Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (25 page)

Once Tris has gone
home to the farm, which he insists on doing when he hears a police car may be
heading our way, I take a long, cool shower and put on a pair of white cotton
pyjamas, then head downstairs again barefoot. I peer out through the front
door, and see the blurry shape of a car in the turning area, lights off, a
darker shadow in the driver’s seat. My guardian officer for the night,
presumably.

I
would have preferred Tris to stay the night. His warm body lying next to mine
in bed would have been a greater comfort than this anonymous sentinel at my
door. But I suppose he did not like the idea of being seen creeping away from
my cottage at first light, and I can hardly blame him.

It’s
nearly midnight but my fatigue has dropped away in another wave of adrenalin.
My head is processing what has happened, but not to any useful end, chugging
noisily round and round the same territory, like a circular train track. I sit
in the kitchen under the glare of the ceiling spot lights, nursing a mug of tea
until it goes cold between my hands.

Why
on earth would Jenny have gone running in Eastlyn Woods so soon after our
gruesome discovery there? She knew better than most how dangerous it could be.

I
am bewildered that she would even have made such a stupid decision in the first
place. Then I am angry. I push my cold tea away in disgust. What the hell had
Jenny been thinking? Hadn’t she listened to a word I said? And all those lurid,
sensationalist stories in the national papers about a strangler preying on
women in Cornwall … Had those warnings failed to register on her blinkered,
athletics-mad brain, the brain of a woman who was intent on getting to a peak
of fitness so she could take part in a triathlon, so she could push herself to
the limit?

My
eye falls on the white edge of a piece of paper across the kitchen. Something
propped up behind the large black pepper pot.

Connor’s
note.

I
stare at it blankly for a moment, then get up to retrieve it.

Come and see me. We need to
talk. C.

I
turn it over in my hand, thinking. Hannah must have tidied it away. Connor had
wanted to talk to me, but when I went over to the farm, he had gone out to
fetch Tris home from the police station. Then I had broken into the farm, and
fled out the window when they got back, and since then I had not seen had a
chance to speak to Connor. He was always busy with the farm, of course. He took
his responsibilities there very seriously, more so than Tris. But he must have
wanted to speak to me alone at some point.

Perhaps
he had only wanted to warn me off seeing Tris. That was never going to happen
though, especially now that we had slept together. But he was probably still
worried about where our friendship might be headed. And our joint discovery of
another dead body won’t have helped him feel more at ease with it.

I
fish for my mobile in my bag. Seven missed calls. Five of them from DI Powell.
Two from Connor, one only an hour ago. I would have been in the shower when he
called.

I
text him.
Sorry I missed your call. Too
late, or do you still want to talk?

I
rinse out my mug and set it to dry on the draining board, tidy away a few
things from yesterday’s breakfast that I had forgotten about, and glance idly
through the cupboard labelled ELLIE. I have not been shopping much lately, and
the food cupboards are pretty bare. My stomach rumbles, and I realise that I
haven’t eaten for well over twelve hours. Tins of soup and beans, some old
sesame seed crackers, a packet of jelly. There’s not much to tempt me except
Hannah’s latest batch of rock cakes, left to cool on the side and covered with a
dishcloth to prevent them from going stale.

I
lift the edge of the cloth and breathe in the delicious cakey aroma, then
reluctantly drop it again and force myself to nibble on a sesame seed cracker
instead. She will go mad if she comes home to find I’ve eaten even one of her
cakes for the garden party fundraiser. Though perhaps if I were to leave some
money for the charity in its place …

My
mobile buzzes. I walk over and look down at the screen.

Sorry, just off to bed. How
about tomorrow? Lunch at The Green Man, 12pm. Just you and me.

I
reply,
See you there
.

In
the silence that follows, I finish eating my cracker and stand there, weighing
the mobile in my hand. Should I call Tris? It’s nearly one in the morning now,
but he might still be awake. I could wish him good night.

Only
he hasn’t called me, has he? Not even a quick text message to say, ‘Goodnight,’
or ‘Sweet dreams,’ or even, ‘Thinking of you.’

That
may mean nothing, of course. It may mean I wore the big man out with hours of
rampant, energetic sex, and an exhausted Tris has turned his phone off and crawled
into bed. But it could also mean he’s sitting there right now, a cold beer in
his hand and his brother Connor by his side, in the untidy living room of their
farmhouse, the two inseparable Taylor brothers, scrolling through my text
messages and laughing over how easy it was to get the mad girl into bed.

I
flick back to Connor’s message and study it a moment before turning off the
phone for the night.
Just you and me.

I sleep late that
morning, my body heavy and relaxed after a long and emotional day. By the time
I have washed, dressed, and hurried downstairs, it is gone half past eleven and
soon I’ll be running late for my lunch date with Connor.

There’s
no time for breakfast, so I down a glass of tap water instead and brush my
bed-hair in front of the glass door of the microwave. I am not bothering with
make-up. I rarely do, I hate the way it makes my skin feel clogged up. I find a
lipstick in my bag though and apply it carefully, then blot my lips with
kitchen paper.

‘You’ll
do,’ I tell my blurred reflection. It’s only Connor, after all.

I
wonder if Connor knows about me and Tris yet. He might be jealous, after all. I
know he used to hold a torch for me when we were in school, and we have dated a
few times, though our relationship never got beyond kisses and cuddles. I suppose
I always preferred Tris, deep down, and perhaps his brother could sense that
even before I was aware of it myself.

Before
leaving, I run back upstairs to look in on Hannah, who is still awake and
watching television in her bedroom. She must have showered while I was asleep because
her hair looks damp. She picks up the remote when I come in, and mutes the
telly.

‘How
are you?’ she asks, looking up at me with obvious concern. ‘I saw the police
car outside when I got home from work. I have to say, it freaked me out a bit.
I thought something had happened to you.’

‘Sorry,
my fault. I should have called to warn you. The inspector thinks I may be in
danger, so there’ll probably be a police car parked outside at night from now
on. Until the killer’s caught, anyway.’ I pause. ‘Did you hear about Jenny Crofter?’

She
nods, her expression appalled. ‘It was on the local news earlier. The police
are appealing for information. Poor Jenny. Though it’s so strange, isn’t it? I
don’t understand what she was doing in Eastlyn Woods at all. I wouldn’t go near
there if you paid me.’

‘Neither
would I. She should have known better.’ I check the time on my phone. ‘Look,
I’m going out for a while. Are you working again tonight?’

‘For
my sins, yes.’ She looks me up and down, and smiles. I’m in black jeans and a
red strappy top that clings rather too tightly, but is the only clean item of
clothing I could find today that didn’t need ironing. ‘Meeting Tris for a date?
You two looked good together yesterday.’

I
hesitate, a little embarrassed. How much did she hear before leaving for work
last night? There would probably have been a tremendous thud on the ceiling
when we fell out of bed …

‘Just
going to the pub.’ I don’t mention Connor. She would only leap to the wrong
conclusion.

‘Well,
have a nice time. I’m off to the vicarage garden party soon with my rock cakes.
Will you be taking that policeman with you too?’

I
stare. ‘I’d forgotten about him. How annoying. I bet he’ll want to follow me to
the pub.’

‘So
give him the slip,’ she says, shrugging. ‘You can always go out the back door.’

I
laugh, but go back downstairs more slowly than I went up, thinking hard. That
is not such a bad idea.

I
hit Connor’s number on my favourites list. He answers on the second ring, like
he’s been waiting for me to call. ‘You’re late,’ he says.

‘Yeah,
sorry, I overslept.’ I stand in the narrow hallway, looking out at the police
car still parked in the turning area of the cottage. ‘Look, can we skip lunch
at the Green Man? Maybe go somewhere else instead?’

‘But
I’ve reserved a table.’

‘I’m
sorry,’ I say again, trying to placate him. He sounds annoyed, and small
wonder. I hate it when people switch plans on me last minute. ‘The place will
be packed with locals for Sunday lunch, and I’m not in the mood for meeting
villagers. Everyone will want to ask me about the body in the cemetery, and
what the police think … I just can’t face all the questions, I’m really sorry.’

He
pauses a beat. ‘Of course you can’t. Stupid of me not to think of that before.
I’ll come and pick you up. We can drive over to Blisland. They do good Sunday
lunches there. Or up to Jamaica Inn. It’ll do you good to get away from the
village for a few hours, anyway.’

‘Don’t
come to the house.’ I grin, a little self-conscious. ‘I have a shadow I’m
trying to shake.’

‘The
police?’

‘You’re
quick. Yes, the police are staking out the cottage. It’s driving me mad. I feel
like a beetle in a jar.’

‘Tris
told me. And about Jenny too. I’m very sorry, I know she’s a close friend of
yours. But I’m sure she’ll turn up safe and sound. You shouldn’t worry.’

‘I’m
trying not to,’ I agree, watching as the police officer gets out of his car.
What is he doing? ‘Hang on a tick.’

But
the policeman merely performs some stretching exercises, linking his hands
behind his back and yawning copiously, before climbing back into the car.

‘Trouble?’
Connor asks in my ear.

‘No,
false alarm.’

I
try not to consider what, ‘Tris told me,’ means, but it nags at me. Told him
what, exactly? That we slept together last night? Part of me is worried that
it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Sleeping with the enemy. Or a
potential killer. And I already know that Connor will not approve of that
development. I’m not right in the head, he said so himself, and will only cause
trouble for his little brother.

Which
is no doubt what he wants to talk to me about.

‘Can
you pick me up on the lane to the village? I’ll be waiting where the path comes
out between the ford and the sharp right-hand bend.’

‘No
problem. How long?’

‘Fifteen
minutes?’

‘I’ll
be there in ten.’ Connor sounds amused by the subterfuge. ‘Don’t get caught.’

I enjoy my hurried jog
across the back fields to avoid having to explain my outing to the police
officer, and find Connor’s clapped-out old car waiting for me when I drop down
from the fields onto the lane.

Connor
leans over to open the door for me. I climb in, and glance at his face. I’m not
sure what I expected. Tension, perhaps. Hostility. But his easy smile reassures
me.

‘I
take it the cops aren’t five minutes behind you?’

‘I
doubt my guardian even knows I’ve left.’

Connor
looks at me sideways, his expression curious. ‘Not worried to be out on your
own and unprotected? From what Tris told me, you seem to be his main target.’

‘Whoever
the killer is, if he had wanted to kill me, he would have done it that first
day in the woods. Right where he killed my mother. Besides, I can’t stand being
watched twenty-four seven. It’s like being in prison.’

He
stares. ‘You think it’s the same man who killed your mother? But that was years
ago. He would be an old man by now.’

‘Or
he could have been a young man when he killed my mother, and middle-aged now.’

Connor
nods slowly. ‘Yes. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘So
where are you taking me?’

He
laughs, and starts the engine. We splash through the ford at the bottom of the
hill, then climb steeply up the other side towards the A30. It’s another warm
day, but rain is never far away on the moors and I can already see dark clouds
moving in from the east. Everything looks damp after yesterday’s rain, the
hedgerows washed clean and sparkling, the lane damp with puddles and tyre
tracks.

‘I
thought Jamaica Inn,’ he says comfortably.

‘Okay.’

He
glances at me. ‘You don’t sound keen.’

‘Bad
memories of a childhood visit, that’s all. It won’t stop me enjoying their
steak and kidney pudding and chips. I’m starving.’