A Good Girl's Guide to Murder(76)

‘Listen,’ he said gently, ‘if you’re being bullied, the worst thing to do is keep it to yourself.’

‘I’m not,’ she said, turning to him. ‘I’m fine, really.’

‘Pip?’

‘I’m good, Mr Ward,’ she said as the first group of chattering students slipped in the door behind them.

She took her textbook from Elliot’s hands and wandered over to her seat, knowing his eyes were following her as she went.

‘Pips,’ Connor said as he shoved his bag down on the place beside her. ‘Lost you after lunch.’ And then, in a whisper, he added, ‘So why are you and Cara acting all frosty? You fallen out or something?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘we’re all fine. Everything’s fine.’





Pippa Fitz-Amobi

EPQ 21/10/2017





Production Log – Entry 33


I’m not ignoring the fact that I saw Nat da Silva in school just a few hours before I found the note in my locker. Especially considering her history with death threats in lockers. And although her name has now climbed to the top of the suspect list, it is in no way definitive. In a small town like Kilton, sometimes things that seem connected are entirely coincidental, and vice versa. Running into someone in the only high school in town does not a murderer make.

Almost everyone on my suspect list has a connection with that school. Both Max Hastings and Nat da Silva went there, Daniel da Silva used to work there as a caretaker, both of Jason Bell’s daughters went there. I actually don’t know if Howie Bowers went to Kilton Grammar or not; I can’t seem to find any information online about him. But all of these suspects would know I go there; they could have followed me, could have been watching me on Friday morning when I was at my locker with Cara. It’s not like there’s any security at the school; anyone can walk in unchallenged.

So maybe Nat, but maybe the others too. And I’ve just talked myself back round to square one. Who is the killer? Time is running out and I’m still no closer to pointing my finger.

From everything Ravi and I have learned I still consider Andie’s burner phone as the most important lead. It’s missing but if we can find it or the person who has it then our job here is done. The phone is physical, tangible evidence. Exactly what we need if we’re going to find a way to bring the police in on this. A printed photo with blurry details they might sneer at, but no one could ignore the secret second phone of the victim.

Yes, I’ve mused before that maybe the burner phone was on Andie when she died and it’s lost forever with her body. But let’s pretend it wasn’t. Let’s say that Andie was intercepted as she drove away from home. Let’s say that she was killed and disposed of. And then the killer thinks to themselves: oh no, the burner phone could lead to me and what if the police find it in their searches?

So they have to go and get it. There are two people on my list that I’ve confirmed knew about the burner phone: Max and Howie. If Daniel da Silva was Secret Older Guy, then he surely knew about it too. Howie, in particular, knew where it was hidden.

What if one of them went to the Bell house and removed the burner phone after killing Andie, before it could be found? I have some more questions for Becca Bell. I don’t know if she’ll answer them but I have to try.





Thirty-One



She felt the nerves as barbs sticking in her gut as she walked up to the building. It was a tiny glass-fronted office building with a small metallic sign reading Kilton Mail beside the main door. And although it was a Monday morning the place looked and felt abandoned. No sign of life or movement in any of the lower windows.

Pip pressed the button on the wall next to the door. It made a tinny whining sound that grated in her ears. She let it go and, seconds later, a muffled robotic voice came through the speaker.

‘Hello?’

‘Err, hi,’ Pip said. ‘I’m here to see Becca Bell.’

‘OK,’ the voice said, ‘I’ll buzz you in. Give the door a good push ’cause it’s sticky.’

A harsh buzz sounded. Pip pushed the door and barged it with her hip and, with a clacking noise, the door unstuck and swung inwards. She closed it behind her and stood there in a small and cold room. There were three sofas and a couple of coffee tables but no people.

‘Hello?’ she called.

A door opened and a man strolled through, flicking the collar up on his long beige coat. A man with straight dark hair pushed to the side and grey-tinged skin. It was Stanley Forbes.

‘Oh.’ He stopped when he saw Pip. ‘I’m just on my way out. I . . . who are you?’

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, his lower jaw jutted out, and Pip felt goosebumps crawling down her neck. It was cold in here.

‘I’m here to see Becca,’ she said.

‘Oh, right.’ He smiled without showing his teeth. ‘Everyone’s working in the back room today. Heating’s busted at the front. That way.’ He pointed at the door he’d come through.

‘Thank you,’ she said, but Stanley wasn’t listening. He was already halfway out of the front door. It banged shut, drowning out the ‘ooo’ in her thanks.

Pip walked over to the far door and pushed through it. A short corridor opened up into a larger room, with four paper-laden desks pushed against each wall. There were three women in here, each typing away at the computers on their desks, jointly creating a pitter-patter song that filled the room. None of them had noticed her over the sound of it.