Chapter 3
"Okay, can I just ask a question?"
"Go ahead, Elizabeth."
"Why are we bothering with all this shit? We all know Griffin did it." Tall, long-legged, dark-haired Liz Johnson had attempted to join the class discussion in between scrolls through her newsfeed.
"Phone away, Elizabeth."
Since the albino incident, everyone had started calling me Griffin. Never Jesabel. It was easy even for me to forget that I had a name, sometimes. Apparently, my reputation was far too low to have been afforded the luxury of a first name. I hadn't been considered worthy enough to be thought of as a human being.
Being caught out as a dirty liar really did that to you.
I'd given no response to Lizzy. My World History classmates were currently seated in a small, makeshift circle. Three police officers had come down to Alistair to interrogate its high school students regarding Jenny and Robbie's disappearance. They seemed to be trying out the whole group interrogation thing first, before the real stuff could get underway.
A few people had grumbled in agreement, casting their dirty looks over their shoulders. Lizzy had some backers in the room. I sat very silently and very still, with my long hair hanging like a curtain around my face.
"Language, Elizabeth," Ms. O'Connor scolded. She was a strange lady, with her ankle-length dresses and frizzy hair. She smeared her lipstick over her lips and onto her teeth just for good measure.
"We don't have any solid leads yet, Ms. Johnson. That all remains under investigation. We were actually hoping that you could all lend a hand to help us. But no conclusions will be drawn until there is appropriate evidence," the tallest member of the police team – Officer Cross – explained. Out of all of them, he looked the easiest to talk to.
When the principal had announced that two of its students had gone missing, the entire school had undergone a state of shock. Missing was the word that had actually been used, but murder had been spray-painted in red across the newsletter bulletin in the school office for the entire cohort to see. Fortunately for whoever had defaced the bulletin, they had never been caught and punished. Unfortunately for everyone else, this said person had unthinkingly caused mass hysteria.
Nobody could believe that something like that – the two very well-known people in Alistair vanishing ominously – could have even happened in our quiet town. Speculation had built up between friends and neighbors. What had happened to Rob and Jenny? And how could they bring it upon themselves to reimagine the worst possible scenario? It had only taken three weeks for their disappearance to become conflated with murder. Either way, the affected families had certainly been devastated. Holiday homes had been boarded up. The very notion that something as unconscionable as murder could have happened seemed to have spread like wildfire unto houses and streets and neighborhoods.
Nobody felt safe. Somebody living in our community might have had enough cause to murder innocent and well-loved people. And until they were given the proper answers they needed, everyone was a walking target.
Anyone could be next.
Jennifer's family had been one of the wealthier families in Alistair – and the Hockleys had spared absolutely no expense. Posters and missing signs were on every corner, window, and street light. Word had even reached media outlets, and speculation was basically printing itself across all media channels. You couldn't even turn to the local news channel without catching a glimpse of Jennifer's bubbly, smiling face. You couldn't turn on the radio without hearing Robbie's name.
The school was in the midst of organizing a huge memorial ceremony for missing victims. The whole town would be attending, even those who hadn't known them at all. And it was very unlikely that there was anyone left in town who didn't know the missing teens, because like I said; everybody knew everybody.
"But Griffin said she was the last person who saw them, right? My Mom thinks she did it," one of the cheerleaders – Tiffany, I think – had piped up in an effort to be helpful.
Mystery solved, Tiff! Lock me up and put me away, boys. A noise left my mouth – something between a scoff and a groan.
The entire cheer team were shattered after the news. Practices had been cancelled, and its members had been sent to a grief counsellor for weekly sessions. I'd witnessed them walking from class to counsellor's office and back, all smudged mascaras and watery eyes. Part of me couldn't help but think that it was partially an act.
"Why would anyone believe her even if she denies it? She's so full of shit! She lies about everything," a boy from my class firmly added. I hadn't even bothered to look and see who he might be.
By now, I'd felt compelled enough by all the slander to respond. "I'm right here, you know."
"Yeah, we all fucking know!"
"Language," was Ms. O'Connor's attempt at de-escalation.
How could I possibly make them see? I couldn't help but defend myself, probably for the umpteenth time that week. I then turned my pleading eyes towards the police officers. "I saw them, but that doesn't mean I killed them."
I had dropped the South African accent long, long ago.
"Bullshit."
"Language!" Ms. O'Connor snapped again, much louder.
"Thank you, Jesabel. And thank you for providing us with you alibi. We'll be following up with more questions for you, but it's safe to say to everyone that Jesabel isn't the enemy here," said the blonde, short officer. She had been watching our argument in total silence, her sharp eyes calculating.
"Then her alibi's full of shit, too. You don't understand, she lies all the time!" Tiffany stressed her point.
I pointedly kept my eyes up at the ceiling, removing myself from this conversation. Pretending that it was all too beneath me.
A lie.
The blonde officer ignored her. "What we do know is that Jennifer Hockley and Robert Blight were both at a social gathering before the murder. Can anybody tell us about that?" Upon hearing this, a few people averted their eyes. "We need to know who attended that party and who didn't. We will be opening interrogations for those people."
Slowly, people began to raise their hands. My hand had stayed down.
"I think I was there that night."
"Yeah, me too."
The third officer – I'd forgotten his name – slowly made the rounds, writing down names and details on a notepad. Group discussions were over.
Only one-on-one this time.
The police wouldn't tell us exactly how much evidence they'd gathered so far. No peep or word about a sighted body nor a suspected lead. Jen and Robbie had officially been missing for over three weeks. While there were people still hoping that the couple was alive and well, the chances had been growing slimmer. Even I knew that.
I stayed silent for the rest of the session, tuning everything out, paying attention only when it became annoyingly necessary. And as soon as the lunch bell rang, I had gratefully stretched my legs and headed to the door, half expecting to be followed by those angry voices. It had only been their stares which followed me out.
"Oomph!" The attack had been sudden. My body was shoved painfully against the cool metal of the lockers. A blast of pain shot up my shoulders. Strong hands gripped me, and two sets of trembling eyes met my own in a fury.
"Listen here, you freak! You can deny it all you want, but you killed my best friend!" Zoe Darren harshly slapped her hand across my cheek. Her hand was tiny, but Jesus did it hurt. "Tiff told me what you said in there. You're a little lying scum, and everyone knows you did it. I'm going to kill you, and if I don't someone else will."
"Stop! Stop it, I didn't kill anybody! Let me go!" I thrashed against her, but she was too strong. No matter how cute she looked in her little cheerleader outfit, she packed some serious muscle.
She jerked my shoulders, so that my head slammed against the metal. My eyes stung with pain. I could hardly see the group of people crowded around us. I could hardly hear the commotion.
I was eventually able to shove her off of me, by grabbing her snarling face and heaving it away. The principal came rushing towards where were causing a scene and broke us apart. The chanting dissipated. A teacher separated us by our arms as she led us to the principal's office, shouting things at me. Nothing made sense through the adrenaline haze of my vision, my thundering pulse.
Lie. The principal had never arrived.
Nobody had broken us apart. Instead, I had used one hand to yank her dark hair and used the other to punch that angry little weasel in the face.