Soul Fire

interviewer comments on how
the rest of the family is coping.
    ‘My husband and my daughter are more private than I am. It’s how they cope. But without them, I’d be lost. Seeing Alice grow up and become independent is all that’s
keeping me going, some days. She’s the best thing in my life.’
    The screen blurs. I blink hard. Of course, I know Mum loves me, but sometimes, in the last year, I’ve wondered whether she’d have missed me as much as she misses Meggie, if I’d been the daughter who died.
    Without speaking, Lewis clicks back to Burning Truths. ‘I think the person behind the site might be online. The front page is changing.’
    I look up again. There are fewer lines of text, and when Lewis refreshes the page again, the headline ANGRY!!! has disappeared. ‘They’re taking it down?’
    ‘Yeah. But that means . . .’
    Lewis moves across to the other keyboard, begins to type incredibly fast, bringing up several different windows of text, images, maps. As I watch the screen nearest me, it goes black for a
moment, then a large blank square appears.
    ‘Something’s being uploaded,’ I say.
    ‘Come on, come on, ’ Lewis mumbles, but he’s not talking to me. He’s still typing furiously, without looking at his fingers. My mum – who still boasts about
her hundred-and-ten-words-a-minute in secretarial school – would be impressed.
    The screen in front of me changes agonisingly slowly, like in the dark ages at home before we got broadband. It’s definitely an image. A photo.
    The background is white. Then pink shapes begin to appear.
    Lewis looks up, but doesn’t stop typing. ‘Too bloody fast.’
    He’s right, the download has speeded up. Then the whole photo is there.
    It’s a hand . The semi-circles are fingernails, painted with glittery pink polish. Those nails are perfect almonds, at the end of slender fingers.
    ‘Damn.’ Lewis is hitting the return key over and over. ‘Offline again. I was so nearly there, unless . . .’ And he’s off again.
    A right hand . On the index finger, there’s a ring with a huge purple stone. Too big to be real.
    I gave her that ring.
    ‘Lewis. Lewis, it’s her hand. Meggie’s hand.’
    He stops typing, and studies the picture more closely. ‘There’s something odd about that picture.’
    ‘What, other than the fact that it’s been taken by some kind of nail fetishist?’
    ‘You’re certain it’s your sister’s hand?’
    ‘Yes. Of course. But why would someone take a photo of just her hand? It’s too weird.’ Something awful occurs to me. ‘Lewis, do you think. . . could this have been
taken by the killer?’
    He runs a hand through his hair. ‘It’s possible, Ali. But . . . well, isn’t it more likely that it’s one Tim took? We know there’s a connection between him and the
person behind this site.’
    ‘But I can’t see why he’d do that. He could hold her hand anytime he liked.’
    Lewis leans forward. ‘There’s something else. The colours are all wrong. The skin, it’s too pale and the nails are too pink.’
    ‘No, that’s her favourite colour, but the skin . . .’ And that’s when I realise. ‘Oh, God, Lewis. This is Meggie. But whoever took this photo took it . . . I think
they took it after they killed her.’

30
    Lewis reaches out to grab my hand.
    ‘You don’t know that,’ he says, but he doesn’t sound very confident.
    ‘Look at it, Lewis. It’s . . . lifeless. The colour you noticed, it’s because . . .’
    And then I can’t speak anymore because my eyes are full of tears.
    ‘Oh, Alice.’
    Lewis holds me, now, as I sob into his t-shirt. It’s not sadness that’s making me cry, though, it’s shock and anger that anyone could be so heartless. Who could do that?
Murder my sister, then hang around long enough to photograph her.
    ‘What else did they do, Lewis? What other pictures did they take ?’
    He doesn’t say anything, but just lets me cry, holding me tightly. At first, it doesn’t help, but then gradually I feel the tears beginning to slow, and, as they do, the shock wears
off and the anger grows.
    ‘The bastard. This is the sickest thing. The sickest thing.’
    ‘I know. I know, Ali. But what you have to remember is that she would have known nothing about it. Nothing can hurt her anymore.’
    I pull away from him. There’s a huge damp circle where I was leaning against his chest. ‘Sorry.’
    Lewis smiles. ‘Come on. Do you think I care about a wet shirt? It’s not as if