Robbie releases me and looks down at the scrapes. ‘Searching in the woods is a dangerous business when you’re wearing shorts.’ He gulps, then adds: ‘Have you heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘I tried calling, but—’
‘Heard what?’
‘The police raided the changing rooms at college earlier. People are saying they found the clothes Helen was wearing at the party in the woods on Monday night – green top and a black skirt.’
As he says that, I remember that outfit. ‘People are saying lots of things,’ I reply.
‘I know, but… I think this is true. Someone took a picture.’ He fumbles with his phone and shows me the image that was sent to his WhatsApp. The picture is fuzzy but it looks like a police officer holding something green in a see-through bag.
‘I’m not sure what you’re saying,’ I tell him.
He glances away. ‘Ollie…’
‘Why would they associate that with Ollie and not one of the other players?’
‘Because he’s the captain. Some of the players are saying Helen’s clothes were found in the kit room at the back of the changing rooms. It’s where they keep the balls and nets for the goalposts. Only one player has a key for the kit room – and it’s Ollie because he’s the captain.’
It takes me a second to take it in. I don’t believe it. ‘There must be another key – even if it’s kept in the office.’
Robbie bows his head. ‘I don’t know, Ell. Probably – but you’d assume the police would be looking into that.’
As the hours tick by, more and more things are coming out about Ollie. Couple that with the fact he was clearly keeping something from me when we were in his bedroom – and the acceptance when he was arrested – and things are looking bad. There’s a natural reluctance for me to believe my brother could do something like this but it seems so clear that whoever killed Sarah is the same person that abducted Helen – and the same person who drowned me.
Do I really believe that person is Ollie?
‘Anyone could have got access to that kit room,’ I say defiantly. ‘The old captain could have had a key cut, or someone in the office was careless with it.’
Robbie takes a moment to respond. ‘I’m not denying any of that, Ell. You’re right – but the police will know that, too.’
‘They won’t because they’ll know about Sarah last year and they already had Ollie in their sights. They don’t need to look for someone else.’
‘People are saying Helen and Ollie left the party together. They were seen.’
Naomi already said this – and perhaps this was what Ollie didn’t want to tell me in his bedroom. As soon as Mrs James came through the crowd to say Helen was missing, he’d have known that he was one of – if not the – last person to see her. He’d have panicked, unsure whether to tell the police. If no one saw him leaving with Helen, it’d be a secret he could keep; if someone had, they’d be coming for him anyway.
‘Does that mean he was the last person to see her?’ I ask.
‘I guess.’
‘It doesn’t prove anything, though, does it?’
‘I don’t know, Ell.’
‘Isn’t it a massive coincidence that his girlfriend and then a girl he leaves a party with both disappear? He’s already guilty, even though he’s not.’
‘Ell—’
I turn to him. ‘Do you think he did it?’
Robbie stares at me, then past me. ‘I don’t know, Ell.’
‘You know him. You’ve seen what he’s been like all year. With football, you’ve probably seen as much of him as I have.’
‘I know… but if he didn’t do it, then either fate or someone is going out of their way to make it look like he did.’
Neither of us speaks for a while because Robbie’s right. Either Ollie did all this – all of it, including drowning me – or someone else we know is making it look like he did.
It’s a while before either of us are ready to talk again.
‘If he did it,’ Robbie adds, sounding slightly reluctant, ‘why would he keep Helen’s clothes somewhere the police would look? Why would he keep them at all?’
I think about the bracelet in my pocket. If Ollie told me the truth, the one I have belonged to Sarah – but he kept his own. Maybe that’s his thing? He keeps mementoes? Trinkets? I don’t know enough about it. Mum says I’m a hoarder but perhaps it’s a family thing.
Robbie is twiddling his thumbs, something I’ve never noticed him do before. It’s all a bit odd. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he says.
There’s a moment where it feels like the world has frozen. A brief pause in which it feels like he could say anything. Where he might ask why I’m still here, alive and relatively well considering someone drowned me a few days before. Where he might admit to anything.
‘I’ve lost your shoes,’ he adds.
‘Huh?’
‘Your shoes. When we in the car on Saturday night after Helen’s party, you said they were giving you blisters so you took them off. I dropped you off but you said you didn’t want to be left at your door and you didn’t want to carry them either. I didn’t want to argue, so you left them in the car. I don’t know where they are.’
I blink, jigsaw pieces slotting into place. ‘I’ve got them,’ I say. ‘I took them the other night.’
He looks at me, obviously wondering why I didn’t say something. It is strange that I elected to walk barefoot back to the house but I suppose I wasn’t quite acting myself that night given what I got up to with Ben. Those silver shoes are nice but, like many of the best shoes, they hurt like hell. I suppose that explains why I woke in the river barefooted and why my shoes were in Robbie’s car. If I believe Robbie – and I think I do – something happened to me in between him dropping me off at the end of the road and me getting to the front door.
‘I was worried you’d be upset,’ he says.
I laugh humourlessly. ‘Perhaps at one time. Bigger issues now.’
There’s another silence and it feels like we’re strangers.
‘You’re bleeding,’ I say, pointing at Robbie’s leg.
He looks down to where one of the scratches is deeper. A string of blood that hasn’t yet scabbed is slowly dribbling its way down to his sock. Robbie licks his finger and wipes it away.
‘Some of the blokes from the village set up their own search team,’ he says. ‘We’ve been out in the thicker parts of the woods. It’s all thorns and nettles.’
‘Find anything?’
‘Not really. Rubbish. A dead deer.’
I turn away, facing the house where Rochelle the Raven lives. It doesn’t look like anyone’s home, but the village itself feels empty.
‘Can I tell you something?’ I say.
‘Of course.’
‘It’s just there are so many lies and rumours going around at the moment, so I’ll just say it…’
I pause and take a breath, then the words are suddenly on the edge of my tongue. In a moment, they’re out in the open.
‘I kissed Ben on Saturday night,’ I say.
There’s a rush and it feels as if something’s been lifted from me. I feel both better and worse. I wait for the response but Robbie says nothing. I don’t want to see the expression on his face but the silence is so long that I’m drawn to look towards him. His head is slightly bowed, hands on his knees. There’s a small smudge of dirt around his chin and, though his hair is flat today, he’s still striking.
His reply is a whisper. ‘I know.’
It’s me who’s dumbstruck now. ‘You know?’
‘I didn’t know as such but I sensed something when the two of you were on the back seat on the way to the woods on Monday night.’
‘Oh…’
He reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it. I gasp – but only because I can actually feel his warmth. Properly feel it. I’m so used to being cold that anything other than that is a shock.
‘I don’t blame you,’ he says
.
‘Why?’
‘It’s a difficult time. We both know we’re breaking up.’
He releases my hand but puts an arm around me, pulling me to my feet and then hugging me properly. I can feel the warmth of his body and cling to him, not wanting to let go. I want it to last and last but it isn’t long before he pats me on the back and takes a small step away.
‘I’ve got to tell Naomi,’ I say.
He nods slightly. ‘I can’t help you with that, Ell. But if you want to help free Ollie, then I can help with that.’
For a moment, I think he means breaking into the police station. I have a flash of going on the run, action-movie style.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘If Ollie didn’t abduct Helen, then someone else did.’
‘Who?’
‘He’s your brother, my friend. If we both believe him, then someone else put Helen’s clothes in the kit room.’
‘Someone on the football team?’
Robbie shakes his head. ‘People have alibis. It’s all the players have been talking about. Someone could have swiped a key from the office, or had a duplicate, but we’re not going to be able to find that out.’
‘What are you suggesting then?’
‘Before all this happened, everyone in the village was talking about one thing, one person. Now it’s all kinda been forgotten. We need to find that person.’
He sounds firm, decisive, as if it’s obvious.
‘The Hitcher?’ I say.
He nods: ‘The Hitcher.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Setting out to find a person that might not exist is an odd thing to do but it’s not as if I have a better idea. It’s now the afternoon and I’ve not heard anything from Mum all day. I call her, but she’s not answering, so I send a text asking if everything’s okay. I immediately regret it, because everything is clearly not okay – it’s far from it. She’s been at the police station with Ollie since morning. Too late now, though.
Robbie drives us towards Tape Deck but we don’t get that far. We stop in at the petrol station that sits in between Westby and Langham. Somehow, in the era of chains and big businesses, Urquhart’s Fuel & General Store has remained in operation. There is a pair of petrol pumps on the courtyard, each with old-fashioned displays where a set of plastic numbers flip around to show how much has been spent, as opposed to the digital readers in supermarkets. There is a small glass booth at the front, which would have once housed someone to sell the fuel. It is now empty but there’s a sign telling customers to go into the mini-market instead. The yard is dusty and dry, surrounded by rusting metal road signs from the UK and America. The collection is tiled together against the wall of a disused garage, brimming with colour and stories.
We head into the small shop at the side of the station and the air-conditioning immediately makes me shiver. The wall straight ahead is lined with car mats, jump leads, seat covers, plus bottles of car oil and de-icer – which would be an optimistic sell at this time of year. On the other side is row after row of chocolate bars and bags of sweets.
A small man with glasses is sitting behind the counter reading a car magazine. He glances up towards us and then peers out towards the empty forecourt.
‘Can I help?’ he asks.
‘Are you Mr Urquhart?’ I ask.
He nods and puts the magazine down.
‘I was hoping I could ask you about the Hitcher…? The paper said you were one of the people who saw him last week.’
Mr Urquhart removes his glasses and wipes them on his top. He looks from me to Robbie and frowns. ‘I’m not sure I understand why you’re here.’
‘We saw someone, too,’ Robbie says quickly, before I can speak. ‘We’re wondering if it was the same person.’
‘Why?’
Robbie and I look at each other but I have nothing. ‘Because people in the village are still talking about him,’ Robbie says.
‘I told them not to print my name, y’know,’ the garage owner says. ‘Told them it was just some man passing through – that we get them all the time here. If it wasn’t for that post office break-in, nobody would’ve batted an eyelid.’
He sounds grouchy but doesn’t tell us to go. After a moment or two he sighs and puts his glasses back on. He points a thumb towards the area at the rear of the garage that backs onto the woods.
‘Saw him out there,’ he says.
‘What did he look like?’ Robbie asks.
‘Like I told them at the paper, I didn’t see much. Just a man in the shadows, looked like he was walking towards the village. Nothing unusual in that – you young folk are always walking through.’
‘Was there anything recognisable about him? Anything that made you think it wasn’t just someone from the village?’
Mr Urquhart stares at Robbie as if it’s a stupid question. ‘He was tall, real tall – other than that, just normal. I don’t know what the big fuss is about.’
He gives us an are-you-going-to-buy-anything? look and Robbie gets a Snickers bar, possibly out of guilt. We thank him for his time and then start to walk back to Westby along the same path on which the Hitcher was apparently seen. It’s well-trodden and Mr Urquhart was right in that it’s largely used by the younger people in Westby as a way of getting to either Tape Deck or Langham if the bus or a car isn’t an option.
Out next stop is the pharmacy in the village. As we park outside, a handful of people are passing through, walking towards the housing estate on the far side. The search must be over for the day, if not for good. A couple of people look at Robbie and me but nobody says anything.
The pharmacy is family run, owned by a busybody named Mrs McKeith. Her husband died a few years back and there’s a portrait of him behind the counter, which I’ve always found a little creepy – even more so because his picture is directly above the row of condoms. There is no reason to keep condoms behind the counter, of course, other than that Mrs McKeith gets a kick from locals – mainly teenagers, I’d guess – having to ask for them.
She’s probably old enough to retire now but Mrs McKeith has run this shop for as long as I can remember. Even when I was young, I never liked her – and that was when she used to crouch and offer me lollies with a pat on the head. Her shop smells weird, a sort of mix between perfume and detergent and I’ve never been able to separate that from her. She has tight curly grey hair and constantly purses her lips into an O – which shouldn’t be annoying, but really is.
The shop is empty and Mrs McKeith eyes Robbie and me suspiciously. It only lasts a moment and then her features soften – but not naturally, more like she’s forced herself.
‘Oh, my love,’ she says, looking to me, ‘how awful this must all be for you. How is your mother?’
Her forced enthusiasm has taken me by surprise but it’s too late to back down now. ‘She’s fine,’ I say. ‘As you’d expect, I guess.’
‘Oh, but it’s so awful what’s happening with your brother… Have you heard anything…?’
She lets it hang breezily and it reminds me of Rochelle the Raven from across the road. They both operate on different grapevines but the outcome is the same and their mutual currency is gossip.
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ I reply.
Her face falls slightly but she reverts to the fake smile almost immediately. ‘It must be hard on your mother and you, though. How are you both holding up?’
‘We’re okay.’
‘And then there’s the added complication, of course…?’
I know I should ignore her but can’t help myself. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s so unfortunate – but your mother and policeman Jim. It has to complicate things. It’s you I feel sorry for. First your father, then everything that happened with that poor girl a year ago, now this.’
My fists are clenched and I can feel my body tensing, ready to explode, but Robbie strokes the side of my arm, reminding me why we’re here.
‘We were won
dering if we could ask you about the Hitcher,’ Robbie says.
Mrs McKeith turns to him and shivers. ‘Dreadful man. Dreadful. Have you seen him, too?’
Robbie nods but doesn’t speak. Technically he’s not lying, as the nod could’ve been an involuntary twitch.
She glances towards the door as if he might suddenly burst in. ‘Oh, have you told someone?’
‘Not yet,’ he says.
‘Oh, it was awful. I’d gone to the back of the shop to empty my bins and there he was, hanging around in the back alley.’
‘What did he look like?’ Robbie asks.
She strokes her chin. ‘Beard and long hair. Scruffy. Ripped trousers. A proper wrong ’un. You know the type. I’d heard about the post office break-in, of course, and this was the day after.’
‘Do people normally hang around in the alley at the back?’ Robbie asks.
Mrs McKeith takes her time. She’ll have been honing this story ever since she first told it. ‘You get kids running up and down there but there’s no reason for a grown man to be there unless he’s up to no good. I shouted at him, asking what he was doing, and he ran off towards the bridge. You can’t help but wonder if this is all connected.’ She stops and then adds: ‘Is that why you’re here?’
She looks to me again but I daren’t risk saying anything because it’ll be around the village by the time I get out the door. ‘We were just curious,’ I say.
Mrs McKeith turns to Robbie but he doesn’t add anything other than to thank her for her time. She frowns momentarily but quickly hides it again before we leave.
‘What do you reckon?’ Robbie asks when we’re outside.
‘The man at the garage said he was tall. That was the main thing he noticed, yet Mrs McKeith didn’t mention it.’
‘And he didn’t talk about the beard or scruffy trousers. They could be different people.’
It feels like a waste of time but at least we’re doing something.
‘Who else should we visit?’ I ask.
Robbie turns to me and doesn’t say the name. I can tell what he’s thinking because of the way he raises his eyebrows.
The Death and Life of Eleanor Parker_An absolutely gripping mystery novel Page 21
