“What does that have to do with Natasha?”
“It was her boyfriend. They were fighting over her.”
“When was this?”
“About four months before the girls disappeared. You should really talk to Emily Martinez.”
“Is she here today?”
“I don’t know. She misses a lot of school.”
Ruiz has pulled an old notebook from his pocket and is jotting down details. It’s not that he needs reminding-he won’t forget-but old habits are hard to break.
Kirsty turns to Grievous. “Has there been some news?”
He doesn’t answer, but the knowledge still reaches her. Fear thickens her vowels.
“Are they dead?”
“I can’t comment,” he says.
She looks at me. “Oh dear, you’ve made me do a terrible thing.”
“You’ve told me the truth.”
A bell rings. Bodies fill the corridors outside; girls in motion, laughter, musical voices and sentences that end with upward inflections. The English teacher has to go. She stands and brushes the front of her trousers. She touches the corner of one eye, then her hair.
“We all have reasons to run away,” she says, before turning. “Most of us find the strength to stay.”
20
Ruiz turns off the ignition and we sit in silence, watching the empty street. A Network Rail sign indicates the entrance to Radley Station and beneath it is an information board with a poster for a visiting circus.
Beyond a bus stop is the Bowyer Arms, a chain pub with pale washed walls. Ruiz fumbles in his pocket, pulling out a tin of boiled sweets. He chooses one and sucks on it thoughtfully.
“Explain to me why we’re here?”
“This is where they were supposed to meet,” I say. “According to Emily’s statement, they were going to rendezvous here at ten o’clock on Sunday morning, but they didn’t show up.”
I take out a copy of the original missing persons report. Alice McBain told police she last saw the girls at just before 8:00 a.m. on Sunday August 31. Piper had slept over at Natasha’s house after the Bingham Summer Festival. Alice knocked on Natasha’s door and told them to get out of bed. Natasha had a waitressing shift at a cafe in Abingdon at ten that morning, but failed to show.
“Why did they want to run away?”
“In the last week of the school year Natasha was expelled from school for pulling a prank on a couple of teachers. The details were never released and the expulsion was rescinded when the girls went missing.
“According to Emily, they planned to run away to London. They packed bags and saved money, but the idea seemed to lose potency as the summer wore on. It came up again on the last night of the Bingham festival. The girls went to a funfair. Piper was supposed to be grounded, but she climbed out of her bedroom window after her parents had gone to bed.
“Dozens of people saw the girls during the course of the evening. The fairground rides closed down at eleven. Emily had gone home an hour earlier after a phone call. Her mother had suffered some sort of turn and been taken to hospital.”
“What sort of turn?”
“It’s not clear. Piper and Natasha were seen near the entrance to the village green just before ten.”
“Who saw them?”
“A police patrol.”
The boiled sweet rattles against Ruiz’s teeth. I continue.
“Some time shortly after midnight, Piper Hadley knocked on Emily’s bedroom window. She was upset, but wouldn’t say why. She said they were leaving, running away. If Emily wanted to come, she had to meet them here at 10:00 a.m.”
“Did Emily see Natasha?”
“No. Emily showed up at Radley Station at 9:50 a.m. but the girls didn’t show. She waited for nearly two hours then went home.”
“She didn’t raise the alarm?”
“No. A search wasn’t launched until late Sunday afternoon. Police interviewed passengers on the trains and the City35 bus service, but nobody remembered seeing the girls.”
“What about their mobile phones?”
“Natasha’s phone was turned off just after eleven on Saturday night. Piper didn’t have one with her.”
“How far is the farmhouse from here?” he asks.
“Just over half a mile.”
Ruiz is still contemplating the pub in the distance. “Maybe Drury is right about Augie Shaw.”
“Augie doesn’t have the intellect to have done this.”
“What about his old man?”
“Wesley has been dead for a year and a half. Even if he abducted the girls, I don’t think Augie could have carried on without him. It takes food, water, heating, security…”
“Why keep the girls?”
“Could be a number of reasons. It’s sexual, but there’s definitely a revenge element. It’s also about possession; owning something special, being completely in control.”
Ahead of us a bus lurches to a halt and schoolchildren of various ages get off. I notice a pair of teenaged girls, one model tall, the other short, stout and brunette, walking along the footpath.
Ruiz steps out of the car.
“How’s it going, ladies?”
They both smile and say hello, but keep their distance.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” says the taller girl. She has a blue school bag with neon stickers.
“The bus that comes through here-does it run on Sunday mornings?”
“Every hour.”
Ruiz takes out his notebook and jots something down. “I’m just doing a little detective work,” he explains. “Two girls went missing from this spot a few years ago. Do you remember the Bingham Girls?”
“Everybody knows about them,” says the brunette, taking a few steps and looking into the car. “Are you really detectives?”
“Working a case.”
“Piper Hadley was a really good runner,” says the tall girl.
“Did you go to the same school?”
“No.”
“What about Natasha McBain?”
“She was just, like, you know…”
“I don’t.”
Eye-rolling. “She had, like, this reputation of being a slag.”
“A wannabe-dot-com,” adds the brunette.
Ruiz glances at me, already tired of talking to the girls.
“My dad thinks they’re, like, dead,” says the tall one.
“Is like dead the same as being really dead?” asks Ruiz.
They look at him blankly.
Further along the road I notice a familiar-looking Vauxhall Cavalier slow and pull over. Tinted windows. Fat tires. Two-up. Toby Kroger and Craig Gould emerge. Gould is wearing stylized baggy pants, a leather jacket and an oversized T-shirt like he’s an LA gangbanger an ocean away from home. Kroger has on the same cotton hoodie and battered jeans that I saw him in two days ago.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he says, grabbing the crotch of his jeans. “Are these old pervs hassling you?”
The taller girl giggles. The brunette stands with one foot behind the other, pushing her breasts forward.
Opening the car door, I join Ruiz on the footpath.
“You know these clowns?” he asks.
“The local yoof.”
Kroger tugs at his hood, pulling it over the brim of his baseball cap.
“I like your hoodie,” says Ruiz. “Justin Bieber wears one just like that.”
The girls are giggling.
Kroger takes a moment to formulate a response, peeling back his lips to show splinters of gold in his teeth.
“Two girls were kidnapped around here, so when we see two old guys putting the hard word on local girls, we get concerned.” He winks at Gould and then at the brunette. “We’re like guardian angels.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” says Ruiz. “They’re angels. I don’t see any wings. You know what they say about angels with small wings?”
Kroger’s eyes seem to click open and his feet are set before he swings. His fist bounces off the side of Ruiz’s head. That was his one half-chance. Before he can set himself again, he’s doubled over with a fist deep in his stomach and no air in his lungs.
With the minimum of fuss, Ruiz twists Kroger’s arm behind his back. A shirt button pops loose and rolls into the gutter where it spins like a bottle top.