The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker_An absolutely gripping mystery novel

by Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘Do we really have to?’ I say.

  ‘Have you got another idea?’

  I sigh, wishing I did.

  * * *

  We find Rebecca at our first stop – her house. She lives between the village and Mr Urquhart’s petrol station in a large place a little away from the road, similar to the ones on top of Gold Hill. I don’t know much about Rebecca’s background or her parents, but the size of the house makes it clear they have a bit of money about them. Tall metal gates bar the driveway, so Robbie rings the buzzer. There is a pause and then Rebecca’s voice comes from the tinny speaker.

  ‘What do you want?’

  I look up, but then Robbie points to the camera that is embedded above the speaker box. She can see us but we can only hear her voice.

  ‘Can we talk?’ I ask.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Things… can we do this face to face?’

  ‘Who’s with you?’

  ‘Only Robbie.’

  ‘Have you got a car?’

  ‘Robbie’s driving.’

  ‘Let’s go to the Deck.’

  There is a fizz and the speaker goes silent. Robbie and I stand around waiting as five minutes pass. I wonder if she was joking and is now laughing at us, perhaps watching through the camera, wondering how long we’ll hang around for. Eventually, there’s a clink and then the door next to the gate opens and Rebecca emerges. She’s wearing a red dress with matching shoes, bag and lipstick. Her skin is so smooth, so perfect, that she looks like a doll.

  She strides past me towards Robbie’s car. ‘Let’s go then. There’s no way I’m sitting in the back of this thing. I can’t believe it even goes.’ She turns to Robbie. ‘Couldn’t you get a proper car?’

  She doesn’t get a reply as she climbs into the passenger seat and slams the door behind her.

  ‘Your idea,’ I tell Robbie.

  I get into the back seat, saying nothing as Robbie pulls away.

  ‘Your car smells,’ Rebecca says almost instantly.

  Robbie doesn’t answer.

  ‘Do you have a car?’ I ask.

  ‘Daddy’s got a special edition Beetle on order for me for when I pass my test. He spoke to someone directly at the factory.’

  ‘Where is your dad?’

  ‘Working.’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘Nothing, just making conversation.’

  Rebecca goes quiet and I get the sense that her mum’s probably working, too. That it is normal for her to be by herself after college in that big house. That away from the hangers-on, the Ravens are her only real friends and that, rather than being sinister, they simply look out for each other. It’s not a nice thought, seeing Rebecca as anything other than the bitch I’ve long assumed her to be. Or known her to be, I suppose. It’s far easier to dislike someone when not having to think of him or her as being an actual person.

  The rest of the journey to Tape Deck is spent in silence. There are a handful of cars in the parking area now – and half a dozen of the tables inside are occupied. Rebecca leads the way, slinking into a booth opposite the wall of tapes. In all the times I’ve visited, I’ve never sat on this side of the restaurant and everything feels different.

  I slide in opposite Rebecca but Robbie doesn’t get the chance. ‘I’ll have a chicken salad,’ she tells him before he can sit. ‘Make sure they remove the skin. Tell them it’s for Rebecca. They’ll know what to do.’

  Robbie turns to me but I shake my head, indicating I don’t want anything, then he heads to the counter. I’m not sure if I can remember the last time I was alone with Rebecca. She’s filing one of her already manicured fingernails, avoiding eye contact. Close-up, it’s easier to see the amount of make-up she’s wearing, which is lots. Less like a doll, more like an actress playing a role.

  ‘What?’ she says, not looking up.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’m surprised you came knocking on my door given what’s happened to your brother. What do you want?’

  I glance to Robbie but there’s someone in front of him in line. For now, it’s just us.

  ‘You saw the Hitcher.’

  She puts down the nail file and looks up. ‘I thought you didn’t believe me. I thought you said I was making it up…?’

  ‘Did you see someone?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  I count to three in my head. ‘Can we be civil to each other?’

  ‘You want to be friends? After all we’ve said and done to each other over the years? Sorry, but I don’t make friends with people whose brothers are psycho killers.’

  I count another three again, keeping my lips closed, then say: ‘I wasn’t asking to be friends, I was asking if we could be civil to each other.’

  She flicks at her nail. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Did you see this Hitcher guy?’

  ‘Why would I lie?’

  I almost ask why she’d lie about knowing Sarah so well but I already know the answer – attention. If it’s true that her parents are at work so much, then perhaps it explains why she’s so desperate for people to notice her.

  ‘Where did you see him?’ I ask.

  Before she answers, Robbie returns with a tray of food. Tape Deck is a strange place – sometimes an order is instantly ready fast-food style, other times customers have to wait. He takes a burger for himself and then pushes the salad in front of her. Rebecca pokes through it with a fork, making sure the pieces of chicken are indeed skinless.

  ‘This is the Rebecca special,’ she says. ‘They should put it on the menu board.’

  Neither Robbie nor myself say anything, watching as she puts the smallest piece of chicken into her mouth.

  ‘Watching someone eat can give a girl an eating disorder,’ she says. I’m not sure if she’s joking.

  She fishes for another bit of meat and then turns to me before putting it in her mouth. ‘Of course I saw him. It’s like I told that reporter. He was at the back of the post office the day after it was broken into. When he saw me, he ran off along the alley.’

  ‘Why were you behind the post office?’ I ask.

  She chews the second piece of chicken, jabbing the empty fork towards me. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  She pokes her fork into the bowl but doesn’t pick anything up. ‘The picture was on the front of the paper. He had a beard, ripped jeans. Sort of like a tramp. Tall.’

  It matches with what both Mr Urquhart and Mrs McKeith told us. It could be that she heard either of them talking about the person they’d seen and then took the description as her own. In terms of attention-seeking, it’s the sort of thing she might do.

  ‘That it?’ she asks, looking at me.

  ‘I suppose.’

  She lifts another piece of chicken from the bowl. ‘Easiest free meal I’ve ever got. Why do you even care? Trying to find someone to pin everything on who isn’t your brother?’

  When I don’t reply, she laughs to herself. ‘Really? This is the best you can do?’

  Robbie takes a bite of his burger, leaving me floundering.

  ‘Is it true you saw my brother and Helen leaving the woods together?’ I ask.

  Rebecca finishes chewing, although there’s the merest hint of a smile in the corner of her lips. ‘What do you want me to say, Eleanor?’

  She says my name as if it’s a put-down.

  ‘Say you made it up,’ I reply.

  ‘Why would I have made it up?’

  ‘Because you’re a cow.’

  She grins widely but still takes the time to eat another bit of chicken. She’s not touched the salad. ‘I thought you wanted to be civil?’ she says sweetly. Annoyingly.

  ‘Old habits.’

  Rebecca holds my gaze and I know I’ve given her what she wanted. Naomi was probably right that we’re as bad as each other.

  ‘It’s not my fault your brother killed his girlfriend last year and now he�
��s done the same again. You’re lucky he hasn’t come after you.’

  ‘He didn’t do it.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s for you to decide.’

  I start to speak but she interrupts by clapping her hand and looking past me towards the door. ‘Oh, look who it is. This is convenient.’

  Naomi spots us and does a cartoon double-take, unable to believe her eyes that Robbie, Rebecca and I are sitting together. She’s changed from earlier and is wearing her Doc Martens with pink-and-white striped knee socks. She walks slowly towards us, hovering by the edge of the table.

  She pinches the skin on her wrist. ‘Am I in a parallel universe?’ she asks.

  Rebecca laughs and shifts along, giving Naomi space to sit. She and Robbie are on the outside of the booth, with Rebecca and I opposite each other on the inside.

  ‘I got a lift out with my dad,’ Naomi says, looking at me. ‘He’s in the car park. I’m only here for takeaway. I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘It was spur of the moment,’ I reply.

  Naomi’s eyes shoot sideways towards Rebecca, though she doesn’t ask.

  ‘This is lovely and cosy,’ Rebecca says.

  ‘What’s cosy?’ Naomi asks.

  ‘You three here together. I’m surprised you’re all still talking.’

  Rebecca is staring at me, talking to Naomi. I have no idea how she knows but the glee in her voice is impossible to miss. She’s like a giddy child telling a story about going to the funfair.

  ‘Why’s that surprising?’ Naomi asks.

  Robbie has stopped eating and his arms have tensed.

  ‘Because of what happened at Helen’s party.’

  The three of us are all staring at Rebecca, who calmly lifts another piece of chicken to her mouth and starts to chew. In the silence, Naomi looks to me, asking the question without speaking. I feel frozen, unable to say the words.

  ‘What happened?’ Naomi asks, though I’m unsure if she’s asking me or Rebecca.

  Rebecca takes her time, still watching me with a smirk as she sips from a glass of water.

  ‘Hasn’t anyone told you?’ Rebecca asks Naomi.

  ‘Told me what?’

  She nods at Robbie. ‘What about you, Robert? Roberto? Robster? Has your girlfriend told you?’

  He doesn’t speak but his nose twitches, which makes Rebecca laugh. She points her fork towards him. ‘So you do know – and yet you’re still here trailing around after her.’

  Naomi has had enough, slapping her hand on the table. ‘What’s going on?’

  Rebecca nods towards me. ‘Go on, Eleanor. Tell her about what you and Benjamin got up to in Helen’s parents’ bedroom…’

  Naomi stares at me, eyes wide. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ I say, unable to meet my friend’s eye.

  ‘What is it?’

  I open my mouth to say something but no words come out. It doesn’t matter anyway because the croak I do manage is enough of a confession. ‘You and Ben?’ Naomi whispers

  ‘It was just a kiss. A mistake.’

  Naomi’s eyes boggle as she shunts backwards into a standing position. She tumbles over a collection of incomplete words, babbling incoherently. Eventually, something meaningful comes out.

  ‘I’ve been defending you all day,’ she says. ‘And Ollie. Telling people that you’re not who they say you are. Then I find out what you’re really like.’ She turns and jabs a finger towards Rebecca. ‘From her – of all people.’

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ Rebecca says, waggling the fork, enjoying herself.

  Naomi and I call her the same rude word at the same time, but there’s no camaraderie between us and Rebecca smiles through it anyway.

  Naomi rounds on me, leaning in close. ‘I thought you were my friend – I thought…’ She reels back, gasping, and then skewers her final insult. ‘You’re supposed to be my friend – but your brother’s a murdering scumbag and you’re a lying, cheating slag.’

  With that, she spins and runs to the door.

  Rebecca finishes another mouthful and then dabs her mouth with a napkin.

  ‘Well,’ she says, ‘that was fun.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Robbie stands without me saying anything, letting me climb out of the booth.

  ‘Don’t leave on my account,’ Rebecca says.

  I want to scream and swear at her but restrain myself, knowing that it’s my fault anyway. Without another word, Robbie and I head outside, just in time to see Naomi’s dad’s car roaring back towards Westby. Robbie walks towards his car, tossing the keys from one hand to the other. He rests against the driver’s side, saying nothing.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I say.

  Robbie’s head is bowed slightly. ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure it matters. You know what it’s like. One person tells someone else, who tells someone else. Secrets are never secrets for long around here.’

  His lips are tight. ‘You want a lift back?’

  ‘I should probably walk.’

  He opens the door and then pauses. ‘I, um…’

  ‘What?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nothing. I’ll see you around. Call or text if you need something.’

  The engine flares and then a fog of dust flicks up as he heads for the road, leaving me alone in the car park. The day has taken a turn for the worse in more ways than one. The sky is overcast, matching my mood and that of the village in general. A wind has whipped up, sending a collection of small stones and twigs scuttling across the car park. It is probably cold but I’m already chilly enough.

  I pinch the scorched end of my finger and then rotate the one that dislocated back and forth. There’s still no pain and I’m left wondering what all of this was for. In the days since I awoke in the river, I’ve achieved little other than alienating my best friend and boyfriend, plus had an argument with my mum for good measure. I would have been as well off remaining under the water.

  It’s silent and the dark thoughts smudge the edges of my mind, infecting and contaminating. I do my best to blink them away but they’re still there, nibbling and whispering.

  As I think about my mum, I check my phone and realise I’ve somehow missed a call from her. She’s sent me a message, saying she’s still in Langham, still waiting to see Ollie. She tells me to call if there’s a problem – but me falling out with Naomi can’t really rival the situation she and Ollie are in.

  I start walking back towards Westby, willing the clouds to open. It feels like I, perhaps the village as a whole, could do with a cleansing. Before I know it, I’m on the bridge again, staring at the spot where I woke up on Sunday morning. The river’s trickling a little faster than usual, likely because it’s raining somewhere upstream. The car park that was so crammed with volunteers this morning is now empty. As far as I know, there’s no sign of Helen, alive or dead. Ollie’s been at the police station all day, yet there’s no news from him either.

  As I stand and stare at the water, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A man walks out of the toilet block on the car park side of the river. He’s tall, wearing ripped jeans, with shoulder-length dark hair and a short beard. He rubs his hands together and then flattens the top of his hair.

  He looks exactly how Rebecca described him.

  It’s so surreal, so unexpected, that I continue to stare, wondering if he’s a mirage. I start to walk towards him but he hasn’t noticed me. He’s heading for the woods at the back of the car park, hands in his pockets. He’s even whistling, as if he has no cares.

  I think about shouting after him, asking who he is, if he knows the fuss he’s caused. Then I realise that, in everybody else’s stories, they called after him and he ran for it. I quicken my pace, trying to walk on the tips of my toes to remain quiet but when he reaches the treeline, he turns and looks over his shoulder.

  I’m frozen to the spot as if we’re playing a game of What’s the Time, Mr Wolf. For a few mom
ents, we stare at each other. His eyes are grey and determined.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. He continues to stare as I take a step forward. ‘I was just wondering if—’

  I don’t finish the sentence because he turns and bolts into the woods. I only have a moment to think and the next thing I know, I’m running after him.

  There might be those who call me something of a tomboy, not because I necessarily am, more because I don’t really hang around with too many girls. That might be partly true but one thing I’m definitely not is athletic. I hated PE in school, so much so that I used to consistently quote ‘female problems’ as a reason to get out of stuff. That was until the PE teacher said she was going to write a letter home. I’d missed so many classes that she was certain I must have significant health problems. After that, there was no way out of it. The only thing I really got into was hockey – but that was because a) I was young and didn’t know any better; and b) running around with a giant stick is cool. No one can deny that.

  I’m almost out of breath by the time I reach the woods. There’s no path but I follow the sound of footsteps past a huge tree and then over a trunk that has fallen across the ground. I almost lose my footing by trampling into a dimple in the ground that was hidden by a covering of leaves. I only manage to stay upright by grabbing onto a small tree that’s barely bigger than me.

  I don’t know if it’s because I’m nowhere near as fit as someone my age should be, or because of the whole being dead thing, but I’m out of breath after barely a minute of chasing. I stop for a moment, listening to where the sound of the Hitcher is heading, only to realise that I’ve lost his trail. I keep a hand on the tree trunk, trying to breathe, and then walk in a slow, silent circle around it, looking for a hint of movement, of anything that might signal where he’s gone.

  Nothing.

  Then I realise that I’m not entirely sure of the direction from which I came either. There’s a patch of leaves that looks like the one I stumbled through – but there’s another that’s almost identical in a slightly different direction. The overcast sky offers no clues and, even though it’s summer, the ground is sticky underneath the cover of leaves.