There was a song in her. A sickly beat troubling the skin on her wrists and neck, a crackling chord as she cleared her throat and the jagged trill of her breath. Next, the terrible realization that once she noticed her breathing she couldn’t, for the life of her, un-notice it.
She stood before the front door and willed it open. Every second grew syrupy and thick as the door stared her down, the minutes unrolling themselves into forever. How long had it been since she’d knocked? When Pip could stand it no longer, she picked the sweating Tupperware of fresh muffins out from under her arm and turned to walk away. The ghost house was closed to visitors today and the disappointment burned.
Only a few steps away, she heard the sound of scraping and clicking and turned back to see Ravi Singh in the doorway, his hair ruffled and his face drawing tight in confusion.
‘Oh,’ Pip said in a high-pitched voice that wasn’t her own. ‘Sorry, I thought you told me to come back Friday. Today’s Friday.’
‘Um, yeah, I did,’ Ravi said, scratching his head with his eyes somewhere around Pip’s ankles. ‘But . . . honestly, though . . . I thought you were just taking the piss. A prank. I wasn’t expecting you to actually come back.’
‘That’s, um, unfortunate.’ Pip tried her best to not look hurt. ‘No prank, I promise. I’m serious.’
‘Yeah, you seem like the serious type.’ The back of his head must have been exceptionally itchy. Or maybe Ravi Singh’s itchy head was the equivalent of Pip’s useless facts: armour and shield when the knight inside was squirming.
‘I’m irrationally serious,’ Pip smiled, holding the Tupperware box out to him. ‘And I made muffins.’
‘Like bribery muffins?’
‘That’s what the recipe said, yeah.’
Ravi’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Pip only then appreciated how hard his life must be in this town, the spectre of his dead brother reflected in his own face. It was no wonder smiling was hard for him.
‘So I can come in?’ Pip said, tucking up her bottom lip and overstretching her eyes in her best pleading expression, the one her dad said made her look constipated.
‘Yes, fine,’ he said after an almost devastating pause. ‘Only if you stop making that face.’ He stepped back to let her in the house.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ Pip said quickly and tripped over the front step in her eagerness.
Raising an eyebrow, Ravi shut the door and asked if she’d like a cup of tea.
‘Yes please.’ Pip stood awkwardly in the hallway, trying to take up as little space as possible. ‘Black please.’
‘I’ve never trusted someone who takes their tea black.’ He gestured for her to follow him through into the kitchen.
The room was wide and exceptionally bright; the outside wall was one
giant panel of sliding glass doors that opened into a long garden exploding with the blush of summer and fairy-tale winding vines.
‘How do you take it then?’ Pip asked, resting her rucksack down on one of the dining chairs.
‘Milk till it’s white and three sugars,’ he said over the sputtering-inferno sounds of the kettle.
‘Three sugars? Three? ’
‘I know, I know. Clearly I’m not sweet enough already.’
Pip watched Ravi clatter around the kitchen, the boiling kettle excusing the silence between them. He dug through an almost empty jar of teabags, tapping his fingers on the side as he went about pouring and sugaring and milking. The nervous energy was contagious, and Pip’s heart quickened to match his tapping fingers.
He brought the two mugs over, holding Pip’s by the scorching base so she could take it by the handle. Her mug was adorned with a cartoon smile and the caption: When’s the best time to visit the dentist? Tooth hurty.
‘Your parents aren’t in?’ she asked, setting the mug down on the table. ‘Nope.’ He took a sip and Pip noted, thankfully, that he wasn’t a slurper.
‘And if they were, you wouldn’t be. We try not to talk about Sal too much; it
upsets Mum. It upsets everyone actually.’
‘I can’t even imagine,’ Pip said quietly. It didn’t matter that five years had passed; this was still raw for Ravi – it was written all over his face.
‘It’s not just that he’s gone. It’s that . . . well, we’re not allowed to grieve for him, because of what happened. And if I were to say “I miss my brother”, it makes me some kind of monster.’
‘I don’t think it does.’
‘Me neither, but I’m guessing you and I are in the minority there.’
Pip took a sip of her tea to fill the silence but it was far too hot and her eyes prickled and filled.
‘Crying already? We haven’t even got to the sad parts.’ Ravi’s right eyebrow peaked up on his forehead.
‘Tea hot,’ Pip gasped, her tongue feeling fluffy and scorched.
‘Let it cool down for a jiffy , or, you know , one one-hundredth of a second
.’
‘Hey, you remembered.’
‘How could I possibly forget that introduction of yours? So what questions did you want to ask me?’
Pip looked down at the phone in her lap and said, ‘Firstly, do you mind if I record us, so I can type it up accurately later?’
‘Sounds like a fun Friday night.’
‘I’ll take that as you don’t mind.’ Pip opened the zip on her metallic brass- coloured rucksack and pulled out her bundle of notes.
‘What are those?’ He pointed.
‘Pre-prepared questions.’ She shuffled the papers to straighten the stack.
‘Oh, wow, you’re really into this, aren’t you?’ He looked at her with an expression that quivered somewhere between quizzical and sceptical.
‘Yep.’
‘Should I be nervous?’
‘Not yet,’ said Pip, fixing him with one last look before pressing the red record button.
Pippa Fitz-Amobi EPQ 04/08/2017 Production Log – Entry 4
Transcript of interview with Ravi Singh Pip:
So, how old are you? Ravi:
Why?
Pip:
Just trying to get all the facts straight. Ravi:
OK, Sergeant, I just turned twenty. Pip:
(Laughs) [Side note: OH MY GOD, MY LAUGH IS ATROCIOUS ON AUDIO. I’M NEVER LAUGHING
AGAIN!] And Sal was three years older than you? Ravi:
Yes.
Pip:
Do you remember your brother acting strangely on Friday the twentieth of April 2012?
Ravi:
Wow, straight in there. Um, no, not at all. We had an early dinner at, like, seven before my dad dropped him at Max’s, and he was just chatting along, like normal Sal. If he was secretly planning a murder, it wasn’t at all obvious to us. He was . . . chirpy, I’d say was a good description.
Pip:
And what about when he returned from Max’s? Ravi:
I had already gone up to bed. But the next morning, I remember him being in a really good mood. Sal was always a morning person. He got up and made breakfast for us all and it wasn’t until just after that he got a phone call from one of Andie’s friends. That’s when we all found out she was missing. From that point, obviously, he wasn’t chirpy any more, he was worried.
Pip:
So neither Andie’s parents nor the police rang him during Friday night? Ravi:
Not that I know of. Andie’s parents didn’t really know Sal. He’d never met them or been to their house.
Andie usually came around here or they hung out at school and parties. Pip:
How long had they been together?
Ravi:
Since just before Christmas the year before, so about four months. Sal did have a couple of missed calls from one of Andie’s best friends at, like, 2
a.m. that night. His phone was on silent, though, so he slept through them. Pip:
So what else happened on that Saturday? Ravi:
Well, after finding out Andie was missing, Sal literally sat on the phone, calling her every few minutes. It went to voicemail each time, but he figured if she’d pick up for anyone, it’d be him.
Pip:
Wait, so Sal was calling Andie’s phone? Ravi:
Yeah, like a million times, throughout that weekend and on the Monday too. Pip:
Doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d do if you knew you had murdered the person and they would never pick up.
Ravi:
Especially if he had her phone hidden somewhere on him, or in his room. Pip:
An even better point. So what else happened that day? Ravi:
My parents told him not to go to Andie’s house, because the police would be busy searching it. So he just sat at home, trying to call her. I asked him if he had any idea where she’d be, and he was stumped. He said something else I always remembered. He said that everything Andie did was deliberate, and maybe she’d run off on purpose to punish someone. Obviously by the end of the weekend he realized that probably wasn’t the case.
Pip:
Who would Andie be wanting to punish? Him? Ravi:
I don’t know, I didn’t push it. I didn’t know her well; she only came around a handful of times. I mean, I presumed the ‘someone’ Sal was talking about was Andie’s dad.
Pip:
Jason Bell? Why?
Ravi:
I just overheard some stuff when she was here. I figured she didn’t have the best relationship with her dad. I can’t remember anything specifically.
[Phew, he says ‘specifically’ not ‘pacifically’.] Pip:
Specifics are what we need. So when did the police contact Sal? Ravi:
It was that Saturday afternoon. They called him and asked if they could come over for a chat. They arrived at, like, three or four-ish. Me and my parents came into the kitchen to give them a bit of space, so we didn’t hear any of it really.
Pip:
And did Sal tell you what they asked him? Ravi:
A bit. He was a little freaked out that they recorded it and st– Pip:
The police recorded it? Is that normal? Ravi:
I don’t know, you’re the sergeant. They said it was routine and just asked him questions about where he was
that night, who he was with. And about his and Andie’s relationship. Pip:
And what was their relationship like? Ravi:
I’m his brother; I didn’t see all that much of it. But, yeah, Sal liked her a lot. I mean, he seemed pretty chuffed he was with the prettiest, most popular girl in the year. Andie always seemed to bring drama, though.
Pip:
What kind of drama? Ravi:
I don’t know, I think she was just one of those people who thrives on it. Pip:
Did your parents like her? Ravi:
Yeah, my parents were cool with her. She never gave them a reason not to be.
Pip:
And so what else happened after the police interviewed him? Ravi:
Err, his friends came around in the evening, you know to check if he was OK.
Pip:
And is that when he asked his friends to lie to the police and give him an alibi?
Ravi:
I guess so.
Pip:
Why do you think he did that? Ravi:
I mean, I don’t know. Maybe he was rattled after the police interview. Maybe he was scared he would be a suspect so he tried to cover himself. I don’t know.
Pip:
Presuming Sal’s innocence, do you have any idea where he could have been between leaving Max’s at 10:30
and getting home at 12:50? Ravi:
No, because he also told us that he started walking home from Max’s at like 12:15. I guess maybe he was alone somewhere so he knew that if he told the truth he’d have no alibi. It looks bad, doesn’t it?
Pip:
I mean, lying to the police and asking his friends to as well does look bad for Sal. But it’s not absolute proof that he had anything to do with Andie’s death. So what happened on the Sunday then?
Ravi:
On the Sunday afternoon, me, Sal and his friends volunteered to help put up some missing posters, handing them out to people in town. On the Monday, I didn’t see much of him at school, but it must have been pretty hard for him because all anyone was talking about was Andie’s disappearance.
Pip:
I remember. Ravi:
Police were about too; I saw them looking through Andie’s locker. Yeah, so that night he was a little down.
He was quiet, but he was worried, that’s what you’d expect. His girlfriend was missing. And the next day –
Pip:
You don’t have to talk about the next day if you don’t want to. Ravi:
(Small pause) It’s OK. We walked into school together and I went off to registration, leaving Sal behind in the car park. He wanted to sit outside for a minute. That was the last time I ever saw him. And all I said was ‘see you later’. I . . . I knew police were at the school; rumour was that they were talking to Sal’s friends. And it wasn’t until like two-ish that I saw my mum had been trying to ring me, so I went home and my parents told me that the police really needed to speak to Sal and had I seen him. I think officers had been searching his bedroom. I tried calling Sal too, but it just rang out. My dad showed me this text he got, the last time they’d heard from Sal.
Pip:
Do you remember what it said? Ravi:
Yeah, it said: it was me. I did it. I’m so sorry. And . . . (small pause) it was later that evening when the police came back. My parents went to answer the door and I stayed in here listening. When they said they’d found a body in the woods, I was so sure for a second that it was Andie they were talking about.
Pip:
And . . . I don’t want to be insensitive, but the sleeping pills . . . Ravi:
Yeah, they were Dad’s. He was taking phenobarbitals for his insomnia. He blamed himself afterwards.
Doesn’t take anything any more. He just doesn’t sleep much. Pip:
And had you ever before thought that Sal could be suicidal? Ravi:
Never, not once. Sal was literally the happiest person there was. He was always laughing and messing around. It’s cheesy but he was the kind of person that lit up a room when he walked into it. He was the best at everything he ever did. He was my parents’ golden child, their straight-A student. Now they’re left with just me.
Pip:
And, sorry, but the biggest question then: do you think Sal killed Andie? Ravi:
I . . . No, no I don’t. I can’t think that. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Sal was one of the nicest people on the planet, you know. He never lost his temper ever, no matter how much I wound him up. He was never one of those boys that got in fights. He was the greatest big brother anyone could have and he always came to my rescue when I needed it. He was the best person I ever knew. So, I have to say no. But then, I don’t know, the police seem so sure and the evidence . . . yeah, I know it looks bad for Sal. But I still can’t believe he had it in him to do that.
Pip:
I understand. I think those are all the questions I need to ask for now. Ravi:
(Sits back and lets out a long sigh) So, Pippa — Pip:
You can call me Pip. Ravi:
Pip then. You said this is for a school project? Pip:
It is. Ravi:
But why? Why did you choose this? OK, maybe you don’t believe Sal did it, but why would you want to prove it? What’s it to you? No one else in this town has trouble believing my brother was a monster. They’ve all moved on.
Pip:
My best friend, Cara, she’s Naomi Ward’s sister. Ravi:
Oh, Naomi, she was always nice to me. Always over at our house, following Sal around like a puppy. She was one hundred per cent in love with him.
Pip:
Oh, really?
Ravi:
I always thought so. The way she laughed at everything he said, even the unfunny stuff. Don’t think he felt the same way back, though.
Pip:
Hm.
Ravi:
So you’re doing this for Naomi? I still don’t get it. Pip:
No, it’s not that. What I meant was . . . I knew Sal.
Ravi:
You did?
Pip:
Yeah. He was often over at the Wards’ house when I was too. One time, he let us watch a fifteen film with them, even though Cara and I were only twelve. It was a comedy and I can still remember how much I laughed.
Laughed until it hurt, even when I didn’t quite get it, because Sal’s laugh was so contagious.
Ravi:
High and giggly?
Pip:
Yeah. And when I was ten, he accidentally taught me my first swear word. Shit , by the way. And another time, he taught me how to flip pancakes because I was useless at it but too stubborn to let someone do it for me.
Ravi:
He was a good teacher. Pip:
And when I was in my first year at school, these two boys were picking on me because my dad is Nigerian.
And Sal saw. He came over and just said, very calmly, ‘When you two get expelled for bullying, the next grammar school is half an hour away, if you even get in. Starting from scratch at a completely new school, think about it.’
They never picked on me again. And afterwards Sal sat with me and gave me his KitKat to cheer me up. Since then, I’ve . . . well, never mind.
Ravi:
Hey, come on, share. I let you have your interview – even though your bribery muffins taste like cheese.
Pip:
Since then, he’s always been a hero to me. I just can’t believe he did it. Pippa Fitz-Amobi EPQ 08/08/2017
Production Log – Entry 5
I’ve just spent two hours researching this: I think I can send a request to the Thames Valley Police for a copy of Sal’s police interview under the Freedom of Information Act.
There are certain exemptions to disclosing information under the FOIA, like if the requested material relates to an ongoing investigation, or if it would infringe on Data Protection laws by divulging personal information about living people. But Sal is dead, so surely they’d have no reason to withhold his interview? I may as well see if I can access other police records from the Andie Bell investigation too.
On another note: I can’t get these things Ravi said about Jason Bell out of my head. That Sal first thought Andie had run away to punish someone and that her relationship with her father was strained.
Jason and Dawn Bell got divorced not long after Andie’s death certificate was issued (this is common Little Kilton knowledge but I corroborated it with a quick Facebook investigation). Jason moved away and is now living in a town about fifteen minutes from here. It wasn’t long after their divorce that he starts appearing in pictures with a pretty blonde lady who looks a little too young for him. It appears they are married now.
I’ve been on YouTube watching hours and hours of footage from the early press conferences after Andie went missing. I can’t believe I never noticed it before, but there’s something a bit off about Jason. The way he squeezes
his wife’s arm just a little too hard when she starts crying about Andie, the way he shifts his shoulder in front of her so he can push her back from the microphone when he decides she’s said enough. The voice breaks that sound a little forced when he says: ‘Andie, we love you so much’ and ‘Please come home, you won’t be in trouble.’ The way Becca, Andie’s sister, shrinks under his gaze. I know this isn’t very objective detective of me, but there’s something in his eyes – a coldness – that concerns me.
And then I noticed THE BIG THING. On the Monday 23rd April evening press conference, Jason Bell says this: ‘We just want our girl back. We are completely broken and don’t know what to do with ourselves. If you know where she is, please tell her to call home so we know she’s safe. Andie was such a huge presence in our home, it’s too quiet without her.’
Yeah. He said ‘was’. WAS. PAST TENSE. This was before any of the Sal stuff had happened. Everyone thought Andie was still alive at this point. But Jason Bell said WAS.
Was this just an innocent mistake, or was he using the past tense because he already knew his daughter was dead? Did Jason Bell slip up?
From what I can tell, Jason and Dawn were at a dinner party that night and Andie was supposed to pick them up. Could he have left the party at some point? And if not, even if he has a solid alibi, that doesn’t mean he can’t somehow be involved in Andie’s disappearance.
If I’m creating a persons of interest list, I think Jason Bell is going to have to be the first entry.
Persons of Interest Jason Bell
