The Last Murder at the end of the World

FORTY-NINE

Emory marches outside and screams her frustration at the purple sky, drawing curious looks from the people in the barracks.

She left her father cradling the memory extractor on his lap, like it was an injured animal. After everything they’ve learned, he’s still angry with her for defying the will of the elders. How can his faith in them be so steadfast, when he has so little faith in her?

She feels Clara’s arms slip around her waist, and her head nestle against her back. She used to do this when she was a child and wanted to be comforted. Emory can’t remember it happening since.

‘You okay?’ asks Clara.

‘He’s an idiot,’ declares Emory, whose fists are clenched.

‘He’s probably thinking the same thing about you.’

‘Don’t take his side,’ declares Emory hotly. ‘You came out here, which means you’re on my side, and being on my side requires you to be as angry with him as I am.’

Clara offers a playful yelp, making her mother laugh.

‘I don’t think you know how anger works,’ says Emory, calming down.

Ants are crawling across her feet, travelling in huge black convoys towards the exercise yard, hoping to pick up any scraps of food that have fallen from the tables. They’ll be disappointed, she thinks. Most of the stores are still missing, the funeral feast reduced to leftovers and almost-ripe vegetables dragged early from the earth.

She takes her daughter’s hands, which are dirty, hot and hurt. Her arms are smooth and thin, the skin freckled. They’re the only things about her that haven’t really changed since she was little.

‘What’s wrong, love?’ she says gently.

‘Why was Hui’s blood on my knife, Mum? I’d never hurt her, not for any reason.’

‘Of course you wouldn’t,’ says Emory, turning around to stare into Clara’s troubled face, startled by where her daughter’s line of thought has led her. ‘The crime was impulsive, and you were sitting close to the bird bath with a knife. Whoever attacked Hui and Niema grabbed it from you because it was the nearest thing at hand. If it had been a hammer, or a saw, the killer would have used that.’

Emory presses her hands to Clara’s cheeks, lowering her own head to make eye contact.

‘The only thing I’m certain about is that you have no part in it,’ says Emory. ‘That heart of yours is much too large.’

‘What if you’re wrong? I was so angry with Hui for treating me the way she did. I thought she … What if I snapped and did something terrible?’

‘We still haven’t found anything to confirm that Hui’s dead. Your grandfather woke up with her blood on his shirt, probably because he saw her being attacked in the exercise yard. He’d never hurt her, so he was probably trying to help. He was an apprentice for a long time, which means he was trained in first aid by Thea, and is probably good at it, knowing how dangerous that work is. I think the three of us put Hui into the back of that cart and took her out to Adil’s shack, though that’s where my theory falls down, because I don’t know why we’d do that. I can only assume Adil took her somewhere afterwards, and he’d have no need to do that if she was dead.’

Clara’s shoulders rise, her head lifting, as hope flows back into her.

‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

‘I’m just thinking out loud,’ replies Emory, rubbing her eyes wearily. ‘And I’m not sure it’s getting us any closer to the murderer.’

She cocks an ear, listening to the clink of cutlery being put away. It will be curfew in an hour and everybody’s starting to clean up after the funeral.

‘I think it’s about time we told everybody what’s been happening on this island,’ she says.