Finding Jennifer Jones (17 page)

And how long would it take for this information to filter through to other people? To Julia Masters? Jill Newton? Rosie? She pictured them all, one by one, stopping what they were doing as news reached them, whether by phone or email. Jennifer Jones had disappeared. And the police detective, Lauren Heart, perhaps she would nod and say,
I thought she might do something like this.

But Kate wouldn’t be there to hear any of it. She would be living in London and her name would be
Rebecca Andrews
.

***

She’d dressed warmly, wearing jeans and a hooded top. She knew the beach often got chilly quickly on summer nights. Jimmy was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and was shivering. He kept saying he wasn’t cold but Kate didn’t believe it. His housemates were a few metres away talking to a group of girls who had just arrived and were carrying cans of beer.

It was past ten o’clock and they were sitting on a couple of towels, their backs against the sea wall. They were among thirty or so other young people all packed on the small area of the beach that was closest to the harbour. The lights along the front lit up the black sky with a haze of colours and the sound of music from the band on the harbour gave the place a party atmosphere.

Kate and Jimmy were drinking the last of a bottle of wine. Jimmy had gulped his down but Kate was sipping hers, her eyes staring into the darkness of the sea. The tide was coming in, the water lapping closer, the sound of the surf only just apparent during gaps in the music. Jimmy was rubbing her arm and she felt momentarily happy.

“Have I already said thanksh for the movie?”

“You have, several times.”

“Course I’ve seen
The Big Shleep
on television years ago. It’s a total classic.”

“I know. That’s why I bought it.”

“It was really influ … influ…”

Jimmy had been drinking for a long time. When she’d got to his house that evening he already looked a bit unsteady on his feet. He’d been ridiculously pleased with her gift and had wanted to watch it there and then. She’d been keen to go on the beach though, to feel the fresh evening air.

“You mean it was really
influential
.”

He nodded. Kate finished her drink. She was feeling content. There was a kind of warmth inside her. Jimmy’s head was on her shoulder and it felt nice to be there. She nudged him.

“Why don’t we go up onto the harbour and get some chips. It’ll be warmer up there.”

“Great idea,” he slurred.

“Maybe we can get you a cup of coffee, to wake you up.”

“Even better idea. We could go back to ours and watch the movie.”

“Maybe,” she said, rolling up the towels, sticking them into her bag.

As they walked up the steps of the beach she thought of something.

Why not stay? Why leave Exmouth at all?

The idea made her feel heady. There was a sensation of lightness in her chest. The business with the little girl, Jodie Mills, was over. She would probably never see those police officers again. Why go when she didn’t really need to?

They walked along the esplanade towards the docks. The music was louder, the lights brighter. People were walking aimlessly, some holding hands, others deep in conversation. They passed a line of girls singing. It contrasted with the beat of the rock band on the harbour but she hung onto the sound, sweet and harmonious. She began to sing herself, under her breath, a feeling of well-being pulsing through her. This was her place now. Kate Rickman, third-year undergraduate; home town, Exmouth.

They came up to a coffee shop and Kate steered Jimmy towards it.

“I’ll have a coffee, too,” she said.

He went inside and she walked away back towards the sea wall and leaned against it. She’d done nothing so far that she couldn’t undo. The money she’d taken from the bank could be re-deposited. She could return Rebecca Andrews’ papers without Jimmy ever knowing that they’d been taken in the first place. She could wake up tomorrow morning unwell, say she was going to go camping later in the week. Then she could make excuses, cry off the whole holiday saying that she’d got cold feet. Sally and Ruth might laugh at her but that didn’t matter. Sally, in her motherly way, would be secretly pleased that she wasn’t going out and sleeping in the
elements.
Jimmy would be happy. Maybe he would even think that it was a sign of Kate’s feelings for him that she couldn’t bear to go away on holiday without him.

She could stay in Exmouth. Why not?

She realised that the band had stopped playing and she could hear bits of conversations from nearby and the sound of other music coming from one of the nearby restaurants. Jimmy was in the queue inside the coffee shop. He was leaning precariously to one side. She wondered if she should go in and make sure he was all right. Exactly how much had he had to drink?

“Hello!”

She felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned round and saw a familiar face. It was DC Simon Kelsey. Her mood darkened and she took a step back away from him. She frowned at him, puzzled as to why he was there. He looked different to when she’d seen him before. Then he’d been in a suit, shirt and tie. Now he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. His hair was still gelled through, little arrows poking up from his forehead. He came towards her.

“Fancy seeing you, Kate. Or is it Jennifer? Which would you prefer me to use?”

“Why are you here?”

“Came for one of the bands. I know the drummer. Had no idea I’d run into you, Jennifer. But then you do live here, don’t you?”

“Leave me alone.”

She turned away from him, staring rigidly into the coffee shop. At the edge of her vision she thought she could see some other young men looking across at them, pointing, saying things. One of them was laughing.

“Jennifer, you shouldn’t be off with me. You’ve nothing to fear from me now. Not now that we’ve charged the gardener.”

The word
gardener
threw her. She was confused.

“What?”

“Martin Johnson, gardener. Worked along the coast at the caravan parks and other attractions. He probably made friends with the little girl during the week so that when he saw her down on the beach on the Friday night it was too good a chance for him to pass up.”

Kate didn’t answer. She took a couple of steps away as the music started up again, loud and raucous. Simon Kelsey followed her though and then leaned closer to her, his mouth near to her ear, his hand resting lightly on her waist.

“Still, it gave me a chance to get to know you, Jennifer. Maybe we could spend time together. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss a girl who’s killed someone…”

She pushed him away.

“Coffee,” a voice came from behind her.

Jimmy was standing with two cardboard cups looking a little fresher than he had ten minutes before.

“Bye, Jennifer,” Simon Kelsey said. “Be seeing you around!”

He walked off back to his friends. A couple of them patted him on the shoulder and looked back towards Kate.

“Who was that?” Jimmy said.

“Don’t know.” Kate whispered the words.

“Why’d he call you Jennifer?”

“Just some out-of-control drunk,” she said.

“Shall we get some chips?” Jimmy said, handing her one of the cups.

When she got home it was past midnight. She was sober and her face was cold. She sat on the bed and looked at her packed bags. She thought she might cry; she’d felt on the brink of tears for the last couple of hours.

Instead she got undressed and got under the duvet and set the alarm on her phone. She had a train to catch and she didn’t want to miss it.

PART FOUR

LONDON

Twenty-three

The bed and breakfast was in Finsbury Park, north London.

When Kate walked into the room she felt immediately hemmed in. There was a single bed and a chest of drawers with a small television on top of it. The en-suite was tiny, a shower and a toilet sandwiched in together. The woman who had showed her there was already on her way back downstairs.

She’d spent time in small rooms like this before.

She put her bags down on the bed and sat down. She picked up the remote and clicked the television on. It was seven o’clock in the evening. Her train had broken down and it had taken her most of the day to get there. The long, slow journey had felt as though she was in a kind of no man’s land. Once in north London she could start to sort herself out.

She made herself get up and unpack. She only planned to stay there for a few days. She had arrangements to make and the most pressing one was to get a sublet, even if only for a few weeks so that she could have an address and get a bank account. She unzipped her rucksack and took out the wad of money that was there. She’d taken some out of her bank account each day for the last couple of weeks and now it had to pay her way until she got a job. There was more than fifteen hundred pounds on the bed. This was money that she’d saved since coming to Exeter.

Twice, in the past, she’d started her life again with a new identity. Both times the arrangements had been made by other people. She’d never had a passport because she wasn’t allowed to leave the country, but she’d had everything else; bank account, NHS card, national insurance number, details of schools she’d attended, examination certificates. Anything she’d needed had been provided. But it all came at a cost and she didn’t want that any more.

Now she had to find these things for herself.

She had Rebecca Andrews’ passport and this would be the key to getting other things. She had to brush aside the feelings of guilt she had about taking it from Jimmy’s room. She had to set up a Hotmail account in Rebecca Andrews’ name and contact some of the sublets advertised on the web. And she needed to eat. Possibly she would get some replies by tomorrow morning and arrange visits.

Her mobile phone lay on the bed where it had slid out of her rucksack. She knew she couldn’t turn it on because that might lead to her being traced. Even though no one was looking for her she didn’t want to leave an electronic trail of any sort. She should get rid of it and buy a pay-as-you-go phone. She couldn’t quite bring herself to let it go yet though, so she pushed it down into her bag and packed other things on top of it.

She’d bought a money belt and she put it on under her T-shirt with the money inside. Then she went out of the B&B and walked around, familiarising herself with the area. It was on a busy road and there was a bus stop nearby. She glanced down the information panel and saw that there was a bus that went directly to Wood Green. Further up, towards the tube station, she found an internet café. It took her a while but she set up a Hotmail account as Becky90. She bought a slice of pizza and ate it while she went onto a couple of the sublet sites she had found. She found the adverts she had seen the previous week and contacted both of them, saying she urgently needed a short-term let.

The next morning, when she returned to the café, there was a reply from one of the sublets.

Hi Becky. I’m going away on Saturday for six weeks and would LOVE to let my room. Come and see it Monday evening at seven.

There was an address underneath, in Archway, north London. She looked it up in her A–Z. It was a little further out than she’d wanted but it would be only be for six weeks and so she’d have time to look for somewhere else.

She replied,
See you at seven tonight!
Then she typed
Becky
.

In her holdall she had a couple of references she had forged from addresses of student houses she’d known around Exeter. She hoped these would be sufficient.

She had enough money to get her through the first weeks in London but she urgently needed to get a job. Rebecca Andrews’ national insurance number would help with that. Once she was in a more long-term let she would have until January before Rebecca Andrews returned from her Scottish island dig and perhaps needed to replace her missing papers. Then she could slip abroad; lose herself in Spain, work in the bars and restaurants for the summer.

Then she would be by the sea again. After that? She didn’t know.

She logged on to an employment agency’s website. There were forms to fill in. She ticked the boxes and gave what information she could. At the bottom there was a space to write a kind of statement. She filled it in briefly but clearly.

Rebecca Andrews

Nineteen years old

British citizen

Dropped out of my university degree course for financial reasons

I’ve never had a job so have no references

I’ll do anything; office, shop, restaurant, bar work

Yes, I’ll do cleaning jobs

I don’t mind antisocial hours

I don’t have a mobile at the moment but am getting one and will let you have the number

After she’d logged off she bought a roll and some fruit. She took it into Finsbury Park and sat on a bench to eat it. The sun was out and it was warm and the park had a parched look. There were criss-crossing grey tarmac paths that matched the greyness of the buildings outside. Everyone seemed to have more clothes on than she was used to. In the summer, at the seaside, people tended to shed their clothes even if often it wasn’t really warm enough. Here, even though it was warm, there were cardigans and jackets and long trousers and skirts.

She wondered where people went when they wanted to swim.

She finished her drink and went back out onto the streets. She paused by the bus stop just as one was approaching and saw that it stopped at Wood Green underground station. On an impulse she jumped on it. She sat up the back as the bus made its way through heavy traffic.

She took her A–Z out of her bag. She’d marked the page where Lucy Bussell’s home was in Wood Green. The tube station was very close, a short walk; Lucy had said that in her letter. Kate saw from the map that Wood Green station was coming up soon. She hopped off at the stop and looked across at the station and tried to pinpoint exactly where she was on the map.