by Carol Wyer
Her mother called out to her, halting her as she bounded onto the first stair. Her shoulders sagged as she entered the kitchen filled with the pungent aroma of garlic. Her mother stood by the cooker, cooling a tablespoon of casserole by blowing on it.
‘Florrie, do you think this needs more pepper?’
In her usual attire of grubby jodhpurs and jumper, with her hair held back by a headband and face clean of make-up, her mother had a ruddy, healthy complexion and rosy cheeks. Florence always thought she would look even nicer if she wore make-up, but Christine Hallows wasn’t a woman who spent a lot of time on personal grooming. She was comfortable as she was. She passed another spoon to Florence, who sniffed at it.
‘Mum, I don’t think it matters about the pepper. You’ve overdosed on garlic.’
‘I’m sure I stuck to the recipe,’ Christine said, wiping her hands on her thighs and putting on a pair of reading glasses. ‘Blast! You’re right. I put in an entire garlic head. It says a clove of garlic in the recipe. Oh well, garlic’s good for your heart.’
‘It’s also great at making your breath stink. I might pass on this. No one will sit next to me in class tomorrow.’
Christine pushed her glasses back onto her forehead. ‘I’ll make you something else.’
‘You’re okay. I’ll sort out something.’
‘If you’re sure?’
Florence was quite used to getting her own food, partly because her parents’ business meant they got in at all hours, and partly through choice. Her mother always insisted on doling out enormous portions and Florence struggled with her weight as it was.
Florence fidgeted, desperate to check Fox or Dog. ‘I’m not too hungry. I ate a lot of lunch.’
‘Well, if you’re sure… there’s plenty of cheese in the fridge, and cold meats if you get peckish.’
Her mother caught sight of someone in the yard and waved. ‘It’s the farrier. Have to shoot off. King Harold the Third lost a shoe this morning. Help yourself to the casserole if you change your mind. See you later.’ She blew her daughter a kiss and bustled away, leaving Florence to her own devices.
Florence rocketed up the stairs, threw open the door to her bedroom and fell onto her bed. Tugging at the charging lead, she linked up her mobile. She had three messages from Amélie about going to the cinema on Thursday with her and Robyn. It seemed Robyn was going to come to the house to collect her, a fact that irritated her. She’d hoped to catch the bus and meet them at the cinema. Only little kids got collected and dropped off.
Florence thumbed the dating app and landed on her profile page. She scrolled below her photo and gasped. She had twenty dog emojis beneath it. They came from both girls and boys. She hadn’t expected people to judge her so quickly. Her heart, heavy as lead, sank in her chest, and if it hadn’t been for the three fox emojis she might have shut off the app. The first was from a boy she recognised called Baz. He was in the year above her at school. He’d decided on the name ‘Killer’ and looked pretty cool in his picture, but she knew that in real life he had awful acne and smelt like he could do with a good wash. The other kids often laughed about it behind his back. The second wasn’t her type. He looked big and sporty and overconfident with a cheesy grin that showed off over-whitened teeth. The last, however, looked perfect. He was called ‘Hunter’ and described himself as Looking for that perfect someone who is cute and makes me laugh.
She studied his photograph. He was good-looking, with dark hair gelled into a fashionable quiff, a wide smile and sparkling blue eyes. She squirmed in delight. All she had to do was comment on his photograph, add the foxy emoji and then they could chat. She nibbled at her lower lip as she wondered what to put to engage him further, typing then erasing her words several times. At last she settled on: If cute is freckles and a snub nose, then I could be your perfect foxy choice. I’m a joker, and if my jokes don’t make you laugh then I’ll tickle your toes until you do. She hesitated. The last bit was lame. She thought about the perfect girls on The Only Way is Essex and deleted it, leaving only the first sentence, hoping it would encourage him to find out more about her. She hesitated. She’d never dare to be so forward in real life if she was facing Hunter, but this was somehow easier. She felt much more confident. She pressed ‘send’ and watched the comment, along with a fox emoji, appear under his picture.
She scrolled back to her other two admirers and was about to give the first, Baz, a thumbs-down emoji, before noticing someone had commented under his profile: You’d do better, you loser, if you used soap from time to time. She read through the other comments, most of which were about Baz’s hygiene. She felt bad for him. He was quite a nice boy apart from being a little smelly. The comments here were mean and she didn’t want to add to the boy’s misery. She decided not to put either emoji – dog or fox. She looked back at her own profile. The doubts and upset of seeing the dog emojis were replaced by the euphoria of having a great-looking guy admiring her. She shrugged. Maybe the comments under Baz’s profile would actually help him improve his hygiene. She relaxed onto her bed, wondering what to say to Hunter when they went into the virtual chat room together. It was such a buzz knowing someone fancied you.
Fifteen
Tiny drums beat in her temples. Every time she swallowed, her throat felt as if it were covered with sores. Amber Dalton was aware he was in the room but she was too weak to even care. In the last few hours she’d been sick, had terrible stomach cramps and now was overcome with this weakness. She was convinced she was dying.
‘Drink. You must be thirsty,’ he hissed. His voice reminded her of the snake in the film The Jungle Book.
She tried to speak but managed only a feeble huff. He meandered over, the light from his torch burning her eyes, and passed her a plastic bottle of orange juice. She lifted an arm that weighed a ton. She could barely grasp the bottle. She placed the rim to her parched lips and sipped. The sweet juice slid down her throat, lubricating it. She drank more greedily, glugged it until she was sucking air, then handed it back.
‘Better?’
She nodded. She had no idea why he was keeping her alive. He had offered her no food for some time and the juice was the first liquid she had drunk in hours. He sank onto the bed, his phone in hand. It lit up, a blue light in the dark.
‘I wanted to show you something. It will help explain why you are here. I bet you have no idea, have you?’
The creepy whispering didn’t scare Amber any more. She shook her head. Her spirit was crushed. She still harboured a tiny hope that if she did as he bade, he might let her go.
‘Look at this.’ He showed her a photograph. In that instant, she understood. She shook her head which was now so heavy she could barely control it.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…’
‘But you did, all the same. You didn’t care about the consequences.’
‘I… it…’
‘Now you know why you’re here. Consequences, Amber. There are always consequences.’
The orange juice she had drunk churned in her stomach. She hadn’t any strength to make it to the bucket. She rolled on her side and threw up onto the floor, with huge retches that made her muscles ache with the effort. Acid ripped the lining of her throat and made it burn further.
His voice now oozed fake concern. ‘Oh, Amber, you poor girl. You appear to have drunk something rather nasty. Look how ill it’s making you. Just for the record, you’ll soon be dead. It was the juice. It contained ethylene glycol. Antifreeze. I was going to use a botulinum toxin, the same stuff that vain people use to keep their youthful looks. Seemed pretty appropriate to use it on you, but it proved too difficult to get hold of. You’ve been consuming antifreeze in drinks ever since you arrived. Little by little, without knowing it. The poison works slowly, depending on the measure. I gave you small measures until just now. I wanted you to suffer first. I wanted you to be afraid and bewildered. I’ve enjoyed watching your spirit break a little more each day. I wanted you to understand.’ He gave a hig
h-pitched squeal of laughter that chilled her to her core. ‘Now I’ve shown you the error of your ways, it’s time for you to depart. I’m so glad you managed to stay alive long enough to comprehend the situation. Goodbye, Amber. Give my love to Carrie Miller.’
Sixteen
It was turning into a long day, Robyn mused. Only eight hours ago she’d discovered the identity of the girl in the trunk. Since then she’d interviewed several people, including Carrie’s father and his partner, spoken to the owner of the warehouse, held a team meeting and was now en route to Derby for the second time that day, to talk to the head teacher of Fairline Academy, the school that up until June 2016 Carrie had attended.
During the journey, Robyn had pondered the facts she had accumulated since 8 a.m. She needed to learn everything she could about Carrie Miller from ex-teachers and friends, and fathom out the connection to Joanne Hutchinson. Neither Vince nor Leah had heard of Mrs Hutchinson and didn’t recognise the description of her. Robyn was more convinced than ever the woman had used an alias, but who had hated Carrie enough to kill her, or had it been an accident? Or a random act of violence? And was this woman an accomplice or their perp?
Robyn pulled up by the entrance and waited as a few stragglers, a group of four boys, strolled up the road in the direction of the bus stop, ties already removed and bags tossed carelessly over their shoulders.
Fairline Academy was a far cry from Robyn’s own grammar school, where she had attended classes of only eighteen to twenty pupils. She couldn’t imagine attending such a large school, or academy as it was called, educating over seven hundred pupils in its numerous classrooms. Robyn had quietly enjoyed her education, much of which had been spent at a small junior school on the edge of a village. Even after she progressed to senior school, she hadn’t experienced any classroom difficulties or dramas. There’d been the usual cliques of trendy girls that had rejected her, but Robyn hadn’t minded about that, and instead had hung out with the more athletic individuals who, like her, were participants in many of the school sports teams.
Kevin Winters, the head teacher, greeted her with a weary shrug and a limp, damp, handshake. Robyn resisted the urge to wipe her palm on her skirt. ‘It’s been a hectic week,’ he said by way of explanation. He sat in his chair, back stiff, hands flat on the table. ‘My secretary has neglected to tell me why we are meeting. Has one of our pupils got into trouble?’ His small black eyes bored into Robyn’s.
‘I’m here about Carrie Miller.’
Mr Winters tipped his head back for a moment, then sighed. ‘As much as I’d like to, I don’t know all the pupils at Fairline Academy. However I always remember those who stand out from the crowd, whether that be for a good or bad reason. Miss Miller is in the latter category. She came before me on a couple of disciplinary matters. She was abusive to one of the members of staff last year, and was caught on several occasions with a group suspected of solvent abuse. We couldn’t find any solid evidence but they were suspended for a week during last term. She was an arrogant young lady, bright but lazy, and notoriously argumentative. She sat GCSEs last year and got very low grades. She could have done much better if she’d set her mind to it. Now, tell me why you’re here. She’s no longer one of our pupils. She left last summer term. I hope she hasn’t got into more serious trouble.’
Robyn shook her head. It struck her that if Mr Winters could recall all this about Carrie, he ought to remember also that she had rather significant extenuating circumstances. She hoped he’d handled her with some compassion when she’d appeared before him. ‘I’m truly sorry to inform you that Carrie’s body was found yesterday.’
Mr Winters blinked a few times, and then sniffed in a matter-of-fact way. ‘That is dreadful news. I may not have found her the most amenable of young ladies but I am nevertheless very sad to hear this.’
‘I hoped you could give me an idea of who her friends were. I would like to speak to them.’
His head bobbed up and down eagerly. ‘Now, let me see, Jade North and Harriet Cornwell spring to mind. Also, you should speak to Maneesh Shah, her form master. He’s your best bet. He might still be around here somewhere. I’ll give him a quick call.’ He flicked open his mobile, scrolled through a list of numbers and rang one. After a while, he tutted and shook his head. ‘Of course, it’s his football night. He runs an after-school club at the local grounds. I don’t have access to the pupils’ addresses, especially ex-pupils. You’ll have to wait until my secretary gets in tomorrow.’
‘I’ll ring first thing.’
Mr Winters looked past her, eyelids flickering. ‘I think Miss North now lives in Mickleover. Jade was Carrie’s closest friend. They were often in trouble together. Wherever Carrie went, Jade followed.’ His head swayed side to side in slow rhythmical movements, like a large pink pendulum. ‘There are so many external influences on these young people these days. It’s difficult to guide them, let alone educate them.’ He lifted his hands from the table, leaving two sweaty imprints, and stood to see Robyn out. ‘I’m sorry about Carrie. Such a huge waste of a life.’
* * *
Robyn rang Mitz, requesting more information about the girls. Within minutes he returned the call.
‘Jade North was picked up for brawling in Derby three months ago. Attacked another girl after a night out. The local police were called. According to the charge sheet she was let off with a caution. The family is also known to the police. The parents were reported for noise nuisance and antisocial behaviour. Jade left Fairline Academy in mid-April last year, and is now working part-time at a petrol station in Derby.’
Robyn wasn’t far from Mickleover, and since it was only coming up for four thirty, she decided to pay Jade North a visit. Earlier, she’d asked Vince Miller if she might break the news of Carrie’s death to Jade rather than him. She’d wanted to gauge the girl’s reaction. He’d been glad of it.
Why hadn’t Jade become suspicious about Carrie’s disappearance? Was she involved in her murder? As she organised her thoughts, she punched the address into her satnav and headed to Mickleover – once a colliery, but now a large development of affordable housing – to see if Jade could throw any light on Carrie’s disappearance.
Jade North’s jaw moved up and down in lazy rhythm as she chewed on gum, and with arms folded, one hand brandishing a cigarette, she scowled at Robyn.
‘I only get ten minutes for my break. I don’t want to waste them talking to the likes of you.’
‘I need your help, Jade. It’s about Carrie Miller.’
The young woman took a long draw on her cigarette, releasing the smoke slowly. It curled above her hair, a mixture of dark roots and cheap home dye, and disappeared into the grey sky. She leant against the brick wall. ‘What about her?’
‘Have you heard from her recently? You were good friends at Fairline Academy.’
‘School was school. It’s different now. We ain’t there no more.’
Robyn nodded and adopted a relaxed pose to put the girl at ease, leaning against the wall with her. Her hip was throbbing. Driving had made it ache like crazy.
‘I understand. You can lose track of friends, especially when you move away from an area.’
Jade sniffed and dragged on her cigarette again.
‘So, not a text or anything?’
‘Nothing.’ Jade looked away, breaking eye contact with Robyn. It was clear she wasn’t telling the truth.
Robyn nodded and spoke in gentle tones. ‘Jade, you and Carrie were good friends. I don’t believe you wouldn’t have stayed in touch. Did you fall out?’
Jade shook her head. ‘No. I have to go back to work.’
Robyn decided to change tack. Jade was not going to volunteer any information. She put out her arm, a friendly gesture. ‘I’m very sorry to tell you, we found Carrie’s body yesterday morning.’
The colour drained from the girl’s face. Her hand holding the cigarette began to tremble, and eventually she hung her head to hide the tears that were forming.
&n
bsp; ‘I’m truly sorry.’
Jade seemed to recover, lifting her head in a swift movement and cocking it to one side. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘Rugeley.’
‘Then it can’t be Carrie. She’s in Spain. She sent me texts. She met a bloke and they fell in love and ran off to the south of Spain. She told me.’ Jade’s voice rose.
Robyn put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. ‘Do you want me to contact anyone? I’ll ask your boss to let you take the rest of the day off. This has been a terrible shock.’
Jade’s face was a mask of contorted confusion. ‘It can’t be Carrie. Look. She bloody well left us all and ran away with Ben.’ She pulled at her pocket and withdrew a smartphone. She stabbed at the screen and handed it to Robyn. There were months of Facebook messages in the conversation, an entire archive of conversation between the two girls; those from Carrie describing life in Spain and the relationship with her new man. It was all to remain a secret – only Jade knew about Ben. His family was rich and would be horrified to find out he’d bolted with a girl instead of continuing his studies at university. He was sure his folks would set a private investigator onto them.
‘Did you ever meet Ben?’ Robyn asked.
Jade took a last drag and stubbed her cigarette out against the wall. ‘She met him online. I never actually saw him. She kept their relationship secret from us all. I suppose she didn’t want him to be put off by her family.’ She sniffed. ‘I was put out she never brought him round to visit. Maybe she thought I’d put him off too. Anyway, her old man must have found out about Ben and they had a blazing row. Carrie walked out, once and for all. She’s never seen eye-to-eye with Leah so it was no surprise. I told her to come round to mine the night she phoned me to say she’d had a massive row and walked out, but she said she was going to stay with Ben. Next thing, she was off to Spain. Didn’t say goodbye. Jumped on a flight with him, and money from his trust fund, and headed to the sunshine.’
