Reported Missing: A gripping psychological thriller with a breath-taking twist

by Sarah Wray

  ‘Becs, Becs, what’s the matter with you? What’s going on?’ It’s Jeannie’s voice. Her hand is on my shoulder now.

  I don’t want to look up.

  Her voice is a little softer now. ‘Becs. What are you doing?’

  I try to get up, staggering a little, and she helps me, a stricken look on her face, a vein popping out at her temple.

  ‘Are you OK, Becs? Becs? Oh fuck! Your knee’s bleeding.’

  ‘Can we just sit in the car for a minute?’

  ‘Yeah, if that’s what you want. Come on.’

  The windows in the car start to steam up once we’re inside. I realise I am panting. Jeannie takes the keys out of the ignition.

  ‘So what’s going on? We are not leaving this car until you tell me what is going on,’ she says, after what seems like a long time. The car door locks click into place. ‘Why haven’t you replied to my texts or rung me back? I wanted to see if you were OK. I heard about the body. You look like death warmed up, by the way.’ She puts her cold hand on mine.

  ‘Sorry. I’m all over the place.’

  ‘I’ve been looking right across the bloody town for you.’

  ‘I just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve heard then?’

  ‘Yes, but I was just in town and I thought I saw Chris. I went over and… it wasn’t him.’

  ‘Oh, Becs. But listen, you need to be really really careful right now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Becs… there’s a body. It’s a girl… People are already saying things.’

  I look at her blankly. ‘Where’s Sam?’ drifts out of my mouth, distant.

  She shakes her head, impatient or exasperated. ‘Dan’s got him. Why are you here, Becs? The house, it’s not a good place for you to be. And why were you so scared when I pulled up in the car?’

  I don’t answer. I am closing up, curling inwards, so when Jeannie shouts, it makes me jump.

  ‘Becs! Becs!’ She clicks her fingers in front of my face. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  ‘I think he’s back, Jeannie. I need to see him.’

  ‘Who? What? Who’s back?’

  ‘Listen... you’re not going to believe this, Jeannie. But just hear me out, OK? Just promise me that you won’t react. You honestly can’t go straight to the police. OK?’

  ‘OK... I’m listening. And that’s all I am agreeing to for now.’ She puts the keys down in her lap.

  I take a sharp breath in through my nose. Here goes.

  ‘I hope you haven’t done anything stupid, Becs.’

  ‘I think Chris is back.’

  She lets out the breath slowly. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘I think he’s been to the house. I think he’s trying to reach me, thinking about coming back, maybe. And now… the body… I need to see him. Give him a chance to explain.’

  There’s something like terror in Jeannie’s eyes, and she lifts her hand to her mouth but she doesn’t say anything. Her throat contracts with a swallow. ‘And that’s why you rushed back here?’

  I nod.

  ‘Becs – I really think we should think about going back to the doctor’s again – like today, now. You got like this before.’

  ‘I am fine.’ At least I will be, as soon as I see Chris.

  ‘So, he’s back here. You’re going to come back and meet him and what? All live happily ever after. You need to call the police. Apart from anything else, you could be putting yourself in danger. It won’t look good if you don’t let them know. Really.’

  ‘He’s not dangerous to me, Jeannie. It isn’t like that. I think he’s back to clear his name.’

  ‘Becs, a girl has just turned up dead in a river. And Chris left without a word, cleaned out your bank account, lied to you about getting sacked. Is that normal? You don’t know what he’s capable of.’ Her voice cracks.

  ‘I just need to see him, Jeannie, and have a chance to talk to him.’

  ‘Well, where is he then?’

  ‘He’s been at the house, Jeannie. I know it’s him.’

  She looks at the ceiling. ‘I can’t do this all the time, you know. You’re stressing me out too. You need to go back to the doctor’s. I will come with you.’ Jeannie presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Becs.’

  I can picture in my head the coloured dots she will be seeing now.

  ‘Listen.’ I grab at her sleeve. I’m not helping myself or calming her fears, I know. ‘Some of his clothes have gone from the bedroom. And his aftershave has had the lid returned.’

  I realise how feeble this last one sounds now, out loud. But her head snaps towards me, more interested.

  ‘There’s other things too. I had a bottle of vodka in the fridge. I know, I know. But it’s been either drunk or poured away. And not by me. Only Chris and I live there, Jeannie.’

  I have her attention now. Finally. She’s looking right at me, actually listening. I feel vindicated so I go on, speaking faster.

  ‘I’ve been getting calls – there’s no one speaking but I think he’s trying to reach me, Jeannie. I really do.’

  She’s biting at her lip, thinking.

  ‘I left a letter for Chris on the stairs, Jeannie, and it’s been opened. He’s read it. I don’t know where he’s been, or what’s going to happen when he gets back, but I know it’s him.’

  Jeannie stares at me.

  I am panicking now, my heart is fluttering. ‘Please, Jeannie. Please don’t go to the police. Not yet. I just need to hear the truth and then I will report him myself. Please, Jeannie. I am not mad; I know this is real. I have seen it all at the house with my own eyes.’

  She takes a deep breath. I see a flicker of her eye. Something kicks in.

  ‘Do you know something, Jeannie? Is something going on? Youhavetotellmenow.’ I am tugging on the sleeve of her coat.

  ‘No. Not really. Sort of. It isn’t what you think. It really isn’t.’ Jeannie looks tearful.

  It feels like she is speaking in slow motion.

  ‘Tell me. Please, Jeannie. I can’t bear this.’

  My mind races with what it could be. Has Chris been to see her or contacted her? Sworn her to secrecy? Maybe he wanted to sound her out for how I would react. Maybe he’s been in touch with Dan. But why wouldn’t she tell me? Why would she wait for me to come to her?

  ‘It isn’t Chris, Becs. You’ve got this all wrong.’

  ‘I KNEW you’d react like this. I just knew it. Why do you have to treat me like some kind of idiot all of the time?’

  I go to open the car door and get out. It’s locked anyway but Jeannie grabs at my wrist, scratching me with her nail accidentally. Her grip is firm and my shoulder twists painfully.

  We are face to face now.

  ‘It wasn’t Chris, Becs. It was me.’

  It takes time for the information to sink in. At first I think she means it was her who had something to do with Kayleigh’s disappearance. My stomach and chest are frozen.

  She is rummaging for something. I imagine her pulling out an incriminating photo or a message from Chris perhaps. Finally, she pulls it from her bag. A bunch of keys. She separates it out.

  My spare house key.

  I feel the tension break, like I’ve been holding my breath underwater. Everything crashes down at once. Of course… I gave her a key after the house was attacked with the brick. Dan was cleaning up. Dan will sort it all out.

  A surge of anger at Jeannie interfering is quickly replaced by a flood of disappointment, full of floating debris, false hopes.

  ‘But... the clothes? The letter?’ I am trying to piece it all together now, but the information swims. ‘I don’t understand, Jeannie. I can’t…’

  ‘I poured the vodka away, Becs. I’m sorry. It isn’t good for you. I can’t bear to think of you round there, off your face, getting so upset. We wanted to get the place a bit cleaned up for you. I know you’re struggling paying double rent. I thought you might want to consider moving bac
k in soon or, you know, selling it maybe, making a fresh start. It was getting dusty and run down; I wanted to help you.’

  ‘But the letter? What about the letter?’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry.’ She covers her eyes with her hand. ‘I shouldn’t have – but I opened it. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Becs. You are all over the place. I was just trying to look out for you. I shouldn’t have opened it; I know that. I didn’t even read what was inside. I felt bad straight away and I just put it back. I swear, Becs. I’m sorry.’

  I pull my arm away again, her nails scraping on my forearm.

  ‘I just wanted to know what was going on!’

  She is saying something else but I am not listening anymore. I stare at the steamed-up windows. I feel like I am at high altitude; that my ears need to pop. I want to curl into a ball right there in the car, for Jeannie and everything else to just disappear.

  ‘I am so stupid. I just wanted it to be him.’ I say it over and over again.

  We sit in the car for a long time. Jeannie puts the heater on and lets her head fall back on the headrest. The atmosphere is gradually seeping away and I am just numb.

  ‘Becs, there are journalists everywhere. Outside your house. Right now. You can’t be here.’

  ‘Journalists. But why?’

  Jeannie just shakes her head and starts the engine.

  Thirty-One

  Sunday, 15 November

  My face is pressed into the earth, the taste of blood and gritty dirt filling my mouth. Initially, I can’t work out where I am. Have I been locked up somewhere, beaten, left for dead? I remember Jeannie bringing me back to the caravan. Eventually, I persuaded her to leave, that I’d be OK. I checked online again, tried Detective Fisher’s phone a few more times. But there was still no news on the body in the river. More missed calls from Sandra and Geoff.

  I managed to sleep for a while. Someone knocked. I went outside. I can’t make sense of being here, on the ground.

  Still in the silence, scared to move, my senses tell me it isn’t that bad. But my head is foggy. Maybe I blacked out. Tentatively I raise my head and lift myself up from the floor, allowing my eyes to adjust to where I am. Gradually, dark outlines reveal themselves in the night sky. I can move, nothing is broken. Pressing my lips together, they feel swollen and bruised, but running my tongue over my mouth, my teeth are not jagged or broken, as I feared.

  Everything is on its side. I’m outside the caravan, on the ground at the bottom of the steps. I stepped out to get some air… Did I faint due to the stress? The caravan door is still open. I fumble in my pocket and my mobile is there. I use the light to see if someone is inside. I don’t see it at first but it’s clearly there, dark shapes outside on either side of the door. I don’t understand. I push myself up off the ground, dirt collecting under my nails as I struggle to stand up. I touch the shapes; electrical tape. Feeling around reveals a wire across the door to trip me up when I left the caravan. Not an accident, then.

  The blood in my mouth, Jeannie dashing my hopes, the body being found. I have this sensation of being in free fall. Something snaps. I’m not going to let them do this to me anymore. I’m going to go to them for once, confront them.

  I don’t feel afraid as I walk out of the caravan park. My mouth is metallic, lip bulbous. The seafront is dead, no one around – clear road. The bus shelter is deserted, too, so I turn off and head towards the next place they could be.

  Through the stone pillars, street lamps light either side of the pathway, but the rest of the park is in complete blackness. My eyes are adjusted now though, the landscape emerging from the dark. It should have been Kayleigh’s vigil tonight, here in the park. Her fifteenth birthday too. It must have been cancelled because they found the body. Too much for Janice, no doubt. What she must be going through now, waiting for news. Or does it mean that she knows something? An announcement coming soon to shatter everything for good?

  I head for the playground area. Jeannie and I used to hang out there when we were teenagers, drinking, wasting time. They said in the paper that Kayleigh was supposed to meet her friends at the park, but she never showed up.

  The cool silence in the air is broken by the odd laugh, the low murmur of chatter, the squeak of a swing. Getting closer, I can hear them now, but I can’t see them yet. The sky is vast and clear above the park, an indigo blue.

  I think about hanging back, seeing what they are up to, listening in, but I don’t want to lose my nerve. Their silhouettes are starting to take shape and make sense now. There are a few lights dotted around the edge of the play area. I’m in the darkness but they are lit up, exposed. Can they see me yet? There seem to be around eight of them – I count them as my eyes adjust – sitting on the roundabout and the swings, occasionally darting around.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ I hear one of them say.

  Then, louder: ‘Is that you, Deano?’

  A girl. I recognise the voice. Good. I don’t answer.

  ‘Hey, who is it?’ someone else asks.

  Another makes a ghost noise.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say. ‘You’ve been to my home plenty of times. I thought it’s time I came to you.’ For once, I do manage to sound blank, unemotional. Not the usual wobble that comes out.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ I hear one of them say, but they’re stifling a laugh too. I wait to see which one of them is going to take the lead.

  ‘It’s her,’ another one whispers. More awkward giggles. ‘It’s his wife.’

  There’s jostling; a boy spins the roundabout lazily through his hands, slowly, trying to look unruffled. It creaks loudly. The same roundabout Kayleigh is on in the video. They’re closing in on me now, coming forwards for a closer look.

  ‘Here! What have you done to your face? Slipped with your lipstick?’ one of the boys says.

  Many, not all, of them snigger.

  My legs are wobbling and the volume in his voice is cutting in and out. My vision blurs too, like I am looking through a bubble of water. I must be more tired than I think, or perhaps it’s the fall.

  I breathe the cold air into my lungs to try to wake up. Forcing calmness, pronouncing each word fully and carefully. ‘I had a nasty accident, actually.’ My voice sounds disconnected, like it’s in the air around me, warping.

  ‘You should be more careful.’ He’s saying something else now but he sounds like a record on the wrong speed; words too long and drawn out, all running together.

  ‘I know it was you lot. I want to know what you want from me,’ I hear someone say. I think it’s me. Have I been drugged?

  ‘Are you drunk, missus? Oi, where’s your husband then? You hidin’ him? Coverin’ for him?’

  The faces and the park feel like they’re spinning around me, I’m slipping into a dream. Kayleigh on the roundabout. That song. I feel a fresh wave of shock that such a young girl has disappeared, a beautiful young girl. And that I am part of the equation in any way. And that now there’s a body.

  ‘Oi, where’s your husband, I said.’ Someone claps in front of my face, focus sharpening again.

  I expect to see Ashy, to be back in the takeaway. Jeannie’s night out. It takes me a moment, feels like it’s in slow motion. It reminds me of when I took magic mushrooms at university. That echoey feeling, heart buzzing. The sharp hand-clap again.

  Paige.

  ‘Why are you protecting him? Why are you here? Your husband is a murdering bastard and an old perv and you shagged him. And now you have to live with that for the rest of your life.’

  ‘He isn’t anything to do with this.’ Even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice compared to before. I push on to something more certain. ‘We don’t know anything for sure yet. It might not be Kayleigh.’

  ‘Ooh, do you think there’s a serial kidnapper and murderer in Shawmouth?’

  The veins in Paige’s neck are strained. The words and the venom in her voice shock me into some clarity again.

  ‘We’re innocent until proven guilty in
this country. Don’t they teach you that at school anymore?’

  Paige pushes me against my chest, right on the breastbone. I stumble backwards slightly.

  ‘Someone else said he tried to crack onto them, remember?’

  ‘It’s an allegation, that’s all. We don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t we? You calling my friend a liar?’ This renews her enthusiasm. She has smelt fresh blood.

  I try to catch my breath.

  ‘That’s shut you up, hasn’t it?’ She folds her arms, triumphant.

  ‘Wha—what do you mean?’

  ‘Tell her, Kat.’

  ‘Paige, just leave it, will you?’ one of the boys says.

  ‘Tell her, Kat.’ She says it louder this time, pulling Kat forward a little by the arm.

  She doesn’t look up. Paige nudges her again.

  ‘It was me. He was talking to me.’ Kat speaks down into her own chest so I have to strain to hear.

  ‘When? What did he say? What do you mean by “talking”?’

  She is starting to cry, her small shoulders shuddering. I think I am going to be sick.

  ‘You should not be sticking by him. You need to face it, love,’ Paige butts in.

  Kat steps back again, covering most of her face with the sleeve of her coat.

  ‘Your mate enjoy her chips the other night, did she?’ Paige is coming towards me again.

  I take a step forward too. ‘Why are you hanging around in there anyway?’

  Paige stops still. ‘Ha! What has it got to do with you? You’re taking the absolute piss now.’

  I sense I’ve gained a little ground of my own. ‘You just need to be careful.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ She jabs at my face with her finger.

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Paige says.

  I don’t answer her.

  ‘My boyfriend works there, you stupid cow,’ she says, pride in her voice.

  ‘Your boyfriend?’ I think of the younger lad working in there the other night.

  ‘You hanging out with your greasy boyfriend again? Owt for free chips!’ one of the boys shouts over, and the others laugh.