‘Jodie was using a mobile phone the night she disappeared,’ I say, still looking at the BlackBerry. ‘Not her usual one, but another handset, a cheap disposable most likely. It’s only a matter of time before the police identify her new phone. They’ll be able to read her text messages and look at her call logs.’
‘Maybe even trace her movements,’ says Lenny, picking up on the theme. ‘You think you’re safe, Felix, because your data is encrypted, but you can’t hide the signal. Every phone has a unique signature that pings the nearest mobile phone towers, which means we can see where you’ve been – every house, pub, car park . . . every girlfriend. Every business meeting.’
Felix has gone quiet. He draws on his cigarette and exhales, blinking into the smoke. His eyes drift lower, focusing on the BlackBerry. He lunges, grabs the phone, pulls back his arm, and hurls it towards the balcony door and the river beyond. In the same breath, I shove the sliding glass door. It closes on smooth runners and the phone clatters against the double-glazing, landing at my feet. I pick it up.
‘Give it back,’ says Felix.
‘It’s a criminal offence to dispose of evidence,’ replies Lenny, taking the phone from me and sliding it into her pocket.
Felix is less certain than before. ‘You need a warrant.’
‘We’ll get one.’
I watch how the young man changes. He wants to be menacing, but like a lot of weedy men he’s all push and self-possession, whereas someone like his father, a shambling shaggy heavyweight, wears the crown more easily.
‘Was Jodie a runner?’ asks Lenny.
‘No comment,’ he replies.
‘Did you know she was pregnant?’
This time Felix hesitates and tosses us a bone. ‘She came to me a few weeks ago, said she was up the duff.’
‘Who was the father?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘Did you ask?’
Another shrug.
‘What did Jodie tell you?’
‘She didn’t want Mum and Dad finding out. Mum would have thrown a wobbly, you know. Crying and praying.’
‘Jodie must have wanted something.’
‘Cash.’
‘Why?’
‘The scrape, I guess.’
‘Terminations are free – why would she need money?’
‘She wouldn’t get it done in Nottingham. Too many people know her. She said she was going to London.’
‘And you gave her six thousand pounds – that’s very generous of you.’
‘She stole that from me. I keep a bit of cash around the place, you know, in case of an emergency.’
‘Why didn’t you get it back?’
Felix doesn’t answer.
‘She was blackmailing you,’ I say.
Again, silence. Felix puts his thumbnail between his teeth and bites at the edges.
‘Did you send her to a house on The Ropewalk on the night she disappeared?’
‘No comment.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Who was she delivering to?’
Felix laughs. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’
‘That’s a given,’ says Lenny. ‘The question is – how big an idiot.’
I want to get back to Jodie. ‘When was she going to London?’ I ask.
‘She didn’t say. She brought an overnight bag around here and put it in the spare room. Said she’d come by and pick it up when she was leaving.’
‘Where is the bag now?’ asks Lenny.
Felix nods towards one of the bedrooms.
‘Can we take a look?’ I ask.
Felix’s expression changes, his features pushing outwards in a calculating smile. ‘Do I get my phone back?’
I see Lenny weighing her options.
‘If everything you’ve told us is true, I’ll return your phone, but if you’ve been lying to me, Felix, I’ll be all over you like a drunk aunt on a dance floor.’
He smirks.
In the bedroom, I open the wardrobe and pull out a small suitcase with a stencilled insignia for the British Ice-Skating Team. Lenny tosses me a pair disposable gloves and dons her own. The main zipper slides open, revealing clothes – knickers, tops, a sweater, two skirts and pair of jeans, as well as a woollen hat with ear muffs. There are separate pouches for Jodie’s toiletries and make-up. Lower down, I find soft toy, a floppy-eared rabbit with a missing eye and a chewed ear. She was taking folic acid tablets and reading a book called How to Grow a Baby and Push It Out.
‘Why pack a suitcase?’ I ask, without realising I’ve said it out loud.
‘She was going to London,’ says Lenny.
‘Which is only two hours away by train. She didn’t have to stay overnight. According to Ness, Jodie was eleven weeks pregnant, which was still early enough for her to have a medical abortion. She could have taken a pill and come back a few days later for a second one.’
I look again at the contents of the bag – the clothes, the make-up, the vitamins and the much-loved childhood toy. Suddenly, the answer is clear to me.
‘Jodie wasn’t terminating a pregnancy – she was running away.’
45
Tasmin Whitaker is still dressed in her school uniform when she answers the door. She opens it far enough to peer over the chain, squinting as though the sun is in her eyes. A dusting of icing sugar covers her top lip.
‘Mum and Dad aren’t home.’
‘It’s you I wanted to see.’
A shadow passes across her face.
‘I want to talk about Jodie.’
Tasmin looks over her left shoulder, holding the door with both hands.
‘Who is it, Tas?’ asks a voice from inside.
‘The police,’ she replies.
‘I’m not the police.’
Aiden pushes Tasmin out of the way, opening the door wider. He’s wearing track pants and a football jumper that hangs loosely on his slim frame. They don’t look like brother or sister. It’s as though Aiden was given first dibs at the beauty buffet, getting the eyelashes, cheekbones and clear skin, while Tasmin had to make do with the leftovers.
‘What do you want?’ he asks.
‘I was hoping I could talk to Tasmin.’
‘I thought you did that already.’
‘I have a few more questions.’
Aiden seems to pounce on the statement. ‘You can’t talk to her without an adult present.’
‘It’s not a formal interview,’ I reply, ‘but you seem to know the rules.’
‘I’m reading law at Cambridge.’
‘I thought that was next year.’
‘Yeah, well, I know my shit,’ he says defiantly.
‘Yes, you do,’ I say. ‘You’ll make a great lawyer.’
Aiden isn’t sure if I’m teasing him. Tasmin steps in between us. ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’
‘I could talk to both of you,’ I say.
Aiden agrees grudgingly and the door shuts behind me with a ragged click. We choose the sitting room because the kitchen table is covered in scraps of yellow fabric and a sewing machine.
‘Mum is decorating my coat for the memorial service,’ explains Tasmin. ‘Yellow was Jodie’s favourite colour.’