I’m going to catfish Emma, pretending to be Chloe.

I have that pay-as-you-go SIM I used on holiday last year. If I put that in my phone, I can text Emma pretending that I’m Chloe with a new number. It might work; Emma said they lost contact so she might not realize. And it might not work. But I have nothing to lose, and maybe secrets to gain and a killer to find.

Holy pepperoni.

I have never sweated so much in my whole damn life. I’m in shock that I managed to pull that off. I almost lost it a couple of times but . . . I actually did it.

I do feel bad, though. Emma is so nice and trusting. But it’s good that I feel guilty; it shows I haven’t quite lost my moral compass. I might still be a good girl yet . . .

And just like that, we have two more leads.

Jason Bell was already on the persons of interest list, but now he goes on in bold as number-one suspect. He was having an affair and Andie knew about it. More so than that, Jason knew that Andie knew. She must have approached him about it, or maybe she’s the one who caught him. That’s definitely filled in some of the gaps about why their relationship was strained.

And, now I think about it, was all this secret money Andie had given to her by her dad BECAUSE she knew? Was she, maybe, blackmailing him? No, that’s pure conjecture; I need to consider the money as separate intel until I can confirm where it came from.

The second lead and the biggest reveal of the night then: Andie was secretly seeing an older man during her relationship with Sal. So secret that she never told her friends who it was, only that she could ruin him. My mind goes immediately to that place: a married man. Could he have been the source of the secret money? I have a new suspect. One who would certainly have motive to silence Andie for good.

This is not the Andie I expected to find in my investigation, so removed from that public image of a beautiful blonde victim. A victim loved by her family, a victim adored by her friends, a victim who was taken too soon by her ‘cruel, murderous ’ boyfriend. Maybe that Andie was a fictional character all along, designed to bucket-collect people’s sympathy, to exchange their coins for newspapers. And now that I’m scratching, that image is starting to peel away at the corners.

I need to call Ravi.

Persons of Interest Jason Bell Naomi Ward Secret Older Guy (how much older?)

Ten

‘I hate camping,’ Lauren grunted, tripping over the crumpled canvas.

‘Yeah, well, it’s my birthday and I like it,’ Cara said, reading over the instructions with her tongue tucked between her teeth.

It was the final Friday of the summer holidays and the three of them were in a small clearing in a beech forest on the outskirts of Kilton. Cara’s choice for her early eighteenth birthday celebration: to sleep without a roof and squat-piss behind dark trees all night. It wouldn’t have been Pip’s choice either; she certainly didn’t see the logic in retrogressive toilet and sleeping arrangements. But she knew how to pretend well enough.

‘It’s technically illegal to camp outside of a registered campsite,’ Lauren said, kicking the canvas in retaliation.

‘Well, let’s hope the camping police don’t check Instagram, because I’ve announced it to the world. Now shush,’ Cara said, ‘I’m trying to read.’

‘Um, Cara,’ Pip said tentatively, ‘you know this isn’t a tent you brought, right? It’s a marquee.’

‘Same difference,’ she said. ‘And we have to fit us and the three boys in.’

‘But it comes with no floor.’ Pip jabbed her finger at the picture on the instructions.

‘You come with no floor.’ Cara butt-shoved her away. ‘And my dad packed us a separate groundsheet.’

‘When are the boys getting here?’ Lauren asked.

‘They texted they were leaving about two minutes ago. And no,’ Cara snapped, ‘we’re not waiting for them to put it up for us, Lauren.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that.’

Cara cracked her knuckles. ‘Dismantling the patriarchy, one tent at a time.’

‘Marquee,’ Pip corrected.

‘Do you want me to hurt you?’

‘No-quee.’

Ten minutes later, a full ten-by-twenty-foot white marquee stood on the forest floor, looking as out of place as anything could. It had been easy once they worked out the frame was a pop-up. Pip checked her phone. It was half seven already and her weather app said that sunset would be in fifteen minutes, though they’d have another couple of twilight-lit hours before darkness fell.

‘This is going to be so fun.’ Cara stood back to admire their handiwork. ‘I love camping. I’m gonna have gin and strawberry laces until I puke. I don’t want to remember a thing tomorrow.’

‘Admirable goals,’ Pip said. ‘Do you two want to go and grab the rest of the food from the car? I’ll lay out our sleeping bags and put up the sides.’

Cara’s car was parked in the tiny concrete car park about 200 yards from their chosen spot. Lauren and Cara toddled off that way through the trees, the woods lit with that final orange nightly glow before they begin to darken.

‘Don’t forget the torches,’ she called, just as she lost sight of them.

Pip attached the large canvas sides to the marquee, swearing when the Velcro betrayed her and she had to start one side from scratch. She wrestled with the groundsheet, glad when she heard the twig-snap tread of Cara and Lauren returning. But when she went to look outside for them no one was there. It was just a magpie, mocking her from the darkening treetops, laughing its scratchy, bony laugh. She begrudgingly saluted it and got to work laying their three sleeping bags in a row, trying not to think about the fact that Andie Bell could very well be buried somewhere in these woods, deep underground.