Pretty Twisted (24 page)

I mentioned it to Jonathan. He looked appalled. ‘That guy who opened the door to us? That’s mental, Ros!’

‘I didn’t say it
was
him! Maybe. I don’t know what to think any more! All I know is he and his house freak me out. Why
did
he invite me, Abby and Claudia round?’ The full impact of this hit me as I spoke. We’d been casually hanging out in the home of a man who might be a
murderer –

‘Maybe he was looking for his next victim?’

‘Let’s not go there! Jono, this is way too big for us. Whatever’s happened, whether it’s Hugh or Gabe involved, something is seriously wrong. We’ve got to phone the police!’

‘Ros, no!’ Jonathan cried, the sharpness in his voice making me jump. ‘We can’t! Christ, don’t you realize? My prints are all over that necklace –
and
the house – and this!’ He waved the bloodied scarf. ‘I’m already a suspect – now the police are
really
going to think I did it!’

I looked away, feeling helpless, horrified and sick all at once. ‘So what do we do?’

‘I don’t know!’

A woman walking past gave us a funny look.

‘Only one thing for it,’ Jonathan said in a calmer voice. ‘We’ve got to find Freya. We find her, make sure she’s safe. Then we’re off the hook – the police’s suspicions about me won’t hold up and we’ll be free to tell them what we’ve found at the house. So –’ he took a breath – ‘any idea where she might be?’

I stared at him. ‘How am I supposed to know, Jono?’

‘Well, Hugh must’ve taken her somewhere. And you know more about Hugh than I do.’

‘Not much!’

It was beginning to feel like we were trapped in a horror film, the kind where the gruesome shocks keep coming even when you think there can’t possibly be any more. ‘I hardly know Hugh well enough to know where he’d have taken Freya.’

‘They left yesterday, so they’ve stayed somewhere overnight. Maybe they went to some friends of Hugh’s? Family? A hotel?’

‘He never mentioned—’ I stopped.

Hugh’s photos. A picture of a boat – his dad’s. I remembered it because it seemed so strange – houseboats in London. Would he have taken Freya there?

‘It’s possible,’ Jonathan said when I told him. ‘Any other ideas?’

I shook my head. Everything inside me was screaming that trying to play detective was a bad, even dangerous, idea. I wanted to run away, go home and hide in my bed and pretend this mess didn’t exist. For all I knew, we were heading for another dead end.

Jonathan

3.05pm

We had to waste time finding an Internet cafe because Ros didn’t know where the houseboats were moored – ‘Little Venice’ could have been anywhere. A quick Google told us that we needed to head to Maida Vale, not far from where we were now. An underground journey and a short walk and we were there. As I took in the colourful boats moored at the banks and the backs of the tall, straight houses bordering the water I began to realize this wouldn’t be easy.

‘What’s the boat called?’ I asked Ros.

‘Dunno. A girl’s name, I think. And there were mermaids painted on it.’

Not much to go on, I thought. Quite a few of the boats seemed to have female names. And the canal was long – Ros and I had looked it up in her little London
A–Z
. We didn’t know Hugh’s dad’s first name either, so asking people was pointless. The passers-by all looked like tourists anyway.

After an hour, I began to feel frantic.

‘It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack,’ I said. ‘How can we find something when you don’t even know if you’ll recognize it?’

Ros was frowning at a greyhound wandering along the path a few feet away. Without a word she went over and started to stroke him. The dog wagged its tail.

‘Are you even listening?’ I asked crossly. ‘Christ, Ros, what is it with you and dogs?’

‘Lovely, isn’t he?’ a woman on the boat nearest to us called. ‘Rudi’s quite an old boy now, bless him, but he’s always got a hello for visitors.’

‘Is he yours?’ Ros asked.

‘Nope, he’s Russell’s, though he visits me now and again, especially if I’m baking cakes.’

‘Which one’s Russell’s boat?’

‘That green and red one just up there.’

Ros looked over her shoulder at me. ‘Come on. I think Russell must be Hugh’s dad.’

‘What?’

‘There was a dog in the photo of the boat Hugh showed me – this dog, I think.’

Quickly we went up to the boat the woman had indicated. I felt my heart begin to pound. The boat’s nameplate read
Annabel
. Rudi swaggered on board like he owned the place and disappeared inside.

‘That’s it – Annabel!’ Ros cried. ‘It’s been repainted since the photo was taken. No wonder we couldn’t find it.’

A bearded man was sitting on the deck frowning at an easel. Without looking up, he said, ‘D’you mind moving? You’re in my light.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ My throat felt suddenly dry. ‘Um, is Hugh about?’

‘Hugh!’ the man yelled. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans, hoping against hope that Freya was all right.

A guy emerged from the boat. He fitted the waitress’s description, though right now the area around his nose looked bruised and uncomfortable. Seeing us, he raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m starting to seriously wonder about you, Ros. What are you doing here? Come to show off your boyfriend or something?’

‘I’m not her boyfriend,’ I said.

There was a thump from within. A familiar, tousled head appeared behind Hugh’s shoulder.

‘God,’ said Freya. ‘Jonathan.’

I stared, almost unable to believe my eyes. Then, in sheer relief, I stepped on deck and pulled her into a hug. She tensed at first, but then brought up a hand and patted my shoulder.

‘OK, Jonny, back off. Why are you here?’

I let her go, opening my mouth to say how relieved I was. Then reality smacked me in the face. Freya was with another bloke. From the looks of things, she was wearing one of his shirts. All the police interviews, the worry, the stress I’d been under – and here she was acting like nothing had happened!

‘Why do you think I’m here?’ I exclaimed. ‘You’ve been gone for over a week! No one had a clue where you were.’

She folded her arms. ‘I’m totally within my rights to go away if I want to.’

‘Freya, come on! Didn’t it occur to you that people would wonder where you were?’

‘I didn’t want people bothering me – especially not you, Jonathan! How did you even find me?’

‘I know that one,’ said Hugh. ‘It’s cos Ros here is your devoted stalker. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?’

Behind me Rosalind coughed nervously.

I ignored Hugh, keeping my attention on Freya. ‘I was worried sick something had happened to you.’

‘Well, it hasn’t – though things got nasty last night with Hugh’s housemate.’

‘What? With Gabe?’

Hugh snorted. ‘No, he’s been as nice as pie all week. Brian’s the one who went psycho when Freya had a look round the attic. He’s a nutter!’

Brian? I glanced at Ros. She was looking baffled.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

Freya shrugged. ‘I was only looking for interesting props. We were doing a photo shoot. Hugh said there were loads of boxes on the top floor with stuff that belonged to Gabe’s auntie. One of the rooms had been made into a bedroom. Later on I was joking to Hugh about how people could be living up there without anyone knowing. Brian overheard me, and for some reason he just lost it!’

‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

‘I think he might have, if Hugh hadn’t been there.’

‘Yeah, and Hugh’s nose is regretting being there.’ Hugh winced, and then I realized. The blood on the scarf wasn’t Freya’s at all. It was Hugh’s!

‘Poor Hughie,’ Freya was saying. ‘We’d been having such a fun week.’

Fun! For an instant, I was speechless. Then I was furious.

‘I suppose you were having so much fun that you decided to skip your classes and your work shift and became totally oblivious to the outside world. What the
hell
do you think you’re playing at? You’ve been reported missing! Your picture’s all over the news, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Oh, tell me that’s a joke!’ Freya’s face dropped. ‘You idiot, Jonathan!’

I wasn’t standing for that and I didn’t give a damn if I was shouting. ‘Don’t you dare call me an idiot. Two girls from south London went missing. One was murdered! Did the thought not pop into your empty head that people might think you were dead too? Or that the police might think I did it? I’ve been questioned four times!’

For a moment she looked stupefied. Then she put on a haughty face. ‘I can take care of myself!’

‘Yeah, I’m sure that’s what the first girl thought too! Don’t give me that shit.’ She tried to speak, but I didn’t let her. ‘I’ve had it with telling you how bloody selfish you’ve been. You’d better let the police know you’re all right, cos they’re this close to arresting me, and your parents are frantic with worry!’ I looked at Ros. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

Ignoring Freya calling after me, I left, and I was glad I had my back to her, because this way she couldn’t see how near to crying I was.

Rosalind

5.30 p.m.

‘Jonathan,’ I called, sprinting to catch up with him. He was walking very quickly, looking straight ahead.

‘God, I never realized how thoughtless she can be. I am so over this shit! How did she think that people wouldn’t worry?’

‘Dunno.’ I was a little breathless and the words come out huskily. ‘But look, Jono, what do you think about what Hugh said about Brian? It doesn’t fit, does it? Gabe’s the creepy one –’

Jonathan frowned at me as though the answer was obvious. ‘Well, we were wrong. Brian’s the Student Snatcher – it’s obvious.’

As soon as he said it, everything came together. I remembered how weird Brian had been when Abby and I had left the house. How insistent he’d been that Abby stay. I thought of the missing girls. Now I came to think of it, they both looked a bit gothy, like Abby . . . Abby, who was due to meet Brian at Camden in half an hour! Suddenly realizing what this could mean – and angry at how slow I’d been on the uptake – I grabbed Jonathan’s arm.

‘Abby’s in trouble!’

I explained.

Jonathan looked alarmed. ‘Do you think he’d hurt her?’

‘Maybe! I don’t know!’

‘OK, let’s not get carried away. Give Abby a ring.’

I pulled out my phone. Abby’s number went straight to voicemail.

‘She must be on the tube already.’ I felt my stomach sink. ‘It goes into the tunnel at East Finchley – that means she’s twenty minutes from Camden Town station, max. It’s five thirty now – she was due to meet him at six – she’s early!’

‘Where were they meeting?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Ros, chill. If you keep ringing, you can get through the moment she comes out.’

‘But what if she doesn’t pick up? Maybe they’re meeting right outside the station. I won’t be able to catch her before he does!’ Something else hitting me, I cried, ‘She said they were going to go for a walk by the
river!
Jono, the dead girl’s body was found in the Thames!’

We stared at each other.

Jonathan swore. ‘How far is Camden?’

I wiped my eyes, angry that I was losing it like this. ‘Ages away! Three different tube lines!’

As we stood trying not to panic Hugh and Freya passed us – presumably on their way to the police station.

Hugh raised his eyebrows at me. ‘You OK?’

‘No!’ Against my better judgement, I poured everything out. For the first time since I’d met him, Hugh looked perplexed.

‘Seriously, Ros, is this some kind of joke? I live with the guy. I think I’d know if murdering teenagers was one of his hobbies!’

‘Why did he get so mad at Freya for finding the room then?’

Hugh was shaking his head, but he wasn’t looking sure of himself. ‘This is flipping insane.’

‘And how do you explain the necklace?’ I continued, almost in tears. Whether it was this or what I’d said, something seemed to click into place for Hugh.

‘OK, Ros. Don’t stress! I know exactly where Brian is. It’s Tuesday – he’ll be at his stall at Stables Market.’

He looked at Freya. ‘Go!’ she cried. ‘I’ll go to the police station – and call them on my way!’

‘Right!’ Hugh said. ‘Let’s get moving!’

‘But we can’t get over there in time!’ I said. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘Ah, Ros. Such a pessimist.’ Hugh took some notes out of his pocket and waved them at me. ‘Raided Dad’s wallet. Taxi, anyone?’

We were at Maida Vale station in a few minutes. Some tourists were just getting out of a cab and we hailed it, Hugh shouting to Freya that he’d join her as soon as he could.

‘Should only take ten minutes or so to get there,’ Hugh said when we were on the move. ‘Can’t quite get my head around all of this, but in a way it fits . . .’