Chapter 41

Chapter 41

As the cab pulls away Jennie stands on the pavement, peering through the rusted iron gateposts at the old White Cross Academy building. The site seems deserted; there are no builders or rubbernecks today. Only birdsong and occasional road noise disturb the silence. Behind the school, the Chiltern Forest stretches up the hillside, its green foliage framing the whiteness of the 85-foot-high chalk cross. Two of her friends died here, leaving so many unanswered questions. Now it’s time to get answers.

She walks onto the site, along the weed-lined pathway to the tall wooden fence that shields the main site from view, and heads through the gate. Staring up at the once grand stately home with its boarded windows, collapsing gutters and crumbling stonework, she feels a strange affinity with the place: in the wake of the bike crash, her own facade is as crumbling and badly damaged now.

The police tape that formed the outer cordon is still up, and Jennie sends a quick text before ducking under it and striding across the yellowing lawn towards the ivy-covered portico. Her legs feel heavy as she climbs the cracked stone steps; she hopes she has the strength to do what needs to be done. She takes a breath, then opens the rotting door with a firm shove and steps inside.

The echo of her footsteps on the stone floor unnerves her. The hallway is pitch black, the boarded-up windows blocking out any light. Last time Jennie was here, the lights had already been switched on. She gropes around on the wall for where she vaguely remembers the switches are. It takes a while before she finds them and flips them on.

Nothing happens at first. Then she hears a faint humming sound overhead before the fluorescent strip lights flicker into life.

She exhales. It’s a relief the electricity is still on. She wouldn’t fancy doing what needs to be done in pitch darkness. What she has planned is already risky enough.

Hurrying down the corridor, Jennie steps over a pile of mouldy debris where the ceiling has caved in, and strides through the double fire doors hanging crooked on rusty hinges. She doesn’t stop by her old locker this time, instead rushing the rest of the way to the top of the stairs.

She slows her pace and avoids touching the rotten banister as she descends to the basement. The temperature drops as she goes down; the stench of damp gets stronger. Stepping off the bottom stair Jennie coughs, the dust-ridden chewiness of the air creeping into her lungs. A sense of dread is building inside her, just as it did when she came down here the day Hannah’s remains were found. This time the dread is for a different reason.

Jennie coughs again, her eyes watering. She clutches her ribs, biting back the pain as the movement aggravates her injuries. She doesn’t have time for that right now. This is all about justice for Hannah.

As her heartbeat accelerates, she goes through the open doorway and into the passage beyond. The first door on her left is the room she’s looking for.

Jennie pauses. Heart thumping. Then opens the door.

She flicks on the lights and watches the dust motes swirl. The darkroom looks different and familiar all at once. There’s no soft red light, and the smell of chemicals is long gone. But the rickety old external door is still there, now reinforced by planks of wood nailed across it. The dark wood-panelled walls have mould growing along them and the old burgundy sofa is years past its best. The long, thin table up against the far wall is empty now: gone is the stack of shallow trays and chemical bottles. The washing line, where they used to peg photographs to dry, hangs flaccid from a hook in the wall, its end spooling on the dusty floor. The damp smells worse in here and the air is even thicker.

As the minutes tick by, Jennie begins to feel increasingly nervous. So much so, that when she hears the voice, she almost jumps out of her skin.

‘Jennie? Oh thank God. This place is disgusting.’

She turns to see Lottie. She’s impeccably dressed as always – white blouse, camel trousers, nude sandals – with a white Prada handbag slung over her shoulder. Jennie forces a smile. ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice.’

‘Well, your text intrigued me if I’m honest,’ says Lottie, walking across to the mildewed sofa as if to sit down, but then changing her mind when she sees the state of it.

‘It’s damp in here,’ says Jennie. ‘I don’t remember it being like this when we were at school.’

‘Me neither,’ says Lottie, frowning as much as her botox will allow. ‘Mind you, the chemicals and the weed would’ve masked it.’

‘True.’ Jennie arranges her expression into what she hopes looks sympathetic. ‘You were pretty upset when I last saw you. How are you doing?’

‘I’m holding up, but it’s hard, you know?’ Lottie’s voice cracks a little. She walks closer to Jennie. ‘It’s been the worst week ever. First Hannah, then dear Rob. I’d only been talking to him an hour or so earlier. He came here especially from London to support my vigil for Hannah and then … that happened, it’s just too awful. I can’t help but feel responsible.’

Typical Lottie. Making it about her.

‘It was a shock,’ says Jennie, nodding.

‘And you found him. That must have been horrific.’ Lottie looks as if she might cry. ‘I don’t understand why he didn’t reach out to one of us . Elliott, Simon and I were all there at the vigil, we would have supported him if he’d just told us he was struggling …’

Jennie hardens her heart to the barbed dig. She’s learnt from what she’s uncovered during the investigation that she was never really a full member of their group. Lottie rubbing it in now isn’t going to divert her from the real purpose of this meeting.

‘I know Rob had been having a few troubles in his work but surely it would all have been sorted out soon enough,’ continues Lottie, gabbling on. ‘But I suppose a job like his was very high-pressure and not everyone is equipped to handle the stresses of something like that, are they? I just hate to think of him alone in those final moments, so lost. It’s just tragic. And to think he’d been holding onto all that guilt about Hannah for so many years. It must have just eaten away at him. It’s just so … I guess you can never really know a person, can you?’

Jennie can see how Lottie is trying to frame this, but she doesn’t want to go there just yet. Not until it’s time. So she nods. Keeps her expression and tone sympathetic. ‘It’s tragic. Like I said in my message, I do need to clarify some points of evidence with you, if that’s okay?’

Lottie nods vigorously. ‘Of course, Jennie. As I said before, anything I can do to help dear Hannah.’

There’s a noise from the hallway and Lottie jumps. The door creaks open.

‘Oh my God, what’s that …?’ Wide-eyed and fearful, Lottie moves behind Jennie.

‘Hello?’ says Elliott, poking his head around the door before pulling it wider to reveal himself and Simon standing in the corridor.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ says Lottie, her fear turning to irritation. She looks at Jennie accusingly. ‘You didn’t say we’d have company.’

‘I thought a reunion might be helpful,’ says Jennie, giving a small shrug. Forcing a smile, she gestures for Elliott and Simon to come in. ‘It’s good to see you both again.’

Unlike Lottie, Jennie is glad they’ve arrived promptly. She needs to get this done. In an hour or so, the DCI will release the statement to the press that they’ve closed the case, naming Robert Marwood as the killer. If she’s going to get to the truth, it has to be now.

‘What is this? Why are we all here?’ says Simon, suspicious.

‘I thought we needed a private conversation so we could speak freely,’ says Jennie, injecting as much warmth into her voice as she can muster. ‘Just us, here in the darkroom. Like old times.’

Simon, still wary, looks from her to Elliott and Lottie. None of them speak. Lottie bites her lower lip.

Elliott clasps his hands together. In a friendly tone at odds with his rigid posture, he says, ‘Sounds good. How can we help?’

This is the moment. Jennie inhales. She makes eye contact with each of her old schoolfriends in turn. ‘I have proof you were all here with Hannah on the night she died.’

Lottie’s mouth opens in surprise, the rest of her body stays immobile.

‘What are you talking about?’ says Elliott, wringing his hands together awkwardly.

‘This is ridiculous.’ Simon flushes red. ‘I’m not staying here to be accused of this—’

‘If we were here, don’t you think you’d have been with us?’ says Elliott, with a rueful look. ‘Rob and Hannah might have met up here together to do drugs, but the rest of us only ever hung out together, you know that.’ Stepping closer to Jennie, he looks at her with those kind blue eyes that had always made her melt, and puts his hand on her arm. ‘You were one of us.’

No, I wasn’t.

It kills her that Elliott can look so sincere as he lies to her face.

‘I have proof.’ Removing the photos from her pocket she unfolds them and lays them out one by one on the table where they used to process negatives. Hannah preening for the camera, Rob’s shirtless image reflected in her mirrored shades; Thunderbird, vodka, pills and foil packets littered across a small table; Simon in a headband leaning over Lottie pouring vodka into her mouth as she lies on the sofa, while Elliott develops pictures and Hannah dances with a manic look on her face. ‘I know now that you all used to party without me.’

‘It doesn’t mean we had anything to do with Hannah’s death,’ says Elliott, squeezing her arm.

Simon shrugs. ‘That party was a one-off. You were busy or whatever.’

‘Rob organised it,’ says Lottie, her voice whining, nervous now. ‘We honestly didn’t realise he hadn’t told you.’

Jennie shakes her head. ‘You’re lying. Just like you lied in your police statements about what really happened to Hannah.’

There’s a brief silence. Lottie shoots a glance at Elliott.

‘This is bullshit,’ rants Simon, his cheeks turning puce. ‘Those photos were taken before Hannah disappeared. They prove nothing. This is a waste of time …’

You’re right,’ says Jennie, resisting the urge to yell back at Simon. ‘Those pictures were taken earlier in the week that Hannah went missing.’

‘So you don’t have proof?’ says Elliott, cautiously. Seemingly unaware of the implication of his words.

I do now.

‘It must have been a good party, because you did it again three days later. And you were all here.’

Lottie’s shaking her head.

Simon swears loudly.

‘What do you mean?’ asks Elliott. ‘We weren’t—’

Jennie keeps talking, ignoring their protests. ‘In his statement, Rob told us he had been watching Four Weddings and a Funeral that evening, but there was no sign of the ticket stub he said he’d given to the original misper investigation as proof,’ says Jennie, assertively. ‘I doubted he’d have seen that film again, because he didn’t think much of it when we watched it as a group the week before. So we dug a bit deeper. Turns out the cinema had projector issues that day and was forced to close. So Rob’s alibi was fake.’

Lottie nods. ‘Well, yes, that’s—’

‘Simon told us he was at work,’ says Jennie, interrupting Lottie. ‘But EDT Logistics confirmed he didn’t show up that night and had his wages docked. Elliott said he was here in the basement darkroom, but although he claimed to have seen Paul Jennings and that he left him here with Hannah, I don’t believe that’s true. And you, Lottie, were allegedly at the youth club disco in Farnby Square, but I know you weren’t because I was there. Like me, none of the people I’ve spoken to who were there that night saw you.’

‘It’s true,’ says Lottie, her voice smaller, shakier now. ‘We did meet up a few times without you.’

Elliott shoots Lottie a warning look.

Simon grimaces. ‘So bloody what? It’s a free country.’

‘We need to tell her the truth,’ says Lottie. She meets Jennie’s gaze. ‘You’re right, we were there on the night Hannah died.’

Simon shakes his head. Swears under his breath.

Emotion builds in Jennie’s chest. She blinks rapidly. Needs to stay focused. Fighting to contain her fury as she asks, ‘What happened?’

‘It was just a party, a few drinks and a bit of weed. At first, anyway,’ says Lottie, hesitantly. Her eyes start to tear up. ‘But Hannah was so wild . And Rob always did encourage her, always wanting to push the boundaries. That night they were out of control. Rob kept on saying it was our “big bang” before the exams started. He said it was going to be the best night of our lives.’

Lottie pauses. Elliott is shifting his weight from foot to foot. Simon looks ready to punch someone.

Her voice gentle, Jennie asks, ‘Was it?’

Lottie looks away. Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head, sadly. She puts her hand against her chest and takes a couple of breaths. Then she looks back at Jennie. ‘Hannah had taken a load of stuff – pills, weed – then her and Rob chased the dragon. Hannah had this scarf tight around her neck. Rob was banging on about how you could reach a better high if you limited your oxygen. The rest of us were drunk and high, not really paying attention to what they were doing. But whatever did happen, their game went horribly wrong. One minute they were dancing around like wild things, the next Hannah fell and the scarf got caught … Her neck was snapped instantly.’

Jennie’s heart races as she pictures the scene. Her best friend, so vital and alive, having the life snuffed out from her so suddenly.

Elliott looks ashen. ‘It was horrific.’

‘I told her not to be so reckless,’ says Simon, his rage barely contained. ‘But Rob always encouraged her to be a daredevil. She didn’t bloody listen to me and it killed her.’

There’s a clanging noise overhead. The four of them flinch, and look up.

‘It must be the old pipes,’ says Jennie. It has to be that; there’s no one else around. Down here in this dank and derelict basement, they are completely isolated. The thought makes her feel suddenly vulnerable. If things turn bad, it’s three against one; those aren’t good odds. Careful to keep her tone sympathetic, she asks, ‘What did you do next?’

‘Rob was crying, howling, he couldn’t believe what had happened and he felt responsible,’ says Elliott, his tone solemn. ‘Hannah was dead, there was no bringing her back.’

‘We helped Rob bury her,’ says Lottie. She shudders. ‘It was awful, putting her into that muddy trench …’

‘That bastard pretty much forced us to help him,’ says Simon, the fury clear in his voice. ‘I told him we should call the police, tell them it was an accident, but no, he wouldn’t have it.’

Elliott looks upset. He puts his hand on Jennie’s. ‘Yes we were there, and yes we’re guilty of helping cover up what happened. But you have to believe us,’ he says, his voice becoming more insistent, ‘we only did it to protect Rob. You’d have done the same if you were there, Jen. You’d have wanted to protect him. It was an awful accident but it’s what Hannah would have wanted.’

Jennie stares into Elliott’s eyes. She thinks of all the good times they shared in that year of upper sixth: how he’d taught her to develop her own photos, how he listened to her talking tearfully about her dad and how much she missed him, how he never judged her or mocked her but always treated her with kindness.

She yearns for that time again. That feeling of friendship and belonging and hope.

Then she thinks of Hannah, her heart sister, her best friend, reduced to the bones dug up from the muddy trench she’d been dumped in all those years before. Her resolve hardens.

Jennie narrows her gaze. Lets go of Elliott’s hand. ‘What about the acid?’