Pretty Twisted (21 page)

Out on the street I met up with Rosalind. ‘What now?’ she asked.

I let out a long breath. ‘We go home.’

Ros gave me a big hug when we said goodbye at Liverpool Street, making me promise to call with news. She’d suggested I go back to her house, but I thought it was best if I went home, especially if the police needed to contact me.

As I was finding a seat on the train my mobile rang. It was Mum.

‘We need to have a serious talk, young man.’ Recognizing her tone as the one she used when I was in the doghouse, I groaned. ‘I’ve just had Moira Rose on the line. The police told them Freya’s missing.’

‘I know. I reported it.’

‘So you were lying yesterday when you said you were round hers. I want you home right now – Moira said the police want a word, and no way am I letting that happen without your father and myself both present.’

‘Will they interview me at home? I thought the London police were investigating this.’

‘Don’t change the subject, Jonathan. Where exactly were you yesterday?’

‘OK, OK, I was staying with a mate you don’t know and I thought it would be easier to say I was with Freya. We were trying to find her.’

‘Who is this friend?’

‘Does it matter? Just someone I met online.’

I heard Mum sigh. ‘Jonathan, you know what we agreed about meeting Internet buddies. You should’ve at least had a friend with you—’

‘I’m fine, Mum, honest. She’s fourteen.’

There was silence down the line. Then Mum said, ‘Did you just say
fourteen
?’

She sounded shocked; for a moment I couldn’t work out why. Then I realized. ‘It’s not what you think,’ I said quickly. ‘I know it sounds a bit weird, but she was just helping me out. Nothing happened, honestly.’

‘It better not have! I hope her parents were there.’

‘Um, not exactly, but her big sister was. Look, Mum, you don’t need to sound so horrified. She’s just a friend. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have.’

Mum sighed. ‘I really don’t know about you any more, Jonathan! Can you promise me nothing untoward happened?’

‘Yes! Of course. Anyway, do the police have any leads on Freya?’

‘None that Moira mentioned. They’re still getting the facts – which is why they need to talk to you as soon as possible.’

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of this. ‘I’m on the train right now.’

‘Good. We’ll meet you at the station.’

Dad’s van was waiting in the car park when I got off the train. He and Mum gave me severe looks as I climbed in beside them.

‘The police have called,’ Dad said. ‘We’ve agreed to meet them straightaway.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Things are moving really quickly.’

‘What did you expect?’ Mum asked. ‘Freya’s only a child. This is serious, Jonathan.’

The officer at the desk told us to wait in the foyer and gave us a notice saying the interview would be recorded. After a little while we went through to a small room containing several chairs and a table. A man and a woman in plain clothes walked in, the woman introducing herself as Detective Inspector Shaw and her colleague as Detective Constable Turner. I looked at them as they sat, wondering if this would be like the interrogation scenes in police dramas on telly.

Shaw and Turner started by taking my parents’ names and dates of birth. Then they said that they were here to advise me and ensure the interview was being conducted fairly. When Mum and Dad had confirmed for the recording that they understood, Shaw and Turner turned their attention to me.

‘So, Jonathan, you’re Freya’s boyfriend,’ said Shaw.

I cleared my throat. ‘Yeah. Kind of.’

‘Kind of?’

‘Well, we broke up. But that’s not important, right?’

They didn’t answer.

‘It’s our understanding that Freya was last seen on Saturday night by a neighbour, leaving her aunt’s house,’ said Turner, ‘but you were the last person to speak to her. Could you talk us through the evening?’

Going back to Saturday was the last thing I felt like doing, but I knew it was important. Letting out a long breath,I told them what had happened.

When I was done Shaw folded her arms, making me wonder if I’d said something wrong.

‘So you’ve spoken to her friends.’

‘Well, yeah. I tried ringing round yesterday.’

‘You knew she was missing.’

‘I suspected it yesterday lunchtime.’ I glanced at the table. ‘I know I should have spoken up earlier.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

I gave Mum and Dad a pleading look.

Mum nodded. ‘The police need to know, Jonathan.’

I turned back to Shaw and Turner. ‘I wanted to make sure she was missing. She’d kill me if I kicked up a fuss about nothing.’

It was the truth, but it sounded weak. I wished they’d say something, but Shaw just asked what kind of emotional state Freya was in by the time I left, and if I’d say it was out of character for her to disappear. After that there were other questions – like if she was dependent on drugs or alcohol or likely to self-harm. I wasn’t sure if these were routine or whether they were trying to get at something.

‘At the moment it looks as though Freya left voluntarily,’ said Shaw. ‘Do you have any idea where she might have been heading?’

‘None. It’s the walking-out-alone-at-night part that worries me. I’m scared she’s been abducted.’ Shaw and Turner exchanged a look, and I paused, wondering what was so significant.

‘Go on,’ said Shaw.

‘There isn’t anything else.’

‘Are you sure?’

I hate it when people say that. It makes me
un
sure.

‘Only thing I can think is she might have gone to see her new boyfriend, but no one knows who he is, not even her best mate.’

‘New boyfriend?’

Mum and Dad looked surprised, and I felt my cheeks redden. Why hadn’t I mentioned this before? Now it looked like I’d been hiding information. ‘She’s been cheating on me.’

‘For how long?’

‘Couple of weeks, I think. Really, I don’t know anything.’

‘Tell us what you do know.’

I wanted to lie but didn’t think I could manage to convincingly. ‘I looked at her email. I only wanted to see if she’d sent any messages since Saturday. She hadn’t, but I found emails from some guy called “H. A. Clark”.’

‘How do you know Clark is male?’

‘Well, I assume so, as he keeps telling her how beautiful she is.’ I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

‘What else do these emails say?’

‘More of the same – and references to meeting in the “same place”, whatever that means. Oh, and he visits her at work.’ I told them about my conversation with the waitress. Last night seemed a long time ago now.

Eventually Shaw and Turner appeared satisfied. ‘That’ll be all for the moment, Jonathan,’ Shaw said. ‘Thank you for coming in.’

‘What happens next?’ asked Dad.

‘We continue the investigation. We’re going through Freya’s room for fingerprints, and we’ve a team checking CCTV footage.’

‘Are you going to trace Clark?’ I asked. ‘You can use the IP address from his emails to find him, right?’

‘You’re very well-informed.’

‘Jonathan’s good with computers,’ Mum said. ‘Is there anything we can do to help?’

‘Keep your phones on. We may need to talk to you again. If she turns up, we’ll let you know.’

Rosalind

9.00 p.m.

When I got home, I climbed into bed, hiding under the covers. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw Freya. It didn’t make sense to be upset; I didn’t know or even like her – but I had, more than once, wished her out of the picture. Though I knew it wasn’t possible, I couldn’t help wondering if it was all my fault.

Jonathan called at about nine.

‘Saw the police,’ he said. ‘It was a bit intimidating.’

‘But they’re investigating,’ I said. ‘That’s the main thing, right?’

‘Guess so. Just wish I’d reported this earlier.’

There wasn’t anything much to say; Jonathan was worried sick, so were his mum and dad, so were Freya’s parents, so was everyone who knew her. We filled an hour constructing theories about what might have happened until Jonathan said he had to go. I put down the phone, feeling oddly distanced from him. How much difference did it make to him that I was Rosalind, not Olivia? I’d never got a chance to ask. Our first meeting should have been about us, but without even being there, Freya had ruined it.

The first thing I did the next morning was log on to my computer. Freya’s disappearance was covered on all the news sites, with most of the headlines suggesting the Student Snatcher had struck again. The reports said that police were keeping an open mind about connecting Freya to the other girls, but they admitted there were similarities. Alongside the articles was one of the photographs of Freya that Jonathan had sent me. She was posing with her cat, a big smile on her face.

There had been developments during the night. CCTV had caught Freya leaving High Street Kensington station at half ten last Saturday; at least she’d made it there in one piece. Not that that was much comfort – Kensington and Richmond were fairly close. Why Freya had gone there was another matter; High Street Kensington had good shops – I knew that from my visits to Gabe’s house – but they’d have been closed by then.

The phone rang. It was Abby, bubbling with excitement.

‘I saw the news. Is that the girl you were trying to find on Friday?’

‘Jonathan’s friend,’ I said, aware I sounded bitter. ‘Yeah.’

‘It says she went to Kensington. Funny, isn’t it? The boys might have seen her. D’you want me to text Brian and ask him?’

‘Far more likely they’re in league with the Student Snatcher,’ I muttered – then froze. Freya wouldn’t have gone to Kensington without a reason. I pictured her: emotional, upset, wanting reassurance. ‘It’s like Jonathan said, seek comfort in the arms of your new guy.’

‘What? Which guy, Ros?’

H. A. Clark. Surely not . . . it would be a massive coincidence, but he’d said she was pretty, he’d even whistled at her. And after I’d jumped off the bus . . .

‘Abby, did you see Hugh the last time you were round Gabe’s?’

‘Nope, he’s usually off doing his own thing when we’re there.’

‘What’s his surname – is it Clark?’

‘How should I know? Ros, what’s this about?’

‘Got to go.’ I ended the call. After the way Hugh had embarrassed me on the bus that day, it was quite possible – maybe even likely – that Freya had turned to him and asked what he meant about me stalking her. Once they were talking – well, one thing could have led to another.

Jonathan needed to know. I found his number on my phone – then stopped as the truth dawned on me.

If I told Jonathan I thought Hugh could be Freya’s new boyfriend, he would want to know why. He was unlikely to believe all three of us just happened to be on the same bus. I would have to explain that I’d been following Freya – and God! My heart beat quickly. How had I
ever
thought it was OK? Stalking was strange and sick. Forget Jonathan turning out to be some dodgy old man;
I
was the one who wasn’t who she seemed – I’d turned into the obsessive Internet weirdo kids were warned about. If the story ever got back to the police . . . I wasn’t sure what would happen.

Worst of all, Jonathan would want to know
why
I’d followed Freya. I felt my throat constrict. I
couldn’t
say why!

To hell with speaking up. I threw my phone on to the bed and tried not to think how the situation was escalating, more people getting scared and worried, just because of me.

My mobile rang. I jumped, almost falling off the chair. Lifting the cover, I saw it was Jonathan.

‘Hi,’ I said, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. ‘What’s up?’

‘It’s the police.’ I could hardly hear him over the voices in the background. ‘They want to speak to me again. And they didn’t sound happy.’

Jonathan

Sunday 26 October, 11.45 a.m.

I left the police station with Shaw and Turner’s words ringing in my ears.

Did you hang around outside Freya’s aunt’s house, hoping you could see her? Did you intercept Freya when she left?

. . . Your son has a bit of a temper – and he’s capable of taking it out on people who upset him. There’s no doubt he was angry with Freya on the night in question . . .

. . . In our experience of missing people, it’s often the last person to see them who knows more than they’re letting on . . .

. . . Both these girls were abducted from the streets of south-west London, we believe by the same person. One lived a few streets from Freya. We found her body floating in the Thames . . . Where were you on the night of Saturday 27 September, Jonathan? . . .