Holly Jackson - Good Girl, Bad Blood – The Sunday Times bestseller and sequel to A Good Girl's Guide to Murder

‘Hello?’ The voice emerged before its owner: the detention officer Pip had met a couple of times. The officer strolled out, slapping some papers down and then finally looking at Pip. ‘Oh, you’re not who I was expecting.’

‘Sorry,’ Pip smiled. ‘How are you, Eliza?’

‘I’m OK, love.’ Her kindly face crinkled into a smile, grey hair bunching at the collar of her uniform. ‘What brings you here this time?’

Pip liked Eliza, liked that neither of them had to pretend or dance around small talk.

‘I need to talk to DI Hawkins,’ she said. ‘Is he here?’

‘He is right now.’ Eliza chewed her pen. ‘He’s very busy though, looking to be a long night.’

‘Can you tell him it’s urgent? Please,’ Pip added.

‘Fine, see what I can do,’ Eliza sighed. ‘Take a seat, sweetheart,’ she added as she disappeared back into the office.

But Pip didn’t take a seat. Her body was humming and didn’t know how to be still right now. So she paced the width of the front desk, six steps, turn, six steps back, daring the squeak of her trainers to wake the sleeping man.

The keypad-locked door leading to the offices and interview rooms buzzed open, but it wasn’t Eliza or Richard Hawkins. It was two uniformed officers. Out first was Daniel da Silva, holding the door for another constable, Soraya Bouzidi, who was tying her tightly curled hair into a bun beneath her black peaked hat. Pip had first met them both at the police meeting in Kilton library last October, back when Daniel da Silva was a person of interest in Andie’s case. Judging by the strained, toothless smile he gave her now as he passed, he clearly hadn’t forgotten that.

But Soraya acknowledged her, throwing her a nod and a bright, ‘Hello,’ before following Daniel outside to one of the patrol cars. Pip wondered where they were going, what had called them out. Whatever it was, they must think it more important than Jamie Reynolds.

The door buzzed again, but only opened a few inches. A hand was all that appeared through it, holding up two fingers towards Pip.

‘You’ve got two minutes,’ Hawkins called, beckoning her to follow him down the corridor. She hurried over, trainers shrieking as she did, the sleeping man snorting awake behind her.

Hawkins didn’t wait to say hello, striding down the hall in front of her. He was dressed in black jeans and a new jacket, padded and dark green. Maybe he’d finally thrown out that long wool coat he’d always worn when he was lead investigator on Andie Bell’s disappearance.

‘I’m on my way out,’ he said suddenly, opening the door to Interview Room 1 and gesturing her inside. ‘So I mean it when I say two minutes. What is it?’ He closed the door behind them, leaning against it with one leg up.

Pip straightened and crossed her arms. ‘Missing person,’ she said. ‘Jamie Reynolds from Little Kilton. Case number four nine zero zero –’

‘Yeah I saw the report,’ he interrupted. ‘What about it?’

‘Why aren’t you doing anything about it?’

That caught him off guard. Hawkins made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a throat-clear, rubbing his hand across his stubbled chin. ‘I’m sure you know how it works, Pip. I won’t patronize you by explaining.’

‘He shouldn’t be filed as low risk,’ she said. ‘His family believe he’s in serious trouble.’

‘Well, family hunches aren’t one of the criteria we trust in serious police work.’

‘And what about my hunches?’ Pip said, refusing to let go of his eyes. ‘Do you trust those? I’ve known Jamie since I was nine. I saw him at Andie and Sal’s memorial before he disappeared, and something definitely felt off.’

‘I was there,’ Hawkins said. ‘It was very emotionally charged. I’m not surprised if people weren’t acting quite themselves.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

‘Look, Pip,’ he sighed, dropping his leg and peeling away from the door. ‘Do you know how many missing persons reports we get every single day? Sometimes as many as twelve. We quite literally don’t have the time or resources to chase up every single one. Especially not with all these budget cuts. Most people return on their own within forty-eight hours. We have to prioritize.’

‘So prioritize Jamie,’ she said. ‘Trust me. Something’s wrong.’

‘I can’t do that.’ Hawkins shook his head. ‘Jamie is an adult and even his own mother admitted this isn’t out of character. Adults have a legal right to disappear if they want to. Jamie Reynolds isn’t missing; he’s just absent. He’ll be fine. And if he chooses to, he’ll be back in a few days.’

‘What if you’re wrong?’ she asked, knowing she was losing him. She couldn’t lose him. ‘What if you’re missing something, like with Sal? What if you’re wrong again?’

Hawkins winced. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I could help but I really have to go. We’ve got an actual high-risk case: an eight-year-old who’s been abducted from her back garden. There’s just nothing I can do for Jamie. It’s the way it is, unfortunately.’ He reached down for the door handle.

‘Please,’ Pip said, the desperation in her voice surprising them both. ‘Please, I’m begging you.’

His fingers stalled. ‘I’m –’

‘Please.’ Her throat clenched like it did before she cried, breaking her voice into a million little pieces. ‘Don’t make me do this again. Please. I can’t do this again.’

Hawkins wouldn’t look at her, tightening his grip around the handle. ‘I’m sorry, Pip. My hands are tied. There’s nothing I can do.’

Outside, she stopped in the middle of the car park and looked up into the sky, clouds hiding the stars from her, hoarding them for themselves. It had just started to rain, cold droplets that stung as they fell into her open eyes. She stood there a while, watching the endless nothing of the sky, trying to listen to what her gut was telling her. She closed her eyes to hear it better. What do I do? Tell me what to do .

She started to shiver and climbed into her car, wringing the rain from her hair. The sky had given her no answers. But there was someone who might; someone who knew her better than she knew herself. She pulled out her phone and dialled.

‘Ravi?’

‘Hello, trouble.’ The smile was obvious in his voice. ‘Have you been sleeping? You sound strange.’

She told him; told him everything. Asked for help because he was the only one she knew how to ask.

‘I can’t tell you what decision to make,’ he said.

‘But, could you?’

‘No, I can’t make that decision for you. Only you know, only you can know,’ he said. ‘But what I do know is that whatever you decide will be the right thing. That’s just how you are. And whatever you choose, you know I’ll be here, right behind you. Always. OK?’

‘OK.’

And as she said goodbye, she realized the decision was already made. Maybe it had always been made, maybe she’d never really had a choice, and she’d just been waiting for someone to tell her that that was OK.

It was OK.

She searched for Connor’s name and clicked the green button, her heart dragging its way to her throat.

He picked up on the second ring.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

Seven

The Reynoldses’ house on Cedar Way had always looked like a face. The white front door and the wide windows either side were the house’s toothy smile. The mark where the bricks were discoloured, that was its nose. And the two squared windows upstairs were its eyes, staring down at you, sleeping when the curtains were closed at night.

The face usually looked happy. But as she stared at it now, it felt incomplete, like the house itself knew something inside was wrong.