“Oh?” I ask. Anxiety swirls in my chest.
“The tests are far from conclusive. Given the state of the remains, the coroner can’t be certain. But…”
The possibilities dangle in front of me as she trails off. Saliva pools in my mouth and I swallow hard, fear rising in time with the bile in my throat.
“Ms. Barton was likely pregnant at the time of her death.”
15
Claire
Now
“Pregnant?” I choke the word out.
“It would have been very early on,” Villanueva explains. “Only a few weeks along, really. And again, it’s far from certain, but the coroner noted a slight deviation in her pelvic bones that is generally associated with the early stages of pregnancy.”
But I barely hear her.
“Ms. Whitlock, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I answer rapidly.
“Did you have any idea that Ms. Barton was pregnant? Did she ever mention anything to you? Or, looking back, was there anything that may have indicated as much?”
The image comes back to me like a slap to the face. Phoebe’s head thrown back, her shiny dark hair collecting the light from the stars like a disco ball of rays.
“I don’t think so.” I shut my eyes tight against the memory.
“You mentioned that she was intimate with Mr. Quek. Are you aware of anyone else with whom she had sexual relations?”
“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. “And I’m sure she and Kyan used protection.”
“Okay, well, if you think of anything, you have my number.” I can tell she’s getting ready to end the call, but then: “Actually, there’s one more thing, Ms. Whitlock.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “I’m sharing this information with you because, by all accounts, you were Ms. Barton’s closest friend during her time in Australia. I would appreciate if you do not share this with the others, especially the men in your group.”
I nod until the pause grows stale and I remember to speak. “Sure.”
She ends the call, but I don’t hang up right away, the phone still glued to my ear as the implication of her request sinks in.
***
It should make me feel better, the fact that Villanueva’s suspicion has turned away from me. But it doesn’t. The news of Phoebe’s pregnancy leaves me hollow.
What I did that night didn’t just lead to the end of Phoebe’s life. It ruined that of her unborn child too.
A knock at my door breaks through the swarm of thoughts in my head.
It’s Josh.
“We’re all out back. Kyan is grilling some of the sausages webought at the store. You know, for old times’ sake and all that. You coming?”
I look at him blankly for a minute from inside the doorway, before processing an answer. “No, no. I’m not hungry. I’m actually not feeling too well after all that excitement earlier. I think I’m just going to call it an early night.”
I can’t handle the thought of facing all of them knowing what I know now. Knowing what I did.
“Okay,” Josh acquiesces. “But hey, are you sure you’re alright?”
He places his hand on my arm, and there it is again: that comfort. I want to sink into him, to tell him everything. And it would be easy, to have someone to share it all with.
