Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Jennie’s reading the details of the candlelit vigil that’s been organised for Hannah on the Class of ’94 Facebook page when DCI Campbell steps out of his office and beckons for her to join him.

She feels her heart rate accelerate. The DCI looks furious .

Getting up, she moves through the open-plan area to his office. Her team is hard at work: Steve and Naomi are on their phones, Martin is tapping out an email, Zuri is going through some paperwork from the original file. None of them look up as she passes by.

As soon as she’s inside, her boss gestures for her to close the door, but says nothing. It’s a bad sign. The DCI prides himself on a largely open-door policy. Only when the shit is really hitting the fan does he choose to have it closed.

She sits down on the only free seat; the others are still piled high with old computer equipment. Butterflies swarm in her stomach, wings whirring, making her feel sick.

Campbell’s expression is serious as he pushes the printout of the ‘Justice for Hannah’ post from the Class of ’94 Facebook page across the desk towards her. He taps his index finger against the picture of the darkroom crew bundled together on the basement sofa. ‘Explain how you came to take this photo.’

Shit.

What she says and does in the next few minutes will decide whether she keeps the lead in Hannah’s murder investigation or gets thrown off the case. She can’t let the DCI dump her off the team. She has to be smart.

Jennie runs her hand through her hair, feigning confusion.

‘You know I was in the sixth form at the same time as Hannah Jennings. We discussed it.’

‘In the same year as her, yes, but if a witness says you took this …’ The DCI taps the picture again. ‘It puts you in the basement with the murder victim.’

‘Yes, it does,’ replies Jennie slowly. ‘But lots of kids hung out in the basement.’

‘If lots of kids were there, why were you the one taking the picture?’ says her boss, eyeing her suspiciously.

Jennie shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Because I was there at the right moment, when that group wanted someone to take their picture? Because I majored in photography for my A level art project? Because my dad had been a famous photojournalist?’

The DCI stares at her, clearly irritated.

Jennie holds his gaze. Keeps up the confused expression. She can’t let him realise how close he is to exposing the truth of her friendship with Hannah. ‘Sir, I don’t understand why this is—’

‘You took the last known photo of the victim alive, for God’s sake. Don’t you get how that looks?’ Campbell blows out, frustrated. ‘You can’t stay on the case.’

‘Of course I can,’ says Jennie, not needing to fake the outrage she’s feeling. ‘This is my case and we’re making progress. It should be no surprise that I was at the school – you already knew that. It stands to reason that, as I was there, I’d have bumped into the victim from time to time; and I did. This picture means nothing; I didn’t even remember taking it until Lottie Varney mentioned it. It was just a moment in time on the last day of school before my year went on study leave. Everyone was signing each other’s school T-shirts and hugging and taking photos. I must have snapped a dozen shots of different people. It means nothing .’

The DCI shakes his head.

‘Come on, you know me. It’s just a picture, no one’s going to care that—’

‘No,’ says the DCI, his tone louder now, firmer. He drops the pen back onto his desk with a clatter. ‘It’s not just the picture. DS Otueome says the witness, Lottie Varney, knew you. That she was referring to things you already knew, and that she held your hand during the interview. What the hell is all that about?’

Shit. Shit. Shit.

‘She was getting emotional, sir, that’s all,’ says Jennie, trying to keep her voice calm, even. ‘I think she just wanted support and I was there. She grabbed for my hand a couple of times. It was nothing.’

‘And she knew you from school?’ says Campbell, looking hard at Jennie.

Jennie holds his gaze. ‘We knew of each other, yes.’

The DCI swears under his breath. His face starts to turn red. ‘Do you know any of the other key witnesses or suspects, Jennie?’

‘I know all of them to some extent.’

Campbell balls his right hand into a fist and thumps it against the desk. ‘For God’s sake!’

Jennie tries not to flinch. She’s never seen the DCI look so incensed. The butterflies start dive-bombing. A wave of nausea hits her and she swallows hard.

Hold it together.

‘Like I said, I was at the school for a year. I probably had contact with most people in the sixth form over that time, but that doesn’t mean that I—’

‘No. Don’t play smart with me, Jennie. You clearly knew Lottie Varney far better than you told me or your team, and that’s just not on. You should have declared the connection up front, but you lied and now you’re leaving me no choice but to—’

‘Sir, I didn’t—’

‘I don’t want excuses,’ says the DCI, holding up his hands. ‘You’re off the case, and that’s the end of it.’

The butterflies in her stomach dive in formation. Fear grips her. She can’t be taken off the case. She has to find out what happened to Hannah.

Pushing away the fear, Jennie tries to keep her voice calm, her reasoning objective. ‘We’re making progress, sir. Surely that’s what matters most? So what if I knew the victim a little – it just makes me want to catch her killer more .’

‘I said no.’ Campbell is red-faced, adamant. ‘That’s the end of the conversation. DI Strickland is going to take the lead from here.’

‘Strickland?’ Panic rises in her chest. This can’t be the end. She has to pull this back. She knows if she’s going to get her case back she’s going to have to play dirty. ‘How will it look to the press if I’m pulled off the investigation at this stage?’

Campbell frowns. ‘What are you—’

‘When the press ask what made you take me off the case, what will you tell them? Will you tell them it’s because I took a photograph of some fellow students when I was a kid at the school?’

The DCI is clearly angered by her sarcastic tone but says nothing. At least now she’s got his attention.

‘They won’t buy it, which will make them suspicious. And angry. This case means a lot to the people of White Cross. They want justice for Hannah – one of their own who was failed by the authorities before. The community, and the press, have placed their trust in me , the top-ranking female DI at this station.’ She shakes her head, disbelieving. ‘And you’re thinking of replacing me with Strickland? A male DI with a chequered record who’s already under investigation for his handling of the teen abduction case?’

‘Where are you going with this?’ growls the DCI.

‘Think of the optics, how the media, and the local community, will react. There’ll be lots of bad press, a slew of negative headlines, more ill will towards us from the community …’

There are several pings from the DCI’s computer as new emails land in his inbox. He doesn’t seem to notice, his attention fully on their conversation. ‘What happened with the abductions wasn’t DI Strickland’s fault.’

‘I think we both know that’s not true.’

‘What are you implying?’ The DCI’s voice is gruff but Jennie detects a whiff of fear too.

‘Strickland got the call right after those girls were offered cash to get into that car, but he stayed at the Long Service Awards drinks for another 50 minutes , only leaving when the second call came in.’

‘Jennie, let’s not get into—’

‘The details? Why not? If he’d left immediately it might have prevented those same men trying to abduct another teen less than an hour later.’

The DCI is silent. A muscle pulses rapidly in his jaw.

‘A child could have been abducted or worse, yet you fobbed off the media with a bunch of lies – Strickland was on another case, staff shortages, blah blah. You got a lot of bad press, and the community believe we’re all incompetent now, but it could have been much worse for you personally, couldn’t it?’ She narrows her eyes. ‘You were covering yours and Strickland’s arses and we both know it. You were at those same Long Service Awards drinks and you knew he’d been called, but you told him to finish his drink.’

The DCI’s nostrils flare. He crosses his arms. ‘I didn’t know he’d been called to something so time-sensitive.’

‘Didn’t you? You were complicit, negligent even.’

Campbell jabs his finger towards Jennie. Fury in his eyes. ‘How dare you suggest—’

‘Imagine how awful it would be if the press knew the full story,’ continues Jennie, raising her voice to be heard. ‘Think how the community would react. Think how the top brass here would react.’

‘Are you threatening me, Jennie?’ Campbell splutters, red-faced and clearly furious.

Jennie puts her hands up. ‘I’d never do that, sir . I’m just saying that the media trust me. Replacing me without proper explanation, with an incompetent misogynist, will inevitably result in a slew of difficult questions. It could seriously damage public confidence in this force, in you, even more.’

‘You are trying to blackmail me.’

Jennie’s tone is earnest. ‘I care about the force, and this murder case. I want a great result for us and justice for the victim. I just want you to see that.’

The DCI shakes his head. ‘Jesus, Jennie.’

Jennie glances out through the glass and wonders if the team are watching. Being in the office feels even more like being in a goldfish bowl than usual, especially as this time it feels like there’s an invisible piranha in the bowl with her. ‘Just let me do my job. Please, Dave. I can do this.’

She watches as her clearly conflicted boss wrestles with the decision. She hopes that she’s done enough, said enough, to win him round.

‘Fine.’ The DCI fixes Jennie with a stern gaze. ‘Stay on the case, but if you put one foot out of line, then you’ll be off it for good.’

Jennie feels relief flood through her. ‘Thank you, I—’

‘Don’t bloody thank me. I’m going to be watching every move you make,’ Campbell continues, firmly. ‘Everything has to come through me from now on, you understand – everything .’

As she leaves the DCI’s office Jennie tries not to show how shaken she’s feeling. That was far too close for comfort and there’s no doubt she’s trashed her relationship with Campbell. She replays the interview with Lottie Varney in her mind. Lottie dropped the bomb about Jennie taking the photograph of the darkroom crew, and then tilted her head to the side and smiled so sweetly, as if she was clueless about what she was doing. But something seems off. The sweetness and cluelessness could be bullshit, a smokescreen to make it appear that Lottie had outed her by accident. Jennie remembers the barbed words Lottie used to describe her: she was almost like one of us .

Bitch.

She had been one of them. She’d been more of one of them than Lottie by the end of term, too. Had Lottie held a grudge about that all these years? Had she blamed Jennie for encouraging Hannah’s modelling ambitions? Was she harbouring resentment that Hannah had become Jennie’s best friend rather than hers? Could it be true that Lottie was so devastated about Hannah wanting to move to London that she’d have done anything to stop her?

It’s possible. Maybe. Jealousy is a powerful motivator, and Jennie’s certainly investigated previous cases motivated by it. But would Lottie really have been capable of hurting Hannah? Lottie’s tiny, petite; she couldn’t hurt a fly, could she? It seems impossible that she could have snapped someone’s neck.

As she reaches her desk and sits down, Jennie remembers something else. Back in early 1994, several months before they went on study leave, the darkroom crew were playing spin the bottle on a rainy Friday afternoon after school. Rob smuggled some Thunderbird into the basement under his prized Flatliners coat and declared they all had to have a drink.

Jennie hadn’t really had much alcohol before; watching her mum’s drinking had put her off. But she bowed to peer pressure that afternoon and gulped down half a beaker of the disgusting stuff as Hannah, Rob and Simon chanted, ‘Drink, drink, drink!’

She felt weird pretty fast; warmer than usual, with her head all woozy. Sitting in a circle with her friends, with the bottle in the centre, everything seemed heightened: the burgundy of the sofa seemed richer, the overhead lights brighter, the smell of the alcohol and the closeness of Hannah beside her more intoxicating. They played a few spins of the bottle before it happened. Simon had to take off his trousers and wear them on his head. Lottie had to tell them if she’d ever shoplifted, and she told them about the time she stole a pair of sandals from the local River Island. Next spin, when the bottle pointed to Hannah, she chose a dare.

‘Kiss someone for ten seconds,’ says Rob, with a wolfish smile. ‘Tongues are compulsory.’

A whoop goes up from the group. Lottie claps her hands together. Simon smiles rather smugly and leans across the middle of the circle, waiting for Hannah to kiss him.

She doesn’t. Instead, Hannah turns to her left, to Jennie who is sitting beside her.

Jennie stares at her. Frowns.

‘Hey,’ says Hannah.

The group has fallen silent now.

Jennie isn’t sure what’s going on. Hannah’s face is a bit fuzzy, as if someone’s taken an eraser and rubbed gently around her edges. ‘What’s the—’

Hannah presses her mouth against Jennie’s. Jennie freezes. Her lips stay closed. She doesn’t know how to react. How to feel .

Undeterred, Hannah slips her arms around Jennie and pulls her closer. Jennie feels Hannah’s fingers on the back of her neck. Hannah’s tongue pushing between her lips. She yields to the pressure, opening her mouth a little, and Hannah’s tongue is in her mouth.

The others cheer. Someone slaps Jennie on her back.

‘You can stop, you’ve done ten seconds already,’ says Lottie, somewhere behind her.

Rob and Simon tell Lottie to shut up.

Hannah doesn’t stop. They’re full-on snogging now. Proper tongue action. Jennie’s never snogged anyone before. It’s warm, and soft, and fuzzy, and weird.

And amazing.

It feels like forever and too soon when Hannah draws back, kissing Jennie on the tip of her nose as she releases her. ‘You taste like strawberry,’ murmurs Jennie, touching her fingers to her lips. Still reeling from what’s just happened.

‘You taste like Thunderbird,’ says Hannah with a smile.

Rob lets out a long whistle. ‘That was well hot,’ he says, high-fiving Simon.

Hannah laughs. ‘I thought you boys might like the show.’

‘Just don’t forget what a man tastes like,’ says Simon, lunging across the circle to kiss Hannah, the bulge of his erection straining at his jeans.

Elliott catches her eye and gives a rueful shake of his head. Jennie shrugs as if to say, What could I do?

Rob starts campaigning for them to do it again, chanting and clapping. ‘Snog. Snog. Snog.’

Jennie looks at Hannah and she’s laughing. She pulls Jennie to her in a hug and that’s the moment Jennie’s gaze meets Lottie’s.

It’s Lottie’s reaction that’s burned into her memory. Lottie is sitting statue-still, glaring at Jennie. The jealousy she’s feeling seems to have twisted her features into a caricature of herself.

Jennie shudders at the memory.

If looks could kill.