A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder
‘Sorry,’ Pip smiled. ‘How are you, Eliza?’
‘I’m OK, love.’ Her kindly face crinkled into a smile, grey hair bunching at the collar of her uniform. ‘What brings you here this time?’
Pip liked Eliza, liked that neither of them had to pretend or dance around small talk.
‘I need to talk to DI Hawkins,’ she said. ‘Is he here?’
‘He is right now.’ Eliza chewed her pen. ‘He’s very busy though, looking to be a long night.’
‘Can you tell him it’s urgent? Please,’ Pip added.
‘Fine, see what I can do,’ Eliza sighed. ‘Take a seat, sweetheart,’ she added as she disappeared back into the office.
But Pip didn’t take a seat. Her body was humming and didn’t know how to be still right now. So she paced the width of the front desk, six steps, turn, six steps back, daring the squeak of her trainers to wake the sleeping man.
The keypad-locked door leading to the offices and interview rooms buzzed open, but it wasn’t Eliza or Richard Hawkins. It was two uniformed officers. Out first was Daniel da Silva, holding the door for another constable, Soraya Bouzidi, who was tying her tightly curled hair into a bun beneath her black peaked hat. Pip had first met them both at the police meeting in Kilton library last October, back when Daniel da Silva was a person of interest in Andie’s case. Judging by the strained, toothless smile he gave her now as he passed, he clearly hadn’t forgotten that.
But Soraya acknowledged her, throwing her a nod and a bright, ‘Hello,’ before following Daniel outside to one of the patrol cars. Pip wondered where they were going, what had called them out. Whatever it was, they must think it more important than Jamie Reynolds.
The door buzzed again, but only opened a few inches. A hand was all that appeared through it, holding up two fingers towards Pip.
‘You’ve got two minutes,’ Hawkins called, beckoning her to follow him down the corridor. She hurried over, trainers shrieking as she did, the sleeping man snorting awake behind her.
Hawkins didn’t wait to say hello, striding down the hall in front of her. He was dressed in black jeans and a new jacket, padded and dark green. Maybe he’d finally thrown out that long wool coat he’d always worn when he was lead investigator on Andie Bell’s disappearance.
‘I’m on my way out,’ he said suddenly, opening the door to Interview Room 1 and gesturing her inside. ‘So I mean it when I say two minutes. What is it?’ He closed the door behind them, leaning against it with one leg up.
Pip straightened and crossed her arms. ‘Missing person,’ she said. ‘Jamie Reynolds from Little Kilton. Case number four nine zero zero –’
‘Yeah I saw the report,’ he interrupted. ‘What about it?’
‘Why aren’t you doing anything about it?’
That caught him off guard. Hawkins made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a throat-clear, rubbing his hand across his stubbled chin. ‘I’m sure you know how it works, Pip. I won’t patronize you by explaining.’
‘He shouldn’t be filed as low risk,’ she said. ‘His family believe he’s in serious trouble.’
‘Well, family hunches aren’t one of the criteria we trust in serious police work.’
‘And what about my hunches?’ Pip said, refusing to let go of his eyes. ‘Do you trust those? I’ve known Jamie since I was nine. I saw him at Andie and Sal’s memorial before he disappeared, and something definitely felt off.’
‘I was there,’ Hawkins said. ‘It was very emotionally charged. I’m not surprised if people weren’t acting quite themselves.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘Look, Pip,’ he sighed, dropping his leg and peeling away from the door. ‘Do you know how many missing persons reports we get every single day? Sometimes as many as twelve. We quite literally don’t have the time or resources to chase up every single one. Especially not with all these budget cuts. Most people return on their own within forty-eight hours. We have to prioritize.’
‘So prioritize Jamie,’ she said. ‘Trust me. Something’s wrong.’
‘I can’t do that.’ Hawkins shook his head. ‘Jamie is an adult and even his own mother admitted this isn’t out of character. Adults have a legal right to disappear if they want to. Jamie Reynolds isn’t missing; he’s just absent. He’ll be fine. And if he chooses to, he’ll be back in a few days.’
‘What if you’re wrong?’ she asked, knowing she was losing him. She couldn’t lose him. ‘What if you’re missing something, like with Sal? What if you’re wrong again?’
Hawkins winced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I could help but I really have to go. We’ve got an actual high-risk case: an eight-year-old who’s been abducted from her back garden. There’s just nothing I can do for Jamie. It’s the way it is, unfortunately.’ He reached down for the door handle.
‘Please,’ Pip said, the desperation in her voice surprising them both. ‘Please, I’m begging you.’
His fingers stalled. ‘I’m –’
‘Please.’ Her throat clenched like it did before she cried, breaking her voice into a million little pieces. ‘Don’t make me do this again. Please. I can’t do this again.’
Hawkins wouldn’t look at her, tightening his grip around the handle. ‘I’m sorry, Pip. My hands are tied. There’s nothing I can do.’
Outside, she stopped in the middle of the car park and looked up into the sky, clouds hiding the stars from her, hoarding them for themselves. It had just started to rain, cold droplets that stung as they fell into her open eyes. She stood there a while, watching the endless nothing of the sky, trying to listen to what her gut was telling her. She closed her eyes to hear it better. What do I do? Tell me what to do.
She started to shiver and climbed into her car, wringing the rain from her hair. The sky had given her no answers. But there was someone who might; someone who knew her better than she knew herself. She pulled out her phone and dialled.
‘Ravi?’
‘Hello, trouble.’ The smile was obvious in his voice. ‘Have you been sleeping? You sound strange.’
She told him; told him everything. Asked for help because he was the only one she knew how to ask.
‘I can’t tell you what decision to make,’ he said.
‘But, could you?’
‘No, I can’t make that decision for you. Only you know, only you can know,’ he said. ‘But what I do know is that whatever you decide will be the right thing. That’s just how you are. And whatever you choose, you know I’ll be here, right behind you. Always. OK?’
‘OK.’
And as she said goodbye, she realized the decision was already made. Maybe it had always been made, maybe she’d never really had a choice, and she’d just been waiting for someone to tell her that that was OK.
It was OK.
She searched for Connor’s name and clicked the green button, her heart dragging its way to her throat.
He picked up on the second ring.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
Seven
The Reynoldses’ house on Cedar Way had always looked like a face. The white front door and the wide windows either side were the house’s toothy smile. The mark where the bricks were discoloured, that was its nose. And the two squared windows upstairs were its eyes, staring down at you, sleeping when the curtains were closed at night.
The face usually looked happy. But as she stared at it now, it felt incomplete, like the house itself knew something inside was wrong.
Pip knocked, her heavy rucksack digging into one shoulder.
‘You’re here already?’ Connor said when he opened the door, moving aside to let her in.
‘Yep, stopped by home to pick up my equipment and came straight here. Every second counts with something like this.’
Pip paused to slip her shoes off, almost over-balancing when her bag shifted. ‘Oh, and if my mum asks, you fed me dinner, OK?’
Pip hadn’t told her parents yet. She knew she’d have to, later. Their families were close, ever since Connor first asked Pip round to play in year four. And her mum had seen a lot of Jamie recently; he’d been working at her estate agency the last couple of months. But even so, Pip knew it would be a battle. Her mum would remind her how dangerously obsessed she got last time – as if she needed reminding – and tell her she should be studying instead. There just wasn’t time for that argument now. The first seventy-two hours were crucial when someone went missing, and they’d already lost twenty-three of those.
‘Pip?’ Connor’s mum, Joanna, had appeared in the hallway. Her fair hair was piled on top of her head and she looked somehow older in just one day.
‘Hi, Joanna.’ That was the rule, always had been: Joanna, never Mrs Reynolds.
‘Pip, thank you for . . . for . . .’ she said, trying on a smile that didn’t quite fit. ‘Connor and I had no idea what to do and we just knew you were the person to go to. Connor says you had no luck trying again with the police?’
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Pip said, following Joanna into the kitchen. ‘I tried, but they won’t budge.’
‘They don’t believe us,’ Joanna said, opening one of the top cupboards. It wasn’t a question. ‘Tea?’ But that was.
‘No, thank you.’ Pip dropped her bag on to the kitchen table. She rarely drank it any more, not since fireworks night last year when Becca Bell slipped Andie’s remaining Rohypnol pills into her tea. ‘Shall we get started in here?’ she said, hovering beside a chair.
‘Yes,’ Joanna said, losing her hands in the folds of her oversized jumper. ‘Best do it in here.’
Pip settled into a chair, Connor taking the one beside her as she unzipped her bag and pulled out her computer, the two USB microphones and pop filters, the folder, a pen, and her bulky headphones. Joanna finally sat down, though she couldn’t seem to sit still, shifting every few seconds and changing the positions of her arms.
‘Is your dad here? Your sister?’ Pip directed the questions at Connor, but Joanna was the one who answered.
‘Zoe’s at university. I called her, told her Jamie’s missing, but she’s staying there. She seems to have come down on her father’s side of things.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Arthur is . . .’ Joanna exchanged a quick look with Connor. ‘Arthur doesn’t think Jamie’s missing, thinks he’s just run off again and will be back soon. He seems very angry with the whole thing – with Jamie.’ She shifted again, scratching a point just under her eye. ‘He thinks Connor and I are being ridiculous with all this –’ She gestured to Pip’s equipment. ‘He’s gone to the supermarket but he’ll probably be back soon.’
‘OK,’ Pip said, making a mental note, trying to betray nothing with her face. ‘Do you think he’ll talk to me?’
‘No,’ Connor said firmly. ‘No point even asking.’
The atmosphere in the room was tight and uncomfortable, and Pip’s armpits prickled with sweat. ‘OK, before we do anything, I need to speak honestly with you both, give you . . . I guess, a kind of disclaimer.’
They nodded at her, eyes wholly focused now.
‘If you’re asking me to investigate, to help find Jamie, we have to agree upfront where this could potentially take us and you need to be happy to accept that or I can’t do it.’ Pip cleared her throat. ‘It might lead us to potentially unsavoury things about Jamie, things that might be embarrassing or harmful, for you and him. Secrets he might have kept from you and wouldn’t want exposed. I agree that releasing the investigation for my podcast is the fastest way to get media attention for Jamie’s disappearance, bring in witnesses who might know something. It might even get Jamie’s attention if he really has just left, and bring him back. But with that, you have to accept that your private lives will be laid bare. Nothing will be off-the-record, and that can be hard to deal with.’ Pip knew this better than most. The anonymous death and rape threats still came in weekly, comments and tweets calling her an ugly, hateful bitch. ‘Jamie isn’t here to agree to this, so you need to accept, for him and yourselves, that you’re opening up your lives to be scrutinized and when I start digging, it’s possible you’ll learn things you never would have wanted to know. That’s what happened last time, so I . . . I just want to check you’re ready for that.’ Pip trailed into silence, her throat dry, wishing she’d asked for another drink instead.
‘I accept,’ Joanna said, her voice growing with each syllable. ‘Anything. Anything to get him home.’
Connor nodded. ‘I agree. We have to find him.’
‘OK, good,’ Pip said, though she couldn’t help but wonder if the Reynoldses had just given her permission to blow up their family, like she had with the Wards and the Bells. They’d come to her, invited her in, but they didn’t really understand the destruction that came in with her, hand-in-hand through that front door which looked like a grinning smile.
It was just then that the front door opened, heavy footsteps on the carpet, the rustling of a plastic bag.
Joanna jumped up, her chair screeching against the tiles.
‘Jamie?’ she shouted, running towards the hallway. ‘Jamie?’
‘Just me,’ said a male voice. Not Jamie. Joanna immediately deflated, like she’d just halved in size, holding on to the wall to keep the rest of her from disappearing too.
Arthur Reynolds walked into the kitchen, curly red hair with wisps of grey around the ears, a thick moustache that peppered out into well-trimmed stubble. His pale blue eyes seemed almost colourless in the bright LED lights.
‘Got more bread and –’ Arthur broke off, his shoulders slumping as soon as he spotted Pip, and the laptop and microphones in front of her. ‘For goodness sake, Joanna,’ he said. ‘This is ridiculous.’ He dropped the shopping bag on the floor, a tin of plum tomatoes rolling out under the table. ‘I’m going to watch TV,’ he said, marching out of the kitchen and towards the living room. The door slammed behind him, ricocheting through Pip’s bones. Of all her friends’ dads, she would have said Connor’s was the scariest; or maybe Ant’s. But Cara’s dad would have been the least and look how that turned out.
‘I’m sorry, Pip.’ Joanna came back to the table, picking up the lonely tin on her way. ‘I’m sure he’ll come round. Eventually.’
‘Should I . . .’ Pip began. ‘Should I be here?’
‘Yes,’ Joanna said firmly. ‘Finding Jamie is more important than my husband’s anger.’
‘Are you –’
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
‘All right.’ Pip unclipped the green folder and pulled out two sheets. ‘I need you to sign release forms before we begin.’
She handed Connor her pen, while Joanna fetched one from the counter. As they read through the forms, Pip awakened her laptop, opened up Audacity and plugged in the USB microphones, readjusting the pop filters over them.
Connor signed his name, and the microphones came alive, picking up the scratching of his pen, the blue soundwave spiking from the centre line.
‘Joanna, I’ll interview you first, if that’s OK?’
‘Sure.’ Joanna handed her the signed form.
Pip shot Connor a quick, close-lipped smile. He blinked vacantly back at her, not understanding the signal.
‘Connor,’ she said gently. ‘You have to leave. Witnesses must be interviewed separately, so they aren’t influenced by anyone else’s account.’
‘Right. Got it,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ll go upstairs, keep trying Jamie’s number.’
He closed the kitchen door behind him, and Pip adjusted the microphones, placing one in front of Joanna.
‘I’m going to ask you questions about yesterday,’ said Pip, ‘try to create a timeline of Jamie’s day. But I’ll also ask about Jamie in recent weeks, in case anything is relevant. Just answer as truthfully as you can.’
‘OK.’
‘Are you ready?’
Joanna breathed out, nodded. Pip slipped on her headphones, securing them around her ears, and guided the on-screen arrow towards the red record button.
The mouse lingered over it.
Pip wondered.
Wondered whether the moment of no return had already been and gone, or whether this was it, here, right now, hovering above that red button. Either way, going back didn’t exist any more, not for her. There was only forward. Only onwards. She straightened up and pressed record.
Pip: OK, before we get into the questions, Joanna, could you introduce yourself and Jamie a little? Joanna: OF COURSE, MY NAME IS – Pip: Sorry, Joanna, you don’t need to speak directly into the microphone. It picks you up just fine if you sit normally. Joanna: Sorry. My name is Joanna Reynolds, I’m Jamie’s mum. I have three children, Jamie is the oldest, my first. He just turned twenty-four, his birthday was last week. We celebrated here, had Chinese take-away and a Colin the Caterpillar birthday cake. Connor just managed to fit twenty-four candles on it. Oh, sorry, my other children: my daughter Zoe, she’s twenty-one, at university. And Connor, he’s my baby, eighteen and in his last year of school. Sorry, that was terrible, should I try it again? Pip: No, that’s OK, it was perfect. This is just a raw interview; I’ll edit all of this with sections of me talking and explaining in between so you don’t need to worry about consistency or sounding polished or anything. Joanna: OK. Pip: And some things, I obviously already know the answer to, but I have to ask so we can present all the information in the episode. Like for example, I’m going to ask you: Does Jamie still live at home with you? Joanna: I understand. OK. Yes, Jamie still lives at home with me and my husband, Arthur, and my youngest son, Connor. Pip: And does he have a job currently? Joanna: Yes, you know he works with your mum, Pip. Pip: I know, I just need you to say – Joanna: Oh, sorry, I forgot. Let me try again. Yes, Jamie is currently working part-time as a receptionist at a local estate agency, Proctor and Radcliffe Homes. He’s been there for almost three months now. It was very kind of your mum to give him the job, Pip, I’m very grateful. Since dropping out of uni in first year, Jamie’s been struggling to find a job, or stay in the ones he does get. He’s been a bit lost the last couple of years, can’t decide what he wants to do or what he’s good at. We’ve tried helping him but, with Jamie, the more you push him towards something, the more he pulls away from it. That’s why Arthur gets so frustrated with him. But I’m glad Jamie seems to be enjoying his job, at least for now. Pip: And would you say Jamie struggles to commit to things? Is that why he dropped out of university? Joanna: Yes, I think that’s part of the problem. He tried, he really did, but he found the pressure too much and just shut down, had a panic attack during one of his exams. I think some people just aren’t made for that sort of academic environment. Jamie . . . he’s a very sensitive boy . . . man. I mean, you know him, Pip. Arthur worries that he’s over-sensitive, but he’s been like this since he was a child. A very sweet little boy, all the other mothers used to say so. Pip: Yeah, he’s only ever been nice to me, was never Connor’s scary older brother or anything. And everyone else seems to like him. Speaking of, who are Jamie’s closest friends? Any in Little Kilton? Joanna: He still occasionally talks to one guy from university and I think he might have some internet friends too, he’s always on that computer. Jamie’s never been too good at friends; he makes fierce one-on-one friendships and falls in deep, so he’s always devastated when they don’t work out. I’d say his closest friend, at the moment, is Nat da Silva. Pip: I know Nat. Joanna: Yes, of course. There’s not many from their school year still living here in Kilton, apart from Naomi Ward and M-Max Hastings. Sorry, shouldn’t bring him up. But Nat and Jamie seem to have a lot in common. She also had issues at university and left early, and she’s struggling to find a job she really wants because she’s got a criminal record. I think they both feel left behind in this town, and it’s nicer to be left behind with someone else. Everything that happened last year sort of brought them together too. Nat had been friendly with Sal Singh, and Jamie was friends with Andie Bell; he spent a lot of time with Andie during rehearsals for school plays. Jamie and Nat were on the periphery of everything that happened, and I think they bonded over it. They’ve become really close since last year, talk all the time. She’s probably his only real friend at the moment. Though, truth be told, I think Jamie sees her in a different way than she sees him. Pip: What do you mean? Joanna: Well, oh god, Jamie is going to be furious I’m saying this. But I did agree nothing was off-record . . . I know my son very well and he’s never been good at hiding his feelings. I could always tell, by the way he talked about her, how he kept finding ways to bring Nat up into every single conversation that he was quite enamoured with her. Smitten. They spoke on the phone almost every day, always texting. But, of course, things were different after Nat turned up with a new boyfriend a couple of months ago. I don’t think Jamie ever mentioned his name but he was devastated. I found him crying in his room; he said it was because he had a stomach-ache, but I knew. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him like that. I knew it was because his heart was broken, and it was probably about Nat. Pip: How long ago was this? Joanna: Must have been early March. There were a couple of weeks without much contact, I think. But they’re still friends now; in fact Jamie’s always on his phone texting and it must be her because he jumps up so none of us can see. I can hear him up late sometimes too, on the phone. By his voice, I can tell it’s Nat he’s talking to. Pip: OK, thank you, I’ll certainly talk to Nat as soon as I can. So, Connor said to me that he’s more worried about Jamie this time because he’s been acting strangely in the last few weeks. Distant and short-tempered. Have you noticed the same? Joanna: He’s not been quite himself the last couple of weeks. Up late, coming in at all hours, over-sleeping and almost missing work. Snapping at his brother when they normally get on so well. I think it’s partly everything with Nat, but also, like I said before, feeling like he’s been left behind, watching all the people he went to school and uni with starting successful careers, settling down with partners, moving out of their parents’ houses. Jamie’s very self-conscious; he’s told me before he often feels worthless, never quite good enough. He’s been struggling with his weight too over the last six months or so. I told him it doesn’t matter as long as he is healthy and comfortable in his skin, but . . . well, you know how the world tries to make anyone over a certain size feel ashamed of that. I think Jamie’s been unhappy the last few weeks because he’s comparing himself to everyone else, feeling like he’ll never catch up. But I know he will. Pip: Sorry, Joanna, I don’t want to ask this, but you don’t think . . . you don’t think he could be at risk of harming himself? Joanna: No, absolutely not. Jamie wouldn’t do that to me, to his family. He wouldn’t. That’s not what this is, Pip. He’s missing. He’s not dead. And we will find him, wherever he is. Pip: OK, I’m sorry. Let’s move on. Jamie went missing yesterday, Friday evening, but can you talk me through what happened during the day? Joanna: Yes. I woke up around nine; my hours on a Friday are late, I don’t start till eleven. Arthur was already at work – he commutes in – and Connor had already walked into school. But Jamie was still fast asleep, so I told him he was going to be late for work and he left the house around twenty past nine, said he would grab breakfast from the café on the way. Then I went to work. Arthur left work early, to get home in time for the memorial. He texted around five that he was home. I left work soon after, stopping by the supermarket and got home maybe six or six thirty. Did a quick turnaround and then the four of us left for the memorial. Pip: What was Jamie wearing that evening? I can’t remember. Joanna: He was wearing jeans and his favourite shirt: it’s burgundy and collarless. Like the Peaky Blinders, Jamie always says. Pip: Shoes? Joanna: Oh, um, his trainers. White. Pip: Brand? Joanna: Puma, I think. Pip: Did you drive to the memorial? Joanna: Yes. Pip: And was Jamie acting strangely before the memorial at all? Joanna: No, not really. He was quiet, but he was probably just thinking about Andie and Sal. Everyone was being quiet, in fact. I think we had an almost silent car journey. And when arrived at the pavilion, around seven, Connor went to find his friends, you guys. And Jamie left too, said he was going to stand with Nat during the memorial. That was when I last saw him. Pip: I saw him after that. He did find Nat, he was with her and Naomi. And then after that he came over to talk to Connor briefly. He seemed fine to me, both those times. And then during the memorial, before Ravi’s dad spoke, Jamie walked past, knocked into me from behind. He seemed distracted, maybe even nervous. I don’t know what he saw that made him want to struggle through the crowd right in the middle of the ceremony. But it had to be something. Joanna: When was that? Pip: Maybe ten past eight. Joanna: So now you’re the last person to see him. Pip: I guess I am, for now. Do you know if Jamie had any plans for after the memorial? Joanna: No, I thought he’d go home. But today Connor told me that Jamie mentioned seeing Nat, or something. Pip: OK, I’ll get that from Connor first-hand. And where did you go after the memorial? Joanna: Arthur and I went out for dinner, to the pub. With some friends: the Lowes – Ant’s parents – and the Davises and the Morgans, you know, Mrs Morgan and her husband. The date had been in the diary for ages. Pip: And when did you both get home? Joanna: Well, we actually came back separately. I was driving so I didn’t drink, but some of our party who weren’t supposed to be drinking said they needed one after the memorial. I said I’d drop the Lowes and the Morgans home, so they could drink. Of course, that meant the car was full, but Arthur didn’t mind walking home; it isn’t far. Pip: What time did you leave the pub? Was this the King’s Head? Joanna: Yes. I think we all left just before eleven. Everyone was tired and it felt wrong staying out too late enjoying ourselves, after the memorial. The Lowes live in town, as you know, but the Morgans are out in Beaconsfield and, as Arthur says, I’m terrible for chatting, so I didn’t get back until quarter past twelve at least. Connor and Arthur were there, in bed. But no Jamie. I texted him before I went to sleep. Look, I’ll read out what I said. Going to bed now, sweetie, will you be home soon? xx That was at 12:36. Look. It never delivered. It hasn’t gone through. Pip: It still hasn’t gone through? Joanna: No. That’s bad isn’t it? His phone is still off and it must have already been off before 12:36 . . . or something, something bad . . . Pip: Please don’t get upset, Joanna. OK, let’s stop there.