After reaching the top, the two of them made their way to his police vehicle and got in. They saw several others driving back into town when they turned onto the road, and by the time they arrived at the fire station, at least fifteen others had reported in.

“No one’s had any news,” Matilda told them, her voice firm, her fear held back with a strong hand.

Behind her was a whiteboard on which someone had written out a -detailed description of Miriama’s clothing, shoes, phone, and iPod. No mention of a watch or earrings and Anahera couldn’t remember if the girl’s ears had been pierced. But the other items were distinctive. Anahera took note.

“The ones doing the bush tracks are still out,” Matilda continued, “but we haven’t got anyone really searching the rest of the town. What if she got hit by a car or something like that?”

Anahera knew that was unlikely. Someone would’ve spotted Miriama if she’d been on or near a road, especially with search volunteers having come in from every corner of Golden Cove.

The cop didn’t crush Matilda’s hopes. “It won’t do any harm for a volunteer to drive through the streets Miriama might’ve cut through,” he said.

Vincent, who’d just returned and come to join them, put up his hand. “I can do it.” His blond -hair—-like gilt when in the -sunlight—-was wind tousled and messier than it ever was in the publicity stills used for the family charity or his business interests. “My car’s got those special high beams and they cut pretty well through the dark.”

“I’ll go with Vincent,” his search partner said, her face seamed with life but her gaze alert. “Better to have two sets of eyes than one.”

Anahera smiled tightly at Vincent as he moved past her, thinking that this wasn’t how she’d wanted to run into her former schoolmate again, but Vincent didn’t even seem to see her. Likely, he was already planning his route for maximum coverage. That was Vincent for -you—-he’d been the cleverest of them all. Always turned in the cleanest reports, had the most thoughtfully -worked--out equations.

It was a wonder they’d all liked him as much as they had. But Vincent had a way about -him—-he was so quietly easygoing that he could fit into almost any environment and, as a friend, he was reliable. Back when they were eleven, before he was sent to boarding school, he’d once lent Anahera a copy of his completed math homework, after a night when she simply hadn’t been able to concentrate because her parents were screaming at each other.

She’d gone out to sit on the beach in an effort to find focus, but it turned out she’d brought the screaming with her, her head full of violence. In the end, she’d settled in a spot on the cliffs from where she could watch the waves come in and stayed there till dawn. Maybe Miriama’d had one of those days, too; maybe she was just sitting somewhere, waiting for dawn to come.

“Let me have a look at that list of search areas,” the cop said to Matilda. After scanning it, he began to hand out more assignments, covering -little--used tracks and areas of the town that Nikau had marked as unassigned. “If I’ve given any of you an area you’re unfamiliar with, speak up now. It’s no good to Miriama if you’re stumbling around.”

Two groups spoke up, ended up swapping tasks.

“You’re the only person without a partner except for me,” he said to Anahera, then subtly angled his head in the direction of the doorway.

She went with him after catching the quick flick of his gaze toward where Matilda was speaking to another searcher. The cop wanted them out of earshot of the older woman. “What?” she said quietly once they’d moved.

“I have to make a call, then I’m going to check out that unofficial dumpsite outside of town. You happy to come along?”

Anahera’s stomach clenched, but she nodded. “I’m surprised the dump’s still there,” she said after the two of them were back in his SUV. “I know when I left, the town busybodies were up in arms about it for the millionth time.” As an adult, she could see their point; that particular area was an ugly blight on an otherwise striking landscape.

So, for that matter, was Nikau’s house, which they passed on the way out of town. What the hell was he up to?

“It pisses off his ex’s new husband,” the cop said quietly, even though she hadn’t spoken aloud. “The new husband owns four plots around Nik’s place that he’s trying to sell.”

Anahera went motionless; she’d have to be careful around this man. She’d left her past behind in London and didn’t intend for it to follow her here. That part of her life was done and would stay in the hole in which she’d buried it, the same hole that held Edward’s lifeless body.

13

“Nikau did always know how to hold a grudge.” Anahera had once accidentally kicked over his sandcastle when they were five or six. He hadn’t forgiven her for two months.

“As for the dump,” the cop added, “the business council hired a waste removal company to clean it up a few years back, but people apparently took that as an invitation to dump even more rubbish. Now the council’s trying to get in touch with the owner of the land with the aim of buying it so the town can do something with it that’ll stop the dumping for good.”

Anahera shook her head. “Affordability aside, the land’s too far out to be useful for any kind of a public building.” Some Golden Cove residents might live deep in the darkness of the trees, but all essential services were centralized. It was the only way such a small and remote settlement could work.