Dr. North handed photos to the jurors and the judge that showed bruising to Kelly Moore’s genitals and internal injuries. The photos were taken using a blue stain that highlighted bruises on a cellular level, invisible to the naked eye. The jurors flinched as they saw the photos for the first time.

“The bruises on the posterior fourchette and labia minor are common injuries from rape,” Dr. West said. “Those injuries, along with the bruising on the shoulders and thighs, further indicate that Miss Moore tried to resist the sexual intercourse. By virtue of the fact that she was resisting, she could not therefore have consented,” she added.

Dale Quinn rose for his cross-examination when Alkins was done. His expert witness, Professor Carl Braun, was sitting behind him, taking notes as Dr. North testified. In the meantime, Quinn managed to elicit Dr. North’s admission that she could not be absolutely certain that Kelly Moore did not consent.

“It’s an opinion,” she conceded eventually. “Based on years of work in this field.”

Rachel tried to catch up to Dr. North after court recessed for the day, but she got stuck in the back of the crowd leaving the courtroom. By the time she came down the stairs onto the plaza, Dr. North had gone.

That evening, Rachel set up her laptop in the lobby cafe at a table near the birdcage. She found her hotel room claustrophobic and, if truth be told, she was hoping to catch Dr. North before she left town. While she waited, Rachel typed a transcript of that day’s court testimony for the website and ate a hamburger and fries from the hotel cafe.

“I thought you said this bird sings?” Rachel’s concentration was broken by the loud voice of a man. She looked up to see a man with white hair and a green polo shirt who was on the way to dinner with his wife who’d dressed up for the occasion. He had stopped at the birdcage and was tapping it with his palm. “Haven’t heard a peep out of this bird since we’ve been here. Not a peep,” he said. “I think it’s stuffed. What the heck kind of a songbird doesn’t sing?”

“I don’t think the poor bird wants to sing, hon,” said his wife.

“Rubbish. Nightingales are supposed to sing,” the man said, clicking his fingers to get the bird’s attention.

“Maybe some nightingales don’t want to sing on demand, Keith,” the wife muttered, almost to herself.

Rachel spotted Dr. North sitting at a table near the window, sipping a glass of white wine. Rachel walked over to Dr. North’s table, where she introduced herself.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something,” she said.

“As long as it’s got nothing to do with the trial,” said Dr. North. “There’s still a chance I could be recalled to the stand.”

“I promise,” said Rachel. She opened her leather satchel and removed the photographs that Stuart had given her.

“These were taken of a young girl who drowned several decades ago. I was wondering whether you can take a look. I’m interested in hearing your views about whether her injuries appear to be consistent with drowning.”

Dr. North picked up the photographs and went through them one by one. Squinting at some. Pausing at others. Setting some aside. When she was done, she laid out the photographs on the table in front of Rachel.

“This girl may well have drowned,” she said. “But something terrible happened to her in the hours before her death.”

“How do you know?” asked Rachel.

“The bruises visible in the photographs would have happened within a few hours before her death. Not right before her death, and certainly not at the time of death. The bruises on her upper legs are similar to the ones I mentioned today in court which we saw on Kelly Moore’s thighs. This bruise is the size of a large hand. Most likely male. It’s going around the deceased’s shoulder, which indicates that she might have been physically restrained. Perhaps pinned to the ground,” she said, pointing to a close-up photo of Jenny’s naked shoulder.

“Could you hazard a guess as to what might have happened to this girl before she drowned?”

“I think that she was physically assaulted in the hours before her death,” said Dr. North. “Why are you asking me? Surely that all came out in the autopsy and subsequent police investigation into her death.”

“There was no police investigation, from what I can tell, and I’m not sure that an autopsy was performed,” said Rachel.

Dr. North looked shocked. “This girl met with extreme violence before her death. Why on earth would the police not investigate a death this suspicious? I’ve never heard of such a thing in all the years I’ve worked in forensic medicine.”

32

Rachel

Kelly Moore’s mother conducted herself with enormous grace on the stand as she answered Mitch Alkins’s questions about what happened when her daughter finally turned up after taking the bus home from the beach that day.

She told the court that when Kelly arrived home, there was a police car in the driveway and detectives in the living room, setting up a task force to search for Kelly. Nobody noticed when Kelly came through the back sliding door and took the stairs to her bedroom. It was only when her mother went upstairs to use the restroom and saw Kelly’s bedroom door was shut that she knew Kelly was home.

Christine tried to open the door, but it was locked. Kelly wouldn’t let her in. She sat on her bedroom carpet with her back to the door, barricading herself inside for hours. In a quivering voice, Kelly’s mother described to the court how when it started getting dark, Kelly quietly unlocked her bedroom door and allowed her mother to come in. They sat on Kelly’s bed and she told her mother what had happened with Scott Blair down at the beach. Christine Moore convinced Kelly to go with her to the hospital. She blinked back tears as she drove, determined to be strong for her daughter. They returned home early the following morning. Kelly had to leave the hospital wearing a borrowed sweatsuit taken from a hospital charity bin, as her clothes were kept as evidence. Her rape kit examination had taken five hours.

The jury was deeply affected by Christine Moore’s testimony. Dale Quinn took jabs in cross-examination, but they were delicate jabs, like a reluctant boxer afraid of drawing blood.

Quinn kept pressing the same point with his questions. He established that Kelly’s mom wasn’t at the beach that night and that she, like everyone else, relied on her daughter’s word about what had happened. He also managed to get her to admit that Kelly had not always been truthful in the past, and that Kelly had lied in the note that she’d left in the kitchen saying that Lexi’s parents would be home the night of the party.

* * *

Rachel bolted out of court quickly after the morning session to move her car. Court had gone later than expected and she’d exceeded the parking limit by twenty minutes. She had a moment of panic when she saw a white parking ticket flapping on her windshield as she turned the corner into the street where her car was parked.

As Rachel came closer, though, she realized it wasn’t a ticket. It was another note from Hannah. Rachel read it leaning against her car door. When she was done, instead of feeding the meter and returning to court, she climbed into the driver’s seat and drove away.

As she drove, she called Pete for their daily catch-up. He sounded strained when he answered the phone. He’d returned home from the hospital a day earlier and was still adjusting to the lower doses of pain meds.

“What’s wrong, Pete?” Rachel asked. “You sound upset. Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m going over social media comments. It’s not exactly pretty,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen such a divisive reaction. Some listeners have gone ballistic at you. They think you’re blaming the victim and that you’re taking it too easy on Scott Blair. Others are accusing you of being biased in favor of Kelly. They’re accusing you of hanging Scott out to dry.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Rachel. “I have to show both sides of the story. Isn’t that the point? To be objective?”

“Objectivity is so last century. Didn’t you get the memo?” said Pete. “These days everybody has an opinion. Whether they know what they’re talking about, or not. Usually it’s the latter. Right now their invective is directed at you, Rach.”

“That sounds a bit extreme.”

“You didn’t spend two hours trawling through messages today,” Pete said. “It was horrible stuff. None of the social niceties apply online. People will say things they would never in a million years say to someone’s face.”

“Read me some of the comments. I’m a big girl. I can take it,” said Rachel as she turned onto the coastal road.

“Not a chance,” said Pete. “Some of the messages have so many expletives that I’d have to wash out my mouth if I read them. You’re better off not knowing, Rach. Trust me, you really are.”

“So what do I do about it?” Rachel asked.