Bess did not come into school on Wednesday, nor did she reply to any messages on her phone. After school, Jenna headed directly to Bess’s house.
Bess, like her, lived alone with her mother. Unlike Jenna she didn’t have a brother or a father living elsewhere. Her father was not known to Bess or to her mother, but was probably called Patrick. Her mother was only eighteen when she had her and she and Bess were a very tight little unit. Very bonded. Jenna had envied their bond over the years as her relationship with her mother had slid slowly downhill alongside her mum’s mental health.
Bess’s mother was a beautician and worked at a big salon in the city. Their flat was owned by a charitable co-op, and they paid hardly anything to live there. It was small but beautiful: gilt mirrors and fluffy cushions, fairy lights and scented candles. Her mum had even painted their kitchen units baby pink. It wasn’t the sort of flat where a girl who got pregnant by her head teacher at fifteen would live; Bess’s mother wasn’t the sort of mother whose daughter would get pregnant by her head teacher at fifteen; and Bess wasn’t the sort of fifteen-year-old girl who would get pregnant by anyone, let alone her head teacher.
Her mum’s little car was where it always was, parked in the tiny car park behind the block, but the lights were off in their flat on the first floor. Jenna rang the intercom and waited a moment before ringing it again. Her mum was probably still at work. She pulled out her phone and called Bess. It went straight through to voicemail. She opened Snap Maps but Bess wasn’t logged into it. She messaged Ruby: Any idea where Bess is?
Ruby said, No, ask Tiana.
Tiana didn’t know.
Jenna looked at the time; it was nearly five.
She opened Snap Maps again. This time she noticed that Ruby was at the same place she’d been last week, the house in Lissenden. Jed’s house.
She turned and headed for the bus stop.
Jed’s house was a grey, pebble-dashed post-war box on an estate of similar houses. There was a blue van parked out the front and an old green Mazda MX5. She could hear, even from down here, the sound of youthful hilarity coming from a room upstairs. She rang on the doorbell and a woman with long, hennaed hair and a nose ring answered.
‘Hi,’ Jenna said. ‘Is Bess here?’
‘Bess? Is she the little blonde one?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
She shook her head. ‘She was here a while back. But she left about half an hour ago.’
‘Any idea where she went?’
‘I have no clue.’
‘Did she – did she look OK?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I suppose. She called out goodbye. I came to the door and let her out. She seemed OK. Are you one of Ruby’s friends? From the Academy?’
‘Yeah,’ said Jenna.
‘Ruby’s here.’ She tipped her chin to indicate the stairs behind her. ‘Why don’t you go up and ask her?’
She thought of Ruby’s assertion that she hadn’t seen Bess. She heard another blast of adolescent mirth coming from upstairs. She smiled and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll find her.’
‘I think her dad picked her up,’ said the woman.
‘She hasn’t got a dad,’ Jenna said, startled.
‘Well, someone picked her up. Looked like a man but I wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe it was a taxi.’
‘What sort of car was it?’
‘A big one,’ she said. ‘Black.’
‘Was it a BMW?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It might have been. That kind of thing anyway.’ She paused and looked at Jenna, maternal concern blooming over her features. ‘Is everything OK?’ she said. ‘Is Bess in trouble?’
Jenna shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. I just needed to talk to her. That’s all.’
RECORDED INTERVIEW
Date: 25/03/2017
Location: Trinity Road Police Station, Bristol BS2 0NW
Conducted by: Officers from Somerset & Avon Police
POLICE: This interview is being tape-recorded. I am Detective Inspector Rose Pelham and I am based at Trinity Road Police Station. I work with the serious crime team. If you could just give us your full name?
FT: Frances Ann Tripp. My professional name is Frankie Miller.
POLICE: Professional?
FT: I used to do some modelling and, more recently, some small acting roles.
POLICE: I see. And can you tell us your address please?
FT: Yes. Number 8, Bellevue Lane, Lower Melville, Bristol BS12 6YH.
POLICE: Thank you, Mrs Tripp. And can you tell us where you were between the hours of 7 p.m. and 9 p.m. last night?
FT: Yes. I was outside Tom Fitzwilliam’s house.
POLICE: Outside?
FT: Yes. There’s a small wooded area opposite the houses. I had a fold-up chair and a camera.
POLICE: Right. And could you explain exactly why you were sitting in the woods outside the victim’s house with a fold-up chair and a camera?
FT: Yes. Happily. It’s a relief to finally be taken seriously about all of this. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get you lot to take my concerns about this man seriously? And I’ve just been ignored and ridiculed.
POLICE: Mrs Tripp, if you could just return to the original question. What were you doing outside the Fitzwilliams’ house?
FT: I had a tip-off. On one of my chat rooms.
POLICE: Your chat rooms?
FT: Yes. I’m being gang-stalked. Thousands of us are. And no one will talk about it. It’s a global disgrace.
POLICE: Mrs Tripp? The chat rooms?
FT: Yes. Someone on one of my local chat rooms, a woman from Mold, I don’t know her name. Tom was the head at her local school a couple of years ago. She knows what I’m dealing with. Anyway, she sent me a message at about 6 p.m. last night saying that she had it on good authority that there was going to be a big meeting at Tom’s house that evening, of all the members of his stalking cooperative. That I should go and watch and take photos so I’d have proof of what’s going on. The full extent of it. So I did.
POLICE: And could you please describe to us exactly what you saw, Mrs Tripp, starting from the time you arrived.
FT: It would be my pleasure.
