Finding Jennifer Jones (9 page)

“For God’s sake, man!” the policeman shouted. “Get those children back to the Land Rover. Get them away from here. And on no account are the parents to come here. Do you understand?”

The ranger nodded and went to take Jennifer’s hand. She flinched and he looked down at her palm and then at the other one.

“Your skin is scratched. What have you done to your hands? I’ll have to bathe them.”

He picked up the first aid box and with his free hand took Lucy’s and walked on.

“Come on, dear. We’ll get that looked at.”

They walked through the trees and emerged onto the rough path that was prohibited to the general public. Lucy had found her voice and was talking, explaining about her brothers’ den and how they’d come up to the park the day before to have a look at it and how Michelle had been in a bad temper. The ranger kept looking round at Jennifer, a frown on his face, his eyes flicking down at her hands.

Lucy carried on describing how she had
fallen
into the water.

Jennifer looked at the small girl with gratitude. She wasn’t saying that Jennifer had pushed her in. She was, even now, trying to keep Jennifer out of trouble. But after Jennifer pushed Lucy into the lake she had done a dreadful thing. The memory of it made her legs buckle under her and she didn’t feel she could walk another step.

“Wait…” she said, stopping Lucy’s flow of conversation.

The ranger looked at her with concern.

“I don’t feel well,” she said.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, letting go of Lucy’s hand and putting his arm around her shoulder. He smelled of tobacco and dirt and for a second she put her head against his shirt. He went on talking in a low voice. “You’ve just seen a terrible thing. The worst thing ever. When we get back to the car I’ll bathe your hands and then we’ll get you back home to your mum. We’ve got to get the police here and find the person who did this.”

She could have said something then but she didn’t want to upset him, disappoint him. She wanted him to have a good opinion of her, even if it was only for a short while.

She sat in the back of the Land Rover as it negotiated its way slowly along the tracks, twisting and turning, rising over hillocks and back down again. She had her palms flat out in front of her. The dirt was cleaned off and they were pink but stinging.
You might need a tetanus
, the ranger had mumbled, using antiseptic wet wipes to clean the dirt away.

Lucy was beside her but there was a huge gap between them. Jennifer put her face up against the window. The sun seemed to flash on and off, pushing its way out between clouds. It dazzled on the lake for seconds, then it vanished and the water became brown and sloppy again.

The car park was up ahead. When they’d left it, Michelle’s parents, Mr and Mrs Livingstone, had been there with a female officer. They’d been in their own car and had wanted to go with them into the park to find Michelle. They’d been told to wait with the policewoman. There’d been an argument but the policewoman had been firm. Jennifer had stared at Mrs Livingstone as they’d driven away. Mrs Livingstone’s eyes had looked a little mad, shifting this way and that, and she’d been chewing her lip. Her hair, which was usually so nicely curled, stuck out and was lopsided; as if she’d been sleeping on one side of it for days and days. Mr Livingstone just looked angry and was still arguing with the officer as they drove away, pointing into the air with a finger.

Now Jennifer had to face them again. She crossed her arms and sat with great trepidation as the Land Rover turned back into the car park.

People were milling round, talking on phones. The Land Rover moved slowly round and parked on the far side.

“I want you both to stay here while I speak to these officers,” the ranger said.

He got out and walked quickly across the car park. Mrs Livingstone saw them and perked up, tugging her husband’s arm. The sight of her made Jennifer feel woozy. She didn’t think she could speak to Mrs Livingstone ever again. She sank down in the seat. The ranger walked across to the female police officer. He had his back to Mrs and Mrs Livingstone. Jennifer’s eyes were just above the line of the window and she saw Mrs Livingstone’s face take on a determined expression. The woman took a couple of steps and then broke into a half run. Her husband called after her and the policewoman and the ranger turned and saw her go.

Mrs Livingstone wrenched the door of the Land Rover open. A blast of cold air hit Jennifer and she began to shiver.

“Jennifer. Why didn’t you tell me that Michelle was up here, yesterday? That she was injured, hurt? Why did you lie? You could have just said. Because of you my Michelle lay out in the cold all night long. How could you do that? Jennifer, answer me! Tell me why you didn’t tell your mother or me! Why did you make up a story?”

“I…” She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to say it. All she could do was stare at Mrs Livingstone.

The policewoman had come up and put one hand on Mrs Livingstone’s arm. She had a pained expression on her face. Behind her, where the other cars were parked, Jennifer could see the ranger talking to Mr Livingstone. He had a hand on Mr Livingstone’s shoulder and his mouth was close to his ear. He was shaking his head, his lips opening and closing.

“Don’t pull me away.” Mrs Livingstone’s voice was loud, scratchy, as if her words were rubbing against sandpaper. “I want this little tearaway to know! I want her to know that this isn’t the end of it. I’ll contact social services. There’s no control in the family. None at all. The mother couldn’t care less. She’s too busy servicing men to care what this young lady does. I’ll see that she doesn’t come back to school. I’ll complain to the council and get her mother moved on … ”

“Mrs Livingstone,” the policewoman said, taking her more firmly, pulling her arm so that she let go of the door of the Land Rover. “Girls, get in the back of that police car by the entrance,” she added.

They got out. Jennifer watched as Mrs Livingstone walked back towards her husband. He was leaning on the roof of the car, his forehead on his hands. The ranger was patting him on the back. Lucy got to the car first and then Jennifer got in.

“Put your seat belts on, girls,” the driver said.

The car door shut and Jennifer looked over to where Mr and Mrs Livingstone were. The female officer was talking to them and Michelle’s mother had both her hands up, covering her face. All of the officers nearby had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the couple.

Mrs Livingstone’s legs seemed to give way and she fell forward onto the tarmac. A flurry of police officers stepped forward to pick her up just as their car turned and made its way out of the car park. It swept out onto the country lane and after a few moments drove along past the row of cottages on Water Lane. Jennifer’s eyes clung to them, singling out her front door. Perhaps her mum was inside, in her bedroom, getting ready to go out. Her mum was always somewhere else when a drama was going on. Like the time when Lucy’s mum had had a heart attack, she’d just slept through it. No doubt she was, at that very moment, standing in front of her mirror, deciding whether to wash and blow-dry her hair again.

Jennifer closed her eyes.

Her mother was always busy when Jennifer needed her.

Thirteen

At the police station Lucy went off with the policewoman who had driven them there and Jennifer was passed on to another officer who said her name was
Margaret
. She hurried Jennifer into a room with a sofa and armchairs and a low coffee table. Jennifer sat on the sofa and Margaret gave her a drink of squash and a cellophane packet of digestives. There was light green carpet on the floor. It seemed unreal and strange that she should be there in that comfortable room while everyone else was still up at Berwick Waters. She pulled at the corner of the cellophane and nibbled a biscuit. It crumbled on her tongue but she had trouble swallowing. She put the packet down and drank the squash. She wondered what was happening by the lake. She pictured a line of policemen walking along the winding path up towards the place where Michelle was. Maybe two of them would be carrying a stretcher.

Margaret was talking but Jennifer couldn’t really latch on to what she was saying. She was thinking of Mrs Livingstone, in the car park. Her angry words were still ringing in Jennifer’s ears. A knock on the door startled her. Margaret stood up promptly and went across to open it. It was Jennifer’s mother, Carol Jones.

“Jen, there you are! I’ve been waiting for ages. What’s going on? They said you showed them where Michelle was…”

Her mother had made an effort with her appearance but she didn’t look like her usual self. She had no eye make-up on and wasn’t wearing any of her fashionable clothes. Her hair was pulled up on top and she was wearing a blouse and a skirt. There was no jewellery apart from a pair of old hoop earrings. It was the kind of outfit Mrs Livingstone might have worn when she worked as a school secretary. Her mum didn’t mind dressing up for Mr Cottis, the photographer. Now she was doing it for some other reason.

“Mrs Jones, DI Temple wants me to talk to Jennifer. She’ll be along shortly and you’ll be present of course.”

“What about?”

“Just a statement. To see if Jennifer can recall any details that might help…”

“Help what?” she said, sitting on the sofa next to Jennifer.

“Michelle’s dead, Mum,” Jennifer said, a catch in her voice.

“I know that,” her mother said, tersely, and then, turning to Margaret, she half whispered, “Hasn’t my Jen done enough?”

“I don’t think it will take very long…”

“Can I have a few minutes with Jen alone? Just mother and daughter stuff.”

“Sure. Would you like a tea? We have a machine.”

“Yes please. Black, no sugar. Jen? You want a tea?”

Jennifer shook her head as Margaret went out of the room. As soon as the door closed her mother put her arm round her and hugged her tight. Jennifer was surprised, astonished. Her mother’s bony frame squashed into her and she felt herself welling up, tears coming to her eyes. Her mother
knew
that she hadn’t meant to do it. Her mother understood. She would back her up. She would be there for her. She put her arms up round her neck and felt her mother’s face on her skin.

“Jen,” her mother whispered, her voice barely loud enough to hear, “Don’t say anything about the photos or Mr Cottis. The police won’t understand. They’ll make it look bad and you’ll be taken into foster care. You don’t want that. Just don’t mention him and don’t say a word about the photos. You got that?”

Jennifer felt her mother’s hot breath on her ear. Had she heard her right? Had she misunderstood? She nodded anyway and held onto her even though she felt her begin to disengage, move back, pull her arm away. Then her mother was sitting along the sofa and Jennifer felt chilled where her arm had been. Now there was a gap between them; enough room for a whole other person to sit.

“I’m desperate for that cup of tea. What happened to Michelle? Did you see anything? Is that why they want you here?”

The door opened abruptly and Margaret came in carrying two paper cups. She was followed by a woman in a dark suit who had a folder full of papers in her arms.

“Good afternoon. I am Detective Inspector Ellen Temple.”

She came into the room but sat on a chair that was next to a table in the corner. It was Margaret who sat opposite them, making herself comfortable, smiling at Jennifer. The DI seemed to be sorting through papers. Then she looked straight at Jennifer.

“Are you feeling all right? My officer said that you had hurt your hands.”

Jennifer held her hands out. They were scratched and red. She let her eyes blur while looking at them. She was thinking of Mr Cottis and his camera and the photographs her mother didn’t want her to talk about. If only she knew. Jennifer would never have told anyone about those photos. She was too ashamed.

“What’s wrong with your hands, Jen?” her mother said, “How come you didn’t tell me? She’s a bit like that,” she said to the officer. “Keeps things to herself.”

Margaret spoke. She appeared to be in charge even though the DI, who was looking at a mobile phone, seemed more important. She had her shoulder to Jennifer as if she was only half listening to them talking.

“Jennifer,” Margaret said, “I’ll be taking this interview. The DI is here just to note down anything that she thinks is important. Today, you were able to take our officer to the spot where you’d seen Michelle, yesterday.”

Jennifer nodded. She was on the edge of her seat, waiting for the
accusations
.

“We want to start at the beginning. We want you to tell us what happened when you and Lucy and Michelle went up to the reservoir yesterday.”

Margaret smiled and then looked at Carol Jones. Jennifer said nothing.
They knew. They’d seen what she’d done. Why did they want her to go over it all again?

“Don’t worry, you won’t get into trouble for it.”

Margaret’s voice was light and sweet but the DI sat in the corner looking serious. Jennifer started talking, her words croaky.

“It was Michelle’s idea. We went up there to mess around with Lucy’s brothers’ den. We thought it was like a hut or a wooden shelter, a proper building, but it turned out to just be this tin box buried in the ground. It was full of stuff, ropes and sleeping bags and other things,” she said, remembering, with dread, the baseball bat.

“And while you were on your way, Jennifer, did you pass anyone? Any adults? Any teenagers? A man, perhaps?”

She frowned and tried to think back. They had seen people, some in the distance, some walking their dogs. But they hadn’t come close to anyone.

“No.”

“You didn’t get the sense that anyone was following you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Margaret said. “What we’re trying to do here, is build up a picture of what happened, yesterday morning. Now, we know that you and your friends went up there together but then you split up. Lucy Bussell came back on her own and left you and Michelle there. What we’re trying to find out is what happened to Michelle after you left.”