Kiss Her Goodbye: The most addictive thriller you'll read this year Page 5

  ‘Robson can’t base it all round Hoddle when we get to Mexico,’ Nick continues, but I don’t listen. His voice becomes background noise as I look down Nangreave Road. It’s a quiet street off the main road, with the cemetery in the middle, and it’s the last place Kirsten was seen. We haven’t had statements from all Kirsten’s teachers and I want to talk to the students that knew her. As I make my way towards reception, I recognise the girl from the river.

  Nick leans in towards the receptionist. I’m used to the way that his eyes go from one woman to the next wherever we go and I know he’ll chat her up before he does anything else. It’s something that we’d laugh about once. I miss the carefree days when Moira Timperley worked in the café on Saturdays and I was oblivious of what was to come with Tom. That time was sugar-coated and false though.

  ‘Hayley?’

  She pauses for a moment and I wonder if she’s heard me, but as I’m about to repeat it she turns around.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Did Dr Tibbs tell you I was coming in?’

  Hayley swallows and smiles. ‘She mentioned it.’

  ‘Can I borrow you, then?’ I look over at the receptionist. ‘Same room as last time?’

  She nods without looking. ‘Help yourself.’

  ‘My bus is due in five minutes,’ Hayley says.

  ‘We can give you a lift back if you’re stuck. We’ll be going that way.’

  She looks at Nick and then back at me.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. I can’t be long though.’

  I leave Nick to arrange interviewing the teachers and make my way down the corridor.

  When we get to the room, I open the blinds and the light shines over the dusty shelves. The scent of cut grass through the window reminds me of Tom; he always loved that smell and as the tractor moves up and down the field, I wonder what he’s doing now.

  Hayley looks around as though she’s nervous.

  ‘Been by the river much?’ I ask.

  ‘Nah. Feels creepy down there now.’

  I nod for her to sit down as I open up my notebook.

  ‘Kirsten drowned so what are you here for?’

  ‘You didn’t think so the other day,’ I reply.

  ‘Yeah, well…’ she pushes her fingers through her hair ‘…that was before.’

  ‘What’s changed?’

  ‘Everyone said what happened. She was upset so…’

  I wait for her to say more, but she doesn’t. She leans in towards my notebook and I close the cover.

  ‘You used to get the bus home together? Is that right?’

  Hayley crinkles her nose. ‘We got the same bus. Not together though.’

  She takes her time.

  I nod. ‘What about the day she went missing?’

  She speaks without emotion. ‘Maxine Turner made her cry. She probably followed her home.’

  ‘Did you see them leave?’

  ‘I just saw Kirsten go. At about 2.00 p.m.’

  I nod. ‘And what did you do then?’

  ‘Went to the library, then home. Mum was in a bad mood because Mike was late home from work.’ She pauses. ‘He’s her new boyfriend.’ Hayley looks me straight in the face. ‘He’s a creep.’

  ‘Did you see Kirsten again after that?’

  I watch her to see if she’s lying, but she looks me square in the eye and doesn’t flinch. ‘No.’

  I ask her more questions, but they didn’t know each other. They just got the same bus.

  ‘Can you think of anything else?’ I ask.

  She sighs. ‘This is all too late.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Someone should have stopped the bullying.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ I tell her.

  ‘She couldn’t take any more. It’s always the same. No one listens.’

  It feels as if she’s talking about herself more than Kirsten.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Maxine Turner bullied her into suicide.’

  I’m not sure what to make of her. Despite the fact that she’s answered everything, I can tell that she’s not comfortable. I write down my telephone number and pass it to her.

  ‘Ring me if you remember anything else. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.’

  She nods and puts it in her pocket.

  ‘Is that it?’

  I’ve done this long enough to know that she won’t give me anything else today.

  ‘Hayley…’ I pause ‘…thanks for your time.’

  I get the same vague answers from the other girls I speak to, as if they’re describing a photograph of someone they’ve never met, all surface and nothing else.

  When Maxine Turner arrives in her white, fitted, leather jacket and newly applied lipstick she couldn’t be more different from the plain-looking Kirsten. She sits on the edge of the chair and taps her suede tucker boots together as though she’s nervous.

  ‘Just want to ask you a few questions about Kirsten Green.’

  As I mention her name, Maxine pretends to cry. ‘It wasn’t just me.’

  I wait until she stops and take an immediate dislike to the girl who bullied Kirsten. She wipes an invisible tear from under her eye and looks up at me.

  ‘What happened that day?’ I ask her.

  ‘She had blood on her leggings. It was disgusting.’ She blinks, as though I will understand. I look back blankly.

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘Nothing much. She ran off.’

  I picture Maxine’s sneer as Kirsten walked away in tears.

  ‘It wasn’t nothing to her.’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  Maxine looks at her feet and I let the silence sit long enough for her to start sniffling again. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and I wonder if she really is sorry. A line of wet snot glistens on the back of her hand as she rests it on her lap.

  ‘Did you follow her out of college?’

  She looks up at me and frowns. ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t follow her down to the river?’

  Her face drops and the colour goes from her cheeks as she realises what I’m asking. ‘No! I went to Beth’s to watch a film. Mr Phillips gave it to us. Tale of Two Cities.’

  ‘Beth?’

  ‘Beth Evans. Mr Phillips dropped us home and got us chips.’

  I make a note to speak to Mr Phillips and put a line under his name.

  ‘What does he teach?’

  She blushes and clenches her fists. ‘English.’

  ‘Can you wait in here for a minute?’ I ask, before I get the receptionist to find Beth Evans. I want to make sure that she has the same story before Maxine speaks to her, but I don’t have to wait long. She’s already outside in the corridor. The story is the same from her. It doesn’t seem that Maxine Turner or her friends were with Kirsten Green by the river that day.

  As I speak to more pupils I hear the same things over and over again. ‘She was a loner.’ ‘She didn’t want to mix with anyone.’ ‘She kept herself to herself.’ It makes me wonder if Nick was right about what happened. Kirsten Green was a ghost along these corridors long before she died and by the time the afternoon is over, the fifteen girls I’ve spoken to haven’t told me anything new.

  Nick has finished interviewing the teachers and I wonder how thorough he’s been when I see him already waiting in reception. The receptionist barely notices me as I walk over; instead she curls a strand of her hair around her finger and stares at Nick. She looks startled as I put my visitor’s pass on the pile of unfolded letters in front of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  Nick winks at her as we leave and I give her a pitying nod goodbye.

  ‘How did it go? Anything?’ he asks.

  I want to tell him that I’ve got something new, but I haven’t.

  ‘No, but I’m still not convinced it was a suicide.’

  He sighs. ‘Let’s grab some food before we head off.’

  We walk out of the double doors and back
towards the road. At the side of the college, a skinny man with a mullet and moustache is standing in the car park with one of the students. He’s dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. As he opens his boot, he says something that makes her laugh. Even from this far away I can see that he’s flirting.

  ‘That’s Mr. Phillips,’ Nick tells me. ‘Teaches English.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘Arrogant. Useless.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  The blinds from Dr Tibbs’ office move as though she’s watching from the window as we walk back towards our car.

  ‘Anything from the kids?’ Nick asks.

  ‘There was one girl, Hayley—’

  ‘The one you spoke to near the river?’ he interrupts.

  ‘Something felt wrong about her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just something. I don’t know. I might look her up when we get back.’

  Nick shakes his head. ‘You just don’t like going home, that’s your problem.’

  I could argue the point, but he’s right. Work has been my way to cope with everything the last year has thrown at me and I won’t apologise for it. Nick doesn’t understand the shame of living with an alcoholic and he’s no idea how hard it’s been. Six months later and I still feel bruised inside.

  ‘Every unhappy person doesn’t go and jump in the river,’ I tell him.

  He turns to look at me. ‘No, but some do.’

  I continue to face forwards. ‘You just don’t know what’s going on inside someone’s head.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The comment is aimed at him. I resent that we’ve lost the closeness we had and, more, that it doesn’t seem to bother him. I know how easy it is to hide things, because I’ve been doing it for months.

  As we walk past the large curved railings of the graveyard I know that I’m right. I look back over my shoulder at the trees that line the college field and picture Kirsten running towards home. Nick might be happy to accept that she took her own life, but I’m not. I need to find out what really happened.

  *

  After the visit to the college, I wait for more to come out of the area search. We visit ex-offenders, but nothing comes of it. Despite it being a popular route, no witnesses come forward and nothing is found near the industrial estate. We find her school bag in the muddy reeds near to the sewerage pipe, but no note. Plastic bags and rubbish blow over the fields where a discarded sandal is found, but the pendant is nowhere to be seen.

  On my way back from the office, I stop in at Hayley Reynolds’s house. It’s been a few days since we spoke and despite Nick’s misgivings I want to see her again. The lawn is neatly edged and the letterbox glints with a newly polished shine under the sunlight as I wait.

  When the door opens, it’s Hayley who answers. She looks pale, with dark circles under her eyes and a frown that says she’s worried. I think about the day I stood on Moira Timperley’s doorstep all those months ago. Moira had been through the system and social care was involved long before I met her. She was a mixed-up kid who liked to shock and loved a drama. It was her way to get attention. When she needed it the most we weren’t there for her and I should have picked up on her body language that night. I’m aware of Hayley’s, and right now she doesn’t look comfortable.

  ‘Mum said you were coming,’ she says, and motions for me to come in before she turns away. I follow her into the living room.

  A man gets up from the faux-leather settee.

  ‘Hi,’ he says, with an outstretched hand.

  ‘I’m DS Beverley Samuels. Like I said on the phone, I just want a quick chat.’

  His handshake is limp and unenthusiastic.

  ‘Michael Lancaster. I’m her mum’s boyfriend. Call me Mike. Would you like a drink or…?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Hayley looks drained and anxious as she stands next to a photograph of a diving kingfisher on the wall. When I spoke to Dr Tibbs she said there were some issues at home, but no more than that. Hayley looks up at the picture.

  ‘My dad took it,’ she says.

  She must miss him. I feel sorry for the girl; I know how it feels when your dad’s not around.

  Mike looks up. ‘He’s a photographer.’

  Hayley frowns and looks at me. ‘It was in a magazine.’

  ‘It’s a nice photo,’ I reply. ‘I just wanted to follow up on what we were talking about at college.’

  ‘I didn’t know her,’ she says, ‘so I can’t tell you anything else.’

  ‘No one seemed to.’

  Mike starts to pace up and down by the window.

  ‘She was always on her own. Doesn’t mean she wanted to be though.’

  I take a step towards her. ‘No, I don’t suppose it does. No friends you can think of?’

  ‘When I picked her stuff up she didn’t even say thanks. She wasn’t good with people.’

  ‘Very sad,’ Mike replies, and bites the side of his finger as though he’s nervous.

  Hayley ignores him. ‘What did Maxine say?’

  ‘That she didn’t know her either.’

  ‘She knew her well enough to bully her.’

  As I look out of the window I wonder if the garden leads to the path by the river. It looks as if it does. Michael Lancaster follows my stare.

  ‘They think someone killed her,’ Hayley tells him. ‘She wouldn’t be here otherwise.’

  He scratches his beard and doesn’t reply.

  ‘I’m here for information about Kirsten Green,’ I tell her, ‘and I got the impression that something was bothering you about it.’

  Hayley nods her head at Mike. ‘Ask him.’

  I look up. ‘Sorry?’

  His eyes widen in surprise and I wonder why. After what happened with the Timperleys I know not to take anyone on appearance.

  ‘Mike collects samples,’ Hayley continues, ‘at the river.’

  I wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He just stands on the same spot and stares at Hayley. I wonder if he’s the one she wanted to get away from when I first met her.

  ‘I see.’

  He coughs into his hand. ‘I’m freelance. Working down there for the next few months.’

  ‘He’s always working. Even Saturdays,’ Hayley says. ‘Not that he’s ever there when we go though.’

  ‘Saturdays are usually at the office,’ he frowns.

  ‘Were you at the river on 20th September?’ I ask.

  ‘I can’t remember. I didn’t see anything though,’ he says.

  I frown.

  ‘How do you know if you don’t remember being there?’ I reply.

  ‘I just do.’

  Hayley turns to face him. ‘Mike, that doesn’t make sense.’ She smiles, as though she’s enjoying his discomfort.

  ‘Is your mum around?’ I ask her.

  ‘Working,’ Hayley says. ‘She works late sometimes.’

  ‘We’re used to looking after ourselves,’ he says.

  ‘Who do you work for at the moment?’ I ask him.

  ‘Coricus on Fleet Road.’

  ‘Have you got their number?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I’d like to have a word with them.’

  The colour goes from his face and he tenses up. Hayley perches on the arm of the sofa as he writes down his work phone number and I wonder if it’s him that’s making her uncomfortable. When he gives me the piece of paper, he holds onto it as though he doesn’t want to let go.

  ‘Let us know if you were working. You might have seen something that turns out to be important.’

  ‘Listen, I…’ he starts, before he looks over at Hayley.

  ‘Never mind,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll be in touch if I need to ask you anything else.’

  ‘Is that it?’ Hayley asks.

  There’s something odd here. It feels worse than the dirty houses with overflowing ashtrays, but I don’t know why. Their house reminds me of my mum’s before the divorce. She baked cakes and cleaned a
s though it was going to make dad stay and this house has the same feel: it’s tense. After Dad left, Mum and my sister carried on as though he’d never existed. They resented the days I’d go to gigs with him and I resented them too, for making me feel bad about wanting to. They wanted to pretend that everything was better without him, when it wasn’t. I feel something similar here – an air of pretence.

  ‘Will you walk to my car with me?’ I ask Hayley.

  ‘If you want.’

  As we step outside she glances around as though she’s worried.

  ‘You look like you’ve been up all night,’ I say.

  ‘Sleep when you’re dead, they say,’ she replies, without a smile. Her pallid skin looks waxen.

  ‘You look half dead. Something keeping you up?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s better to stay awake.’

  Thoughts of my own sleepless nights come to mind and I wonder if something has been going on at home. Michael Lancaster didn’t want me there and I wonder why.

  ‘You can talk to me. I’m here to help.’

  She narrows her eyes. ‘What about?’

  ‘It feels like you’re holding something back.’

  She looks over at the bushes in the garden and pulls her cardigan tight around her. ‘If you say so.’

  We stand in silence as she stares at the trees in the distance. Something unspoken hangs over her like a shadow and I wish she’d tell me what it is.

  ‘Kirsten lived on Chapel Street.’ I signal towards the bottom of the road. ‘Did you see her walk back from the bus stop?’

  ‘I hardly ever see her on the bus. He’s the one lying to you.’

  I look her up and down.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He lies about everything.’

  She looks over her shoulder, towards the garden, and I wait for her to say more. I didn’t listen to Moira Timperley, but I’m going to listen to everything that this girl has to say to me.

  ‘You can tell me anything. No one has to know. You’re OK,’ I say.

  Hayley looks amused as she stares at the bushes. ‘More OK than Kirsten.’

  ‘How are things at home?’

  ‘Shit as always.’

  ‘Tough not having your dad around?’

  She gives me a cold stare.