4 – FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

The next day I'm lying on my stomach on my bed, a lot less cramped than last night's ordeal behind the couch. A strawberry pop-sucker is helping to cheer me up. Max sits opposite me on the floor, his back against the wall, a blue-black tone Star Trek above his head, keeping a wary eye on Spock who half-heartedly lifts a lip to growl at him.

Holly's Sharp Shooters portfolio is spread out before me. She isn't half bad as a photographer. There are photos of the fens, the River Ouse and the River Cam, photos of Germany, all of them are of landscapes or buildings. Only one has people posing in them – the intriguing Sharp Shooters Club photo.

'Who do you think he is?' asks Max.

I take a quick look through some other papers I managed to squander last night but none refer to anyone by his description. 'Dunno yet. Dad hasn't made a record of any of them. Could just be a friend.'

Max shifts across and gestures for the photo. I hold it up for him to examine and he shakes his head.

'No man puts his arm around a lady without preconceived motives.'

'Max, we're in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. Friends can hold each other without having to propose first.'

Max looks affronted. 'I'm well aware of what century we're in, thank you, Noa. Your choice of wardrobe is a constant reminder. But do you see this boy with his arm around the young lady on his other side?'

I glare at him just a moment longer to make sure he knows I didn't miss his jab at my clothes then look at the photo again. He does have a point. 'We're just going to have to find out who he is then.'

Lollipop in place, I sit up and start packing up everything up. They've got into an awful mess very quickly. I knock the portfolio and papers together, but as I do so another photo falls out of the inside flap of the folder.

It shows Holly and another girl, brown hair in a ponytail, plain but with pretty features, posing in front of a food market. German writing on the stalls behind give away its location. It must have been summer time. Holly's freckles are rampant across her face and bare arms. She's wearing a cut off denim shorts, a navy t-shirt and a pendant necklace with some sort of metal symbol on it. I turn it over, hoping for more clues, but it's blank.

'Who's that?' Max asks.

'I don't know. It just fell out.' I take another flick through the jumbled paperwork. 'Dad hasn't recorded the photo. It must have been hidden.'

Max raises an eyebrow. 'Interesting.'

'Why so?'

'Well, apart from that group photograph, do you see any other photographs of people in here?'

I concede not. Holly's interests appear to lie in natural surroundings.

'And there must be at least a hundred pictures here,' says Max.

'Who is it though?' I frown at the picture again. She must be a friend from the Winslows' days in Germany.

'Family? Does she have a sister?' Max suggests.

I shake my head. 'She's an only child.'

'Must be tough on her folks to lose their only child.'

I pack away the last of the photos and get up to find my boots. 'Or careless.'

'That's not very sympathetic.'

I shrug. I know it's not, but there's just something that doesn't sit right with me about Mr and Mrs Winslow. 'I know, I'm sorry. I just don't get why her parents aren't raising the roof trying to find her.'

'Do you think they had something to do with her disappearance.'

I tug my boots' laces tight and give Max a stern look. 'Holly's dead. She's hasn't just disappeared. She's been murdered, Max.'

'So you think her parents killed their only child?'

I try to ignore the slightly disbelieving look in his eyes. 'Yeah, I know. Her dad gave me the creeps though.'

'Doesn't make him a murderer. Does he not have an alibi?'

'Yeah, he does.' I sigh. It would have made this case so much easier to solve if he didn't. 'He was in Germany.'

'No need to sound so disappointed. What about the mother?'

'God, no. She's hopeless.'

I sit back down on the bed and reach for a separate sheet of paper to reference. 'Dad's profiled them both. Maggie Winslow is on about a dozen different medications for depression, diabetes and leg and back pain. There's no way she could have killed a fit and healthy teenager.'

Max bobs his head from side to side in indecision. 'But if Holly was stoned and incapacitated…'

'Trust me,' I say, holding up my hand at him, 'you didn't see her in Dad's office. She was a complete wreck.'

I slap the paper back on the pile and get up again.

'So, what's our next move, detective?' Max asks.

I take a deep breath. I can already feel my pulse starting to race. 'To visit what appears to be Holly's one and only friend.'

There is the threat of rain hanging in the air as I secure my bicycle to a wrought iron railing outside a row of terraced houses. I walk up the steps to number 38 and knock on a door whose blue paint is peeling.

'Remember to smile,' says Max behind me.

I paste a smile on my face and wait. Finally it is opened and a boy of about ten looks up at me through the eyeholes of his Spiderman costume.

'Good grief, I thought your wardrobe was bad,' says Max.

'Hello, er, Spiderman,' I say. 'Is Eyra home?'

The boy giggles into his hand and runs back down a dim corridor and out of sight. From within I hear the voice of someone older, a girl, call out, 'Damien, who is it? God, you're a pain. I'll tell Mum when she gets home.'

From around the corner a girl about my age with straight blonde hair and pinched facial features appears carrying a television remote control.

'Hi, can I help you?'

'Are you Eyra?' I ask.

The girl eyes me curiously. 'Yes.'

My stomach gives a stupid flip as I realise I am really here investigating a case that I shouldn't be, talking to people who might very well blow my cover. I might very well be talking to the person responsible for Holly's death. 'I – er – my name is Noa, Noa Drury.' I hold out my hand and she takes it reluctantly. Her shake is equally weak. 'I'm working on Holly Winslow's disappearance.'

Eyra's hazel eyes narrow in suspicion. 'You're a bit young to be a police officer, aren't you?'

'I told you to dress older,' mutters Max.

'I work for a private investigation firm,' I say. 'A family business.'

Eyra sort of nods, sort of jerks her chin up. 'Oh, right. I thought the name rang a bell. That guy that visited me before, who was he, your dad?'

'Yeah.' I mentally cringe, and hope to God she doesn't go telling him I was here.

'Well, I told him everything I know. There's nothing much I can add to it.'

For a moment I'm tempted to just accept that and leave, but then I remember Holly's spirit. Help me, I don't know where I am. I clear my throat and square my shoulders.

'I appreciate that. There's just one thing that's come to light since then. Could I come in?'

Eyra looks even more unenthused and gestures with the television remote. 'If you're quick. I'm in the middle of something.'

'Good lord,' says Max as we step over the dirty threshold into the corridor. 'If this was Holly's only friend, she was probably better off with none.'

'Shut up.'

'What?' says Erya and I realise my mistake.

'Er – um – sorry. Tourette's, you know how it is.'

Eyra gives me a look like my sanity is neglible. 'Er, right, okay. Come through.'

I'm shown into the lounge, a small box like room with a bricked up fireplace and tired furniture resting against grubby walls that were once cream. I perch on a couch opposite Eyra. It stinks of dog and the smell of that mixing with Eyra's heavy perfume is turning my stomach.

The television is frozen on Tom Hardy dressed as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. Max steps closer to get a better look.

'My, that is a fine pair of boots he's wearing. And that cravat! The cape, admittedly, is a bit dandyish, but otherwise –'

'So!' I cry, slapping my palms on my thighs and beaming at Eyra. 'Remind me how you know Holly again?'

Max takes the hint and comes over to sit on the armrest.

'From school,' Eyra replies. 'I didn't know her all that well though. I mean she wasn't exactly the most sociable. She was more interested in her photography club than any of us.'

'But you spoke, right, like friends do?'

Eyra shrugs. 'I guess. We hung out.'

By the unenthusiastic tone of her voice I can't help but ask, 'Why did you hang out with her?'

Eyra looks at me in surprise. 'What?'

'I mean if she was anti-social, why did she hang out with you?'

Eyra shrugs again and looks at Tom Hardy's frozen image, a far off look in her eyes. 'Why does anyone hang out with anyone?' She turns her gaze back to me and this time her eyes have hardened. 'We just did, okay?'

'So, you know Jonathan then?'

Eyra rolls her eyes. 'God, your father wouldn't leave the subject alone either. Don't you guys compare notes?'

'Humour me,' I say.

'Jonathan was Holly's boyfriend, not mine. He's such a loser anyway. They deserved each other.' She falls back into her armchair and crosses her arms with an impatient sigh.

'You're saying Holly's a loser too, then?'

Eyra glares at me. 'No! I mean they were both outcasts. I don't know, maybe they had things in common.'

Max leans in, sending a chill up my side. 'Ask her about the drugs.'

I ignore him, instead taking a photo out of my bag and handing it to Eyra. It is of Holly and the unknown girl at a German market. 'Do you know who this is?'

Eyra reaches forward to take the photo. Her shirt slips off her shoulder and in the split second before she pulls it up again, I spot a yellowing bruise on her shoulder.

'Yeah, of course,' she says. 'It's Emilie.'

She says it with such nonchalance that for a moment I'm left flat-footed. 'Emilie?'

'Her friend from Germany. They were very close.'

I take the photo back and glance at Emilie's image. I don't recall seeing any notes on Emilie, but Dad must surely have investigated her. 'Do you think Holly might have run away back to Germany? Maybe she's staying with Emilie?'

'I thought you said Holly was dead?' says Max beside me. I frown and want to tell him to pipe down, I know what I'm doing. If Eyra's clear of any blame then she doesn't know Holly is dead. For all we know she might very well have run away back to Germany and been killed there.

Eyra shakes her head at my suggestions, even laughs. 'No chance. Emilie died like two or three years ago.'

Well, there goes that theory. 'Oh,' I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. 'How did she die?'

'She would never tell me,' replies Eyra. 'And, you know, it's not the sort of thing you like to ask.' There's a spiteful look in Eyra's eye and take the subtle dig on the chin.

'Of course.'

Eyra glances at the television again. 'Is that all?'

'Ask her about the drugs,' Max says again.

'Where were you the night Holly disappeared?' I ask.

'I was here at home. In my room most of the evening, chatting on my laptop.'

I return her challenging stare with one of my own most practiced version. 'Can anyone vouch for that?'

Eyra rolls her eyes and sighs. 'I don't know. My parents, I guess. They were downstairs. Now, seriously, I've told all this to your dad. If you haven't got anything new to ask, could you leave me alone? I've things to do.'

'Noa,' Max says through gritted teeth. 'Ask her about –'

'I think that about covers it. Thanks for clearing things up for me – us, I mean, my dad and me.'

Eyra gets up, her body language yelling 'Finally!' and she gestures me back through into the corridor.

'What are you doing?' says Max. 'Why didn't you ask her about the drugs? Ask her!'

Eyra holds the front door open and feigns politeness. 'Well, bye. I hope you find her.'

She looks doubtful though and I pause. With a quick glance around I lower my voice. 'Hey, you know I didn't want to say anything earlier in case someone overheard, but I was wondering if maybe you could fix me up with a teenth?'

Eyra's eyes widen. 'What?

'You know, some nose candy?' I wink at her, feeling totally sleezy. 'Been a while since I last went skiing.'

Eyra looks disgusted. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

Getting into the role, I clear my throat and lean in. 'Look, I get it, but you're cool with me. I was just hoping that you might point me in the direction of some snow? All things considered, like.'

Eyra curls her lip at me and gives me a look like I've just crawled out of a sewer. 'You're asking me for drugs? Are you insane? Get out!'

'Sorry, I just figured what with you being friends with Holly and Jonathan –'

'Jonathan wouldn't – that's crap!' Eyra spits then a sneer sours her face. 'Holly, maybe. Whoever told you that about Jonathan is lying.'

With a push, I find myself on the front step and the door slams behind me. I brush myself down – I actually feel like I need a shower after sitting on that revolting couch – and exchange mischievous smiles with Max.

'Do you believe her?' he asks as I try to extract my bicycle from the clutches of the railings.

'Hard not to,' I reply. I mightn't have liked Eyra very much but she was certainly convincing.

The first spots of rain speckle the grey pavement slabs as we walk away from the house. Max nods in agreement.

'But she's head over heels in love with Jonathan though, don't you think?'

I grin, pleased that we both picked up on it. 'Yup. One hundred percent.'

Copyright © H.R. Aidan, 2016