Yes, in office, all OK?
OK, good. Greta nodded to herself. If Jon was already in his office, he wouldn’t be in the frame for Savannah’s death. Not that he deserved protecting, but Susan did.
And if Jon was to get a text from Savannah right now, at a time he was in his office, that would nudge things a little closer to airtight.
She picked up Savannah’s phone, covering her fingers with her T-shirt. Jon was saved in Savannah’s phone as “Jon” and the thread of WhatsApps was predictable: arrangements to meet up, late-night chats, declarations of almost-love. Nothing with any mention of Jon’s work, none that even mentioned his name. Then two texts from last night:
I know about your wife. I’m outside your house. Unless you want me to come in and announce myself, I suggest you come out to see me.
I swear to god, come out now or I’m coming in, you PRICK.
Greta thought for a moment, glanced over at the photo of Savannah and Albie, then typed one final message from Savannah to Jon:
I’ve had it up to here with ALL of you. My ex-husband is being a PRICK, turning up at my house because I’m with someone new, then I find out you’re MARRIED. Then you leave me with that bitch in my own home, jesus christ you have literally driven me to drink. She’s gone btw and if she ever comes back or you ever come back, I’m calling the police. I’m deleting your number. DO NOT EVER CONTACT ME AGAIN, YOU PRICK.
No doubt Albie was somewhere suitably public and politician-y and wouldn’t actually be in the frame for murder, but the idea that he might be questioned or suspected of harassment at least gave her quiet joy. And, more importantly, it would misdirect Jon. She absolutely couldn’t have Jon thinking she’d done this.
She went back to contacts, poised to delete Jon’s name, along with the entire thread of messages. But the guards would find them, she was pretty sure. Nothing is ever really deleted. And that would create huge suspicion—if someone deleted a contact and messages. That suggested murder. She thought for a another second, then quickly changed how Jon was saved in Savannah’s contacts from “Jon♥” to “Sam♥.”
She checked Instagram, but they hadn’t DM’d there. Jon rarely used it. If they’d been messaging anywhere else, there was no quick way to find out, but she suspected it was just WhatsApp.
Then, with her sleeve over her hand, she spilled more rum on the floor. They might question Albie, they might look for “Sam,” but ultimately, she hoped, it would appear to be an accident.
• • •
Jon confirmed they’d only ever used WhatsApp and only ever on his pay-as-you-go phone when Greta went into his office to update him in person. She told him she’d calmed Savannah down. That she had ended up feeling sorry for Savannah—she hadn’t known he was married, afterall, and on top of everything, her ex-husband had been harassing her. Greta didn’t say who her ex-husband was, of course, not then. In the fictional version of events, Greta didn’t know at that point that Savannah had ever been married to Albie Byrne.
And then Jon showed Greta Savannah’s final text. The one that had arrived just after the message from Greta to say she was on her way to his office. That sealed the deal. The end of the affair.
• • •
When Savannah’s death was reported on Wednesday evening’s news, Jon was genuinely horrified—he had really liked her, it turned out. And obviously, Greta acknowledges, it’s shocking when anyone you know dies, breakups and fights notwithstanding. Jon heard it on the radio on his way home from work and arrived distraught. Greta was in their house minding Bella when he came in—Susan and Leesa had gone to the garda station to report their concern that Savannah’s murder was a case of mistaken identity. Greta and Jon sat together, wringing their hands, trying to make sense of it. Could it have been her ex-husband, Jon wondered? Indeed, it may have been, Greta agreed. And they decided Jon would make an anonymous call to the guards about it. No need for anyone to know either Jon or Greta was there the morning she died, or that Jon was sleeping with her. Her ex, whoever he was, would be questioned, and all would be right in the world. And luckily, Jon pointed out, Savannah had said she was deleting his number. Indeed, Greta said.
What about fingerprints and DNA, Jon wondered, looking worried again.
Greta had cleaned her prints from the doorbell, the inside latch of the front door and the back of the kitchen chair. She hadn’t touched anything else, as far as she remembered, though she didn’t mention this to Jon. Jon had, of course, touched many things many times, but the gardaí wouldn’t have his fingerprints or DNA in their database, she reassured him.
And they’d be looking for a boyfriend called “Sam,” though she didn’t tell him that. She needed a boyfriend in the frame to misdirect gardaí, and she needed them to see that final text. Just not a boyfriend called Jon.
“Thank god you left when you did,” he said as Greta was leaving, “or you might have been hurt too.” He didn’t for a second think she’d done it. She’s just not that kind of person. His practical and no-nonsense sister-in-law, yes; a murderer, no.
• • •
Greta’s one big worry was the Albie Byrne connection. She knew it would come out in the media that he was Savannah’s ex, and she knew that Susan might wonder about that…So she got ahead of it. She set a Google Alert for Albie Byrne’s name and as soon as it popped up, on the Saturday after the murders, she “happened across” the article in front of Susan. She sat in Susan and Jon’s kitchen, shocked and dazed to discover that the man involved in her accident had once been married to murder victim Savannah Holmes.
Of course, Savannah’s not really a murder victim when you think about it, more of an accident victim—a lot like Greta herself.
111
Susan
One year later
July rolls around again, and it’s the week of the Oakpark summer party. Celeste isn’t going, she tells me over a glass of wine in Conways. She’ll be collecting Nika from Clonakilty, leaving very early Friday morning. Nika’s been staying with Celeste’s cousin in West Cork since last September and completed sixth year in a small school hundreds of miles away from Rathwood Park, while awaiting her next court appearance. The judge had adjourned her case after receiving her probation report, to see how she behaves. According to Celeste, he’d said he was taking the charge very seriously and considering a custodial sentence, but their barrister had told them that in light of Nika’s age, her guilty plea, the fact that it was her first offense, the compensation the Gearys paid, and Nika’s remorse, there was a good chance she’d avoid detention. Nika’s changed, Celeste says, and I listen and nod encouragingly as she says it, though I’m not entirely convinced anyone can change that much. The jury’s out, no pun intended.
Cody’s changed too, Celeste says. Less sullen, less time in his room. Heand Celeste watchStranger Thingstogether—his fourth time, her first, so that’s what she’ll do tomorrow night instead of going to the party.
I’m not so sure Cody’s the one who’s changed; I think maybe he was always in there. A little lost, a little different, struggling to navigate, lacking attention. He hasn’t changed so much as emerged and become himself. Celeste is the one who’s different; softer at the edges now that she’s no longer trying to keep up a pretense of perfection. Broken but somehow fixed.
