Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (12 page)

‘I don’t know.’ I shrug it off, not wanting
this conversation. ‘They were cocktails.’

‘Right, Denzil’s special drain cleaner mix. He
might even have dropped a couple of Ruffies in there and you wouldn’t have
known anything about it until it was too late.’

‘Denzil isn’t like that,’ I say, though I don’t
believe it.

‘Convince
me.’

I may have a blind spot where Denzil is
concerned, but I know what Ruffies are, and he would never use the date rape
drug. ‘I don’t need to. It’s none of your business. But take it from me,’ I
tell him directly, ‘Denzil doesn’t need to drug women to get them into bed with
him.’

‘Fine.’ He looks past me at the rushing stream,
his face distracted. ‘Are you going to see him again?’

‘Denzil’s
a good friend. Of course I’ll see him again.’

I
turn away, finishing the conversation, and continue down the slope to the brink
of the stream. It’s true that I’ve made some errors of judgement where Denzil
is concerned. But they are my errors, and not up for discussion.

The
stream is at its broadest here in the bottom of the wood, water constantly
tumbling over stones, its busy gurgle louder now, no longer the low level hiss
that seems to permeate the woods on a still day. The path becomes uneven at
this point, thick with ruts, the track widening into a muddy clearing. The
water’s not deep but is maybe five or six feet across, I would guess, measuring
it with my eye. There’s a wooden bridge a little further ahead, a simple
structure for walkers who don’t want to get their feet wet.

 
Tris comes to stand at my side. ‘So we’re
here. At the stream. Where did you see the body?’

I stand there, looking right into untidy
undergrowth, then left to the bridge. Everything is as I remember, except that
the earth is less muddied than it was that day and the path is empty. I
remember the stillness though. That’s missing today. Birds are chirruping all around
us, and somewhere above us in the main body of the wood I can hear a party of
walkers. The high voices of children, laughing and calling to each other
through the trees.

‘I came round the bend over there,’ I tell him,
and point to the exact place on the opposite bank. ‘From a distance, it looked
like a fallen tree was lying across the path. The mind tries to make sense of
things, I suppose. I wasn’t expecting to see a naked woman, so I saw a fallen
tree instead.’

‘Shall
we?’

I
hesitate, then nod. We walk a little further along the track in silence, then
cross the bridge one after the other.

There’s
a dark, gleaming pool below, perhaps waist-deep, the air bright with flies
above the water. I hesitate, staring along the stream to where it disappears
into green shadows round the next bend, and try to quell the sickness in my
stomach.

I
need to confront Tris about the club last night, and the disturbing message on
Denzil’s windscreen. I’m not one hundred percent convinced he left it there, but
the more he condemns Denzil’s character, the more I feel he has a motive for trying
to frighten me. Maybe it was initially intended as a lads’ prank, a
collaboration between him and Connor. Maybe one of the brothers saw my anklet
fall off on the dance floor, and the other wrote the note to spook me. I should
just come straight out with it, ask Tris if he wrote it. It could be completely
innocent, and nothing to do with the dead woman.

Something
is holding me back though, playing on my nerves, my hair-trigger imagination, and
that sense of uneasiness is intensifying the closer we get to the spot of my
mother’s murder. Last night, this had seemed like the perfect place to speak to
Tris alone. If he does not admit the truth here, he’s unlikely to do so
anywhere else. But have I walked myself straight into a trap?

Tris
leads me to the muddied edge of the stream, and we look back at the opposite
bank where we had been standing moments before.

‘So?’

‘The
woods were very quiet, not like today. It was still early, maybe half past
seven, maybe a little later. I slowed down, and considered going back to the
main path. But I’d already come that far. So I kept going, and walked straight towards
her.’

‘You knew something wasn’t right?’

‘I was already nervous. I didn’t want to take
this path. This is where … where it happened before.’

‘Where your mother was killed?’

‘Yes.’

He pauses, then looks around. ‘This exact
spot?’

I nod.

‘Shit, I’m sorry.’

We
both stare down into the water, standing shoulder to shoulder. Our reflection
is vague and shadowy, moving constantly with the current. The trees behind our
heads ripple on the water.

‘So what happened then?’

I look back, and it’s as if the whole thing is
happening in front of me. I see the body on the path. The eerie way the light
and shadows played on her skin. The number three on her forehead.

You’re my
Number One.

That’s a threat, a promise. A warning
not to be complacent. The killer has a step-by-step plan and he’s following it.
He’s in control.

Thanks for the anklet.

That’s him telling me how clever and
powerful and resourceful he is. How he can get to me at any time. Take whatever
he wants from me. My life, potentially.

I remember Denzil setting fire to the note,
then throwing it out of the jeep. The only piece of solid evidence that could
prove I’m not imagining any of this. It could have gone to forensics. Did he destroy
the note deliberately?

It’s
an unsettling question. I trust Denzil, always have done. But there are doubts
in my head now. I remind myself that I heard him drive away last night, so he
could not have been the man watching me from behind the hedgerow. Still, he
could have stopped the car a little further down the lane, then got out and run
back through the field. He would have been out of breath by the time he arrived
back at the cottage, of course. But I did hear odd rustling noises from the
hedgerow, and then what sounded like somebody breathing …

He deliberately got you
drunk last night.

‘Ellie?’ Tris prompts me.

I
nod, saying, ‘Once I got closer, I could see it was a woman. She was naked. Maybe
playing some kind of sick joke on me, I thought at first. She looked asleep
from a few feet away. Then it became obvious to me that she wasn’t breathing. I
stood there looking down at her, and I thought …’

‘Yes?’

I
hesitate, seeing it again in my head, the horrible jarring misfit between the
beauty of the woods and the corpse on the path. ‘I don’t know what I thought,
actually. I stared for a minute or two, then something seemed to take me over.’

‘
Something
?’

‘Sheer panic,’ I admit, embarrassed. ‘It felt
like I was six years old again and my mother was screaming at me to run. So I
did exactly that. Only I didn’t take the bridge, then follow the path up to the
car park, where I might have found help quicker.’

‘Why
not?’

‘I’m
not sure. It’s been bothering me.’

‘Which
way did you go?’

‘I
ran through the water over there,’ I say, pointing along the stream to where
there are a few unevenly-spaced stepping-stones, ‘then ran up the steep track we
came down today. Heading for the back of the church. It’s barely a path in
places, and hell to climb going the other way. Yet that’s the same way I ran
when I was six.’

I
remember soft earth giving way under my trainers halfway up the slope, the
violent lurch as I fell among nettles. ‘Maybe that’s why it felt like the right
thing to do.’

Tris turns in a slow circle, studying the
ground. ‘To cross the bridge, you would have needed to go past the body. It was
probably easier to run sideways and through the stream.’

‘Easier?’

‘Less traumatic. You didn’t want to look at her
that closely.’

I’m diverted by this explanation.

I turn too, scanning the narrow bridge, the
path where the dead body lay that morning, then my chosen escape route through
the stream.

He’s right.

‘Of course. I didn’t think of that.’

He smiles grimly. ‘Your brain again, making
decisions for you without telling you why.’

‘Stupid brain.’

Tris takes my hand, squeezing it gently. His
fingers are warm and comforting. It’s hard not to trust him. This is Tris,
after all, and I’ve known him for years. But I can’t seem to shake the memory
of that note last night.
Thanks for the
anklet
.

I
look down at the muddy ground beside the stream. This is where I saw her body. And
it’s clear the police searched this area thoroughly. I can see the marks of
booted feet passing to and fro for the past week, a morass of footprints and
bike wheel tracks, the dried ruts leading down to the mushier ground beside the
stream itself. How many people have walked through there since I saw her,
contaminating any trace of evidence there might have been?

But then maybe I didn’t see her at all. Maybe
the whole thing was a figment of my warped imagination, seeing a dead woman in
this exact spot because of the anniversary. Because my head isn’t right. That’s
what everyone else thinks, after all. I ought to give it careful consideration,
not brush it aside.

You
probably wrote the note yourself and planted it on his windscreen.

I
could actually be mad. Do mad people ever know? Or are they always too far gone
by the time it gets to that stage?

The water is running brightly in the sunshine,
under the bridge and into dappled woodlands. The birds are singing now, no
longer shrieking. The place is idyllic.

Tris
has followed me. ‘So you saw the body here? Right where I’m standing?’

I
study the place. ‘Yes, about here. I think her hand was almost in the water. As
though she was pointing at the stream. But I can’t be one hundred percent sure.’

‘Show
me,’ he says calmly. ‘Be the dead woman for a minute. Lie down and pose your
body exactly the way you remember seeing hers.’

‘
What
?’

‘Come on, it’s fine. There’s no one here to see
you.’

‘It
feels disrespectful.’

He
locks his gaze with mine. ‘What, disrespectful towards a woman who, according
to the police, doesn’t even exist? Look, it’s obvious you brought me down here
for a reason, Ellie. I still don’t know what that is. But we’re not going to
get any nearer the truth if you keep thinking with your heart instead of your
head.’

Everything he is saying makes sense. It’s time
to stop reacting and start engaging. I find the right spot in the morass of
footprints beside the stream, then lower myself slowly to the ground, palms and
knees squelching in the mud. I’m going to look such a mess after this. Slowly, I
rotate my position, letting my hip down first, then my shoulder, trying to
remember …

Tris
stands a few feet away, glancing about, his face unreadable. I’m very aware
that I may not be able to trust him, this man who is as close to me as any
brother. They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch. Interpreting that
literally, I keep an eye on Tris until my shoulders are both flat on the ground,
then my head goes back and I’m staring up at the trees and the sky beyond,
patches of blue glimpsed between the leafy green canopy of branches.

It’s a disorientating position. I feel oddly
detached, like I’m dead too and watching myself, looking down on my body from
above.

‘Is
that exactly the spot where you saw her?’

I wriggle backwards another inch or two, moving
my legs into what feels like the right position. ‘More or less.’

I
can hear the stream near my head, so noisy, it’s almost deafening. It reminds
me of something else I have to do. I stretch one arm above my head as though pointing
towards the water, as I remember the dead woman seemed to be doing. The water
is so close to my fingers, it feels as though I’m touching it.

‘She
was pointing to the stream,’ I say. ‘At least, her hand was. I guess the killer
deliberately positioned her like that.’

Even through my clothes the dirt track is
chilly and startlingly hard against my back. The woman was left here naked.
Exposed and on show. I don’t like to think about that possibility, it makes my
skin crawl. I gaze up into sunlit trees, feeling exposed too.

Tris crouches down, frowning past me. I tilt my
head, staring up at him. His profile is framed by greenery, and so close, I can
see every inch of his skin, his dark eyes and hair. I look at his mouth, then
wish I hadn’t.

‘I know how he did it,’ he says abruptly.

‘Sorry?’

Tris looks down at me, zero humour in his eyes
for once. Again, I feel that shiver of unease and try to repress it. ‘Our killer.
I know how he managed to carry the dead body here, then take it away again
after you’d gone. All without leaving any footprints for the police to find, and
no scent for the dogs.’

‘How?’

He points past my head at the rushing water.
‘He came through the stream.’

‘Through
the stream?’ I repeat.

I
lean up on my elbow and stare over my shoulder. The water gurgles innocently a
few feet behind me, bright in the sunlight.

‘Think about it. You leave no tracks if you
walk through water.’

‘But
the depth – ’

‘Waders,
maybe. Dark clothing or camouflage gear, with thigh-high waders … Yes, I think
he carried the body away through the stream after you saw her.’

I consider the stream, try to imagine the
scenario, some man staggering away through the stream in the early morning
light, a dead body slung over his shoulder. It makes sense as a quick getaway
route for a murderer intent on hiding his victim before the police can arrive. But
had he arrived the same way too?

I
had always assumed the woman had died here in the woods, maybe strangled after
an argument. Tris is making me see things differently.

‘So he killed her somewhere else?’

‘It seems the most likely explanation. If he
had
killed her here, there would have
been some sign of a struggle.’

‘Crushed plants, footprints in the mud, maybe
tracks from something heavy having been dragged through the undergrowth …’

‘Exactly. But we know there can’t have been
anything like that, because the police combed this area and came back with
nothing to report.’

‘So?’

A strand of hair has fallen in my eyes; Tris
strokes it away, rather like Denzil did last night, looking down at me. Our
faces are only inches apart. Suddenly I’m uncomfortable again, but not for the
same reason as before. What made me agree to go out with Denzil? He’s
good-looking, and he understands the unholy mess that is me, but there’s no way
I find him even half as interesting as Tris.

‘So,’ he repeats, not breaking my gaze, ‘it was
not an accident that you saw her. The murderer placed the dead body here
deliberately. He planned the whole thing like a military operation.’

I blink, not wanting to face that possibility. It
was way too creepy. ‘Let’s say you’re right. Why would anyone do that? If he
didn’t kill her here, why go to all the trouble of carrying the body here?’

‘Display?’

‘An exhibition of his work?’

‘And a demonstration of what he can do. Showing
off. Like a cat bringing a dead mouse to the back door.
See, this is what I’m capable of.
’

I frown, not entirely following his reasoning.

‘Then why move the body before the police can
find it? Surely if he was showing off, he’d want as many people to see her as
possible. Only one witness. That’s a bit sad.’

‘You still don’t get it, do you? He was showing
off to
you
, Eleanor. He placed her
body here like a display for you to see it because you are his only audience.’
He leans closer, so close we might almost be kissing. I dare not move, staring
up at him in a kind of mesmerised shock. ‘You, Eleanor Blackwood, are the only
person he wants to see his work. Nobody else.’

Our eyes meet and lock in the stillness. Behind
us the stream rushes on regardless of our conversation, cheerful in the dappled
sunlight. My skin has goosepimples, I can feel the tiny hairs prickling all
along my arms. I would almost rather discover I was mad than be told someone
has targeted me for this sick charade. Someone who knows me and my history. Who
can predict my moves so accurately.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘A little bit, yes,’ he admits. ‘But you have
to admit, it’s strange.’

My heart is beating uncomfortably fast. He
almost had me convinced then that I was the one who had inspired a killer.

I
scrabble to my feet, ignoring the hand he holds out to help me. ‘You, my
friend, are the one who’s strange.’ I brush the dirt off my palms. ‘So what
now?’

‘Now we walk down the stream, see exactly where
he went after he picked up the body again.’

I stare. ‘You really believe he came through
the water?’

‘It’s the only possibility that makes sense. If
I were the killer, that’s how I’d do it. Throw any dogs off the scent by
staying in the water all the way, or as far as I could.’ He bends and squints
up and down the stream, first in one direction and then the other. ‘But which
way did he come?’

I point further into the woods. ‘That way comes
down from the main car park for the woods and café. It’s quite a hike uphill,
but not so bad coming down. The stream runs beneath the car park. Maybe he had
her body in the boot of his car. He parked up near the stream, popped the boot,
dragged her out and down the bank …’

He shakes his head, interrupting. ‘Too public.’

‘It was early.’

‘Even so, there are still people around in the
main car park at that time. Before he got sick, my dad used to walk the dog in that
part of the woods some mornings, as early as seven o’clock. And the body was
naked, remember? That’s not something you’d miss if you were out walking your
dog. A man dragging a naked woman into the stream is hardly a regular event
round here.’ He grins. ‘At least, I hope not. Though maybe for the Denzils of
this world …’

‘Watch it.’

‘Sorry.’ His smile grows crooked. ‘True love,
is it?’

He has me off-balance and I don’t like the
sensation. ‘Let’s stick to murder, shall we? Not my love life.’

Tris turns slowly on his heel. ‘Okay, he didn’t
come from the car park end of the woods. Or it’s less likely. So he must have
come from the village side, from Eastlyn itself.’

‘Seems
likely.’

‘Maybe.’
He stares down at the water, his expression preoccupied. ‘What borders the
woods that way?’

‘The
lower road through the village.’

‘Except
it’s narrow most of the way. There are no laybys, no passing-places, nowhere to
stop a car without arousing attention. Not very promising for someone looking
to dump a body.’

‘There’s the old water company station before
the road bridge,’ I say. ‘It’s gated off and padlocked, but if you pulled your
car deep enough into the bushes beside the gate, you wouldn’t be seen from the
road.’

‘I
know where you mean. And there’s a path that leads through the meadow opposite
into the back of the woods.’

‘That’s
the path I take when I go running, except I don’t usually go through the woods
anymore. I head uphill instead, and skirt the woods.’

‘So
a parked car definitely wouldn’t be seen from the road there?’

‘Pretty
sure,’ I say. ‘Hannah likes to park there sometimes, so she can take a walk in
the woods without having to pay the exorbitant charges up in the main car park.’

‘So
if the killer climbed into the water with her at that point,’ he says, ‘he
would be able to walk all the way into the woods under cover. That part of the
stream is completely shaded from view by all the trees and bushes.’

‘Wait,
what about the Path Closed sign? He must have planted that on the upper path to
make me come down this way.’

‘Good point. So he put the sign up first, maybe
came into the wood normally, maybe posing as a jogger, then run back to his
car. He could have brought the sign with him.’ Tris frowns. ‘No, that doesn’t
make sense. Too easily seen again.’

I join in with this game. Guessing what our
unknown killer might have done. It’s macabre but could be useful. Assuming
there
was
a body in the first place.

‘Perhaps
he brought the diversion sign into the woods during the night,’ I suggest, ‘or
even a few days beforehand, then hid it in the undergrowth. There are dozens of
places he could have left it without anyone noticing.’

Tris nods, looking thoughtful. ‘Yes, good idea.
He sets up the diversion sign, jogs back to his car, pulls on the waders, gets
the body out of the boot … Then carries her downstream and displays the body
here for you to find.’ He looks down at the muddied ground as though seeing the
body exactly as I did, then raises his head, scanning the woods around us. ‘Maybe
he hides in the bushes further upstream so he can watch your reaction. Then, as
soon as you’ve gone, he scoops up the body again and carries it back to his
car.’

Which all suggests it must be someone who knows
me and my daily routines. Someone close enough to be able to second-guess my
reactions. To correctly assess my mood that morning and be sure I would take
the path through the woods, despite my fear.

I
keep coming back to that unnerving thought.

Someone I know locally may be a killer who
wants me to see his handiwork. But who?

‘You okay?’ he asks.

‘Sure.’

‘We should follow the stream down, check
exactly where it goes.’

I look dubiously at the water. ‘Not having any
waders to hand, I’d rather not get my trainers wet. But I’m up for walking
along the bank, if that’s okay with you.’

We walk in silence along the bank for a while,
watching the busy water rushing over shale and around stones, dazzling with
light, flies spinning and dancing in clouds above its surface. There is no one
else in this part of the wood, though laughter and shrieks from kids on one of
the upper paths drift across through the trees. It’s a lonely spot, perfect for
a crime scene.

‘No way the killer could be a
she
, I suppose?’ I ask.

‘Carrying a dead body all that way?’

‘You seem so certain it’s a man. I’m wondering
why, that’s all. It’s not like women never kill each other.’

‘Sexism aside, you said her neck was red and
swollen, probably from where she’d been strangled. And she’d been stripped
naked. Do you think a woman did that? Yes, a woman could strangle another woman,
and even strip her too. But to carry a body out here, then take it away again?
People are heavy when they’re dead. I know that from having to move dead sheep.
Lifting a dead sheep is totally different from trying to shift one that’s still
alive.’

‘Maybe she used a wheelbarrow.’

‘That left no tracks?’

I
say nothing, looking away.

‘I’m
sorry,’ he says a minute later, watching my face. ‘I’m not trying to cut off
possibilities or be sexist. But I don’t see how this could be down to anyone
but a man.’

Which
brings me back to my closest friends. There’s at least one person who knew I
was going to run this way on that morning, and that’s Tris himself. With a
jolt, I remember our exchange of texts beforehand.

Planning to run through the
woods tomorrow. As a salute to my mum.

Don’t. Not a good idea.

Chicken.

But if it was Tris, he would hardly be helping
me like this. The thought steadies me. I have to trust someone in this
business. Not least because I can’t trust myself.

We
walk for another five minutes, picking a path through increasingly heavy
undergrowth. Then the painful wall of brambles and nettles becomes impossible
for us.

Tris looks at me. ‘Come on, this is getting us
nowhere.’ He nods me towards an old mossed tree stump. ‘Hop up there and you
can jump on my back. I’ll give you a piggyback ride.’

‘Sorry?’

‘We have to get down into the water, it’s the
only way to keep tracking the stream back to wherever he came from.’ He grins
at my dumbfounded expression. ‘You don’t want to get your feet wet, so I’ll
carry you. It’s fine, I’m strong enough.’

It’s easy to jump up onto his back, but it
feels weird to have Tris gripping my legs, and to hold onto his head and
shoulders for balance, riding him down the rough, muddy bank like he’s an
elephant.

Tris
lurches into the stream at full tilt, stumbling across the uneven rocks. I feel
the cool splash of water. He staggers another few steps, and for a second I
think he’s going to fall.

‘Fuck.’

Steadying
himself with an effort, Tris laughs. ‘Stop making a fuss, woman. I’m the one
that’s soaking here.’

‘You’re insane.’

‘That makes two of us, then.’ He squeezes my
ankle in the silence that follows; a kind of apology for the lame joke. ‘I’d
guess we’re about five minutes’ walk from the road. You comfortable enough up
there?’

I don’t answer at first. I’m remembering what
he said about the killer carrying the dead woman through the stream, and that
only a man would be able to do it. What did he say?

It’s
fine, I’m strong enough.

‘Yeah, I’m good.’ I lean forward over his
shoulders, shifting awkwardly. ‘Let’s do this.’