Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Arriving home from work, Jennie wheels her bike into the hallway and goes through to the kitchen. The smell of mould seems to be getting worse. She assumes there’s a leaking pipe somewhere, but until she’s got the place cleared, it’s hard to get a plumber in to investigate. Dumping her stuff on the table, she moves over to the fridge and extracts a microwave lasagne. She pierces the film lid and sets it to cook.

On top of the pile of things beside the microwave is her old SLR camera. Seeing it reminds her of the half-used film inside it, and how she’d been meaning to get a new developing kit and chemicals. While the microwave meal cooks, Jennie goes online and orders the supplies she needs to develop the film. She has no memory of what’s on it – it was so long ago that she last used the camera – but she’s intrigued to see the pictures. It’s strange, but if she’d found the camera before Hannah’s body was discovered she might not have had the same reaction; she’s spent the last thirty years trying not to remember that time in her life. But now it’s as if the floodgates have opened. Memories of her time with Hannah and the rest of the darkroom crew are pushing their way to the front of her mind whether she wants them to or not. She’s already hurting – the loss of Hannah so much more acute, and final, than it’s been before – so what more harm can a few pictures do?

After eating the distinctly average lasagne and washing it down with a glass of red wine, Jennie rinses out the plastic tray and puts it in the recycling, then girds her loins ready to tackle some more decluttering. The job seems endless, but until it’s done, she can’t do anything with her mum’s old place – renovate it or sell it, whatever she decides once probate has come through. Pouring another glass of red, she heads into the dining room. This is the worst of the downstairs rooms, every inch of the space rammed with piles of her mum’s crap. Newspapers dating back through the years, magazines, bric-a-brac, clothes that she’d bought in the local charity shops but never worn. And bottles. Lots of empty bottles.

She goes through the stuff, sorting it into the three usual piles – bin, recycle and keep. As she works, she thinks about the case, about Hannah. In the last few days, everything she’s believed for the past thirty years has been turned on its head. More and more, it’s looking as if Hannah had been coming to meet her at the bus stop – that her friend didn’t abandon her as she’d believed all these years. Someone stopped her, and Jennie has to know who. But the effort of keeping her personal relationship with Hannah a secret from the rest of the team is taking its toll. Zuri, especially, has picked up that Jennie isn’t her usual self. And she can’t afford to let any of them know the extent of her friendship with Hannah. If the DCI gets wind of it, he’ll have no choice but to pull her off the case, and she can’t have that. She has to find the truth, and fast.

After a couple of hours sorting through her mum’s hoarded belongings, the bin pile is huge and the keep pile non-existent. By ten o’clock Jennie’s had enough, and is ready for a bath and then bed.

Going upstairs, Jennie heads into the bathroom. She turns the taps on to fill the hideous limescale-stained avocado bath, adds some bath salts and then lays the bathmat over the top of the watermarked old grey carpet. The bathroom needs gutting – another job to add to her already long to-do list – but she’s too tired right now to think about it.

Instead, she leaves the bath to fill and walks across the hallway to the magnolia-painted guest room that she’s been sleeping in since she moved into the house. It felt weird to stay in her childhood bedroom, and wrong to sleep in her mum’s room, so this one was her only option. It’s an okay size and she’s already managed to clear most of the clutter out of it. Without turning on the light, she puts her bag on the bed, hangs her suit jacket on the wardrobe handle and moves across to the window, reaching for the curtain.

Jennie freezes, her hand on the fabric.

She stares out of the window. Heart pounding.

Down below, in the shadow of the high hedge and the large acer tree in the corner of the front garden, is a person. Jennie can’t see them clearly, but they’re definitely out there. They’re looking up, watching her.

What the hell …?

With her heart thumping in her chest, Jennie grabs her pepper spray from her bag and hurtles down the stairs. Flinging open the front door, she flicks on the porch light and runs out and down the steps into the front garden.

‘Who’s there? Show yourself.’ She braces for attack, her finger on the pepper spray trigger.

There’s no answer.

Jennie hears footsteps running along the pavement. Sprinting to the gate, Jennie yanks it open and hurries out onto the street. A lone figure is running away along the road to her left. The streetlights are spaced far apart, their illumination sporadic. She can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, only that they’re dressed in dark trousers and a hoodie.

They can’t get away.

Racing after them, Jennie keeps her eyes on the trespasser. She follows to the top of the road and around the turn into Wildflower Meadows, straining to keep up. The street is empty of cars and people and the figure takes advantage of this, avoiding the uneven pavement by running up the middle of the road.

Jennie’s lungs are burning. Her fluffy UGG slippers are hampering her usual speed. The fugitive moves quickly, extending the distance between them. Frustrated, Jennie kicks off the slippers and continues barefoot. The tarmac is rough against her feet but she’s faster now. Gaining on them.

Up ahead, the figure reaches the end of Wildflower Meadows and cuts left into Longdown Close.

It’s a dead end. They can’t know that, surely?

This is my chance.

Jennie pumps her arms, forcing herself faster. Her quarry does the same. They’re starting to pull away again.

Shit. I can’t lose them.

On the other side of the road the fugitive runs past a thirtysomething man out walking an elderly Jack Russell. The man doesn’t look up from scrolling on his phone as they pass. The dog continues sniffing around the base of a lamp post.

‘Stop them,’ Jennie yells at the dog walker.

The guy looks up, confused, but does nothing.

Swearing under her breath Jennie powers on. They’re almost at the end of the cul-de-sac now. There’s nowhere to go. Up ahead, she sees them slow their pace. They must realise they’ve made an error.

Got you.

Suddenly the figure veers right and leaps up and over a wooden garden fence.

Shit.

Jennie shoves the pepper spray canister into her trouser pocket and jumps for the top of the fence. It must be six foot high, and as she grabs the top and scrambles over, splinters pierce the soles of her feet. She ignores the pain.

Can’t stop now.

Landing in the back of someone’s garden, she races across the lawn, looping around a large trampoline and a children’s rusty swing set. The fugitive is scaling a brick wall on the opposite side.

‘Stop,’ shouts Jennie. ‘Police.’

Her quarry doesn’t stop or turn to look at her.

Jennie reaches the wall as they disappear down the other side. Cursing, she clambers up and over, landing in a heap on the tarmac the other side. Scrambling to her feet, she looks around, searching.

There’s no one there. The narrow alley is empty, silent. It looks like an accessway along the back of the gardens.

Where are they?

Jennie stands still, listening. The only thing she hears is her own breathing.

Dammit.

How the hell did they disappear?

She doesn’t know this part of town. All the houses seem to be in darkness and there are no street lights in the alley. Taking the pepper spray out of her pocket, Jennie keeps her finger on the trigger as she searches the alleyway again in both directions. She checks for signs of someone hiding behind the wheelie bins parked outside the back gates, behind an overgrown elder bush, and behind a couple of wooden pallets propped up against a fence. But there’s no movement, no sound. No one.

They can’t have just disappeared. They must still be here somewhere.

She shivers. Takes a breath.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice seems unusually loud in the quiet alley.

There’s no response.

Still on high alert, Jennie becomes aware of the pain in her feet. Looking down, she sees blood. Her feet are torn up from the chase. Her hands are cut from the climbing. She’s a real mess.

What was I thinking?

I shouldn’t have given chase. I should have called it in.

Something’s stopping her calling it in, even now. Could it have been Lottie, or Paul Jennings outside her house? Or was it someone else? Jennie has no idea why anyone would want to watch her. Outside work, her life is as boring as it gets.

She scans the alleyway again. Shudders.

How long were they watching me? What were they doing out there?

And will they come for me again ?