The Girls Who Disappeared(41)

It’s just gone 2 p.m. but the reception area is empty and surprisingly small, with just one desk crammed up against a tiny window and a dusty Swiss cheese plant in the corner next to a filing cabinet with a cheap plastic kettle on top. There is another door off the reception area, which is suddenly flung open. Jay rushes out, clasping an A4 leather-bound book to his chest.

‘Oh, hi,’ he says, staring at me as though he’s forgotten who I am even though he only saw me this morning. He looks around the small space. ‘Where’s Lydia?’

I shrug in response. ‘It was empty when I got here but someone buzzed me in.’

‘I bet she’s gone for a fag again. I keep telling her not to take so many breaks. Anyway, come in, come in,’ he says, ushering me through the door into his office. It’s even smaller than the ‘reception area’, with just enough room for a desk, two chairs, and a table in the corner on which sits a compact archaic coffee machine. He waves his notebook in its direction. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Yes, please, black. Decaf if possible,’ I say, pulling out the chair in front of his desk and sitting on it. It’s claustrophobic in here and smells of new carpets and old ashtrays.

He dumps the notebook on his desk and takes off his jacket. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt that shows off his tanned arms. I can see the edge of what looks like a tattoo on his left bicep. ‘Ah, yes, something stupid I did in my youth,’ he says, when he sees me looking. He pulls up the hem of his sleeve to show me. It’s some kind of symbol, in Chinese.

‘What does it mean?’ I ask.

‘Courage. It was to remind me to take chances in life. To take risks. Silly, really.’ And I try to imagine what type of man he was in his youth before he was a corporate businessman in an expensive suit. He goes to the coffee machine. We’re silent as the machine gurgles away and then he hands me a white mug with KNAPTON DEVELOPMENTS written on the side. He pushes his glasses onto his nose and smiles broadly. He has very tanned skin, as if he uses a sunbed. There is nothing personal on his desk, no family photos or homely trinkets, and his hands are bare of any rings.

‘Do you mind if I record you?’ I ask, as I get out my phone. ‘I might not necessarily use everything you say.’ I’m wondering whether I’ll need Jay’s interview now that I’ll have Olivia, Dale and Brenda. He wasn’t even living in Stafferbury at the time so I don’t know if he can tell me anything useful. I’m hoping he can just give me some local colour – rumours that have never faded about the case maybe. Or other eerie happenings.

‘Um … well, sure. Sure, that’s fine,’ he says, as though he’s trying to convince himself.

I ask him a few warm-up questions to relax him, like how long he’s been living in the town – nearly nineteen years – and if he has any family nearby (‘No, never been married. No children.’).

‘Can you tell me a bit about the town? I know you weren’t here when Olivia Rutherford’s friends disappeared but there have been so many reports about strange goings-on. The haunted forest. A child crying …’ I remember hearing that myself on the night I was attacked. I shudder and he notices.

‘You’ve heard it, haven’t you? The child’s cries?’ When I nod he charges on, more animated than I’ve seen him so far. ‘The contractors who built the cabins heard it too. They told me. And others over the years. Ralph Middleton was convinced that the forest was haunted. And he should know. He lived in it. Other things too. Bright lights by the standing stones. A figure haunting the Devil’s Corridor. There have been many accidents on that road over the years, you know.’ He sounds almost proud of this fact. ‘The local pub, the Raven, is haunted by a woman in grey.’ I want to laugh in disbelief. It’s always a woman in grey. ‘Stafferbury is known as one of the most haunted towns in the UK.’

‘And do you believe it all?’ I ask him.

‘Of course.’ He crosses his arms and juts out his chin. ‘It’s hard not to when you’ve seen or heard things yourself. Once, many years ago, when I was staying in the high street I woke up in the early hours of the morning and saw a pony and trap overturn in the street. When I looked it up afterwards I found out that a horse and carriage accident had taken place here in the early 1800s.’

‘And what do you think happened on the night the girls disappeared?’

‘I wouldn’t want to rule anything out,’ he replies noncommittally. ‘But I do know that Ralph believed it was an alien abduction.’ I expect him to laugh or scoff but he remains serious. Then he adds gravely, ‘As you’re probably aware, Ralph was found dead last night.’ I nod, willing him to continue. ‘His caravan was stationed on my land – I own a large portion of the forest. And he worked for me – a bit of cash in hand – to keep an eye on the place. He told me over the years that he’d seen a lot of strange things. And it does make me wonder, you know. About his death.’

‘Wonder what?’

‘If it was perhaps …’ he pauses for dramatic effect ‘… supernatural.’

I stare at him in shock. Does he really believe that? My mum used to say, when I was little and scared that a ghost was under my bed, it was the living who could hurt you, not the dead.

‘You know,’ he continues, ‘that a long time ago human sacrifices were made at the stones.’