I Know You Know

by Gilly MacMillan

  Episode 9—Fancy Man

  “Jessy had a fancy man. I saw him once or twice coming and going, but he never said hello. He came and went at funny hours. She never talked about him much, neither. ‘He’s ever so busy,’ she used to say. I think he might have spent the day with her and Charlie sometimes, but it wasn’t very often. He was more a gentleman of the night, if you know what I mean.”

  My name is Cody Swift. I’m a filmmaker and your host of It’s Time to Tell, a Dishlicker Podcast Production. That was the voice of eighty-year-old Doris Russo. She lived in the flat next door to Jessica Paige on the Glenfrome Estate.

  When we asked other people about Jessica Paige’s boyfriend back in 1996, we got a similar picture. At the end of the last episode you heard ex–Detective Superintendent Howard Smail describe him as a “mystery man,” and here’s a reminder of what Kirsty Brown had to say. If you remember, she was another young mother from Glenfrome Estate, and Jessy’s friend. She is referring to Jessy in this clip:

  “She was always off to some nightclub or restaurant. She showed off about it. Sometimes a car used to pick her up. But she never really talked about who she was with. She said she had a boyfriend, but I don’t remember her mentioning his name.”

  And here’s Annette Ashby:

  “We never met Jessy’s boyfriend. We knew she had one, because Charlie was always having to get out of the house to give them some time, but that was as far as it went. It could have been more than one boyfriend for all we knew, but I don’t think it was.”

  So here’s the thing: I have realized that I think I probably know as much—if not more—about this man than anybody else we’ve spoken to. I believe I met him once at Charlie’s flat. He was there when I arrived, sitting on the sofa, long legs crossed. He was backlit by the window, so his face was in shadow, but I remember he had thick black hair and he was smoking. Jessy sat on his knee and shared his cigarette. I wasn’t used to public displays of intimacy, so it shocked me. I didn’t know where to look. Jessy’s boyfriend handed Charlie a few coins and told us to go out and get a soda and make ourselves scarce for a while. We scarpered, but as we did, he shouted, “Wait!” We stopped at the door. “What do you say?” he asked. Charlie looked blankly at him. I said, “Thank you.” “Where’s your manners, Charlie?” he asked. “You need to be polite like your friend.” “Say thank you to Felix,” Jessy told Charlie. “Thank you,” Charlie said. Then we were gone.

  Charlie mentioned this man to Scott and me a few times. He used to tell Scott and me about the man’s fancy car and how he brought sweets to the house, and sometimes a present. Charlie liked him.

  I asked Detective Inspector John Fletcher if the police had ever tracked this man down:

  “It would have been a priority if we had pursued our line of inquiry regarding Jessica Paige any further, but that was dropped—rightly so—once we had charged Sidney Noyce.”

  Maya and I decided to see if we could trace him ourselves. He might be able to shed light on the seventy-two minutes. He might be the man who was with Jessy Paige at the Paradise Casino. The problem is, I remember this man’s first name, but not his surname. Maya and I scoured our interview transcripts from everybody who knew Jessy to see if we could find any further clues to his identity. There was one. Listen to the following clip carefully—we nearly missed the clue ourselves—it’s the voice of Doris Russo, Jessy Paige’s old neighbor and frequent babysitter for Charlie:

  “One night I went round to watch Charlie, and when I got there, Jessy was all dressed up ready to go out. She looked lovely, but she was upset because the boyfriend hadn’t phoned her to say where to meet. So she starts ringing around places and she’s getting more and more worried until she finds him. She puts the phone down, happy now, and she says, ‘He was at Partridges. I thought he was.’ And off she goes. But she wasn’t fooling me. She had a wobbly smile on because she was embarrassed. He made a fool of her.”

  I looked up Partridges. It’s still in business. It’s a cocktail bar in the basement of the Leonard Lane Hotel. I went down there that evening and got lucky. The barkeep was a man in his fifties. He told me he’d been working at Partridges for thirty years. Here’s our conversation. It’s my voice you can hear first:

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Fire away.”

  “I’m looking for a man who used to drink here in the 1990s. He might have come regularly.”

  “I met a lot of drinkers in the 1990s.”

  “His name is Felix.”

  “Well, that narrows it down.”

  He squinted at me, assessing me.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I used to know him. I want to reconnect.”

  “Only Felix I remember was a youngster called Felix Abernathy. He was a good customer. I heard he got famous.”

  “Famous?”

  I did an internet search for Felix Abernathy on my phone there and then, and the results piled in. I found a photograph and showed it to the barkeep.

  “It’s been a long time, but I reckon that’s him.”

  “Do you remember him being with a woman called Jessy or Jessica?”

  “I don’t remember a Jessica. But two things I remember about him: he was never short of women and he never got drunk.”

  Felix Abernathy took my call. I was relieved and nervous. He is a very successful man with a significant public profile. He reminisced a bit about Bristol and the Glenfrome Estate. He showed an interest in the podcast and said that he remembered Jessica Paige and Charlie, though, unsurprisingly, he didn’t remember meeting me. These are his words about the night of Sunday, 18 August 1996:

  “I saw Jessy the night the boys were murdered. We’d had an on-again, off-again relationship at one point, but it had died out long before then, no hard feelings. We were just friends by then. A mate told me she was at the casino in a state because she’d been drinking heavily, so I went to pick her up. I had planned to take her back to her flat, but I didn’t think her kid should see her like that, so I took her to one of her friend’s houses instead, to sober up before she went home. It wasn’t that late. Then I met a friend of mine at my local pub for a card game. I was trying to do her a favor. When I heard what happened later it was heartbreaking, really. Tragic. Charlie was a lovely kid. I tried to help her later on, after his death, because I heard she fell apart. I put her in contact with some friends of mine in the TV business and I was very happy when that worked out for her.”

  Felix told me that Jessy’s friend lived somewhere near the estate, but he couldn’t remember her name or the street she lived on. His exact words were “Somewhere off Blackhorse Lane,” but he was unable to be more specific.

  Maya and I discussed what this might mean. Blackhorse Lane is so long that depending where Felix dropped Jessy, it was still possible she could have been on the estate for a period of time, left again, and taken a taxi back.

  There are still so many unanswered questions about these seventy-two minutes, and only one woman who might be able to answer them. We decided to make another attempt to contact Jessica. Perhaps twenty years had jogged her memory? I waited once again at the animal shelter where she volunteers, but on this occasion she did not appear. I went inside. This is my conversation with the receptionist. Apologies for the sound quality, what you can hear in the background is the kenneled dogs barking.

  “I’m looking for Jessica Paige.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Jessica Guttridge?”

  Guttridge is Jessica Paige’s married name.

  “She’s not in today.”

  “Oh, really? Did she call in sick or something? I thought this was her day.”

  “She’s gone on holiday. Last minute. Lucky for some!”

  “Do you know how long for?”

  “I think it was a week, but it might have been two weeks.”

  Very frustrating news, and Maya and I wondered why Jessy had decided to take off at the last minute. A coincidence? We wi
ll be bringing you more on Jessica in our next episode.

  And, yes, there will be one. Maya and I have been overwhelmed with the response to last week’s episode of It’s Time to Tell. Your messages of support in the aftermath of Maya’s attack have been phenomenal and have given us the courage to keep going. Your generous donations have made it possible. The upswing in downloads and positive reviews has been dizzying. The It’s Time to Tell community has made it very clear that you want more episodes, and you will have them.

  Before we sign off, and start preparing for what we promise will be a big episode next week, you might be wondering what I did about the memory I retrieved in last week’s episode. The memory provided an innocent explanation for why Charlie’s blood was on Sidney Noyce’s trousers.

  I phoned Detective John Fletcher to tell him about it. His reaction surprised me. Here’s a clip of our conversation. I’ve just described the events I remembered to him:

  “Do you think you can do anything with this?”

  “Generally, to reopen a case we would need new evidence or information.”

  “This clearly shows that one piece of evidence in the trial against Noyce was flawed.”

  “Really, this isn’t even a police matter, because we would only reopen the case if Noyce’s conviction was overturned by a court. This is a legal matter. You would have to convince a lawyer to take this on. It’s not an easy matter. And ask yourself this: is a twenty-year-old retrieved memory of an event witnessed by a child going to be good enough to get you anywhere? A good solicitor will ask you the same question and give you the same advice, so take it from me and save yourself the money and time.”

  Maya and I took this on board. We believe the blood evidence is just one piece of the puzzle and we will find further evidence to prove Noyce’s innocence. We are convinced of it. We are determined to do it in spite of the threats. In fact, the intimidation makes us believe, perhaps more than anything else, that there is more to discover. Otherwise, why would we be threatened? Here’s a clip from our next episode. The man speaking has asked to remain anonymous:

  “I didn’t think anything of it on the night—she’s not the first I’ve picked up in a bad way, and she won’t be the last—and I was away on my holidays the next morning, so I missed the news about it and the police appeal. I didn’t put two and two together until the wife told me about your podcast.”

  Chapter 21

  Jess opts for honesty. “Nick,” she says. He’s upright but gently swaying on the other side of the bed in their hotel room. “Listen to me. I have spoken to Felix while you’ve been away and I will explain everything to you, I promise, but Erica needs to be our priority right now.”

  Nick’s eyes move toward the fruit basket and back to Jess as he processes what she’s saying. “Call Erica,” he says. He sits heavily on the bed. Jess starts by calling the landline at their home, not that Erica ever bothers to answer it. It rings seven times and then she hears Nick’s voice as the message service picks up. Jess shakes her head at him. It’s nearly midnight. She tries Erica’s mobile again with no success and then Olly’s mum. This time, there’s an answer.

  “Oh, hi! Hi!” Jess says.

  “Oh, thank god!” Olly’s mum sounds as frantic as Jess. “Are you home?”

  “I’m in Morocco. With my husband.”

  “Olly and Erica said your husband would be home.”

  “Well, he’s not.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think Olly has led your daughter astray. I had no idea neither of you would be there. It’s very unlike him to tell a lie.”

  Jess tries to sound calm. “Well, they’re teenagers, aren’t they?”

  “What shall we do? I could drive to your house and check on them, but I’m not sure I need to. I mean, whatever they’re getting up to, they’d probably find another way to do it anyway, don’t you think?”

  Easy to say when it’s a son, not a daughter, involved, Jess thinks. She’s glad Nick can’t hear this. He would fly off the handle.

  “The thing is,” Jess says, wondering how she’s going to muster the politeness for this when she wants to have a screaming fit, “we’d be very grateful if you could pop round and pick them up. I don’t want Erica in the house by herself.”

  “They are seventeen. And she is with Olly.”

  Jess shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers. How to explain the terror that surges through her at the thought that Erica is not under the supervision of an adult? Last time I left one of my children unattended, he was murdered, she wants to say, but she daren’t reveal this, even at this moment. “Yes, but Erica’s only sixteen and we would be very grateful. Her dad’s very protective. I’m sorry.” Jess starts flicking through a mental Rolodex of contacts, wondering whom else she can ask to pop round to the house if Olly’s mum won’t do it. It needs to be quick. If Erica is at home, Cody Swift or the press might find her there.

  “All right. I’ll go now. What’s the address?”

  “Would you mind calling as soon as you’re there?”

  “Of course.”

  Jess gives her the address, hangs up, and relays the conversation to Nick. He glances at his watch. “Where does she live?”

  “Stoke Bishop.”

  “She should be there in twenty minutes at this time of night. I’ll kill that boy when I get my hands on him.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” Jess says, “they’ve probably already had it off in London. They’re probably fine.” This isn’t how she feels—she is consumed by fear that harm will come or has come to Erica—but she finds Nick’s drunken posturing to be pointless.

  He stares at her with both anger and hurt in his expression. She wonders if his patience will break and he’ll lash out. Only verbally, mind you, he’s never raised a finger to her. Don’t you dare say anything about my past, Jess thinks, and he doesn’t. Nick is not a cruel man, or one to cast blame. Instead he says, “Why has Felix sent us a basket of fruit?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You called him.”

  “I did. I’m not going to lie. You threatening Cody Swift over the phone was not going to stop the podcast, I’m sorry, but it wasn’t. It’s a job that needs Felix. He’s got the contacts.”

  Nick bites his lip. He is sobering up. “What’s he going to do?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but he said he might be able to squeeze their sponsorship.” She’s trying to give Nick as little detail as she can get away with. He plucks a mango from the fruit basket and holds it up. “This is an insult. How does he know we’re here?”

  “He told me to get away for a few days.”

  “So you’re here because Felix told you to be?”

  “No, I’m here to see you. The basket is a power play. It can only wind us up if we let it.”

  She grabs the fruit basket and dumps it in the corridor outside the room. She shuts the door and goes to Nick, putting her arms around his waist gently, affectionately. He doesn’t reciprocate but neither does he move away. He checks his watch. “Try Olly’s mum again,” he says.

  “It’s only been a few minutes.”

  “Try Erica.”

  She does. No reply.

  “If I get my hands on that Olly, I’ll wring his fucking neck,” Nick says. They wait in silence for a few moments. “Does Felix reckon he can shut down the podcast by squeezing sponsorship? Will that be enough?” Nick asks.

  She nods, liking the feel of his shirt against her cheek. “I don’t know. It’s got to make it difficult for them, but Cody Swift is tough. People on the estate used to say his dad beat the crap out of him.”

  Nick sighs. “That’s harsh.”

  “His home was harsh.”

  Jess could say more, but she doesn’t want to think about Cody or Scott and especially not about Charlie, because her mind should be on Erica. Her fingertips play with the lacy hem of her dress and she feels extremely tired. Her phone rings. It’s Olly’s mum.

  “I’m
here, and I’ve rung the bell and banged on the door, but there’s no answer. No lights on either.”

  “Shit,” Jess says. “Do you think they’ve gone out?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve phoned some of Olly’s friends. They knew about this. They said Olly and Erica were planning to spend the evening and the night at your house.”

  Jess retches. The nausea comes from nowhere, hot and bitter and the exact flavor of her fear. Her daughter is missing. The podcast is threatening to open up old wounds that are deep and ugly, and Felix Abernathy is back in her life and already causing problems between her and Nick and knowing way more than he should about her family. She’s not sure how much more of this she can bear.

  “DO SOMETHING!” she shouts at Olly’s mother. “Please!” And then, “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. That was uncalled for. I’m just feeling a little powerless.”

  How to explain why a missing child—even a teenager, even for what might turn out to be just the blink of an eye—feels like the end of the world for Jess?

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Of course. I’ll call you back with news. I promise.”

  She hangs up before Jess can respond and Jess begins to work, phoning other contacts, leaving messages online. Nobody has seen or heard from Erica.

  Chapter 22

  Fletcher walks down Park Street toward the Lord Mayor’s Chapel. The steep incline is hard on his knees. Traffic slows at the bottom of the hill, brake lights flaring. Pubs and restaurants are doing brisk trade.

  He’s been thinking about Peter Dale on his way over here and wondering if anybody will clamor for justice for him once they know he’s dead. Perhaps he was too much of a bad man even for family to mourn. Perhaps, instead, his victims will finally feel that justice has been done: Dale’s life in exchange for their collective financial ruin? One amongst them may be the killer. Might the unearthing of his body offer closure to the others and silence the old lament that some of them are no doubt still humming—if no longer singing—after all these years, the victim’s lament whose chorus always asks, “Why me?”