ­thin-­lipped smile. “If all the cops who owed me one actually paid up, I’d be a millionaire.” Sharp words, but her dark brown eyes were kind. “I’ll take care of your girl.”

He helped load Miriama’s body onto a stretcher. The remainder of the scene investigation went rapidly. The team took photographs, even packed up the seaweed, but though they sieved through the sand below the body, there was nothing else to find.

The wind had already wiped away the drag marks Anahera had created when she pulled the body to safety. It was as if Miriama hadn’t been there at all, as if this had been a black dream that was about to fade.

50

Will helped carry Miriama’s body up the narrow cliff pathway, the young woman with a dancer’s grace having become heavy in death. The cutting wind scraped sand across his skin, and he was grateful for the solid grip offered by his boots. Several of the others slipped, but no one fell and they got Miriama safely into the hearse that would take her to the forensic mortuary in Christchurch. A subdued gray with a sleek modern shape that didn’t shout its purpose, the hearse should hopefully slip out of Golden Cove without attracting attention.

Kim puffed up the track a couple of minutes after Ankita left with Miriama.

He told her to hold the fort at the station, handle any calls that came for him, and note the names of locals who popped in to see him. Most would be hoping to get information on what was happening, but one or two might have information to share. “Make sure you let them know that I’ll be back either later today or tomorrow morning, and that I’ll speak to them then. Anything urgent, call me.”

Kim nodded, assiduously writing down his instructions in a little notepad.

Leaving her to help the forensic team pack up their gear, he made his way to Anahera’s ­cabin—­and found the front door locked. Good.

He knocked, had to wait a couple of minutes before she opened the door. And she didn’t do that until she’d confirmed who it was. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet. Washing away the touch of death, Will thought, trying to wash away the grief.

Reaching into the pocket of the jacket hanging to her left, she handed over his memory card. “Someone needs to tell Matilda.”

“She knows we found Miriama.” Will would never forget the raw sound of her keening wail. “I’m on my way there to tell her what we have so far.” Little though it was. “Will you come with me? I left her with Raewyn Clark, but I know she has young kids she’ll have to get back to as soon as her boyfriend leaves for work.” She might’ve already been forced to do so.

“Give me one minute. I’ll follow you in my Jeep.”

Anahera was true to her word, returning to him dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater under her anorak, her heavily damp hair pulled back into a ponytail and her feet stuffed into sneakers.

In her eyes, he saw as much rage as grief.

They arrived at Matilda’s to find a furious Matilda sitting on her living room couch, her hands closed around a cold mug of tea and Raewyn seated beside her. The neighbor rose when she saw Will. “­Mattie—­”

“You go, sweetie.” Even in her rage, Matilda found the kindness to give the other woman a gentle pat on the hand. “I know Hem’s boss is a pokokōhua. He’d better get himself to work.”

“How dare they?” Matilda said the instant the door closed behind Raewyn. “How dare they throw my baby away in the dump?”

Will spoke before she could say anything else. “We didn’t find Miriama at the dump. We found her on the beach.”

She just stared at him. “On the beach? ­Then… the police cars by the ­dump…”

“Something else. Miriama was in the sea.”

Matilda’s eyes flicked to Anahera. “Ana?”

“It’s true,” Anahera confirmed softly, going to kneel beside the older woman. “I found her. I made sure Miriama was safe until Will could get there.”

“I want to see her.”

Anahera shook her head. “No, Auntie. Remember her as she was. Remember her laughing.”

Matilda’s shoulders began to shake, her tea slopping out of the mug. Taking the mug, Anahera put it carefully aside, then enfolded the older woman in her arms. As Matilda sobbed, Anahera met Will’s gaze. Her own gaze was dry, but that made her rage and sorrow no less furious.

Waiting until the crashing wave of Matilda’s grief had passed and before a new wave could hit, Will said, “I know you’ll want to go to her so she isn’t alone.” To sit with their dead, ensure they had loved ones nearby, it was a deeply rooted part of Matilda’s culture. “The liaison officer will be here soon and he’ll organize everything for you.”

Will could’ve offered to take her, but not only was she exhausted by grief, it’d be better for her if she arrived after the autopsy was complete; she could sit in a room near Miriama without being confronted by the ugly reality of what had been done to the young woman she’d raised. More, she shouldn’t be making the heartbreaking journey without a support system. “You have friends, family who can come with you?”

Matilda nodded jerkily. “You make sure your people treat my baby well until I reach her.”

“They will.” Ankita was a woman who respected her patients, for all that they’d already taken their last breath. “And I’ll get justice for Miriama. I promise you that, Matilda. No one will forget your girl.” It was the first time he’d made a promise since the day of the fire that had ended Alfie Hart’s short life. And it tore the scars inside him wide open.

51

The next notification was even harder.

Dr. Dominic de Souza refused to believe Will.

“No. It’s not her.”

“­Dominic—­”

“No!” The other man came at Will, punching and shoving while Will tried to keep him contained without doing harm.

“It’s not her! It’s not my Miriama!” His glasses flew off in the struggle, to land on the beige carpet without a sound. “It’s not!”

Eventually his words began to tremble, began to turn into questions that pleaded for Will to give the right answer. “It’s not her? It’s not Miriama?”

“I’m sorry, Dominic.”

The young doctor collapsed into his arms. “She was so beautiful. So lovely. I thought she’d be mine forever.”

Nikau responded quickly to Will’s call asking him to stay with Dominic.