The Girlfriend: A Josie Cloverfield Detective Novel

by Jack Carteret

  I’ll be honest, my heart rate doubled, if not tripled. Could it be a clue? I felt like Columbo or Magnum PI or something, just for a moment. Of course, if it wasn’t for the daytime TV flog-em-till-they’re-dead channels, I wouldn’t have a clue who these people were. Still, that’s what I felt like just then, so there it is.

  Anyway, as I leaned in close, I could see that the book was wedged into the spikey tendrils of the shrub, like it had landed hard and gone deep. Once I had stared for long enough, I realised that I could learn no more without actually touching it.

  So, it’s fair to say that I had reached some kind of pivotal moment. Firstly, if I took this book away, assuming it was Hannah’s, then I would be removing vital evidence which might help to find Hannah. Secondly, I could get into absolutely massive trouble for it.

  As I crouched there on the canal tow-path in an agony of indecision, I suddenly pictured the look on Liam’s face as he’d been marched out of the university canteen by two of the most careless oafs on God’s green earth.

  In a heartbeat, I’d dug my woollen mittens out of my rucksack, aiming for forensically aware. I thrust my hands into them, and picked the book out of the thorny foliage before stowing it away in my bag. Without looking to see if it was even Hannah’s, I quickly looked around me, then stood up and set off at speed.

  My heart was hammering wildly. It wasn’t too late to simply turn back and fling the book back into the undergrowth, and yet I couldn’t. As I tore along the canal bank, I justified my actions like this; one, Liam had been treated like dirt, and two, if I found anything helpful in it, I would call the police and tell them I had innocently found the book on the canal path when I was out for a walk. Simple. Unbelievable, but simple.

  As soon as I got back on the bus, I decided to head for the university campus. I still didn’t know if the diary was Hannah’s; I was too scared to even open my rucksack in front of witnesses. Anyway, if the diary was Hannah’s, then I needed a plan. I knew I would have to either return it to where I had found it, or hand it in to the police.

  Whatever method I chose, I didn’t have long. Instead of hurriedly trying to read through the diary, I decided I would photocopy it in the university reprographics suite, ridiculously posh name for photocopying room, then I would have a backup copy to read at my leisure.

  Time was rolling on. My adventures had taken me into the late afternoon, and activity on the campus was dying down. I was overjoyed to find that there was nobody in reprographics when I got there. No doubt the rest of the Grantstone students had better things to do late on a Tuesday afternoon!

  It took me a long time to photocopy the whole thing from end to end, and I’d had to put an extra three pounds on my photocopy card, which ordinarily would have made me hyperventilate.

  More than once I was tempted to scan through the book and see if there was anything attributable to Hannah. However, time was of the essence and my nerves were jangling like wind-chimes. I just got on with it, turning the pages, closing the lid, pressing the green copy button. Repeat until fade.

  By the time I got home, it was after eight o’clock and I was exhausted. I wanted to look through the diary desperately, but knew I wouldn’t take anything in until I’d eaten something and had a little rest.

  Pleased that there was still no sign of my mum or Snatcher Harris anywhere, I shot upstairs and began to run a bath. Whilst the water was running, I took my rucksack into my room and emptied out the little diary and the chunky copy I had made. I stowed the photocopy in my desk drawer and laid the diary on top of the desk.

  I didn’t want it to come into too much contact with my own things, although I knew deep down there must be some traces of me on it somewhere. I felt a little bit nauseous as the realisation dawned that I would probably have to actually take the book into the police, rather than leave it where I had found it.

  If there was any tiny trace of me on it, I could never find a way to explain. Still, I would worry about that when I had eaten and rested. My head was too mashed for any more thoughts.

  With the bath run, I shot back downstairs to boil the kettle and make myself a tasty and nutritious pot of Euro-Saver instant noodles to eat in the bath. Yummy.

  I laid in the bath until after ten o’clock. The water was almost cold by the time I rose up out of it like a big, wrinkled raisin.

  Once I was dried and pyjama clad, I let my hair dry naturally. I decided I would go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea, then drink it in bed whilst I read through the photocopied book.

  As I began to make my way out of the room, my eyes flew to my desk. It was empty. The little diary had gone. My heart suddenly began to thump. I looked on the floor all around the desk, hoping that it had somehow just fallen. Still, I knew that just wasn’t possible; I had left the diary on the middle of the desk.

  It would have had to come to life and leap off the desk of its own accord. Pointlessly, I turned and turned again, looking all around my room for any sign of it. I knew it was ridiculous.

  As my hands began to sweat, I reached for the desk drawer, praying that the photocopied version was still inside. It was. So, I was left wondering where the hell the diary had gone. I was exhausted, and I was having a bit of trouble thinking in a straight line. Then there came a noise from downstairs.

  It sounded like a tread on the creaky bottom step. My heart nearly stopped there and then. Was someone going down, or was someone coming up? Suddenly all fatigue fell away, and I was as sharp and aware as a frightened meerkat. I strained to listen for any further sounds over the ragged whistle of my own breathing.

  After several seconds of vigilant listening, not another sound came. It was, quite literally, silent. And yet, I had the awful, creeping sensation that I was not alone in the house.

  Suddenly I thought of my mum and nearly laughed out loud at my own stupidity.

  She’d probably just come back from Snatcher’s place. It would not be unlike her to take something from my room, even a diary. I thought there might be a very good chance she was downstairs right then reading through the book in a fog of confusion. And yet….I had never known my mum to do anything quietly.

  If she had walked back into the house, the television would already be blaring, she would be shouting up the stairs to me and there would be all sorts of other disruption going on all around her. I knew it couldn’t be her. I felt suddenly so scared that I was rooted to the spot.

  If it wasn’t my mum, then who was it? If someone had broken in, why just take the diary, unless…..? I couldn’t even finish that thought. Surely it was a huge, overly imaginative leap to think that the person who may well have taken Hannah against her will was actually in my house.

  I felt sick and sweaty. I wanted to call the police, but what would I say? I think Hannah’s kidnapper came into my house and stole the diary I pinched from under the very noses of the Grantstone Constabulary! Perhaps I could just say there was an intruder? But it all felt too complicated.

  It wasn’t a big policing area and whoever turned up would no doubt realise my connection to Liam. Maybe I would make things even worse for him somehow?

  I wondered where Liam was. I silently pulled my phone out of my rucksack and checked for messages. There was nothing there, so I had to assume he was still at the police station. Nonetheless, I sent him a hastily typed text anyway.

  “Liam, are you out yet? Can you come to mine?”

  I knelt on the floor clutching the phone as I waited for a response. I turned the phone on to silent, just in case a noisy beep would alert the intruder to my presence. But, of course, the intruder, if indeed there had been one, would have known I was here. I had been sploshing about in the bath and there were lights on throughout the upstairs.

  After five minutes of silent kneeling, I got no response from Liam. I thought about Dale Webb, but if I called his mobile, he would probably call the job in to the police station and I would be back at the start of my internal debate.

  Then I remembered Rich Richa
rd, before realising that he probably lived miles away. Anyhow, a smart young lad wandering about on the Moss Park estate was likely to be spotted with the same keenness employed by sharks scenting blood. He would be easy meat in my world.

  In the end, I decided I would act for myself. Feeling suddenly more alone than I had ever done in my life, I looked about for a weapon. Finding only the hefty An Introduction to Thermodynamics, I picked it up. It would have to do. I then dialled 999 on my phone, but didn’t press the call button. I planned to creep downstairs and, if I found someone there, I would quite literally throw the book at him, then press the call button on my phone and start yelling for help.

  As I silently crept down the stairs, the book sliding about in my sweaty hand and my thumb hovering over the call button on my phone, I though what would Betty do? One thing was for sure, Betty wouldn’t be shaking like a leaf. Betty would have just charged down the stairs and rugby-tackled the intruder to the floor. Ok, maybe I wasn’t ready for the big leagues just then. I would have to work at trying to be Betty another day.

  Once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I stopped to listen. Nothing. I crept through the kitchen and into the living room. Again, nothing. I forced myself to silently tip-toe to the sofa and peep along the space at the back where it leaned against the wall. Ok, the intruder would have needed to be pretty skinny, but I wanted to be really, really sure.

  Once I had checked behind the long door curtain which hung in the tiny entrance porch, I felt more comfortable. Instead of proceeding by the dim light provided by the streetlamps, I finally started to switch lights on everywhere.

  Putting An Introduction to Thermodynamics down, I kept hold of the phone, and began to open every cupboard in the house, even tiny kitchen cupboards, as if my intruder was one of the Borrowers.

  Once I was certain I was alone in the house, I started to look for how this person had got in. I was able to think again and knew, really knew, that there must have been an intruder whilst I was in the bath, and it had been that intruder who had taken the diary.

  The very fact that I had heard them on the creaky bottom step, presumably leaving, meant that they must surely have been upstairs with me when I had gone into my bedroom and discovered the diary gone. I reasoned that, whoever it was, had heard me getting ready to come out of the bathroom and had maybe ducked into my mum’s bedroom out of the way. If I had come out of the bathroom any sooner, I would probably have found them in my room. We’d have come face to face.

  That realisation hit me like a brick, and I found I was suddenly so shocked that I could hardly breath. I started to take in huge breaths, each of which ripped at my dry throat and made awful shrieking noises. In the end, my head felt full and numb all at once, and I could feel my eyesight dimming. Quickly, I dropped purposefully to my knees. There was just no way I was going to faint. No way!

  After about five minutes of this, I began to return to normal. Well, physically normal anyway. I very much doubted my troubled mind would ever be the same again.

  Once I was back on my feet, I checked the front door. It was locked tight, just the way I had left it when I came in from uni hours earlier. The back door in the kitchen was a different story. Whilst it was firmly closed, it was not locked.

  I quickly found the key on the kitchen counter and locked myself in. I hadn’t used that door for weeks. Had me or my mum left it unlocked? Mum tended to use the back door and, being rarely sober, she didn’t always lock it. Had I been in the house alone for nearly two weeks with a totally unlocked back door? My brain was aching as it whirled with a full-house of possibilities.

  In the end, I made myself a cup of tea. I propped chairs in front of both doors, not realistically to keep someone out, but so that the clatter as they fell would provide me with some kind of early warning system. If whoever it was came back, then I would be calling for the police immediately and to hell with the explanations.

  As I climbed into bed with my tea, I noted that it was half past eleven. I had spent almost an hour and a half on red-alert. My body ached and my head throbbed, yet I knew I would get no sleep. I thought about reading through the photocopy, but my poor shredded nerves just couldn’t stand it.

  That would be a daylight-hours job, and one which I would do in the university library the next day, in the complete privacy of one of the single booths in the silent study area.

  In the end, I did, amazingly, manage to get some sleep. I woke up at seven and plodded about my room, trying to get the events of the previous evening straight in my tired brain. Despite the two-hour bath, I had done so much sweating and shaking in the hours which followed that I thought a shower would put me to rights. If nothing else, it would sharpen me up a bit.

  I laid out my clothes on my bed and headed to the bathroom.

  I stood under the shower for twenty minutes, partly to wake me up and partly because it just trickles out and it takes that long to get a proper soaking.

  When I finally emerged, the room was full of steam. I opened the bathroom window onto the cold January morning and hoped I wouldn’t get pneumonia. Seriously, a lack of sleep always makes me negative and fatalistic.

  As the steam began to clear, I was finally able to see again, and deemed it safe to close the window. On my way out of the bathroom, I caught sight of the mirrored front of the elderly wall cabinet. Once again, I was almost floored by fear.

  As the steam in the bathroom had condensed on the mirror, the words “I’m Watching You” appeared with horrible clarity.

  Chapter Four

  By the time I’d made it onto the first bus I was pretty much a gibbering wreck. I’m Watching You….. It was like something from a horror movie. As sayings go, it’s right up there with You’re Next…

  I’d cantered out of the house as soon as I was dressed and had stuffed the photocopy into my rucksack. No flask, no sandwiches, no Euro-Saver crisps; I would have to buy or starve, simple as that.

  Once I’d got off bus number two outside the university, I felt safe. There was just something about the campus that felt like home. Real home. What a great shame they wouldn’t let me have a bed there.

  Anyway, I went straight into the canteen and bought, yes bought, a cup of tea and some toast. It was only just nine o’clock, and I was their first customer of the day. The lady on the till looked me up and down with a certain amount of curiosity. She recognised me, of course, as that girl who always sat so close to the counter but never actually bought anything. You know the one, her with the flask….

  I tore through the toast in no time at all; fear had really given me an appetite. As my tea was cooling down to red-hot-magma levels – you’ve got to love polystyrene – I decided to call Dale Webb and find out what the hell Grantstone Constabulary had done with my best friend. I’m pretty sure that people don’t help police with their enquiries overnight.

  “Hello.”

  “Dale, sorry to bother you, It’s Josie.”

  “Hi Josie. You Ok?”

  “Yes, I’m good thanks.” Apart from a thieving intruder leaving threatening messages on my bathroom mirror, everything’s tickety-boo.

  “How’s Liam doing?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you. When are they going to let him out?”

  “They already did, Josie. He left the nick about tea-time yesterday.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Uh, yeah Josie.”

  “Thanks Dale.”

  “Look, don’t be too hard on him. I’m guessing he was maybe not in the mood to talk last night. He looked kind of knackered when I saw him.”

  “Ok, I’ll be gentle. Look, thanks for that and sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Anytime Josie, I told you. And you’re not bothering me.”

  “Thanks Dale. See you later.”

  “See you Josie.”

  I risked a swig of tea and found the temperature to be almost bearable. So, Liam had been released about the same time as I was photocopying the little book. And Dale had sai
d he looked exhausted, so I guessed he must have been asleep when I’d sent him my SOS message, live from the scene of the unfolding drama at my place.

  It was no use. However much I tried to be Miss Magnanimity, I found myself falling flat. I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit hurt. I mean, I know I hadn’t put come quick, there’s an intruder and I think he’s gonna kill me, but still my text had a certain air of urgency about it.

  Not to mention the fact that I’d asked him to call me as soon as he got out. Don’t get me wrong, Liam’s a free man and he can wander about at will without checking in with me, but on this occasion, I’d been seriously worried about him. Not only that, but I’d taken liberties with a police radio, snooped around at a police search, and stole what very well might turn out to be evidence.

  All in all, I thought my hurt little feelings had every right to be parading about somewhere between my solar plexus and chest cavity. At that moment, my mobile rang.

  “Morning Dude.” Liam’s sleepy voice was unmistakable.

  “Oh, good morning. How’s the breakfast in police custody this morning?”

  “The sausage is kind of rubbery but the scrambled eggs are better than I get at home.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m sorry Dude. I got home last night and just laid down on my bed for five minutes. Anyway, next thing I knew it was, well, now. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes.”

  “Oh, you crusty git.”

  “I just saw your text. What’s so important?”

  “I don’t know where to start. I’ve got loads to tell you. What time are you coming in?”

  “Coming in where?”

  “Uni, you plumb.”

  “Oh, Dude. There’s no way. I just can’t face all that crap, I had enough insinuation to last me a lifetime yesterday in the police station.”