Chapter no 25

Good Girl, Bad Blood (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder, #2)

Every step she took was considered, careful, staring down at the forest floor and the mud that bunched up around the outline of her shoes. A record of her having been there, a trail of imprints that stalked her through the woods. But she was looking for someone else’s prints: the jagged vertical lines on the soles of the Puma trainers Jamie had been wearing when he disappeared.

And so was everyone else, eyes down and circling, searching for any of the signs Pip had mentioned in the briefing. Eighty-eight volunteers had turned up after school, most from her year but a few year twelves too. Thirty people on Connor’s team, now searching the fields behind school, and knocking on doors down the far end of Martinsend Way, Acres End and the lower part of Tudor Lane, to ask residents if they’d seen Jamie between 12:02 and 12:28 a.m. Friday night. Twenty-nine people on Cara’s team, who were further north, combing through the fields and farmland up near Old Farm Road and Blackfield Lane. And twenty-nine people here with Pip, standing in a wide ant-line, staggered every two metres as they searched from one end of Lodge Wood to the other.

Well, thirty people, now that Ravi had joined them. Max’s trial had adjourned early today; it had been Max’s turn on the stand and – Ravi told her reluctantly with a glint in his eyes that looked like hate – Max and his lawyer had done an alright job. They’d prepared an answer to everything the prosecution threw at him in cross-examination. Closing remarks from both sides had followed and then the judge sent the jury off to deliberate.

‘I can’t wait to see his face tomorrow when he goes down. Wish I could record it for you,’ Ravi had said, using his foot to check inside a holly bush, reminding Pip of that time they were in these very woods, recreating Andie Bell’s murder to prove Sal didn’t have time to be the killer.

Pip glanced up to her other side, exchanging a small, strained smile with Stella Chapman. But the face of Layla Mead stared back at her, sending a cold shiver down her back. They’d been out here for over an hour already, and all the team had found was a tied baggie of dog shit and a crumpled prawn cocktail crisp packet.

‘Jamie!’ someone down the line called.

The shouting had been going on for a while. Pip didn’t know who’d started it, who’d first called out his name, but it had caught on, spreading sporadically up and down the line as they trudged on.

‘Jamie!’ she called in answer. It was probably pointless, a literal shout into the void. Jamie couldn’t still be here; and if he was, he’d no longer be able to hear his name. But at least it felt like they were actually doing something.

Pip stalled, breaking the line for a moment as she bent to check beneath a raised tree root. Nothing.

Her phone chimed, disturbing the crunching of their feet. It was a text from Connor: OK, we split into threes to do the door knocking, just finished Tudor Lane and moving on to the fields. Found anything? X

‘Jamie!’

Pip was relieved she didn’t have to cover Tudor Lane, the road where Max Hastings lived, even though his house was actually just outside the search zone. And no one was in anyway; he and his parents were staying in an expensive hotel near the Crown Court for the duration of the trial. But still, she was glad she didn’t have to go anywhere near that house.

Nothing yet, she texted back. ‘Jamie!’

But as she pressed send, her screen was overtaken by an incoming call from Cara.

‘Hey,’ Pip answered in an almost-whisper.

‘Hi, yeah,’ Cara said, the wind rattling against her microphone. ‘Um, someone on my team just found something. I’ve told everyone to stand back from it, set up a perimeter, as you’d say. But, um, you need to get here. Now.’

‘What is it?’ Pip said, the panic riding her voice, twisting it. ‘Where are you?’

‘We’re at the farmhouse. The abandoned farmhouse on Sycamore Road.

You know the one.’

Pip did know the one.

‘On my way,’ she said.

They were running now, her and Ravi, turning the corner on to Sycamore Road, the farmhouse set back and growing out of the small hill. Its dull white painted bricks were cut through and sliced up by blackened timber, and the roof seemed to be curving inwards now, in a way that roofs shouldn’t do, like it could no longer quite hold up the sky. And the place just out of sight, behind the abandoned building, where Becca Bell had hidden her sister’s body for five and a half years. Andie had been right here all along, decomposing in the septic tank.

Pip tripped as they crossed from gravel on to grass, Ravi’s hand skimming hers instinctively, to pull her up. And as they neared, she saw the gathering of people, Cara’s team, a colourful spattering of clothes against the dull colours of the farmhouse and the long neglected land, strewn with high tufts of weedy grass that tried to grab her feet.

Everyone was standing in a loose formation, all eyes trained on the same place: a small cluster of trees by the side of the house, the branches grown so close to the building, like they were slowly reaching over to claim it as their own.

Cara was in front of the group, with Naomi, waving Pip over as she shouted over her shoulder for everyone to get back.

‘What is it?’ Pip said, breathless. ‘What did you find?’

‘It’s over there, in the long grass at the bottom of those trees.’ Naomi pointed.

‘It’s a knife,’ said Cara.

‘A knife?’ Pip repeated the words, her feet following her eyes over to the trees. And she knew. She knew before she even saw it, exactly which knife it would be.

Ravi was beside her as she bent down to look. And there it was, lying half concealed by the grass: a grey-bladed knife with a yellow band around the handle.

‘That’s the one missing from the Reynoldses’ kitchen, isn’t it?’ Ravi asked, but he didn’t need Pip to answer, her eyes told him enough.

She studied it through squinted eyes, not daring to get any closer. From here, a few feet away, the knife looked clean. Maybe a few flecks of dirt,

but no blood. Not enough to be seen, at least. She sniffed, pulling out her phone to take a photo of it where it lay, then she drew back, beckoning Ravi to come with her.

‘OK,’ she said, the panic hardening into something like dread. But Pip could control dread, use it. ‘Cara, can you call Connor, tell him to let everyone on his team go and come over here, right now.’

‘On it,’ she said, the phone already halfway up to her ear.

‘Naomi, when Cara’s done, can you tell her to call Zach to dismiss my search team as well?’

She and Ravi had left their team in the care of Zach and Stella Chapman. But they wouldn’t find anything out there in the woods, because Jamie had come here. Jamie was here, carrying a knife he must have taken from his house. Here, at the outer limit of their search zone, which meant that Jamie’s brief stop had been somewhere else, before he’d walked to the farmhouse. And here, right here at 12:28 a.m., his Fitbit stopped recording his heart rate and step count. And there was a knife.

A knife was evidence. And evidence had to be dealt with in the proper way, without breaking the chain of custody. No one here had touched the knife, and no one would, not until the police got here.

Pip dialled the number of the police station in Amersham. She walked away from the gathering, plugging her other ear against the wind.

‘Hello Eliza,’ she said. ‘Yes, it’s Pip Fitz-Amobi. Yep. Is anyone in at the station? Uh-huh. Could you do me a favour and ask anyone who’s free to come over to the farmhouse on Sycamore Road in Kilton? Yes that’s where Andie B— No, this is about an open missing persons case. Jamie Reynolds. I’ve found a knife that’s connected to his case, and it needs to be collected and documented properly as evidence. I know I’m supposed to call the other number . . . could you just, this one favour, Eliza, I swear, just this once.’ She paused, listening down the other end. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she said, rejoining Ravi. They might as well use those fifteen minutes, start trying to work out why Jamie might have come here.

‘Can you keep everyone back from those trees?’ she asked Naomi. ‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Come on.’ Pip led Ravi towards the farmhouse entrance, the red-painted front door dangling off its hinges, like a mouth hanging open.

They stepped through and the inside of the house wrapped them up in its dim light. The windows were fogged over by moss and grime, and the old

carpet crunched under their feet, covered in stains. It even smelled abandoned in here: mildew and must and dust.

‘When do we move in?’ Ravi said, looking around in disgust. ‘Like your bedroom is much better than this.’

They continued down the hallway, the old blue faded wallpaper peeling off and away in rolls that exposed the white underside, like small waves breaking up against the walls. An archway opened into a large space that once must have been a living room. There was a staircase on the far side, yellowing and peeling. Windows with limp, sun-bleached curtains that might have been floral-patterned in another life. Two old red sofas in the middle, brushed with grey, clinging dust.

As Pip stepped closer, she noticed there was a break in the dust against one of the sofa cushions: a clearer circular patch of the red material. Like someone had sat here. Recently.

‘Look.’ Ravi drew her attention up to the centre of the room, where there were three small metal bins, upturned into stools. Scattered around them were food wrappers: digestive biscuits, crisp packets, empty tubs of Pringles. Discarded bottles of beer and butts of hand-rolled cigarettes.

‘Maybe not so abandoned after all,’ Ravi said, bending to pick up one of the butts, raising it to his nose. ‘Smells like weed.’

‘Great, and now you’ve put your prints on it, if this is a crime scene.’ ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said and gritted his teeth, a guilty look in his eyes. ‘Maybe

I’ll just take this one home with me to dispose of.’ He pocketed it and straightened up.

‘Why would people come here to hang out and smoke?’ Pip said, studying the scene, questions surfacing from every corner. ‘That’s rather morbid. Don’t they know what happened here, that Andie’s body was found here?’

‘That’s probably part of its charm,’ Ravi said, sliding into his movie- trailer voice. ‘Old abandoned murder house, the perfect place for a smoke and a snack. Looks like whoever it is comes here quite often and I’m guessing this is a night-time activity. Maybe it’s worth us coming back later tonight, staking out the place, see who comes here? They might be connected to Jamie’s disappearance, or maybe they saw something last Friday.’

‘Stake-out?’ Pip smiled. ‘Alright, Sarge.’

‘Hey, you’re Sarge. Don’t you use my own names against me.’

‘Police are here,’ Naomi called into the farmhouse, as Pip and Ravi were showing Connor and Cara what they’d found inside.

‘I’ll go deal with them.’ Pip hurried back through the hallway and into the outside world. She screwed her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. A police car had pulled up on the gravel road, doors either side pushing open. Daniel da Silva stepped out from the driver’s side, straightening his police cap, and Soraya Bouzidi from the other.

‘Hi,’ Pip called, walking forward to greet them.

‘Eliza said it was you,’ Daniel said, unable or unwilling to hide the disdain in his face. He didn’t like her, not since she’d suspected him of being Andie’s killer, and that was fine, because Pip didn’t much like him either.

‘Yep, it’s me. Cause of all the trouble in Little Kilton since 2017,’ she said, flatly, catching sight of Soraya smiling quickly. ‘Here, it’s this way.’ She led them across the grass, pointing them towards the small huddle of trees.

Daniel and Soraya continued on over to the long grass by the roots. She watched them looking down at the knife and then looking at each other.

‘What is this?’ Daniel called to her.

‘It’s a knife,’ she said. And then, more helpfully, ‘The same knife that’s missing from a rack in the Reynoldses’ house. Jamie Reynolds, remember, he’s missing? Friends with your sister?’

‘Yes, I –’

‘Case number four nine zero zero one five two –’

‘Yes, OK,’ he interrupted. ‘What is all this?’ He gestured to the students, still gathered a way back from the farmhouse.

‘That is a search team,’ Pip said. ‘When the police won’t do anything, I guess you’ve gotta turn to sixth formers instead.’

The muscles twitched in Daniel da Silva’s cheek as he chewed on his tongue. ‘Right,’ he shouted, surprising her, clapping his hands loudly three times. ‘Everyone go home! Now!’

They disbanded immediately, breaking off into small, whispering groups. Pip gave them a grateful nod as they moved past the police and away to the road. But the Ward sisters didn’t go, and nor did Connor or Ravi, standing in the entrance of the farmhouse.

‘This knife is vital evidence to a missing persons case,’ Pip said, trying to regain control. ‘It needs to be collected and properly documented and

handed over to the evidence clerk.’

‘Yes, I know how evidence works,’ Daniel said, darkly. ‘Did you put this here?’ He pointed at the knife.

‘No,’ she said, that hot primal feeling awakening again. ‘Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t even here when it was found.’

‘We’ll take it,’ Soraya stepped in, placing herself between Daniel and Pip, disarming them. ‘I’ll make sure it’s properly dealt with, don’t worry.’ The look in her eyes was so different from Daniel’s: kind, unsuspicious.

‘Thank you,’ Pip said, as Soraya made her way back to the squad car. When she was out of earshot, Daniel da Silva spoke again, not looking at

Pip. ‘If I find out this isn’t real, that you’re wasting police time –’

‘It’s real,’ she said, the words crushed down to fit through her gritted teeth. ‘Jamie Reynolds is really missing. The knife is really here. And I know the police don’t have the resources to make every case a priority, but please listen to me. Tell Hawkins. Something bad has happened here. I know it has.’

Daniel didn’t respond.

‘Do you hear me?’ she said. ‘Foul play. Someone could be dead. And you’re doing nothing. Something happened to Jamie, right here.’ She gestured towards the knife. ‘It has something to do with someone Jamie’s been talking to online. A woman called Layla Mead but that’s not her r—’

And she stuttered to a stop, eyes circling his face. Because as soon as she’d said Layla’s name, Daniel’s reaction had been immediate. He sniffed, nostrils flaring, dropping his eyes like he was trying to hide them from her. A creep of pink spread across his cheeks as his light brown, wavy hair fell across his forehead.

‘You know Layla,’ Pip said. ‘You’ve been talking to her too?’ ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You’ve been talking to Layla,’ she said. ‘Do you know who she really is?’

‘I haven’t been talking to anyone,’ Daniel said in a low, rattling hiss that made the hairs on Pip’s neck stand end up. ‘No one, you understand? And if I hear a word about this from you again . . .’

He ended the sentence there, leaving Pip to fill in the blank he’d left behind. He stepped back from her and straightened out his face, just as Soraya was returning from the car, her hands covered by blue plastic gloves, gripped around a paper evidence bag.

File Name:

Photograph of kn:Ie outside abandoned

farmhouse.;pg

The Knife

Found in a location that corresponds to Jamie’s step-count data, before his Fitbit stopped recording and his phone was turned off. I think this confirms it was Jamie who took the knife, which means he had to have gone home between the calamity party and the sighting on Wyvil Road, to pick up his hoodie and the knife. But why did he need a weapon? What had made him so afraid?

If the theory is that Jamie did indeed return home, how does the timing work with Arthur Reynolds’ movements? How did Jamie have enough time to visit Nat da Silva, walk home and grab his hoodie and the knife, all before his dad got back at 11:15 p.m.? The timing isn’t just tight, it’s almost impossible. Something in my timeline isn’t right, and that means someone is lying. I should try talk to Nat again, maybe she’ll be more honest with me about Jamie when her boyfriend isn’t there?

Daniel da Silva

He’s been talking to Layla Mead; his reaction made that perfectly clear. Is it possible he knows who she really is? He was clearly trying to hide any connection to her, is that because he knows something? Or is it just because he wouldn’t want that information getting back to his wife, who’s taking care of their new baby while Daniel has been – presumably – talking inappropriately to another woman online? I got the sense last year that this isn’t out of character for Daniel.

And another observation, we now know three people Layla Mead has been talking to: Jamie, Adam Clark and Daniel da Silva. And here’s the slightly strange thing: all three of these men are in the 29- to-recently-30 range (well, not Jamie, but that’s what his profile originally said). And they all look vaguely similar: white, with brownish hair. Is this a coincidence or is there something to this?

The Farmhouse

Jamie went there on Friday night. Well at least, he was just outside. And clearly the place isn’t as abandoned as we thought. We need to find out who goes there, and why. Whether they are connected to Jamie’s disappearance.