Chapter 35 Camilla

35 CAMILLA

NOW

She sits in the plunge pool in her villa sipping champagne, looking out at the Indian Ocean, feeling nothing but rage. Her therapist said that grief and anger were like siblings, meaning that they often overlapped. The wording was careless, but she thinks of Cameron now, and how sometimes she has felt that, if she became angry enough, she could bring him back to life. Nonsense, of course, but her anger has remained as obstinate, defying reality.

It’s almost midnight.

The sun has bled out into the waves, and in the distance she can hear screams and laughter as some guests walk across a strip of hot coals near the pier. She feels like there’s an earthquake inside her head. An ongoing, constant earthquake, the planet splitting right open.

It’s the anniversary of the massacre, the actual day of it, and she’s just learned that Hugh Fraser didn’t act alone—exactly as she’s suspected all this time.

And the second killer is possibly in the villa next to hers.

It is agonizing, waiting for the call with Adrian. She has spent the evening here on her balcony, staring out to sea and crying. She didn’t dare go to the buffet for dinner, or leave the villa. If she bumped into Rob, there was no telling what she would do.

But Kate is right. They need to be patient, wait for Adrian to share his findings. She thinks of the dinner last night. The way Rob stormed across the restaurant with a face like thunder, fists ready to knock seven bells out of Antoni. And he probably would have, had the waiters not intervened.

Antoni is nowhere to be seen.

Camilla is given to acting on her gut instinct. And right now, her gut is saying that Rob Marlowe is the killer. Darcy knows it, too. They can examine their detective’s evidence all day long, but she saw Rob’s face contorted with anger, and she knows he hurts Jade. It makes sense.

Sometimes fate has a way of making things happen, of bringing impossible parts together. And now she knows that’s why they’re really here.

Her brother will have justice.

She is physically shaking, has already vomited several times, her face streaked with mascara and eyeliner from crying.

Her phone has been buzzing all night with messages of sympathy.

Thinking of you, Mum.

I hope you’re OK, Camilla. I know today is the worst xo

We’re holding you to the light xxx

But Camilla holds back from sharing this bombshell with them. Not yet , she thinks. Not until she hears it firsthand.

NOW IT’S TWO MINUTES TO one. Darcy and Kate are on the sofa next to her in her villa, candles lit, glasses of wine poured. Camilla’s eyes are puffy and sore, but she’s had a shower, has put on clean clothes and fresh makeup. She feels a little less untethered. She sets her laptop on the coffee table in front of them.

“Ready?” she asks them.

Kate raises her glass. “Ready.”

Camilla clicks the Zoom link. The camera light flashes green. Adrian appears a few seconds later in his home office back in London.

“Evening, ladies,” he says.

“We’ve all heard the news now,” Kate says. “I think we’re still trying to get our heads around it.”

“What can you tell us about this man, Rob Marlowe?” Camilla says, wanting to cut straight to the chase.

“Tonight I’m going to give a comprehensive overview,” Adrian says, “via PowerPoint presentation, if that’s all right. I have some images to share.”

“We appreciate that,” Kate says. “Hopefully the Wi-Fi’s OK—there’s a bit of a time lag.”

“Let me just share my screen.”

The presentation pops up in the form of a slide featuring a mug shot of Rob. Camilla notes that it’s dated three years ago. Her lip curls. How she hates this man. Already she is thinking of what she wants to do to him, the thought of him laying a finger on her brother dredging up her darkest memories.

She feels Kate squeeze her hand. “You all right?” Kate asks, and she nods, faking a smile.

No, she’s not all right. Cameron’s voice is loud in her head. She thinks of him as a little boy, how protective he was of her. How she’d wake sometimes and find him sleeping beside her. She thinks of the funeral. Of her mother falling to her knees.

“I’ll tell you how I came across him,” Adrian says, bringing up a slide with another photograph of Rob. It looks like a screenshot, perhaps a Facebook profile. “You’ll remember that the owner of the guesthouse, Mike Rotzien, was involved in drugs, and there had been some trouble with his dealers right before the killings. Rob Marlowe was one of his dealers. I was able to access some of the interview reports from the original investigation. Marlowe’s interview was the most interesting to me, because he was interviewed twice.”

“Twice?” Camilla says, astonished.

“Why was he interviewed twice?” Kate asks.

“His DNA was found in the guesthouse,” Adrian says, and Camilla takes a deep breath. “Now, Marlowe does have a previous address in Dover, but that doesn’t explain why his DNA should turn up at a crime scene.”

Kate and Darcy share looks.

“So what happened?”

“To cut a long story short—he was let go. He was able to prove that Rotzien was a client of his, and that was why his DNA was in the guesthouse.”

“That’ll be why they spent so long looking at Rotzien’s drug background,” Camilla hisses at Kate, referring to the meandering part of the investigation that upset Rotzien’s family. He had been murdered, but the investigators had spent a long time portraying him as a possible collaborator.

“As I explained to Darcy,” Adrian continued, “forensic science has moved ahead in leaps and bounds since 2001, but that also means that, back then, it was shockingly primitive.”

“Why the fuck would they let someone go if their DNA was found at the scene of a massacre?” Camilla says, feeling anger flaring up inside her.

“My educated guess would be that they felt they had their man,” Adrian says. “Hugh Fraser denied that anyone else was involved. Rob Marlowe had an alibi, albeit a questionable one.” Adrian shares a mug shot of a woman with bleached-blond hair and smeared red lipstick, her pupils glassy and dilated. Camilla reckons she must be a sex worker.

“But there is more evidence that persuades me to look again at Rob,” Adrian continues. “He has a history of assault. A total of twelve earlier cases, four of which never made it to court. Five of the charges occurred in relation to drug dealing. He moved about a fair bit in his late teens. Was homeless for a while, spent time in Glasgow in this hostel.”

Adrian next shares an image of a decrepit building, an address indicating a street in Motherwell. “Incidentally, there was a stabbing in a flat two streets away from this address the night before Marlowe fled for Cornwall. Police never found the killer.”

Another image of an apartment appears on the screen, labeled with an address in Cornwall. “So, Marlowe moves to this place in the summer of 1999. No job, but manages to get himself an apartment. Most likely selling drugs at this point, which he returns to time and again.” He shows them another image—a utility bill addressed to Rob Marlowe with the same Perranporth postcode, dated June 1999.

“Again, a stabbing. Drug dealer. Next day, Marlowe moves to Norfolk. In August 2001, he picks up a job as an apprentice for a plumbing company in Dover.”

Another image: a utility bill dated August 2001 with Rob’s name on it. Then a map, with a red arrow pointing at the Spinnaker Guesthouse, a blue arrow pointing at another venue.

“The blue arrow is Rob’s apartment. As you can see, he’s just over a mile away from the guesthouse. Interviewees mentioned that the guesthouse was known to drug dealers. My guess is Rob fell out with the owner over drugs. And then he took his revenge.”

“How is Rob linked to Hugh Fraser?” Camilla asks. “And if Rob was involved, why wouldn’t Fraser tell the police?”

Adrian clicks through to the next slide. The image makes Camilla’s stomach drop. It is an old Polaroid photograph of a teenage Rob with his arm around Hugh’s shoulders, the other hand giving a thumbs-up. Both grinning. They’re in someone’s house, faded floral curtains forming a background. His eyes turn to Hugh and his head tilts toward him, Rob’s body language suggesting that, as a younger man, he was in thrall to Hugh.

“Oh my God,” she hears Kate say with a whimper.

“Hugh had previously served time for sexual offenses against teenage girls,” Adrian says. “My feeling is that he was also into teenage boys. Rob was nineteen at the time. They met while Rob was in foster care. The body language here is quite intimate. Rob was one of many boys who Hugh took under his wing, getting them to solicit other adolescents for him. Given that Hugh had been diagnosed with cancer, you could say he had nothing to gain by mentioning Rob to the police.”

“So you’re saying… they had a relationship?” Kate asks.

“I think that photo speaks volumes,” Camilla says, taking her phone out to capture it. “And his DNA was in the fucking guesthouse.”

“I’m sorry, I appreciate this can’t be easy to take in,” Adrian says. “I’m happy to meet again once you’ve had time to digest?”

“Thank you, Adrian,” Darcy says.

“Yes, thank you,” Camilla says in a hoarse voice.

The three of them sit in stunned silence for a moment.

“Can we chat, ladies?” Kate says finally. “Outside? I need air.”