Good Girl, Bad Blood

by Holly Jackson

  They continued down the hallway, the old blue faded wallpaper peeling off and away in rolls that exposed the white underside, like small waves breaking up against the walls. An archway opened into a large space that once must have been a living room. There was a staircase on the far side, yellowing and peeling. Windows with limp, sun-bleached curtains that might have been floral-patterned in another life. Two old red sofas in the middle, brushed with grey, clinging dust.

  As Pip stepped closer, she noticed there was a break in the dust against one of the sofa cushions: a clearer circular patch of the red material. Like someone had sat here. Recently.

  ‘Look.’ Ravi drew her attention up to the centre of the room, where there were three small metal bins, upturned into stools. Scattered around them were food wrappers: digestive biscuits, crisp packets, empty tubs of Pringles. Discarded bottles of beer and butts of hand-rolled cigarettes.

  ‘Maybe not so abandoned after all,’ Ravi said, bending to pick up one of the butts, raising it to his nose. ‘Smells like weed.’

  ‘Great, and now you’ve put your prints on it, if this is a crime scene.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said and gritted his teeth, a guilty look in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’ll just take this one home with me to dispose of.’ He pocketed it and straightened up.

  ‘Why would people come here to hang out and smoke?’ Pip said, studying the scene, questions surfacing from every corner. ‘That’s rather morbid. Don’t they know what happened here, that Andie’s body was found here?’

  ‘That’s probably part of its charm,’ Ravi said, sliding into his movie-trailer voice. ‘Old abandoned murder house, the perfect place for a smoke and a snack. Looks like whoever it is comes here quite often and I’m guessing this is a night-time activity. Maybe it’s worth us coming back later tonight, staking out the place, see who comes here? They might be connected to Jamie’s disappearance, or maybe they saw something last Friday.’

  ‘Stake-out?’ Pip smiled. ‘Alright, Sarge.’

  ‘Hey, you’re Sarge. Don’t you use my own names against me.’

  ‘Police are here,’ Naomi called into the farmhouse, as Pip and Ravi were showing Connor and Cara what they’d found inside.

  ‘I’ll go deal with them.’ Pip hurried back through the hallway and into the outside world. She screwed her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. A police car had pulled up on the gravel road, doors either side pushing open. Daniel da Silva stepped out from the driver’s side, straightening his police cap, and Soraya Bouzidi from the other.

  ‘Hi,’ Pip called, walking forward to greet them.

  ‘Eliza said it was you,’ Daniel said, unable or unwilling to hide the disdain in his face. He didn’t like her, not since she’d suspected him of being Andie’s killer, and that was fine, because Pip didn’t much like him either.

  ‘Yep, it’s me. Cause of all the trouble in Little Kilton since 2017,’ she said, flatly, catching sight of Soraya smiling quickly. ‘Here, it’s this way.’ She led them across the grass, pointing them towards the small huddle of trees.

  Daniel and Soraya continued on over to the long grass by the roots. She watched them looking down at the knife and then looking at each other.

  ‘What is this?’ Daniel called to her.

  ‘It’s a knife,’ she said. And then, more helpfully, ‘The same knife that’s missing from a rack in the Reynoldses’ house. Jamie Reynolds, remember, he’s missing? Friends with your sister?’

  ‘Yes, I –’

  ‘Case number four nine zero zero one five two –’

  ‘Yes, OK,’ he interrupted. ‘What is all this?’ He gestured to the students, still gathered a way back from the farmhouse.

  ‘That is a search team,’ Pip said. ‘When the police won’t do anything, I guess you’ve gotta turn to sixth formers instead.’

  The muscles twitched in Daniel da Silva’s cheek as he chewed on his tongue. ‘Right,’ he shouted, surprising her, clapping his hands loudly three times. ‘Everyone go home! Now!’

  They disbanded immediately, breaking off into small, whispering groups. Pip gave them a grateful nod as they moved past the police and away to the road. But the Ward sisters didn’t go, and nor did Connor or Ravi, standing in the entrance of the farmhouse.

  ‘This knife is vital evidence to a missing persons case,’ Pip said, trying to regain control. ‘It needs to be collected and properly documented and handed over to the evidence clerk.’

  ‘Yes, I know how evidence works,’ Daniel said, darkly. ‘Did you put this here?’ He pointed at the knife.

  ‘No,’ she said, that hot primal feeling awakening again. ‘Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t even here when it was found.’

  ‘We’ll take it,’ Soraya stepped in, placing herself between Daniel and Pip, disarming them. ‘I’ll make sure it’s properly dealt with, don’t worry.’ The look in her eyes was so different from Daniel’s: kind, unsuspicious.

  ‘Thank you,’ Pip said, as Soraya made her way back to the squad car.

  When she was out of earshot, Daniel da Silva spoke again, not looking at Pip. ‘If I find out this isn’t real, that you’re wasting police time –’

  ‘It’s real,’ she said, the words crushed down to fit through her gritted teeth. ‘Jamie Reynolds is really missing. The knife is really here. And I know the police don’t have the resources to make every case a priority, but please listen to me. Tell Hawkins. Something bad has happened here. I know it has.’

  Daniel didn’t respond.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ she said. ‘Foul play. Someone could be dead. And you’re doing nothing. Something happened to Jamie, right here.’ She gestured towards the knife. ‘It has something to do with someone Jamie’s been talking to online. A woman called Layla Mead but that’s not her r—’

  And she stuttered to a stop, eyes circling his face. Because as soon as she’d said Layla’s name, Daniel’s reaction had been immediate. He sniffed, nostrils flaring, dropping his eyes like he was trying to hide them from her. A creep of pink spread across his cheeks as his light brown, wavy hair fell across his forehead.

  ‘You know Layla,’ Pip said. ‘You’ve been talking to her too?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to Layla,’ she said. ‘Do you know who she really is?’

  ‘I haven’t been talking to anyone,’ Daniel said in a low, rattling hiss that made the hairs on Pip’s neck stand end up. ‘No one, you understand? And if I hear a word about this from you again . . .’

  He ended the sentence there, leaving Pip to fill in the blank he’d left behind. He stepped back from her and straightened out his face, just as Soraya was returning from the car, her hands covered by blue plastic gloves, gripped around a paper evidence bag.

  The Knife

  Found in a location that corresponds to Jamie’s step-count data, before his Fitbit stopped recording and his phone was turned off. I think this confirms it was Jamie who took the knife, which means he had to have gone home between the calamity party and the sighting on Wyvil Road, to pick up his hoodie and the knife. But why did he need a weapon? What had made him so afraid?

  If the theory is that Jamie did indeed return home, how does the timing work with Arthur Reynolds’ movements? How did Jamie have enough time to visit Nat da Silva, walk home and grab his hoodie and the knife, all before his dad got back at 11:15 p.m.? The timing isn’t just tight, it’s almost impossible. Something in my timeline isn’t right, and that means someone is lying. I should try talk to Nat again, maybe she’ll be more honest with me about Jamie when her boyfriend isn’t there?

  Daniel da Silva

  He’s been talking to Layla Mead; his reaction made that perfectly clear. Is it possible he knows who she really is? He was clearly trying to hide any connection to her, is that because he knows something? Or is it just because he wouldn’t want that information getting back to his wife, who’s taking care of their new baby while Daniel has been – presumably – t
alking inappropriately to another woman online? I got the sense last year that this isn’t out of character for Daniel.

  And another observation, we now know three people Layla Mead has been talking to: Jamie, Adam Clark and Daniel da Silva. And here’s the slightly strange thing: all three of these men are in the 29-to-recently-30 range (well, not Jamie, but that’s what his profile originally said). And they all look vaguely similar: white, with brownish hair. Is this a coincidence or is there something to this?

  The Farmhouse

  Jamie went there on Friday night. Well at least, he was just outside. And clearly the place isn’t as abandoned as we thought. We need to find out who goes there, and why. Whether they are connected to Jamie’s disappearance.

  Stake-out tonight. I’m picking Ravi up just before midnight, meeting Connor and Cara there. I’ve just got to wait for Mum and Dad to fall asleep first. I parked my car down the road and told them I’d left it at school, so they won’t hear me when I go. Need to remember to avoid the third stair down – that’s the creaky one.

  Twenty-Six

  Connor was already there when they pulled up, his eyes alive and glowing in the full beam of Pip’s headlights. They were on Old Farm Road, right before the turning on to Sycamore. Ravi handed her the rucksack, his hand lingering over hers, and then they climbed out of the car.

  ‘Hey,’ Pip whispered to Connor. The midnight wind danced through her hair, throwing it across her face. ‘Did you get out OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Don’t think my mum was asleep, I could hear her sniffing. But she didn’t hear me.’

  ‘Where’s Cara?’ Pip said, eyeing her car parked thirty feet up the road.

  ‘She’s just inside the car, on the phone to her sister,’ Connor said. ‘Naomi must have noticed she’d snuck out. I don’t think Cara was trying to be that quiet on her way out because, in her words, “Both my grandparents are practically deaf”.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  Ravi came to stand beside Pip, a shield between her and the biting wind.

  ‘Have you seen the comments?’ Connor said, his voice hardening. Was he angry? It was almost too dark to tell.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s been, like, three hours since you released the episode and a theory on Reddit has already gone viral.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘They think my dad killed Jamie.’ Yes, he was definitely angry, a sharp edge to his voice as he shot it towards her. ‘They’re saying he took the knife from our house and followed Jamie down Wyvil Road. Killed him, cleaned and dumped the knife and hid his body temporarily. That he was still out when I got home around midnight, because I didn’t “actually see” my dad when I got in. And then he was absent at the weekend because he was out disposing of Jamie’s body properly. Motive: my dad hates Jamie because he’s “such a fucking disappointment”.’

  ‘I told you not to read the comments,’ Pip said, calmly.

  ‘It’s hard not to when people are accusing my dad of being a fucking murderer. He didn’t do anything to Jamie. He wouldn’t!’

  ‘I’ve never said he did,’ Pip lowered her voice, hoping Connor would follow suit.

  ‘Well, it’s your podcast they’re commenting on. Where do you think they got those ideas?’

  ‘You asked me to do this, Connor. You accepted the risks that came with it.’ She felt the dead of night pressing in around them. ‘All I’ve done is present the facts.’

  ‘Well the facts have nothing to do with my dad. If anyone’s lying, it’s Nat da Silva. Not him.’

  ‘OK.’ Pip held up her hands. ‘I’m not arguing with you. All I’m trying to do is find Jamie, OK? That’s all I’m doing.’ Ahead, Cara had just stepped out of her car, a silent hand raised in greeting as she walked over.

  But Connor hadn’t noticed. ‘Yeah I know.’ He also didn’t notice Pip raising her eyebrows at him in warning. ‘But finding Jamie has nothing to do with my dad.’

  ‘Con—’ Ravi began.

  ‘No, my dad is not a killer!’ Connor said, and Cara was standing right there behind him.

  Her eyes clouded over and her mouth stiffened, open around an unsaid word. Finally Connor noticed her, too late, itching his nose to fill the uncomfortable silence with something. Ravi suddenly became keenly interested in the stars overhead and Pip stuttered, scrambling for what to say. But it was only a few seconds until the smile flickered back into Cara’s face, a strain in it that only Pip would notice.

  ‘Can’t relate,’ she said offhandedly, with an over-performed shrug. ‘Don’t we have a stake-out to do? Or are we gonna stand here chit-chatting like lost lemons?’

  A saying she’d picked up in recent weeks from her grandma. And an easy way out of this awkwardness. Pip grabbed it and nodded. ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ It was best for all involved to gloss over those last thirty seconds like they’d never happened.

  Connor walked stiffly beside her as they turned down the gravel road, the abandoned farmhouse facing them across the grass. And there was something else here, something Pip hadn’t expected. A car pulled up roughly off the road, close to the building.

  ‘Is someone here?’ she said.

  The question was answered for her just a few seconds later as a white beam of light flashed behind the grimy windows of the farmhouse. Someone was inside, with a torch.

  ‘What’s the play?’ Ravi said to her. ‘The indirect or direct approach?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’ Connor asked, his normal voice returned to him.

  ‘Indirect is stay out here, hidden, wait to see who it is when they leave,’ Ravi explained. ‘Direct is, well, march the hell inside now and see who it is, have a little chit-chat. I’d lean towards a hider myself, but we’ve got an avid marcher here, so . . .’

  ‘Direct,’ Pip said decisively, as Ravi well knew she would. ‘Time isn’t on our side. Come on. Quietly,’ she added, because the direct approach didn’t necessarily mean giving up the element of surprise.

  They traipsed towards the house together, steps falling in time.

  ‘Are we squad goals?’ Ravi whispered to Pip. Cara heard and snorted.

  ‘I said quietly. That means no jokes and no pig snorts.’ Which was exactly how each of them reacted to nervous energy.

  Pip was the first to reach the open door, the silvery, spectral light of the moon on the walls of the hallway, like it was lighting the way for them, guiding them towards the living room. Pip took one step inside and paused as a guffaw rang out up ahead. There was more than one person. And from their choral laughter, it sounded like two guys and a girl. They sounded young, and possibly high, holding on to the laughter long after they should.

  Pip moved forward a few more silent steps, Ravi following close behind her, holding his breath.

  ‘I reckon I can fit, like, twenty-seven of them in my mouth at once,’ one of the voices said.

  ‘Oh, Robin, don’t.’

  Pip hesitated. Robin? Was this the Robin she knew – the one in the year below who played football with Ant? The one she’d spied buying drugs from Howie Bowers last year?

  She stepped into the living room. Three people were sitting on the upturned bins and it was light enough in here that they weren’t just silhouettes detaching from the darkness; a torch was resting in the top drawer of a warped wooden sideboard, pointing its bright silver light at the ceiling. And there were three bright yellow pinpricks at the ends of their lit cigarettes.

  ‘Robin Caine,’ Pip said, making all three of them jump. She didn’t recognize the other two, but the girl shrieked and almost fell from her bin, and the other boy dropped his cigarette. ‘Careful, you don’t want to cause a fire,’ she said, watching the boy scramble to retrieve it whilst also pulling up his hood to hide his face.

  Robin’s eyes finally focused on her and he said, ‘Urgh, not fucking you.’

  ‘It is fucking me, I’m afraid,’ Pip said. ‘And co.,’ as the others piled into the room behind her.

&
nbsp; ‘What are you doing here?’ Robin took a long drag on his joint. Too long, in fact, and his face reddened as he fought not to cough.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Pip returned the question.

  Robin held up the joint.

  ‘I got that bit. Do you . . . come here often?’ she said.

  ‘Is that a pick-up line?’ Robin asked, shrinking back immediately as Ravi straightened up to full height beside Pip.

  ‘The crap you’ve left behind answers my question anyway.’ Pip gestured to the collection of wrappers and empty beer bottles. ‘You know you’re leaving traces of yourselves all over a potential crime scene, right?’

  ‘Andie Bell wasn’t killed in here,’ he said, returning his attention to his joint. His friends were deadly quiet, trying to look anywhere but at them.

  ‘That’s not what I’m talking about.’ Pip shifted her stance. ‘Jamie Reynolds has been missing for five days. He came here right before he disappeared. You guys know anything about that?’

  ‘No,’ Robin said, quickly followed by the others.

  ‘Were you here on Friday night?’

  ‘No.’ Robin glanced down at the time on his phone. ‘Listen, you’ve really gotta go. Someone’s turning up soon and you really can’t be here when he does.’

  ‘Who’s that, then?’

  ‘Obviously not going to tell you that,’ Robin scoffed.

  ‘What if I refuse to leave until you do?’ Pip said, kicking an empty Pringles can so that it skittered between the trio.

  ‘You especially don’t want to be here,’ Robin said. ‘He probably hates you more than most people because you basically put Howie Bowers in prison.’

  The dots connected in Pip’s head.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, drawing out the sound. ‘So, this is a drug thing. Are you dealing now, then?’ she said, noticing the large black, overstuffed bag leaning against Robin’s leg.

  ‘No, I don’t deal.’ He wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Well that looks like a lot more than personal use in there.’ She pointed at the bag that Robin was now trying to hide from her, tucking it behind his legs.