‘Ididn’tdo it.’
Faith shakes her head.
‘I shouldn’t have lied. I shouldn’t have dragged Elis into it. But Ididn’tkill her.’
She says nothing.
‘I’ll tell you what happened. Whatreallyhappened.’ The power balance between them has shifted, and now Miles can do the talking. He takes a moment, trying to formulate the right way to explain it: the truth. He’s recounted the alternative narrative – the lie – so many times that it almost feels like it really happened that way. ‘I admit,’ he says, nodding earnestly, ‘I lied to the court about where I was. But Ididn’thurt Caira. I didn’t touch her. I know you don’t want to believe me, but when I left Caira’s flat that night, she was fine. She was happy.’
Faith turns her head to the side, dismissively. She stares vacantly into the forest.
Miles takes a deep breath, then continues. ‘When I left her flat that night, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get home. My car was parked on her street, but I’d drunk way too much to drive. On a normal night, I would’ve called an Uber, but my phone had died.’ Miles winces at the pain in his shoulder, which is getting worse as the adrenaline wears off. ‘So, I got in my car and had a lie-down on the back seat under my coat and fell asleep. I woke up shivering with cold about five hours later anddrove home. And that’s it. That’s the whole story. That’s what happened.’
Faith scoffs. ‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘No!’ Miles shouts. ‘I don’t expect you to believe that. I don’t expectanyoneto believe it. That’s the whole point. It doesn’t sound very bloody believable, does it? That’s why I had to come up with something thatwasbelievable – someone to back me up – otherwise there was a chance I was going to get locked up for something I didn’t do.’
‘You’ve lied and lied and lied. You lied to the court. You lied to Jessie and me. How do I know you’re not lying to me right now?’
‘Because you haven’t got the gun pointed at me anymore, have you?’ He waves the pistol. ‘I’ve got one pointed at you. If I was the murderer you think I am, wouldn’t I just put a bullet in you right now?’
‘Yeah, well, maybe you should.’
Miles points the gun high into the air and pulls the trigger. It fires, the gun kicking back in his hand. It’s an unreal sight: the bullet leaving the barrel in a shudder and a wisp of smoke. Branches shake and wings flap as birds scarper from their perches.
Faith also flinches at the noise. She closes her eyes for a moment, then takes another step forward and throws her arms in the air, her brow and nose creased with fury. ‘Just do it! Get it over with. I wasn’t planning on walking out of this forest alive, anyway.’
Miles takes a step back, and fires another shot high into the trees. He can taste the sulphurous tang of gunpowder on the air. ‘Maybe I should. But I can’t. This is one of those times where being totally wrong about something has saved you.’ He aims the gun upwards again and fires another shot. ‘Because I’m not a killer.’ Again, he fires into the air. ‘I couldn’t kill you even if I wanted to.’
Miles pulls the trigger again. But this time it responds only with a click. He pulls the trigger once more, and again it doesn’t fire.He’s emptied the chamber. He lets go of the pistol, and it falls to the ground, landing with a heavy metallic clack as it strikes the road.
He watches Faith for a reaction. She doesn’t move. He can’t read her expression; is it surprise, or something else? Has he made a mistake? Faith’s backpack is still on her shoulders; could she have another weapon in there? If she does, she isn’t reaching for it. Her arms dangle limply by her sides.
Miles outstretches his good arm – an open gesture. ‘Look at me.’ He speaks at a slow, calm pace that is at odds with the urgent thumping of his heart. ‘Look at me. I’ve never harmed anyone. I hate violence.’ Miles touches his shoulder and grimaces. When he removes his hand from the wound, his fingers are crimson with blood. ‘I’ve never been in a single fight, until just this minute. I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life. I don’t even kill bugs.’
Faith stares silently at him. He’s staring at her, too. It’s a strange feeling, like they’re meeting one another for the first time. And then, like a magic eye coming into focus, Miles sees her: the girl who suffered years of neglect and abandonment. He sees the woman who felt a loss so great that her feelings couldn’t be controlled. A woman whose grief turned to anger and then hate. Hate that fuelled a need for revenge that brought her all the way here.
Something has changed in her eyes, and Miles knows exactly what it is. He’s received so much scrutiny, so much judgement, that he can tell from the look in a person’s eyes whether they believe him or not. And Miles can see it. She knows he’s telling the truth. She believes him.
The expression on her face remains impassive. She’s thinking. So is Miles. The way she looks at him reminds him of a cat, the way they stare you down with round eyes as they consider their options: fight or flight.
And then, without a word, she turns on a heel and runs. She’s made her decision. The pace she sets off at tells him it’s unequivocal.Faith isn’t coming back. Miles uses his good arm to gingerly lower himself to the ground, and he sits and watches as she sprints down the road, becoming smaller until she disappears around a bend. The person who has been following him, tormenting him, has gone.
Miles pulls up his shirt to examine his shoulder. It’s nothing but a flesh wound, oozing blood. It hurts a hell of lot worse than it looks. It’s not even bleeding that heavily. The longer he stares at it, the more it loses all importance. Eventually it will be nothing but a small patch of scar tissue. A blemish. A triviality. What he has is a wound that will easily heal. Unlike Faith. Unlike Caira. Unlike Elis.
Hunt for suspect after tourist slain at West Coast beauty spot
Greymouth Times, November 26
Police are appealing for sightings of a British woman after the suspected homicide of a tourist in a remote area of forest.
Faith Jackson has been missing for more than eight hours since police arrived at the scene, in Hendrick’s Forest on the West Coast, around 10am this morning.
The victim, a 33-year-old British man, suffered a fatal stab wound. A second British man, 30, suffered a gunshot wound and has been admitted to hospital. A 33-year-old woman, also from Britain, received treatment for a minor ankle injury, police said.
The incident happened after a group of seven tourists chose to camp in the forest, which is currently closed due to efforts to reintroduce native wildlife.
Jackson is believed to have left the forest shortly after 8am, and a warrant has been issued for her arrest.
