Finding Jennifer Jones (7 page)

Was she actually
enjoying
herself?

She shouldn’t be feeling like this. At the very least this house should have depressed her. She’d had her fill of student houses and their chaos. The communal areas were the worst; the grubby kitchens with their sticky floors, the hallways that got filled up with people’s coats and bikes and shopping bags. That’s why she loved it with Sally and Ruth. Theirs was a sane existence. Everything had a place and if there were coats over the newel post they would disappear in a few hours.

Jimmy Fuller’s keenness should have worried her. He’d met her before and clearly remembered it. Perhaps that’s why he had stuck with her on the previous Saturday night. And he had an ex-girlfriend whom he clearly still had feelings for.

He was someone who had big emotions. The sort of person she usually steered clear of. The odd thing was she liked him. He was good company and she felt easy with him.

And she was
attracted
to him. Why not? After the way she’d been treated. Why shouldn’t she have a good time?

She looked around his room. The piles of DVDs seemed at a precarious angle; one knock and they would all come toppling down. Her eye settled on some plastic boxes in an alcove. Each had a label on the side with the word
Becky
written on it in felt tip pen. She went over to them and picked the lid off the top one, curious about this girl who had been close to Jimmy. The box was full of books but on the top there was a battered envelope folder which had the words
Rebecca Andrews Papers.
Kate took it out and lifted back the flap. It had a passport and a degree certificate. There were also some birthday cards.

Kate looked round at the door, keenly aware that she was prying. She could hear Jimmy’s voice from the kitchen, probably talking to Col who had finished his shower. She opened the birthday cards.
To Becky, all my love, Jimmy. To Becky, I love you, Jimmy. To Becks, best friends always, Jimmy.
Three birthdays. Jimmy and his girlfriend had been together for a long time. Kate put them back. She wondered what Becky was like. She lifted out the passport and opened it at the back. Rebecca Andrews stared back at her. Kate was surprised to see that Becky looked a little like her (or perhaps it was that she looked a little like Becky). She had jaw-length dark hair and pale skin. The photo was tiny but there was something alike about her and Becky. Becky had a serious look on her face. Becky had a fringe and Kate didn’t but apart from that they were similar.

“Kate, food’s ready,” Jimmy called.

She put the passport and the cards back into the folder and closed the box. Did she mind looking like Becky? Did it matter that Jimmy might have been attracted to her because he was pining for his ex-girlfriend?

Kate went back into the kitchen.

“Five-star noodles,” he said, holding his hand out with a flourish.

Col was standing with a towel around his waist. His hair was wet and he was carrying the clothes he’d been wearing over his arm.

“See you guys,” he said.

He shuffled away and Kate saw an opened bottle of wine on the table and, in the middle, a single candle that Jimmy had lit.

“I’m hungry,” she said and picked up a fork and started eating.

Later, after they finished the wine, he walked her back to her house. It was noticeably chillier than earlier and she hugged herself as she walked along. He talked about his course and his plans to become a college lecturer. His words were mildly slurred and she was feeling a little drunk herself.

At her front door he seemed embarrassed. She wondered if he was going to kiss her. Hadn’t they slept together acouple of nights before? Hadn’t he undressed her?

“Anyway, I’ll give you a call,” he said and turned to go.

“Wait,” she said.

She grabbed his bare arm, a little colder now, and pulled him towards her.

“You could stay tonight,” she said.

“Only if …  If that’s OK. I don’t want to seem pushy…”

She stared at him in the dark of the porch. He’d had the same girlfriend for three years and he didn’t know how to
be
with a new girl. She went on tiptoes and angled her face up to his and kissed him on the mouth. She slipped her hands under his arms and round his back. His muscles were tense and hard. She touched his lips with her tongue and felt his shoulders soften as he leaned into her.

“Let’s go up to my room,” she whispered, taking his hand.

He followed her into the house.

Ten

Kate woke early. When she opened her eyes she could see the light poking in around the edge of her blind. Beside her, sleeping soundly, was Jimmy. He had his back to her and the sheet was pulled up to his chin. The clock showed 05:58. She sat up, carefully, trying not to wake him. It was cold. She edged the blind back and saw the grey morning outside. There were spits of rain on her window.

The weather had broken. It didn’t surprise her.

She got dressed, pulling on socks and trainers for the first time in weeks. She put on a T-shirt and grabbed her hooded top. She picked her phone up off the bedside table and noticed the condom packet. The cellophane had been pulled off, the packet open, the remaining condoms spilling out. She looked at the sleeping figure and wondered whether she had made a good choice. She thought about waking him up but decided not to. She picked up a piece of paper and scribbled a note.

Had to go out. Help yourself to breakfast (my cupboard). I’ll ring you. Kate.

Downstairs she went to the fridge and got out a bottle of water and drank half of it down. Would she ring him? Or just wait until she bumped into him again.

She picked up her keys and left.

The streets were empty and she headed for the esplanade. She zipped up her top and put the hood up. Pushing her hands into her pockets, she walked down onto the empty beach. The tide was partly out and in front of her was an expanse of flat packed sand, like wet cement.

It wasn’t the first time she’d gone for an early morning walk along the seafront. Usually it exhilarated her. The grey sky and the sea breeze and even the rain didn’t bother her. Just being there was enough to energise her, make her feel alive. Today though, the further she walked, the more disturbed she felt. She realised that the previous evening with Jimmy had indeed only been a distraction. The events of the previous afternoon crowded in again and hung heavily over her.

She thought about the Mills family who had been staying in one of the holiday centres in Sandy Bay. The older brother had gone partying on the beach with other teenagers and somehow his nine-year-old sister had gone along. That was why people thought she had drowned. It made sense. A party on the beach; what young girl could have resisted a paddle in the sea at night?

But none of this had anything to do with her, she thought, a feeling of frustration building up inside her chest. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like dozens of other people. But none of those people had her background, her history.

After a while she reached the area of the beach where the cliff jutted out and the coastal path went inland. She stood for a minute feeling quite puffed. She looked up at the promontory where she’d sat on Friday evening, drinking red wine from a plastic beaker and thinking about her life. She’d thought about the letter she had written. She’d weighed up her decision to break the rules and contact Lucy Bussell. She’d even thought, for a few fearful moments, about whether it was possible that she might be sent back to prison. A women’s prison.

Now that fear seemed like a joke. Now she appeared to be in
real
trouble. Not because she was guilty of anything but because of who she was and what she’d done eight years before.

It was raining properly. She put her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked off the beach past a boarded-up café and through an empty car park. She looked at her mobile. It showed 06:44. It was Tuesday morning – the holidaymakers had yet to wake up. She headed for the coastal path, following the yellow arrow that pointed to a path on the right.

She paused when she noticed two police cars parked in a layby further along.

She turned onto the path. About twenty steps further on she saw that the walkway ahead had been closed off. Police tape had been zigzagged from a fence post to a gnarled and twisted tree to stop people going any further. She went up to the tape. About ten metres ahead she saw a white tent in a field to the left. The tent was in the far corner – a sort of inflatable structure, with people going in and out of it wearing white boiler suits. One of them was holding an umbrella up and talking to one of the others.

It was the place where the girl’s body had been found.

“Fancy seeing you,” a voice came from behind.

She turned round.

It was DC Simon Kelsey. She looked at him with dismay. He was grinning at her. He was wearing a suit, shirt and tie and his hair had the same little sticking-up spikes in the front. The rain was falling on him but he didn’t seem bothered.

“What you doing here?”

“Nothing. I just…”

“They say killers always return to the scene of the crime.”

“Don’t be ridiculous…”

There was no one else around. The people working around the tent were too far away to hear anything and the path behind DC Kelsey was empty.

“I just came out for a walk… I couldn’t sleep…” she stuttered.

“Bad conscience?”

“No! I just felt…”

She shook her head angrily and took a step towards him to the side, to pass him, to get away from him. He stepped backwards, blocking her way.

“Excuse me,” she said.

He shook his head.

“It doesn’t surprise me that you’re interested in our crime scene. See it, over there? We always erect a covering of some sort to keep prying eyes away, to keep the scene of crime intact. That way we can make sure that any evidence is collected. I’m forgetting though. You’re no stranger to a crime scene. You’ve been at one yourself. Tell me, Jennifer, what was it like?”

“Stop it,” she said.

She stepped the other way, trying to edge past him, but he stood fast against her and she felt the knots from the trunk of the tree sticking into her back.

“When you hit her, Jennifer, what did it feel like? To have
a person’s life
in your hands?”

“Leave me alone!”

“Would you like to see this crime scene? They’ll be gone soon and I can arrange to show it to you. I can point to the place where the body was,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Get out of my way!”

“I was one of the first people on the scene. She was under some bushes and covered with loose leaves and branches. All pretty rudimentary, as if done in a hurry. Not unlike your history, Jennifer. You tried to bury someone, didn’t you? Not very well, as I understood it. I’ve read about it, see? I’m that kind of policeman. I do my homework.”

She was on the brink of crying. Her throat was bursting with anger and she roughly pushed him away with both hands. He stumbled back, taken by surprise. She brushed past him, running down the steps, tearing along the path until she came out onto the road. A car passed by, its windscreen wipers swinging back and forth. She went through the car park, her jaw trembling, her eyes misting. She strode out across the hard wet sand and headed for the very edge of the sea. The tide was trickling in, the water barely deep enough to edge up the side of her trainers. She looked back up towards the café and the car park.

He was there, standing watching her.

She turned to face the sea. It was pitted with rain.

What if she were to walk into the sea and not come back? If she let the salt water claim her, take her away? She pictured herself under the surface, the silence sucking her down, her mouth open, her eyes seeing emerald green before everything went black.

She wasn’t brave enough to do that though.

When she turned back to the shore DC Kelsey had gone.

She trudged along the beach in the direction of her house. It took longer going back, the wind and rain in her face. She was soaked by the time she got there and was relieved to see that everyone was out. Sally and Ruth had gone to work and Jimmy had left.

She sat on her bed. She knew she couldn’t go to work. She sent a text to Aimee saying she was ill. Then she got undressed, pulled the duvet up round her head and closed her eyes.

Eleven

She had to go to work on Wednesday because it was Aimee’s morning off and she was in charge. There was an older woman with her, Grace, a volunteer part-time worker. Grace was talking to some young people about boat trips, showing them leaflets and explaining how to book tickets. Kate left her to it and got back onto the computer to finish some paperwork.

She was updating the details on accommodation at bed and breakfast establishments. There were a number of old businesses but she’d also noticed a whole raft of homeowners offering just one double room en suite. She made a note to contact other tourist information centres to see if they had the same thing happening in their area. It might be possible, she thought, to develop a whole new page for the website offering this type of accommodation.

She was glad to be busy. After she’d finished she made some coffee for her and Grace. While she was drinking it her eye settled on one of the vintage seaside posters that they had on the wall of the shop. It was a cartoon drawing of a family walking energetically along the esplanade. The adults had formal clothes on, the man wearing a suit and a hat. The boy was wearing short trousers and a cap but the girl was wearing a dress, tied up at the back with a bow. Creeping behind them was a pickpocket and the slogan was
Keep Your Valuables Safe!

Kate thought of the families who trudged in and out of the tourist information office trying to finds ways to keep their children entertained. They saw hundreds every week. Since she’d worked here she’d probably spoken to more than a thousand parents who all asked similar questions.
Is there anything for the children to do? Are there child-friendly attractions? What can we do with the kids?
The parents were often nice but some were irate, annoyed; spending two weeks in close contact with their children was often not the relaxing experience they thought it would be.