Page 52 of Good Girl, Bad Blood

‘Yep. Family live on Cedar Way. Jamie went to Kilton Grammar, with Andie and Sal.’

‘Missing since when?’ he asked.

‘It says there.’ Pip’s voice rose impatiently. Mary’s chair creaked as she leaned closer to listen in. ‘Last seen around eight o’clock at the memorial, until I learn more about his movements. I saw you taking photos, could you email those to me?’

‘Er, yes, OK. Police?’ asked Stanley.

‘A missing person report has been filed,’ she replied. ‘Police response is non-existent right now. So, it’s just me. That’s why I need your help.’ She smiled, pretending like she didn’t resent having to ask.

‘Missing since the memorial?’ Stanley thought aloud. ‘That’s only, like, a day and a half, right?’

‘Thirty-seven and a half hours,’ she said.

‘That’s not very long, is it?’ He lowered the page.

‘Missing is missing,’ she countered. ‘And the first seventy-two hours are critical, especially if you suspect foul play.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The family do too. So, will you help? Can you print that notice tomorrow?’

Stanley looked up for a moment, eyes spooling as he considered it. ‘Suppose I can move the article about the potholes until next week.’

‘Is that a yes?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’ll make sure it goes in.’ He nodded, tapping the poster. ‘Though I’m sure he’ll turn up OK.’

‘Thank you, Stanley.’ She returned his polite smile. ‘I really appreciate that.’ She pivoted on the heel of her trainers to leave, but Stanley’s voice stopped her as she reached the door.

‘Mysteries always seem to find their way to you, don’t they?’

Ten

The doorbell was shrill, splitting your ears the same way as a scream. Pip withdrew her finger, restoring quiet to the white-bricked terraced house. She hoped this was the right house, this was the one they’d told her: number thirteen Beacon Close, dark red door.

An aggressively white BMW sports car sat in the drive, throwing the morning sun back into Pip’s eyes, blinding her.

She was about to ring the bell again, when she heard a sliding bolt. The door swung inwards and a man appeared in the gap, screwing his eyes against the brightness outside. This must have been the new boyfriend, then. He was wearing a crisp white jumper – black Adidas track marks up the arms – and a pair of dark basketball shorts.

‘Yeah?’ he said gruffly, voice crackling like he’d not long been awake.

‘Hello,’ Pip said brightly. The man had a tattoo across the front of his neck, the grey ink stark against his white skin in symmetrical repeating shapes that looked a little like scales. A flock of birds emerged from the pattern, flying up the side of his face and into his brown close-shaved hair. Pip returned her gaze to his eyes. ‘Um, is Nat da Silva in? I just asked at her parents’ house and her mum said she’d probably be here.’

‘Yeah she’s in,’ he sniffed. ‘You a friend of hers?’

‘Yes,’ Pip said, which was a lie, but it was easier to say than:No she still hates me even though I keep trying to make her not hate me. ‘I’m Pip . . . Fitz-Amobi. Can I come in? I need to talk to her about something quite urgent.’

‘Yeah, I guess. It’s kinda early,’ he said, stepping back and gesturing for her to follow. ‘I’m Luke. Eaton.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Pip closed the front door and followed Luke around the bend in the corridor, into the kitchen at the back.

‘Nat, friend of yours,’ Luke said as they entered.

The room was square, kitchen counters in an L-shape on one side, the other filled with a large wooden table. On one end of the table was what looked like a stack of money, the pile weighted down by BMW car keys. And on the other end sat Nat da Silva, a bowl of cereal in front of her. She was wearing what must have been one of Luke’s jumpers, her dyed white hair brushed to one side.

She dropped her cereal-loaded spoon and it clattered noisily against the bowl.

‘What do you want?’ she said.