Finding Jennifer Jones (3 page)

The door opened and some people came into the shop. Aimee broke into a big smile and began to talk to them. Kate spent some time helping a young couple find accommodation in a youth hostel. Outside she noticed another police car passing. It didn’t have its siren on but still it looked ominous.

Kate spent the rest of her shift making theatre reservations for holidaymakers who had booked through their hotels to see shows in Exeter and Newton Abbot. She sent out the daily newsletter highlighting the events that would happen in the next couple of days, Sunday and Monday. Aimee left just after three thirty and it was up to her to sort out the office and get ready for Monday, then lock up at four.

The house was quiet when she got home. She went straight upstairs to her room and pulled her clothes off. She was hot and sticky so she had a shower. Afterwards she sat in her room with the towel tied around her. The evening lay ahead of her. Tomorrow was Sunday so no work, no need to get up early. She looked around her room. There was washing and ironing she could do. She could watch a movie with Ruth and Robbie. Or see what Sally was doing. Or she could listen to some music in her room.

She stood up and looked out of the bay window towards the sea. The house was in a backstreet, but because of the incline and the fact that it was on the end of a terrace Kate had a partial sea view. She stared at the surface which looked blue and calm, a flat sheet of water.

Someone had drowned in it, though.

Kate flipped open her laptop and glanced over the reports. The child’s body had not washed up but the girl had been named,
Jodie Mills
. Nine years old.

Eight years before she had seen Lucy Bussell almost drown in the lake at Berwick Waters. Kate had saved her life that day, but that was only fair because it was she who had pushed her into the water in the first place. The memory made her restless, unhappy. She got up and paced up and down her room. The whole day had been like this. Ever since she’d heard about the drowning her mind had been pulled back to the past and it was not a place where she liked to dwell. Then she had been Jennifer Jones. Then she had stood looking down at the body of her best friend. In her head she tried to close it off and focus on something else, but the only other thing she could think of was the girl in the water at Sandy Bay

Her body would wash up onto one of the beaches. Then the police sirens would sing out mournfully along the esplanade and the people in the town would speak in quiet tones and look towards Sandy Bay with sorrow. How long would it take? Would it be tonight? Tomorrow? Or days later, like the man who fell off the ferry?

It was making Kate feel fearful. She couldn’t stay in.

She rummaged about in her wardrobe for a clean skirt and top. She brushed her hair roughly, but it was too tangled and the bristles kept catching on knotted bits. She flung the brush down, picked up her bag and her phone and went out of her room.

The front door opened as she went downstairs. It was Sally, holding a bag of shopping in one hand.

“Hi,” she said, “I was going to cook…”

“Not for me, Sal, thanks,” Kate said.

“Where are you going?”

Kate didn’t know. She just had to get out.

“Not sure. Might meet up with some friends. See you later.”

The door closed behind her. She felt lighter immediately. The smell of the sea was strong and she headed towards it.

Four

Kate woke up the next morning. The room was in semi darkness. A single shaft of light split the gloom. She let her eyes travel along it. It took her a few moments to realise that her mouth was dry and her head felt heavy. The clock showed that it was 09:51. She pulled the pillow to the side to get comfortable and closed her eyes again. If she could just sleep for a couple more hours then she would feel fine, the effects of the booze would wear off. It always did.

At her back she felt something move and her eyes shot open.

She turned and saw that she wasn’t alone in the bed. She opened her eyes wide and looked around. The room was small and untidy. There was a rail alongside the bed crammed with clothes and the beam of light came from the door which was ajar. It wasn’t her bedroom.

Where was she?

She sat up. She was wearing just her pants and vest top. She rubbed her eyes and felt the crustiness of mascara that hadn’t been taken off before she went to bed. She looked at the shape under the duvet beside her.

Who was it?

The tall lad who worked behind the bar?

The lad with the big earphones who bought that extra bottle of wine as the pub was closing? Or was it someone entirely different?

She slipped out of the bed and pulled her skirt and top on. She picked up her bag from the floor and walked barefoot across the room to the door. She peeked out into a hallway. The room was on the ground floor. The sun blazed in through the glass front door and she felt its warmth as she tiptoed across the hall looking for the toilet. There were three steps down to a long kitchen. She went there and stood for a moment looking round. The work surface was littered with empty beer cans and polystyrene dishes with a few remnants of uneaten chips. There was a wok on the cooker, its spoon still resting on the side. Dirty bowls sat nearby close to a half-empty bottle of vodka.

It was a student house. She’d seen enough of them.

She turned the tap on and rinsed a glass. Then she filled it with water and drank most of it down.

At the far end of the kitchen was a door and she pushed it open into a small bathroom. She used the toilet and stood at the sink to wash her hands. Looking at herself in the mirror she saw that her eye make-up was smudged underneath, making her look like a Goth. Most of her hair was still up in a ponytail but huge strands of it had fallen down at the sides and the back. She looked a wreck.

She thought back to the evening before. Saturday night. Why had she got so drunk? Then it came to her. It was because of the drowned girl.

When she headed out for the evening there had been a lot of police on the esplanade. It had unnerved her seeing the cars pulling up and screeching away, police officers walking with purpose, holding phones to their ears. Even though the child had gone missing at Sandy Bay the police seemed to be searching all the way along the seafront right up to the harbour and the ferry point. Dismayed, Kate had turned her back on it and hurried away, walking towards the outskirts of the town. There was a pub she’d gone to a few times over the last year. It had a garden and the booze was cheap. At the weekends it was always noisy and crowded and there were always lots of people to talk to and drink with.

She’d spent most of the evening there and somehow she’d ended up here in some stranger’s house.

A whole night had passed. She wondered if the child’s body had surfaced.

She peeled off some toilet paper, wet it and tried to get the make-up off from under her eyes. Then she pulled the tie out of her hair and rummaged in her make-up bag to search for a comb. Instead she found the small packet of condoms that she kept there. It was still covered in cellophane. Unused.

Who was it that she’d spent the night with? She stood very still for a moment and tried hard to remember. The tall lad behind the bar had been making eye contact with her all evening.
Do you fancy a drink after we close?
he’d said to her, when she went up to buy some beers.
Maybe
, she’d said, blowing him a kiss. The lad with the earphones had been cheeky. He’d come over to her when she was with the others and insisted he sat next to her, making other people budge up. He bought her a drink and rested the earphones on his collar. Then, when people in the pub headed off back to someone’s house he bought a bottle of wine from behind the bar and they had followed along. From time to time she felt the touch of his fingers on her arm and when they got to the house he stuck with her. Then the lad from the bar had turned up. They all watched a film but there’d been a lot of wine and someone was smoking dope and rest of the evening just faded into blackness for her.

Was this the house? Or had they gone on somewhere else?

She splashed her face with water. Then she returned through the kitchen and crept back into the bedroom. She looked round, her eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness. It had once been someone’s living room but like a lot of the houses in this area it had been turned into a bedroom. There was a bay window with blinds which cut out most of the light. On the floor, up against a wall, were piles of DVDs and CDs. Hundreds of them. In the bay window was a desk with an open laptop. There were books on it and on top of one of them was a pair of headphones. She smiled. That solved the mystery. Maybe it would be nice if she could remember his name. Bob? Steve? Or Tony? But maybe one of those belonged to the tall guy behind the bar.

She walked into the room and looked for her shoes. They were underneath the bed and she squatted down and pulled them out. She put them on and looked around in case she’d left anything else. A jacket or cardi? Had she been wearing one? It had been warm last night, she remembered that much.

She made her way quietly to the door.

There was movement from behind her. She stood very still. If he was just turning over she might still get away without any conversation.

“Hi,” a voice said, huskily.

She turned round. He was sitting up, his chest pale in the darkened room.

“Would you pull one of the blinds up?”

She stepped over to the window and pulled on one of the roller blinds so that the sun trickled into the room and lightened it enough to see around.

“You’re not going?” he said.

“I have to,” she said. “I’ve got to see someone.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near. Fifteen minutes’ walk.”

“But you don’t have to go right this minute. I could get dressed, walk you home?”

“No, don’t worry. I can make my own way. Like I said, I’ve got someone to see.”

“Can I have your number?” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“Go on. I’ll give you a call. We can get a drink or a bite to eat.”

She didn’t answer. She could just walk out. It wouldn’t be rude. She hardly knew him. He sat up though, his legs swinging out of the bed. She looked away, afraid that he might be naked. He picked his phone off the floor and held it out at her. She couldn’t refuse it. She took it and stood over by the light, pressing buttons, feeding her number into his phone. She put her name,
Kate,
in. Then she handed it back.

“I’ll give you mine, if you like.”

She couldn’t be unkind. She got her phone out of her bag and handed it to him. He took a moment to do it and stood up to hand it back. He was wearing boxers and she must have been looking at them oddly.

“We didn’t… you know …  last night,” he said.

“Oh.”

“You were pretty drunk. You needed a long sleep. But I did undress you. Just your top things. I thought you’d be more comfortable. That was all right, wasn’t it?”

“Sure.”

“Got a hangover?”

“Not really. Well. A little bit.”

“You could come and lie down again. It’s early yet.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I told you. I’ve got to go.”

“See you, Kate.”

She nodded.

“You don’t even know my name, do you?”

“I do!” she said.

“What is it?”

He was calling her bluff. She simply couldn’t remember it. She picked her phone out of her pocket and looked down her list of contacts and came across the most recently entered name.

“Jimmy Fuller.”

He smiled. “Remember me, now.”

“See you,” she said.

She walked out of the room and out of the house. It took her a moment to work out where she was. The street was unfamiliar so she walked along it until she came to a junction. Then she saw the pub she’d been in the previous evening. She went on. It was another sunny day and she screwed her eyes up as she went.

When she got closer to the beach she listened for any sirens but it was silent. She was still thirsty so she went into a shop and bought a bottle of water. The woman who served her was talking on her phone and Kate waited patiently until she’d finished her conversation, then handed over her money.

“Any news on the girl who drowned?” she said.

The woman nodded but made a face. “They found her late last night. Only she didn’t drown. She was murdered.”

Five

Kate went straight up to her bedroom. Her mind was racing. The little girl’s body had been found. Not drowned but
murdered
. The news made her feel wretched.

Her room was messy from the night before when she had rushed out. Her work skirt was sitting on the floor where she had dropped it. She picked it up and brushed it down. There was a pile of ironing there, waiting for her to work her way through it. She sighed. The house was quiet. There was no sound from Ruth’s room. No doubt Robbie was with her. It was gone eleven and the pair didn’t usually surface till the afternoon on Sundays. She couldn’t hear anything from Sally’s room either.

She noticed a large padded envelope on her bedside table with a Post-it stuck to it. It was Sally’s handwriting.

This came for you today. You must have missed it on the hall table XXX

She picked the envelope up and opened it. A piece of paper came out, and a paperback book. She held onto the paper but her eyes were drawn to the book.
Children Who Kill, by Sara Wright.
The words underneath the title made her breath catch in her throat.
The Case of Jennifer Jones
.

She sat down on the bed, shaken.
Sara Wright
. She recognised the name. Sara Wright was the journalist who had tricked her way into her life. Kate flicked through the book. One hundred and ninety-two pages. How could anyone write that much about her and what she had done?

She unfolded the paper. It was a letter from Jill Newton, her first probation officer.

Dear Kate,

I hope you are well. This was sent to me a couple of weeks ago to be passed onto you. It is just being published, I understand. I kept it because I honestly didn’t know whether to forward it or not. I know it will upset you. However, I read it myself and I have to say it is a well-written and sympathetic piece of work. Sara Wright, for all her questionable methods, has written a decent book and I doubt that it will do you any harm. Of course, the media will be reviewing this book or writing about its publication and I would guess that you might be upset if those kind of articles surface again. But the book itself is well meaning, I believe. This is why I’ve sent it to you. I hope you are enjoying your degree.