‘A missing person report has been filed,’ she replied. ‘Police response is non-existent right now. So, it’s just me. That’s why I need your help.’ She smiled, pretending like she didn’t resent having to ask.

‘Missing since the memorial?’ Stanley thought aloud. ‘That’s only, like, a day and a half, right?’

‘Thirty-seven and a half hours,’ she said.

‘That’s not very long, is it?’ He lowered the page.

‘Missing is missing,’ she countered. ‘And the first seventy-two hours are critical, especially if you suspect foul play.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The family do too. So, will you help? Can you print that notice tomorrow?’

Stanley looked up for a moment, eyes spooling as he considered it. ‘Suppose I can move the article about the potholes until next week.’

‘Is that a yes?’ she said.

‘Yes, I’ll make sure it goes in.’ He nodded, tapping the poster. ‘Though I’m sure he’ll turn up OK.’

‘Thank you, Stanley.’ She returned his polite smile. ‘I really appreciate that.’ She pivoted on the heel of her trainers to leave, but Stanley’s voice stopped her as she reached the door.

‘Mysteries always seem to find their way to you, don’t they?’

Ten

The doorbell was shrill, splitting your ears the same way as a scream. Pip withdrew her finger, restoring quiet to the white-bricked terraced house. She hoped this was the right house, this was the one they’d told her: number thirteen Beacon Close, dark red door.

An aggressively white BMW sports car sat in the drive, throwing the morning sun back into Pip’s eyes, blinding her.

She was about to ring the bell again, when she heard a sliding bolt. The door swung inwards and a man appeared in the gap, screwing his eyes against the brightness outside. This must have been the new boyfriend, then. He was wearing a crisp white jumper – black Adidas track marks up the arms – and a pair of dark basketball shorts.

‘Yeah?’ he said gruffly, voice crackling like he’d not long been awake.

‘Hello,’ Pip said brightly. The man had a tattoo across the front of his neck, the grey ink stark against his white skin in symmetrical repeating shapes that looked a little like scales. A flock of birds emerged from the pattern, flying up the side of his face and into his brown close-shaved hair. Pip returned her gaze to his eyes. ‘Um, is Nat da Silva in? I just asked at her parents’ house and her mum said she’d probably be here.’

‘Yeah she’s in,’ he sniffed. ‘You a friend of hers?’

‘Yes,’ Pip said, which was a lie, but it was easier to say than: No she still hates me even though I keep trying to make her not hate me. ‘I’m Pip . . . Fitz-Amobi. Can I come in? I need to talk to her about something quite urgent.’

‘Yeah, I guess. It’s kinda early,’ he said, stepping back and gesturing for her to follow. ‘I’m Luke. Eaton.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Pip closed the front door and followed Luke around the bend in the corridor, into the kitchen at the back.

‘Nat, friend of yours,’ Luke said as they entered.

The room was square, kitchen counters in an L-shape on one side, the other filled with a large wooden table. On one end of the table was what looked like a stack of money, the pile weighted down by BMW car keys. And on the other end sat Nat da Silva, a bowl of cereal in front of her. She was wearing what must have been one of Luke’s jumpers, her dyed white hair brushed to one side.

She dropped her cereal-loaded spoon and it clattered noisily against the bowl.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

‘Hi Nat.’ Pip stood there awkwardly, trapped halfway between Luke in the doorway and Nat at the table.

‘You already said what you wanted to say to me at the memorial,’ Nat said dismissively, picking the spoon back up.

‘Oh, no, this isn’t about the trial.’ Pip chanced one step towards Nat.

‘What trial?’ Luke said behind her.

‘Nothing,’ Nat responded, the word spoken over her mouthful. ‘What is it, then?’

‘It’s Jamie Reynolds,’ Pip said. A breeze came through the open window, fluttering the lace curtain and rustling a couple of brown paper bags on the counter. Probably takeaway bags. ‘Jamie’s missing,’ she added.

Nat’s eyebrows lowered, darkening her blue eyes. ‘Missing? His mum called me yesterday, asking if I’d seen him. He still hasn’t turned up?’

‘No, and they’re really worried. They filed a missing person report yesterday, but the police aren’t doing anything about it.’

‘My brother, you mean?’

Pip had walked right into that one.

‘Well, no, I spoke to the Detective Inspector. He says there’s nothing they can do. So the Reynoldses asked if I would investigate.’

‘For your podcast?’ Nat said that last word full of spite, hardening the consonants, sharpening them to a point.

‘Well, yes.’

Nat swallowed another bite of cereal. ‘How opportunistic of you.’

Luke sniggered behind her.

‘They asked me to,’ Pip said quietly. ‘I’m guessing you won’t want to do a recorded interview.’

‘Perceptive too,’ she said, milk dripping on to the table as another spoonful hovered between her and the bowl.

‘Jamie told his brother he was going to your house – your parents’ house – after the memorial, to spend the evening with you.’

‘He was supposed to. He never showed up.’ Nat sniffed, glancing quickly up at Luke. ‘Never texted to say he wasn’t coming. I waited. Tried calling him.’

‘So, the last contact you had with Jamie was at the memorial, in person?’

‘Yes.’ Nat crunched another mouthful. ‘Until just after Andie’s friends spoke, when I noticed Jamie staring into the crowd on the other side, trying to see something. I asked him what was up, and he said, “I’ve just seen someone.”’

‘And?’ Pip said when Nat paused for too long.

‘Then he left, presumably to go talk to whoever it was,’ she said.

That’s when Pip had last seen him too. Jostling her as he made his way to the other side of the crowd, a strange intensity on his face. But who was he moving towards?

‘Do you have any idea who the “someone” is that he spotted?’

‘No,’ Nat said, stretching her neck out with an audible crack. ‘Can’t be somebody I know or he would’ve said their name. He’s probably with whoever that someone is. He’ll come home. Jamie’s like that, very all or nothing.’

‘His family are convinced something has happened to him,’ Pip said, her legs starting to prickle from standing still too long. ‘That’s why I need to work out his movements during and after the memorial. Find out who he interacted with on Friday night. Do you know anything that might help?’

She heard an intake of breath behind her, from Luke, before he spoke. ‘Nat’s right, Jamie’s probably just staying with a friend. I’m sure this is a load of trouble over nothing.’