The Girlfriend: A Josie Cloverfield Detective Novel

by Jack Carteret

  I couldn’t help but think it was a very good thing that we’ve got rid of capital punishment in this country. Murkily, I wondered how many people were wrongly hanged over the years.

  Yeah, I know, not helpful.

  “Ok. Well, keep in touch. I’m going to go into uni this morning, so I’ll catch up with you later. And I’ll see if I can get Dale and Betty to get my mum out of the house. Then we can hide out there again.”

  “Alright, Dude. Well, I’ll ring you after I’ve seen Rich Richard.”

  “Liam, do you think we should still call him that?”

  “Yeah. It suits him.”

  “You’re an idiot.” I said, chuckling.

  “See you later, Dude.” And off he went.

  I managed to get another half-hour of much needed sleep and, after I’d tip-toed to the bathroom and back, I was feeling a bit more optimistic than I had done the night before. There would be something else; some other line of enquiry or place to look.

  I looked at my clothes and realised I would have to wear them again. There was no way I could go home. It was not yet half past eight, and my mum would still be in bed. There was no way she’d be up and out of the house, put it that way.

  I made my way over to the one and only chest of drawers in the room. I could lessen the scruff-bag feeling by borrowing some of Liam’s shorts and socks. I knew he wouldn’t mind.

  As I blundered through the shorts, I nearly laughed out loud when I happened upon a pair of Spiderman underpants. I was very much going to bring that up later, I can assure you. Selecting a very sensible pair of plain shorts, I popped them on.

  Opening the next drawer, I began to rifle through Liam’s socks. There were way too many of those chunky and horribly thick sports socks for men. I would burst right out of my Converse in a pair of them.

  I kept going, feeling sure there must be some normal socks in there somewhere. Finally, I came to a pair of plain black, normal weight socks. With a sense of relief, I sat on the edge of the bed to put them on.

  The first one was fine, but there was something scratchy in the second. With a bit of a huff, I pulled off the second sock and turned it inside out to see what the scratchy problem was.

  As I did so, something fell out and onto the carpet. I picked it up. It was a necklace. With a sudden sick feeling, I realised that I recognised it. It was Hannah’s, and it was broken.

  As I turned it over and over in my hands, all I could think of was Betty confiding in me that the Police had searched for it in Liam’s house on the day they had arrested him. Hannah’s necklace had been ripped from her neck.

  The coroner had said that there was a mark on the back of Hannah’s neck which was consistent with having it pulled off whilst still done up. Wasn’t that what Betty had said? I knew it was, and I wished I didn’t have such a great memory for chunks of conversation.

  The necklace was gold and quite thin. The clasp was still done up, and the chain itself had snapped. My mouth went dry.

  How could Hannah’s necklace be in Liam’s sock? How had the police missed it? For a moment, I was lost in the investigation again. I imagined a burly cop in big, blue overalls tipping out the sock drawer and going through the contents without actually thinking to look inside the socks.

  Even a cursory squeeze of a sock or two wouldn’t have given the necklace’s location away. It was perfectly feasible that it had been missed. Of course, it had been missed. I was missing the point and I knew it; I was missing it on purpose. I didn’t want to think about any of it, but I knew I had to.

  I sat on the edge of Liam’s bed, curiously pondering my feet; I had only one sock on. I was almost immobile, apart from my eyes looking around the room that had barely changed since Liam and I were six years old.

  How could any of this be real? I knew Liam. I knew him as well as I knew myself; didn’t I?

  I could feel my hands shaking, and the trembling reached right inside me, making my stomach feel almost as if it was vibrating.

  I felt hot and sick and utterly devastated. I must be wrong; there must be some kind of mistake. Liam couldn’t choke the life out of somebody.

  He just couldn’t. And then I pictured his face in the torchlight as he’d read Hannah’s last spiteful comments aloud. She’d turned up at his home, and made him shrink to nothing. Liam’s face had struck me that night.

  I’d seen hatred there for the first time. Had something happened that night? The night before she disappeared, when Hannah turned up unexpectedly and sat on the very bed I was sitting on.

  Had she said or done something that night which had brewed the hatred I’d seen on my best friend’s face? Had she pushed him?

  I couldn’t believe I was about to start making excuses for him. Liam wouldn’t be any less guilty of murder just because I loved him so much.

  Finally, the tears began to make their way through the shock, and they flowed like open taps. I began to shake in earnest, but I knew I had to get out of there. I had to find Liam; confront him. I had to know for sure.

  And then it came to me; a way to know for sure. I took my phone and opened Facebook. Not knowing if the profile would still be there, I was amazed to find that the Police had not made any moves to get it removed.

  I sent a friend request to Dirty Harry. He accepted it within minutes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sitting on the bus, heading for Weatherby Road, I could hardly believe I was holding it together. Sitting at the very back, I scanned the Facebook private messages again and again. Dirty Harry had sent the first message; he’d sent it within seconds of our friendship being confirmed by Facebook.

  “Hello Josie.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Meet me. Now.”

  “Where?”

  “Where you left her.”

  “Ok. But no police. I’ll know and I’ll bolt. You come alone or not at all.”

  “I won’t call them. I want to speak to you. I want you to explain.”

  “Alright. And remember, no Police. I’m watching you.”

  That final line; I’m watching you. I remembered the morning I had seen it on my bathroom mirror. Liam had been the first person I’d told.

  When the intruder had been in my house, I’d assumed Liam was still with the police. It wasn’t until the next day he’d told me he’d been released, but had fallen asleep on his bed.

  So tired, he hadn’t even undressed. And I’d believed him. Why wouldn’t I?

  Instead, he’d let himself into my house. He’d known my mum was a nightmare when it came to locking up.

  He’d gone straight for the kitchen door the night he’d been released for the second time, hadn’t he? But was that really possible? Had Liam really done that? Had my best friend really tried to scare me out of my wits?

  Everything seemed to add up horribly. I felt sick again.

  I knew I’d be safe with him, as strange as that sounds. Even if he had murdered his girlfriend, I knew Liam would never hurt me.

  I needed to know why, and I knew he’d tell me. It had to be there, in the place where I’d found Hannah’s body. It had to be in the place he’d killed her, because I needed to see remorse.

  Liam had to hate what he’d done, or everything in my world would have been built on as much of a lie as Hannah’s life had been.

  When I stepped off the bus, I was physically shaking. I felt hollow, like my insides had been completely scooped out, leaving me just a husk in a duffle coat.

  This time, when I looked up and down Weatherby Road for any sign of a witness, I found myself completely alone; no hovering about or touring around the block waiting for my chance.

  I slipped through the gap in the overgrown foliage and fencing with ease. As I strode across the waste ground, I looked at my feet; I watched every step, almost as if I was looking at somebody else’s feet entirely.

  I couldn’t help but think that the next few minutes would change my life forever; if I sto
pped now, if I did and said nothing, would things go on as they always had? No, of course they wouldn’t.

  Nothing would ever be the same again.

  I walked into the derelict building with confidence. I was quite surprised that the Police had released the scene of crime so early. Maybe there really was nothing more to gain from this place.

  I suppose it wasn’t like searching a house, with crammed drawers and cupboards and attics. There was nothing here. Apart from the odd chair, bit of paperwork, and occasional desk, there was nothing.

  I stopped briefly in the doorway, noting that I was nowhere near as afraid as I had been on the day I had first wandered into this awful place. Stupid, really, since I was about to be faced with a killer. I strode up the stairs, knowing I could not put off the inevitable any longer.

  I pushed the door open and looked in. The room was exactly as it had been on that awful day, except that Hannah was not there.

  Nobody was there. I stood staring in silence as waited, leaning all my weight against the back wall. I faced the door resolutely, ready to face the killer of Hannah Davenport.

  Finally, I heard footsteps downstairs.

  I wasn’t scared, not for a moment, but I was more heartbroken than I had ever been in my life. It seemed almost as if he was walking in slow motion, and it took an age before he finally appeared in the doorway.

  For the last few seconds, I had been hoping to see almost anyone but my best friend. When I finally focused on the person in front of me, the tears flew down my face. It really was Liam.

  “Dude, why did you come here?” He said, almost scowling at me.

  “You know why. You got my message. I know what you did.”

  “I saw your message.” Liam said, looking at me oddly. “But I don’t know what it is you think I did.”

  “The necklace. I found it in your sock.”

  “My sock? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Hannah’s broken necklace was inside one of your socks in your drawer. I found it when I went in for socks.”

  “Dude, you’re wearing my socks?” Liam’s eyebrows rose comically. I almost laughed. It was so very like Liam to pick up on totally the wrong thread. Even now.

  “Missing the point, Liam.”

  “Ok, how did Hannah’s necklace get inside my sock?”

  “You tell me.” I said, darkly.

  “Well how would I….? Oh, wait a minute….. you think I….. God Almighty, Dude!” He finished on a squeaky high note of the kind I hadn’t heard since his voice had properly broken.

  “Well, you are Dirty Harry. And you’re here, aren’t you.”

  “I’m here, you duffle-coated buffoon, because you contacted Dirty Harry. I couldn’t believe it. I could actually kill you for being so reckless.”

  “What?” I said, suddenly confused.

  “Facebook notification pinged on my mobile. Josie and Dirty Harry are now friends! Seriously, Dude?”

  “Oh, so you’re not Dirty Harry?” I felt a burgeoning hope.

  “Of course I’m not, you fool.”

  “So how did you know I’d be here?” I said, with more accusation in my voice than I had intended.

  “Because I hacked straight in to your account and checked your messages.”

  “How?”

  “Duh! You use your postcode for every password, like, ever, for one thing. And for another, you’re not the only smarty pants in the whole wide world.” Liam started off annoyed, then slipped into oddly interested. “Also, the idea that you were about to get yourself murdered suddenly cleared my brain of the extraneous nonsense that’s normally in there. I was, like, totally focused. I suppose that’s what it’s like to be Josie Cloverfield. It was cool, and a bit weird. To be honest, I prefer being me to you. Anyway, the point is, I had a flash of inspiration, Dude, and here I am.”

  “Oh wow! Well done old bean!” I said, and rushed to hug him.

  I was so relieved that I can’t even begin to explain how it felt. It was like I’d had my whole world handed back to me and I suddenly realised just how brilliant it really was. All of it, from eating Euro-Saver crisps to having a drunken, unreliable parent. I had Liam, and he made everything brilliant.

  “You totally thought I was a throat-squeezing murderer, didn’t you?” Liam said, as I buried my face into his chest.

  “No. I…….” What was the point in denying it? “Well, yes, I did. But I was really, really shocked, if that’s any consolation? It’s not like I thought it all along.”

  “Absolutely no consolation whatsoever, Miss Marple.” Liam hugged me really tightly, until there came a noise from downstairs.

  “What the hell?” I whispered to Liam.

  “The killer!” He hissed, reminding us both why we were there. “Sounds like he’s fallen over! I’m going to get down there before he comes round!”

  “Liam!” I squawked at his departing back.

  “I’m not going to prison for murder, Josie.” And he cantered off down the stairs.

  By the time I had made it half way, I heard another dull thump, followed by a crash. I ran, jumping down the last four steps and racing in the direction of the noise. Liam was face down on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his head.

  I dropped to my knees beside him and gently tried to prod at his neck for a pulse. As I did so, I heard a step behind me. Slowly, I turned to look at the real killer of Hannah Davenport.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The fluffy mink-coloured gillet was unmistakable. Well, she hadn’t been on my list of suspects. Standing there, holding a crow bar in one hand and a really big knife in the other, Kellie smirked at me.

  Slowly I rose to my feet, and stood to face her. The coolness of her gaze was so horribly familiar and, as she slowly looked me up and down, taking in everything from my plimsoles to my duffle coat, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was so shocked that even my scalp tingled.

  “Hannah?” I said, and heard my voice tremble.

  “Well done, Charity Shop!” She said, in the cut glass tones of the woman who had allegedly been murdered. “But I must admit, when you sent me that stupid message, I really thought you’d worked it out then.”

  “No, I hadn’t.”

  “So, who did you think I was?” She said, with a sneer.

  “Liam.” I answered truthfully, because I was just too stunned not to.

  My brain was whirring with the possibilities. I looked down at Liam; I couldn’t see any movement whatsoever.

  As I looked back up at Hannah, I suddenly lost all fear. If my friend was dead, I would find a way to disarm Hannah, and then kill her for real.

  “He needs an ambulance.” I said, looking back down at him.

  “No, he doesn’t. Ambulances are for the living.” She was smirking again.

  “If he’s dead, you’re dead.”

  “Oh please, I’m armed and you are useless!” She scoffed.

  “So useless that I found your body here?” I realised how daft that sounded.

  I also realised that it was poor Kellie who had been murdered and left here. A girl I liked; a girl I had never met!

  “Yes, and you did it very well. In the end, I was glad that you stole my diary from the canal path. That idiot Detective Thorn would never have worked it out. When I saw my mother throw the damn thing over the fence, I thought it was all over. Trust her. She’d probably seen the rebellion stuff and nudity bit and wanted to keep up appearances. Good old Mummy! Still, I needed the police to find it. I’d gone to such great lengths to come up with all the little clues to lead them to my dead body. The Facebook accounts and the email address needed to be looked at, especially after I’d put so much effort into them.”

  “You wanted them to find her?” I said, incredulously.

  “It was imperative. I needed Hannah Davenport to be found dead. That was the whole point.”

  “To make your parents suffer by killing their daughter?” I couldn’t believe what an appalling human being s
he really was. “And then you followed me? You broke in to my house?”

  “Your house, yes. Eeek. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d had to follow you from the canal, I had to enter the pit of despair that is your humble abode.” Hannah made a huge display of quivering revulsion. “Yes. I needed the police to have the diary. I just didn’t ever find a way of getting it to them after I’d taken it from you. Still, never mind. You’d read it, I presume, and worked it out. It probably worked out for the best in the end, huh? Well done again, Charity Shop.”

  “That’s the last time you call me that.” I said, and meant it.

  My fear was staying away, and I was feeling a bit full of myself.

  “Whatever.” She said, smirking.

  “Whatever? Seriously? You act bored and unmoved, but you killed your own cousin! What did Kellie do to deserve that?”

  “Nothing. She just really, really looked like me. It was so fortuitous.” She was grinning again and turning the knife over and over in her hand.

  Alright, I did go a bit sweaty just then.

  “And that was it? Jesus! How could you?”

  “Well, if she had stayed away from my Grandma’s funeral and kept her mouth shut about my mother’s past activities, then I wouldn’t have needed to punish my parents, and Kellie would still be alive; living out her miserable chav existence in that vile pub.”

  “You killed Kellie and you’re actually blaming her for it?”

  Suddenly, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t let Hannah know, or she would lunge at me, so I did a truly sensation impression of a person doubling over in complete disbelief. Really, I did.

  As I made a display of pulling myself together, I peered over to the window, and saw the beautiful, slightly terrifying face of PC Betty Butler. Oh wow! She had come to save me. The lioness was coming to rescue the gormless little cub.

  Betty worked her hand, almost as if she were operating a glove puppet, and I quickly realised that she wanted me to keep Hannah talking.

  “I did her a favour. You saw that place yourself. Oh, and the clothes! She made you look well dressed.” Hannah gave the braying laughter which had been the audio accompaniment to my lunchtimes for weeks.