Conspiracy Girl Read Free Page A

clutch my stomach and fold forwards, spots whirling like a blizzard in front of my eyes. What have I done? Why did I think I could be safe here in New York? That it
wouldn’t happen again? The ground starts to shake, and then I realise it’s not the ground that’s shaking. It’s me. And I can’t stop.
    ‘Hey.’
    I look up. It’s the woman – Agent Corbell. She’s stepped forwards. She drops down to her knees in front of me and smiles. ‘Why don’t we go into the bedroom and get
you cleaned up, then we can find somewhere else to talk.’
    For a brief second I want to argue with her, but then I look down and see I’m drenched in blood. When I stand up I note, with a strange feeling of detachment, that I’ve got blood all
over the cushions and the rug. Agent Corbell puts her hand under my elbow and steers me towards the bedroom. She closes the door gently behind us but then we hear a scratching sound, followed by a
bark, and she has to let Goz in too.
    ‘Come on,’ Agent Corbell says, leading me through to the bathroom. The water comes up to the very edge of the tub and has already turned ice cold. The cops who first arrived on the
scene must have turned it off. Or did I? I don’t remember. Agent Corbell reaches over and pulls the plug and then fetches me a clean towel.
    ‘Do you want me to help?’ Agent Corbell says.
    ‘I want a shower,’ I manage to say.
    She moves quickly to the shower and turns it on for me. ‘I’m going to step outside. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.’
    I nod and she leaves, giving me another sympathetic smile as she closes the door.
    I turn to face the mirror and flinch in fright. I look like I’m wearing a Halloween mask. My hands, when I hold them up in front of my face, are bright red gloves. My eyes pop out starkly
– huge and still round with fright.
    At the sight of my reflection I start shaking all over again, and then, in a desperate burst of movement, I rip off my clothes and step into the shower. I grab the soap and a flannel and start
scrubbing my skin, scouring every inch of my body until all the blood is gone, and then I wash my hair, my fingers digging into my scalp as though trying to rip it free from my skull. Finally, I
crouch in the shower and let the water flood over me.
    Eventually the hot water runs cold, so I climb out and wrap a towel around myself before heading on shaky feet into the bedroom.
    Agent Corbell is sitting on the edge of my bed. Goz has his head tucked on her lap and she is stroking him absent-mindedly while looking at the photograph of my mother on the night stand. She
smiles when she sees me and gets to her feet. ‘Is that your mom?’ she asks, nodding at the photograph.
    ‘Yeah,’ I say.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she says quietly, then, after a pause. ‘I followed the case.’
    That’s no surprise. The whole world followed the Cooper case. When a woman and a teenager get murdered in their Beverly Hills home, the media tends to pay attention. I nod, avoiding her
eye, and turn towards the wardrobe.
    ‘Is the case still open?’ she asks.
    I draw in a breath, pain spearing me between the ribs. I shake my head once. They caught the guys who did it – Robert Miles and Casey McCrory. They both stood trial for double homicide and
attempted robbery, and they were both found not guilty. That doesn’t mean that they didn’t do it. Even the police are convinced of their guilt, which is why the case remains
unofficially closed even though no one was ever convicted of the murders.
    A thought worms a path through the deeper levels of my consciousness, trying to break the surface. It’s a thought I’ve been trying to suppress. What if it was the same men, who broke
into our house in LA two years ago and killed my mum and stepsister, who broke into my house tonight?
    It isn’t possible
, I tell myself, firmly. Why would they wait two years? Besides, the last report from the firm I pay to keep tabs on the two of them showed Miles