After She Fell: A haunting psychological thriller with a shocking twist. Mary-Jane Riley

the conversation back to the point the two of them would be going round and round in circles and they wouldn’t get anywhere. ‘We can look into Elena’s state of mind just before she died. What I want to know is why you, Cat, think Elena was murdered?’

      Cat let out a deep breath and leaned back into the cushions. ‘You will help, then? You are interested?’ She reached out and took Alex’s hands, squeezing them tightly. ‘I knew you would understand. That I could trust you. We still have it, don’t we? That tie, that closeness?’

      Alex nodded. It was true. It was as if they had spoken only yesterday.

      ‘And you know what it’s like to lose people close to you. You know how I feel.’

      ‘For God’s sake.’ Mark’s calm veneer suddenly cracked. ‘I know how you feel. Don’t leave me out of this.’

      ‘I’m not leaving you out of this, Mark, but you still think she killed herself. I don’t.’ She looked at Alex. ‘The inquest was last week.’ She visibly winced. ‘It was horrible. Having to relive it all, listen to the lies about Elena. The details. The pitying look from the coroner as she told everyone Elena had thrown herself from the cliff. The reporter scribbling down the details in his notebook so they could fill a page of their grubby little paper.’ Cat’s eyes were glistening. ‘And that text. The one they found on her phone. I never got it.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Of course I’m sure. I’d have remembered if I’d got a text like that. We were always texting, you see. The last time I heard from her was about ten days before she died. But I deleted it.’ She began to cry and rock herself backwards and forwards. ‘I deleted it because the storage on my phone was almost full. I deleted it. I keep texts from my secretary, but I deleted my daughter’s texts.’

      Alex put a hand on her arm. ‘Cat, it’s all right.’

      ‘No it’s not all right.’ Gulping sobs escaped her.

      ‘Tell me what the texts said.’

      ‘Do we have to drag all this up?’

      Cat jerked her head up. ‘Yes we do, Mark.’ She looked at Alex. ‘She said she was looking forward to coming home. Said there were things going on at the school that she had to tell me about, worrying things, she said. She said …’ Cat gulped back tears, ‘she said she had to talk to me. I asked her to tell me there and then but she wouldn’t.’ She looked at Mark. ‘But nothing about not eating or being depressed.’

      Out of the corner of her eye Alex could see Mark trying to catch her eye as if to say, ‘See, no definite proof.’

      ‘And you don’t know what she was referring to?’

      ‘No. But then I got this.’

      Suddenly she had her mobile phone in her hand and she turned the screen towards Alex. ‘Here. Look.’

      Alex looked. It was a Facebook tribute page – she had seen quite a few of them in her time when she’d written stories on young people who had died – a special page dedicated to that person. She took the phone from Cat and scrolled through the page. It was full of the usual: ‘I love you hun RIP; You’re the best, we’ll miss ya; You’ll be an angel in heaven now.’

      She looked up at Cat. ‘It’s great your daughter’s friends cared, but—’

      ‘Oh for goodness’ sake.’ Cat snatched the phone back and scrolled down, her finger moving at a frantic pace. ‘There. See.’ She thrust the phone at Alex.

      Elena did not kill herself

      The comment was prefaced by a picture of a silhouette – standard practice when people didn’t want a profile photo – and the name ‘Kiki Godwin’.

      ‘And again. Look, underneath that message.’ Cat’s eyes were bright, feverish, her hands shaking. ‘Another one.’

      It’s true. Elena did not kill herself.

      Again, the same silhouette picture, the same name: ‘Kiki Godwin’.

      ‘And if you look, everybody else posted their messages just after Elena died and in the following few weeks. These two were posted four days ago, after the inquest.’ Her excitement was palpable.

      Alex clicked on Kiki Godwin’s name. It took her to a Facebook page that echoed the silhouette but had no details about Kiki Godwin. She took her own phone out of her bag, opened the Facebook app and found Kiki’s name herself. Then she sent her a friend request. Let’s see if we get any reply to that, she thought.

      ‘I’m guessing’, said Alex, putting her phone away, ‘you don’t know who Kiki is?’

      ‘No. Not at all. I presume it’s one of her friends, but then, why doesn’t she have a profile?’

      ‘And have you shown this to the police?’

      Cat met her eyes. ‘No. Not yet. I don’t trust them like I trust you. Them and their great size thirteen boots. No finesse, no subtlety. All they’d do is scare everyone off. Nobody would talk to them, least of all Kiki Godwin, whoever she – or possibly he – might be. Anyway, they wouldn’t believe me. Even my own husband doesn’t believe me. No, I want you to look into it, Alex. Please.’

      ‘But Cat, the police have resources, know-how, manpower and all that.’

      ‘That’s what I keep telling her,’ said Mark, now onto his third – or was it fourth? – whisky. ‘Let the coppers handle it. Show them that message. Though personally I think it’s one of those trolls. You get them all the time on these sorts of pages. We’re lucky it hasn’t been worse. Sometimes there’s all sorts of filth there too. You can’t believe what people can be like.’

      ‘Mark, please.’

      ‘I’m sorry Cat, but it’s true. It should be in the hands of the police.’

      ‘Who think she killed herself.’

      ‘But you won’t have it.’ Mark tossed more whisky down his throat.

      Alex thought of the articles she should be pitching, the money she should be earning. How Mark could well be right and it was a troll. It did happen; not so long ago some inadequate youth had been jailed for mocking the death of a teenager who’d thrown herself in front of a train.

      She tried again. ‘Cat, you should tell the police. That’s the best. Let them deal with it. You’re a politician; it’ll go to the top of the pile.’

      Cat gave a deep sigh and sat back on the settee, a steely look in her eyes. ‘They have closed the case and they won’t want to reopen it. Look, go and take a look around for me. Spend a couple of days up there, spy out the ground. Please. You can ask the right questions; I know you can. That’s all I’m asking. A few questions. You’re good at that.’

      Alex looked at her helplessly. ‘Cat, I don’t know …’

      All at once Cat smiled gleefully, like a little child, her eyes feverishly bright. ‘But I do. I know you can help. And your editor – Bud, isn’t it? – he thought there could be a good story in it. He was interested.’

      Of course he was. He’d said as much to her. But he didn’t have to come and see the raw emotions on Cat’s face, the amount of hope she had.

      ‘Look,’ her friend continued, ‘we’ve even got a little cottage up there where you can stay; it’s one we use when we go – used to go – to see Elena on her free weekends. We rent it out, but the couple who were supposed to be staying there at the moment cancelled. Wedding or something. Please, Alex. I’m begging you. Two weeks – one week – and if you’re getting nowhere then call it a day. I’ll try and accept it … Elena’s death. I’ll show the Facebook thing to the police and see if they’ll do anything. Though I know they won’t.’

      ‘An offer you can barely refuse, hmm? Free