It was late morning. Tess was in disguise, wearing a woolly hat and an old green anorak that Dad used for gardening. The sleeves swallowed up her arms and the hem hung well below her knees.

‘Where did he go?’ Edie asked.

‘Only to the newsagents and the chippie. He turned around a couple of times but he never spotted me.’

Tess was taking her detective duties seriously. The investigation log was an A4-sized notebook, which she’d covered in the same cream with rosebuds wallpaper they’d used for their school textbooks. It was filled with diagrams and notes. She’d drawn a floor plan of the Vickers’ house, a mirror image of their own, with the addition of the small utility room at the back and a sketch of Mrs Vickers with her hair in a chignon.

Edie had to admit the likeness was impressive. Less impressive were Tess’s conclusions. Valentina was definitely dead. It was just a case of finding her body. Possible hiding places: under the floorboards, in the freezer, buried on waste ground, submerged in the canal. On the front of the book, in thick black marker pen, was written: THE CASE OF THE MISSING CAKEMAKER.

‘That’s a really stupid title,’ Edie said.

‘Dr Watson always used titles like that for Holmes’ cases.’

‘That’s made up, Tess. Police cases are called things like operation something or other.’

‘Well, you can call it Operation Cakemaker, if you like, but it’s my book. This afternoon I’m going to go through his bin.’

‘What for?’

‘Clues. He might’ve put Valentina’s clothes in there.’

‘She left three weeks ago.’

‘I know,’ Tess said. ‘I wish I’d thought of it sooner.’

Edie wasn’t sure about spending the afternoon riffling through rotting vegetables. Mum rescued her.

‘Becca’s just rung. She’s invited us over.’

‘But we’ve got plans,’ Tess protested.

‘What plans?’ Mum asked.

‘Nothing,’ Edie said.

‘Good, get your coats. Your dad and Ray’ll come along later.’

Auntie Becca called it an Indian summer and insisted they sat outside.

‘It may be the last good weather we get this year.’

Edie thought India was supposed to be hot, she was freezing, the low, bright sun was blinding her and the egg mayonnaise sandwich she was eating had fallen apart, its filling leaking down her arm. Mum was in the deckchair opposite, a cup of tea balanced on her lap. She wore black jeans, a camel-coloured jumper and large sunglasses. She’d been quiet since they arrived and sat rubbing her temples. Auntie Becca, oblivious to the cold, was wearing her usual black trousers and black top. Tess had nabbed Auntie Becca’s discarded sunglasses to copy Mum. Edie wished she had some. She moved one hand over her eyes as a shield. Pepe took his chance to jump up and take a bite out of the remains of her sandwich.

‘No, Pepe, bad dog,’ Auntie Becca said.

She didn’t sound like she meant it.

Pepe ignored her and leapt at Edie again. She moved her arm away, then decided she didn’t want the dog-licked sandwich and threw it to him.

‘Don’t give him that. He’s a delicate digestion. It’ll make him sick,’ Auntie Becca said.

‘Too late,’ Edie said.

The dog swallowed it in one gulp and set off running around the garden. Usually Edie liked animals, but she wasn’t sure about this one, all it did was run in circles, bark and eat. It never seemed to lie down or want stroking. A funny looking thing too, a Welsh terrier, with a tan body and black back. She was surprised Uncle Ray had let Auntie Becca have Pepe, she knew he didn’t like dogs. And it was odd that Auntie Becca, who was so fussy and house-proud, wanted one, a dog meant mess. Then there were all those vases and figurines to knock over.

Pepe hurtled towards the flower bed, growled at a rose bush then ran to the garden gate, put both front paws on top of it and started barking.

‘I don’t think we’ll be staying here long, Gina,’ Auntie Becca said.

‘No?’

Auntie Becca and Uncle Ray were always moving and Mum sounded bored. She was no fun today. Edie hoped Uncle Ray would turn up soon. He’d promised her a tape with new tracks and maybe a single on vinyl from the record fair he’d been to the weekend before.

‘The garden’s too small for Pepe and as for that lot …’

Edie knew what was coming: the neighbours, feckless parents and feral kids.

‘They let those children run wild. And the parents are no better. We thought this was a nice area.’

‘They looked nice enough when I saw them,’ Mum said.

Edie had also been surprised on seeing that the neighbours wore clean clothes and combed their hair. The word feral made her think of cats, she’d expected them to have mange.

‘They may look nice,’ Auntie Becca said.

‘Isn’t he a bank manager?’ Mum said.

‘That means nothing. That boy, I can’t remember his name, kicked a ball right over the fence into my washing. It splattered everything with mud. I had to do it all again. Not one word of apology from his mother, let alone him.’

‘Kids are always making a mess, Becca, and maybe his mother doesn’t know.’

‘How could she not know?’

‘You can’t keep an eye on them all the time.’

‘She should do. That’s how these children turn out so rough, even if their father is a bank manager.’

The way Auntie Becca went on you’d think it had happened for the twentieth time that morning, not once, two weeks ago. And Pepe was worse than any kid, he was still at the gate barking loudly. Uncle Ray had told Edie that Pepe had got out and torn up next door’s roses. When they complained, Auntie Becca said he was just a dog and didn’t mean any harm. Uncle Ray had had to go around and pay for the damage later. It was their secret to laugh about, Edie wasn’t to tell anyone.

‘Yes,’ Auntie Becca said with a nod. ‘Time to start looking elsewhere. Are you alright, Gina? You don’t look well.’

Mum’s head was slumped over her cup.

‘I’m just a little hot.’

‘But it’s freezing,’ Edie said.

‘I’ll go and splash some water on my face.’

She stood up, which drew Pepe back from the gate so he could jump up at her instead. Edie batted him away. He growled back at her.

‘Stay where you are, Edie,’ Mum said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Pepe continued to circle Mum until Auntie Becca called to him.

‘Gina’s not quite herself, is she?’ Auntie Becca said when Mum was inside.

‘It’s since Mrs Vickers left,’ Tess said.

Edie tried to catch Tess’s eye, to shut her up, but Tess wasn’t looking at her, deliberately, Edie thought.

‘Val Vickers,’ said Auntie Becca. ‘She can’t be much of a loss, if she’s anything like her sister.’

‘She’s always nice to us,’ Edie said.

‘You know Valentina’s sister?’ Tess said at the same time.

Her eyes lit up.

‘I knew her. At school, Lillian Harlith. My God that girl gave herself some airs and graces. You’d think her father was a lord not a trader on the Rag Market. I’m sure some dodgy dealings were going on there. They always had fancy cars, cruises, fur coats. You don’t make that much money selling a few yards of cloth, do you?’

‘And Valentina was at school with you, too?’ Edie asked.

‘No. She’s a few years younger. I couldn’t believe it when she moved in next door to you. I’m sure that’s not what her father had in mind. I’ve no idea what happened there. Rumour had it that her husband was a gambler; it would explain where all the money went. Because I know when their father sold up he gave them a pretty penny. Lillian bought that huge place over by the rose gardens. I don’t know what Valentina did with her money. Whatever it was it didn’t last. A Harlith girl on the Limewoods Estate. I’d never have believed it.’

‘We live on Limewoods,’ Edie said.

‘I know,’ said Auntie Becca. ‘But it’s not forever, is it?’

‘I don’t want to move.’

Auntie Becca screwed up her face.

‘At least our neighbours aren’t feral,’ Edie said.

Auntie Becca turned to her. She looked angry and was about to say something, when Tess asked, ‘Does Lillian still live by the rose gardens?’

Auntie Becca was still looking at Edie when she replied, ‘I don’t think so. I was driving past there not so long back and another family came out of the house.’

‘So you don’t know where she is?’

‘Where who is?’

Mum had returned without them noticing.

‘Nothing,’ Tess said.

‘Oh, they were asking me about your neighbour, that awful Harlith woman or Vickers or whatever she is these days.’

Mum’s forehead contracted.

‘I told you not to interfere, girls.’

Neither Edie nor Tess looked up.

‘So she’s upped sticks, has she, Val Vickers?’ Auntie Becca said.

Mum didn’t reply.

‘I heard she wanted children,’ Auntie Becca said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t afford it.’

‘I really don’t know, Becca. It’s all I can do to keep these two from sticking their noses in.’

She picked up her coat.

‘It’s time we were off.’

‘Not before Ray and Vince get back,’ Auntie Becca said. ‘Ray wants to see you and he’s giving you a lift.’

‘I’ve got a headache,’ Mum said. ‘We’ll get the bus.’

‘But the girls can stay.’

‘No, they can’t.’

Tess was already on her feet and Edie took one look at Mum before getting up. Usually she would have argued, but she remembered Mum’s tears from the week before.

‘Ray will be disappointed,’ Auntie Becca said.

‘I’m sure he’ll get over it,’ Mum said.

Auntie Becca frowned. Mum grabbed the girls’ arms and pulled them towards the door. Pepe, who had barked loudly when they arrived, now didn’t want them to leave. He crouched in front of them, arched his back and growled.

Mum looked at Auntie Becca.

‘He’s harmless, Gina. Just ignore him.’

Edie hung slightly behind Mum. Pepe wasn’t a large dog but his teeth looked big and sharp. Mum walked forwards. Pepe shuffled in front of her, blocking her path and still growling. Eventually, Auntie Becca got up.

‘Pepe, Peps,’ she called.

The dog ignored her. She walked over, grabbed its collar and pulled him back. Edie inched past him with Mum and Tess.

‘Bye, Becca,’ Mum said.

The dog was still pulling on the collar and growling as they left.

Edie didn’t dare complain about the cold wind and standing at the bus stop for twenty minutes. It took an hour and two changes to get home. Mum didn’t say a word during the whole trip.

‘Go to your room,’ Mum said when they got through the front door.

‘We only wanted to know if Valentina is at her sister’s,’ Tess said.

‘I’m disappointed in both of you.’

Edie shot Tess a warning look.

‘We didn’t stick our noses in,’ Tess said. ‘Auntie Becca started talking about her. Did you know she used to have loads of money and Mr Vickers gambled it away?’

‘That’s pure gossip.’

Mum’s face was getting angrier. Why wouldn’t Tess shut up?

‘But what if she’s not at her sister’s? He could have done something to her.’

‘Enough, Tess.’

‘He might have killed her. Her body could be in the freezer or under the floorboards. John Christie used to—’

‘That’s enough!’ Mum rarely shouted and Tess looked up as if from a trance.

‘If I find you’ve been snooping around…’ Mum said.

‘We haven’t,’ Edie said.

‘I’m ashamed of you. After I told you to leave that man alone. He’s going through enough.’

‘Mum. He’s… he’s…’

Mum was glaring at Tess, daring her to say the words. Tess closed her mouth.

‘Mr Vickers is a very unhappy man,’ Mum said. ‘And he can do without two silly little girls tormenting him. And if I find out there’s been any more snooping you’ll be grounded till Christmas.’

This time Tess stayed silent.

‘Now go to your room. I don’t want to see either of you right now.’

Edie and Tess slunk off.

‘You shouldn’t have said all that,’ Edie said when they were upstairs.

‘She has to know,’ Tess said.

‘I think Mum does know.’

‘Knows what?’

‘What happened to Valentina.’

‘Then why won’t she tell us?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re not making any sense, Edie. If she knew where she was she’d tell us and she wouldn’t be so upset.’

It made no sense to Edie, either. But she was sure she was right, that Mum did know something. And despite her promise, she was desperate to find out why.

Edie read her book, the sixth in a series. She’d got bored after the third but wanted to find out the ending. Tess was lying on her bed fidgeting and looking across at her. Edie carried on with her book.

‘Edie?’ Tess said after a long bout of rustling.

‘I’m reading.’

‘But, Edie.’

‘Shut up, Tess.’

‘I’ll find her on my own.’

Edie put her book down.

‘How?’

‘I’ll go to the library. Harlith’s not a common name. There can’t be that many.’

‘She might not even live nearby any more. Auntie Becca said she’d sold her house and if she’s married she won’t be Harlith, anyway.’

‘I didn’t think of that,’ Tess said.

‘I know.’

‘I can still try. If I find which house she used to live in we can get her name from an old phone book.’

‘You won’t be able to do that without asking Auntie Becca, and Mum will find out.’

Usually, Edie was the one to break the rules and she would have gone along with Tess. But Mum’s reaction had upset Edie. It wasn’t like her to be sad or serious.

‘Tess, I think you should forget about Valentina. She hasn’t come back to see us because she’s not that bothered.’

‘She can’t come and see us if she’s dead.’

‘She’s not dead, Tess. Mr Vickers did not kill his wife. She left him. I know you love detective books, but they’re just stories. If she’d actually disappeared, the police would know. You’re being a baby.’

‘Don’t call me a baby.’

‘Don’t act like one.’

Tess didn’t reply. She switched off her bedside light and pulled the duvet over her head. Her breathing was uneven and Edie wondered if she was crying. She carried on reading for a few minutes before turning off her light, then lay back on her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

They were too old to be sharing a bedroom but there was no choice in this tiny house. It seemed unfair that Uncle Ray and Auntie Becca had five bedrooms to themselves, whilst they were squashed into a two-up two-down terrace. Edie turned on her side and sighed. It won’t be forever, Auntie Becca had said, but what was going to change?

Her eyes were drooping towards sleep when she heard Tess say, ‘I am going to find her.’

Edie was too tired to argue but if anyone was going to find Valentina, it would be her.

Chapter 13

Tess: June 2018

I tell Dad to go to bed and get some rest. He refuses, switches the TV on and stays in the lounge. As the press have gone for the day, I sneak out to buy some vodka from the corner shop, ignoring the curious stare of the woman behind the counter. I’m back in my bedroom and pouring myself a glass, when Vilas rings.

‘DI Vilas here, is your father with you?’

‘He’s resting.’

‘Good. I understand your father became upset with DS Craven. It’s to be expected as he’s under so much strain.’ The irritation in his voice contradicts his sympathetic words. ‘Of course, you’re not obliged to have a family liaison officer. But it is advisable. If Mr Piper is finding DS Craven too intrusive, we could find someone more experienced.’

So I was right about Craven, he is new to family liaison.

‘Dad doesn’t want anyone around,’ I say. ‘Is it true you made accusations against him when Edie went missing?’

Vilas clears his throat.

‘That was a long time ago, before I even joined the force, and he was never accused. We do have to ask difficult questions of individuals closest to the victim, if only to eliminate them as suspects. We’d be negligent if we didn’t follow every line of inquiry.’

‘Dad’s not a line of inquiry. He’s Edie’s father and he’s really not coping with this. DS Craven hanging around is making things worse. You know he’s had problems in the past. Before Edie disappeared, even before Mum died.’

‘We’ve got that on our records. A breakdown. That was a long time ago. He’s on antidepressants, isn’t he? Aren’t they working?’

‘What, after he’s just found out his daughter’s been murdered? Strangely enough, they’re not doing much.’

This man’s skills are better suited to working in an abattoir than dealing with bereaved families. Vilas is either ignoring or oblivious to my sarcasm.

‘If you’re determined not to have a new FLO…’ he says.

‘We are.’

‘…I’ll assign a point of contact for you within the investigation team. Do you think you could cope with Craven doing that? It saves bringing anyone else up to speed.’

‘As long as he doesn’t come to the house,’ I say. ‘Dad’s made that clear.’

Better Craven than having to run through everything again with a new officer.

‘I’ll sort that out. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at eleven thirty.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘We’re going over your witness statement from 1998. I’m sure DS Craven’s mentioned it to you.’

He probably did.

‘Eleven thirty then,’ I say.

The low sun pours through the window. I sit cross-legged on the bed, a glass of vodka in one hand, a cigarette in the other. I’m playing a game. I press my eyelids shut then flick them open. For a moment the sun blinds me, then when I close my eyes again they’re filled with purple blobs that float across the darkness. If I try and focus on the blobs, they vanish. The trick is to look without looking.

My mobile rings. I ignore it, happy in my land of purple and warmth. I try the purple blob trick again. The sun’s disappeared behind the rooftops and it doesn’t work. The phone rings once more. It’s Max. I let it go to voicemail and I’m about to switch it off, when I think about the newspaper clipping. Why did Edie think Mum’s death was suicide? I haven’t dared to ask about it. Dad’s a hair’s breadth from a breakdown. He disappeared once when we were children. Mum said he’d gone to visit a distant cousin. Raquel laughed when I told her. Didn’t I know? He was at the funny farm. Edie hadn’t believed her and neither had I, but we never met Dad’s distant cousin. I’ll have to ask Ray and Becca about Edie’s note, though Ray’s looking nearly as fragile as Dad.

If Edie spoke to anyone about Mum it would have been Michaela and she might know about the boyfriend, too. Much as I loathe her, I need to get in touch. I try the phone number I found in the exercise book and am told it doesn’t exist. I look up the address online: the bungalow was bulldozed ten years ago to build a block of flats.

I decide to download the Facebook app instead. A long time ago I had a profile. It was fun finding out what my friends were doing and to catch up with them. Then too much started catching up. Photos you’re tagged in from nights you don’t remember. Too many questions from Max. I deleted myself from social media. I may as well not exist. My new profile name is Laura Andrews. Not too obviously made up but dull enough to skim over if you don’t recognise it. I upload a photo of two Labrador puppies as my profile and write that I live in the area and am married with no children.

Raquel pops up when I enter my primary school. She’s still living on Limewoods and runs a gardening business with her husband, Gavin. They have one child. I want to contact her, but it seems wrong under a fake profile. Instead, I send her a private message, saying my real name and does she want to get in touch.

Then I search the Joseph Amberley Girls’ School group. There’s a general, anyone-can-join group with nearly eight hundred members and a smaller closed group, The JAGuars, which I apply to join. I didn’t have any friends until the morbid glamour associated with Edie’s disappearance made me a school celebrity and girls who’d ignored me suddenly wanted to be my friend. Not Michaela. She was a year older and left school the summer Edie disappeared.

JAGS alumni start popping up. Natalie Clarke, divorced, has one boy, works as a structural engineer, likes dance music and watching romantic comedies. Charlotte Wansford (née Lanark), a home manager, married with two daughters, Mimi and Lucy. She likes salsa, golf and healthy eating. Aveline Clements is an architect, separated, no children and no interests, but lots of pictures of her with her sister, Vonnie, and her friend, Gemma, (relationship statuses single) at clubs, parties and on holiday. All these girls attended JAGS at the same time as me. So did Hannah, Esme, Ade, Leanne, Anji and Rhiannon. But no Michaela. No link to Michaela, no mention of Michaela. She was the one Edie gravitated towards, shared secrets with and left me behind for. I need to speak to her. I check all the girls I can see from my year, the year above and all of their friends. I copy my Laura profile to Twitter, Snapchat and Instagram. Still no Michaela.

If social media had existed when we were at school, she would have ruled the world. Her vlog on music, boys and fashion would have turned her into a celebrity. It’s made for her. Where is she?

The vodka’s blurred my thoughts. I put the phone down and light another cigarette. The sky’s the smoky colour it turns just before going black. I want the sun back, so I can play the purple blob game.

I play it with Michaela instead. Her skirt is the regulation school length but she’s so tall it’s halfway up her thighs. Her tousled hair hangs loose and her eyeliner is smudged. She smokes Russian cigarettes. Her boyfriend drives a red car. I see her leaving school and walking along the canal, heading towards the iron bridge, and I know what’s going to happen. She’s treading in Edie’s footsteps at the back of school, stalked by an unknown attacker. She will bang her head, be wrapped in plastic sheeting and found in a reservoir twenty years later. I have to warn Michaela. I turn my gaze to her and she vanishes. You have to look without looking.

I’ve had far too much to drink and my imagination is running away with me. If something had happened to Michaela, I would have heard, even if I don’t keep up with my school friends. But where is she? Who doesn’t have a social media profile?

When I open my eyes it’s fully dark. I turn the side light on and slosh more vodka into my glass.

On Facebook, I’ve just been accepted into the closed JAGuars group. Whoever the administrator is obviously isn’t checking if a Laura Andrews actually attended the school. I click on Aveline and her sister, Vonnie. Michaela could be friends with them, perhaps she’s also using a pseudonym. I don’t find her; instead, the first thing I see is a post showing the front page of a national newspaper: Missing Girl Dredged from Reservoir.

I’ve deliberately avoided the papers. The word ‘dredged’ reminds me why. As if she’s silt or rubbish to be removed. The picture shows Edie in her summer school dress, leaning against Ray’s old sports car. It’s the last photo we have of her. Ray must have taken it kneeling down, the lens points up at her and she’s showing acres of bare leg. Edie didn’t even like short skirts. The dress had been bought the summer before and was far too small for her by then.

Under the picture Aveline posts:

Devastated. Poor Edie. I always thought it would turn out this way. My thoughts are with her family. *Sad face emojis*

Typical Aveline. Know-it-all, trite and insincere.

Charlotte: Yes, so sad. I’ve been crying all evening. Thoughts with the family.

Natalie: *raised eyebrow emoji*

Aveline: What Nat?

Natalie: You know.

Hannah: You think she had a boyfriend?

Charlotte: The police asked me back then if she had one. I know for a FACT she didn’t. I was her BEST FRIEND.

You wish, Charlotte Lanark.

Aveline: I thought Michaela was her best friend.

Nice dig, Aveline.

Charlotte: Michaela just used Edie. And look at where she is now.

For once be useful, Charlotte, and give me an answer. Where is Michaela now?

Charlotte: It wouldn’t surprise me if she had something to do with all of this.

Aveline: No way. She could be a cow, but she wasn’t dangerous.

Charlotte: Michaela got in with some weird people when she went out with that Bob.

God, they all want to get in on the act. With everything that’s happened, I’d forgotten what vacuous bitches Edie’s friends were. To them she’s just a headline in a short skirt, one that brings a little reflected fame because they knew her, something a bit spicier than the usual pictures of their kids, pets and holidays.

Aveline: Do you think the press will want to talk to us? We could give an interview together.

Knew it. She’ll have already booked in for a blow-dry.

Charlotte: Might do, but we can hardly go around accusing Michaela or some non-existent boyfriend.

Aveline: There’ll be an appeal by the family, there usually is, anyone with information. Maybe the press will want to speak to us after that.

Natalie: The police do appeals to watch the family’s reaction. No one’s going to remember anything worthwhile after twenty years. If the police ask them to do an appeal, they’re listening to what I told them at the time.

Charlotte: What do you mean?

Natalie: Boyfriend, Michaela? You two are both way off target. You know who my money’s on and I told the police. It’s Edie’s sister. That creepy twin.

To koniec darmowego fragmentu. Czy chcesz czytać dalej?