Tess returned and began dabbing at Edie’s forehead with TCP. Edie winced.
‘What happened? Did you find anything?’ Tess asked.
‘No. Nothing,’ Edie said. ‘Nothing at all.’
Chapter 15
Tess: June 2018
For a moment after I wake, the pain shooting behind my eyes and gnawing at my temples makes me forget where I am and why I’m here. Then I peel my lids apart to find myself in a single bed in my old room at Dad’s and the misery floods back, the police station, the investigation, Edie’s remains found lying in a reservoir.
The Facebook conversations loop through my head, that creepy twin, was just the beginning. More joined in: Anji, Rhiannon, and other girls I don’t even remember. I was ‘weird’, ‘obsessed with Edie’, ‘possessive’ and ‘jealous’. Edie and I had just lost our mother when we went to Joseph Amberley Girls’ School. Clinging to her seemed natural, I never considered my behaviour obsessed or possessive. I recall one of the few parties I attended at Joseph Amberley, where I was standing at one end of a large hall, looking at a painting. Edie was at the other chatting with a group of her friends. I turned from the picture, moved towards her and caught a flash of panic on her face. That’s what these girls saw, not me, but Edie’s reaction to me. I was going to embarrass her. She’d have to acknowledge me. She wished I wasn’t there.
Instead of deleting the Facebook account and pushing it from my mind, I go back and reread every line before moving on to Twitter and scrolling through the #EdiePiper tweets. ‘It’s always one of the family.’ ‘Why was one twin taken and one left? Suspicious.’ @EverydayDarling, who I don’t recognise says, ‘I knew Tess at art college. Wild. Not a murderer.’ And one more voice of reason: ‘How does a fourteen-year-old girl kill another girl and dispose of her body thirty miles away? Needs upper body strength and car.’ Followed by @AlphaTruth: ‘How short was that dress? #slut #askingforit.’
I’d love to give @AlphaTruth what he’s asking for. Thank God Dad’s a stranger to social media. He’s too fragile for this. All these years she’s been missing I’ve been the one falling apart, making bad choices, taking wrong turns, with Dad arriving in time to pick up the pieces. And now, when we’ve found her, it’s him who needs me.
My phone rings, displaying DI Vilas’s number.
‘We were expecting you half an hour ago,’ he says.
I check the time, it’s a quarter to twelve.
‘I’m on my way,’ I say.
My voice is croaky with exhaustion and too many cigarettes.
‘The sooner the better,’ Vilas says, his words clipped in irritation.
Too much alcohol is swilling round my system to drive, so I call a cab. With no time to shower, I just wash my face, spray on deodorant and pull some clean clothes on. As I get into the taxi, I catch my reflection in the car window and realise I’ve forgotten to comb my hair. It’s still twisted into the low bun I wore to bed last night, half of which has fallen out and now just straggles at random angles from my scalp. It’s too late to fix now.
I make the taxi driver stop on the way so I can buy more cigarettes and a large bottle of water. My mouth is dry and my tongue furry. I gulp the water down on the back seat of the taxi, the driver watching me in the mirror.
Does he know who I am? Will he be on Twitter the second I leave the car? Saw sister of murdered twin. She doesn’t look too upset, if you know what I mean.
We take the same route to the station as my first trip to see Edie’s clothes and necklace, and I relive the sick realisation that it’s her, scrabbling around for a reason to doubt it and all the time knowing that there’s no alternative. It is Edie. She’s dead. I’ll never see her again.
By the time we reach the station I’m ready to ask the driver to turn around and it’s only his look of curiosity that makes me leave the car. The fear of what comments he’d post if I refuse to attend my interview.
Not willing to face the music. Make what you want of that.
I pay him and consider having a cigarette until I see Vilas has come out of the building to collect me. He looks me up and down, unimpressed by my dishevelled appearance.
‘Miss Piper, shall we?’ he says and motions to the station door with his arm.
The over-formal address puts me on my guard. And I remember what Dad said, how they tried to lay the guilt at his feet, and Becca’s words, the police are not our friends.
Vilas leads me to the same interview room we were taken to identify Edie’s belongings. This time I’m aware of the two-way mirror on the wall and that I’m being assessed by unknown observers.
‘This is DC Patterson,’ Vilas says as a woman joins us.
She’s young, in her twenties, and seems wary of Vilas, waiting for him to sit down before she does and watching him for cues.
‘I see you’ve brought your water,’ Vilas says. ‘Need anything else?’
A cigarette would be good.
‘I’m fine,’ I say.
‘We’ll make a start then. As you’re a significant witness, we will be making an audiovisual recording of this.’
Patterson fiddles with a camera, presses a button and a red light comes on. Vilas states the date, time and my name then clears his throat.
‘I’ve read the original interview you did in ninety-eight. But I’d like you to tell me in your own words about the last time you saw Edie, if that’s OK.’
The truth is I can’t tell him. It’s gone around in my head so many times, I’m not sure what I did see, what I thought I saw and what I’ve been told. I picture Edie pushing through the hedge, she puts her headphones on, straightens her back and crosses the road towards the canal. But I couldn’t have seen any of that, because the school’s perimeter hedge was too high to see the road beyond. Her Discman and headphones were found in her school bag, so she wasn’t wearing them. That memory is false, taken from the description the police gave of the route she must have taken, with other memories of Edie and imagination filling the vast gaps in my recall.
‘We were at school,’ I say.
‘Just for clarity, this is Joseph Amberley Girls’ School,’ Vilas says.
‘Yes. I was standing by my locker, which was near the main entrance. Edie went ahead of me out of the front doors, then came in again and left by the back. I saw her walk across the playing field. There was a gap in the hedge you could get through. We weren’t supposed to use it.’
I stop.
‘And that’s it?’ Vilas says.
‘Yes.’
So little to remember her by.
‘Why didn’t you leave together?’ Vilas asks.
‘We often went home separately.’
‘Do you know why she left by the front then came back?’
I hesitate.
‘No. But she always left by the back, that last term. I don’t know why.’
Vilas raises his eyes to meet mine.
‘Are you sure?’ he says. ‘You didn’t ask her? You were sisters, twins, didn’t you automatically share everything?’
‘That’s a myth about twins,’ I say.
Patterson leans forwards and gives a faint smile.
‘You know, Tess, I’ve got two girls,’ she says. ‘They’re really close, would do anything for one another, but my God, they fight like cat and dog, at any moment over anything. And there’s slamming doors and of course they’re never going to speak to each other again. It all blows over in five minutes. It doesn’t mean anything…’ She pauses. ‘Had you argued with Edie that day?’
Had I? The day’s images twist and blur.
‘I don’t remember,’ I say.
It sounds so weak.
‘I find that odd,’ Vilas says. ‘Usually people have a pretty clear recollection of significant events, however long ago.’
He’s right. I remember the day Mum died and her funeral like it were yesterday. But Edie’s disappearance is a haze. How must I look on the video footage? At best stupid, at worst a bad liar. I scrape around for
something concrete.
‘I think we had argued.’
‘Can you remember why?’ he asks.
‘Edie kept secrets. I didn’t like it.’
‘What sort of secrets?’
I think of the notebook, ‘suicide’, but Vilas would dismiss this as the police had done with the photograph. Me seeing what I wanted to see, believing what I wanted to believe.
‘I think she had a boyfriend,’ I say.
‘You’re not sure? Your dad said she definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.’
‘Dad wouldn’t have known. After Mum died, well, he struggled.’
Dad barely registered the day of the week. Becca had to remind him of our birthdays and school holidays. She bought our uniforms and attended parents’ evenings. Other girls were jealous of our freedom, we could go to parties, stay out overnight, hang out in clubs. Of course, only Edie did these things.
‘Why do you think Edie never told you about him?’ Vilas asks.
‘I’m not sure. I think that’s why we argued.’
‘And you’ve no clue who this boy was, or if he even existed?’
‘Auntie Becca saw them together once. Edie said he was just a friend.’
‘You think she could have been meeting this boyfriend that afternoon?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Was it quicker going home that way, by the canal?’ Vilas asks.
‘No, it was slightly longer. I walked that way sometimes, when I wanted to be alone. It was pretty along by the canal.’
‘The Herrick Canal where her bag was found during the original investigation?’
‘We just called it the canal,’ I say.
‘Which way did you go home that day?’
I’m running through the trees along the rutted towpath. Brambles tear at my dress and my knees are bloodied. ‘Edie. Edie. Are you there?’ I fall over and drop my art folder. ‘Edie.’ Another false memory.
‘I left via the front of the school and walked to my auntie Becca’s.’
Vilas nods.
‘Your aunt, Rebecca Piper? Is there a reason you went to her house that night?’
‘Dad and Uncle Ray were at the cricket.’
‘And you couldn’t be left on your own, at fourteen?’
There’s a hint of scorn in his voice, I wonder if it will be apparent on the recording.
‘It was just a habit we’d got into. From after Mum died. Auntie Becca made proper food. Dad could only just use the microwave back then,’ I say.
‘And when did you first learn Edie was missing?’
Again it’s hazy. I can’t tell Vilas that or the watchers behind the two-way mirror, or a future audience watching the recording, they won’t believe me.
‘She didn’t arrive at Auntie Becca’s and she rang Dad to see if Edie had gone home. I don’t know what time it was, but Dad and Uncle Ray went out looking for her.’
‘So this would be early evening?’ Vilas says.
‘I suppose.’
‘I understand Edie was a typical teenager, a bit rebellious, she’d go out late, clubbing and drinking.’
‘A little.’
You stink of smoke, Edie, and alcohol.
Go back to your own room, if you don’t like it.
‘So it wasn’t unusual for her to be out late. Do you know why your father and uncle were so worried so early?’
Edie was always staying out late and Dad rarely had any idea if she was at home or not. For the first time this strikes me as odd, that they made a fuss so early in the evening. The camera’s flashing light reminds me of all the seconds passing when I’m not answering Vilas’s question. I see the pain on Dad’s face as he tells me, ‘They thought I’d hurt Edie, my own daughter.’
‘She stayed out late, but she was always on time if you arranged it. She’d never just not turn up.’
Vilas nods and gives a false smile. I hope Becca and Ray give the same explanation.
‘Did you ever go out with her to these clubs?’ he asks.
‘We had different friends.’
‘And who were Edie’s closest friends?’
I think back.
‘Aveline and Charlotte, she hung out with them a fair bit.’
Vilas must know of them because he doesn’t ask for surnames.
‘Anyone else?’
I don’t want to say her name.
‘Anyone older?’
Vilas is fishing for what he already knows.
‘Michaela. Michaela Gossington.’
Oh my God, that Tess girl can’t really be your twin, can she, Edie?
‘Michaela,’ he says. He smiles slightly and I wonder what’s been said about her. ‘And who were your friends?’
Edie was my only friend. I can hear a chorus of JAGS: ‘jealous’, ‘possessive’, ‘obsessed’.
‘Ermm…’ I search for names. ‘Natalie and er… Hannah.’
‘That’s all?’
‘They were my main ones.’
‘Surnames?’
‘I can’t remember. We went to different sixth forms and lost touch.’
Vilas flicks through some pages. I glance at the two-way mirror, unsure if the shadow moving across is real, a trick of the light or my imagination.
‘OK,’ Vilas says at last. ‘Can I bring you onto another matter that’s been brought to my attention. Max Arnold.’
Aware of being filmed, I try not to scowl.
‘What about him?’
‘We interviewed him in ninety-eight. Did you know that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it doesn’t bother you?’
‘Should it? Didn’t you interview everyone she knew?’
‘Yes,’ Vilas says and pauses. ‘It was suggested to us that Max had a bit of a crush on Edie.’
‘Maybe, most boys did.’
I say it as casually as possible, to disguise my unease. Max never mentioned a crush, only that he’d met her a couple of times.
‘You knew Max at the time?’ Vilas asks.
‘We may have met once or twice. I can’t really remember.’
A small boy at a party, the other boys laughing at him, taunting him about his mother’s affair with a teacher. Mr Kent’s whore. I’m not telling them that. It’s none of their business.
‘And it was sometime after school that you met up with Max again.’
‘About nine years ago. We met in a pub in Islington. Max was up in London for an interview.’
‘By chance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you post on Facebook that you were going?’ Vilas asks.
‘I don’t know, it’s nine years ago. What’s this got to do with Edie?’
Vilas flick through his notes.
‘The thing is, Miss Piper, I don’t believe in coincidence.’ He flicks through more papers. He’s just doing it for effect and it’s beginning to annoy me. ‘We’re looking for someone who may have had a reason to harm Edie. Romantic rejection is pretty high on the list. I would have dismissed Max’s interest as a teenage crush, but his pursuit of you strikes me as a little odd. Do you really think it was a coincidence you met in that pub?’
It’s not something I’ve ever questioned before. Just as I never questioned how well Max knew Edie. Vilas is looking at me, waiting for my reply.
‘What else could it be?’ I say.
‘Tess,’ he says. It’s the first time he’s used my Christian name. ‘I just get the feeling someone’s not telling me the whole truth about the afternoon Edie disappeared. I don’t buy these blanks in the memory. If for some reason you’re covering for Max…’
‘Why would I?’
Vilas raises his eyebrows and continues. ‘If you are shielding him, for whatever reason, I’d like you to reconsider.’ He indicates to Patterson to turn the video off and doesn’t look at me when he says, ‘If I were you I’d be careful.’
‘What do you mean?’
He turns around.
‘I mean, I think you need to protect yourself.’<
br />
From what, from Max? It never occurred to me it was anything other than chance we met in that club years ago. And even if it wasn’t chance, does that make it sinister? I watch Vilas gather his notes. Patterson also watches him, her eyes slightly narrowed, her wariness of earlier resurfacing. Is she being dragged along by her superior, grasping at straws, throwing suspicion on Max in an attempt to divert attention from the fact that they’ve yet to find Edie’s boyfriend, or any meaningful leads? On top of which, they’re implying I’m withholding information.
‘Have you tried to find her boyfriend?’ I ask. ‘I’m sure I told the police, back when Edie first disappeared, that he followed her to the house once and Dad had to chase him off.’
Vilas stops gathering his notes.
‘Your father has no recollection of that, and I think he’d remember, don’t you?’
Another thing, like the photograph, that no one will believe.
He takes the jacket from the back of the chair and puts it over his arm before adding, ‘Your aunt saw Edie with a lad, she said he was only a friend. You’d never met him, her own sister. None of the friends who are cooperating know anything about him.’
‘Who’s not cooperating?’ I ask.
‘I can’t tell you that. The truth is, we don’t have many leads and the family is usually the main source of knowledge.’ And the main suspects. ‘Mr Piper refusing to have an FLO isn’t helping. We need fresh evidence. An appeal by the family is our best option.’
The police do appeals to watch the family’s reaction.
‘No,’ I say.
‘It’s the next logical step.’
‘No one’s going to remember anything after all this time,’ I say.
‘You’d be surprised. You need to have a long, hard think about this. Our options are limited. If we don’t find fresh information and we’re not making progress, I’ll be under pressure to start reassigning resources.’
‘I’ll talk to Dad,’ I say.
‘And I’ll get the appeal organised,’ Vilas says.
‘I said I’ll think about it.’
This is all the confirmation he needs.
‘DS Craven will contact you.’
If the police ask them to do an appeal, they’re listening to what I told them.
Someone You Know Page 9