Read Online Finding Jennifer Jones by Anne Cassidy - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Cassidy
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empty and she headed for the esplanade. She zipped up her top and put the hood up. Pushing her hands into her pockets, she walked down onto the empty beach. The tide was partly out and in front of her was an expanse of flat packed sand, like wet cement.
It wasn’t the first time she’d gone for an early morning walk along the seafront. Usually it exhilarated her. The grey sky and the sea breeze and even the rain didn’t bother her. Just being there was enough to energise her, make her feel alive. Today though, the further she walked, the more disturbed she felt. She realised that the previous evening with Jimmy had indeed only been a distraction. The events of the previous afternoon crowded in again and hung heavily over her.
She thought about the Mills family who had been staying in one of the holiday centres in Sandy Bay. The older brother had gone partying on the beach with other teenagers and somehow his nine-year-old sister had gone along. That was why people thought she had drowned. It made sense. A party on the beach; what young girl could have resisted a paddle in the sea at night?
But none of this had anything to do with her, she thought, a feeling of frustration building up inside her chest. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like dozens of other people. But none of those people had her background, her history.
After a while she reached the area of the beach where the cliff jutted out and the coastal path went inland. She stood for a minute feeling quite puffed. She looked up at the promontory where she’d sat on Friday evening, drinking red wine from a plastic beaker and thinking about her life. She’d thought about the letter she had written. She’d weighed up her decision to break the rules and contact Lucy Bussell. She’d even thought, for a few fearful moments, about whether it was possible that she might be sent back to prison. A women’s prison.
Now that fear seemed like a joke. Now she appeared to be in real trouble. Not because she was guilty of anything but because of who she was and what she’d done eight years before.
It was raining properly. She put her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked off the beach past a boarded-up café and through an empty car park. She looked at her mobile. It showed 06:44. It was Tuesday morning – the holidaymakers had yet to wake up. She headed for the coastal path, following the yellow arrow that pointed to a path on the right.
She paused when she noticed two police cars parked in a layby further along.
She turned onto the path. About twenty steps further on she saw that the walkway ahead had been closed off. Police tape had been zigzagged from a fence post to a gnarled and twisted tree to stop people going any further. She went up to the tape. About ten metres ahead she saw a white tent in a field to the left. The tent was in the far corner – a sort of inflatable structure, with people going in and out of it wearing white boiler suits. One of them was holding an umbrella up and talking to one of the others.
It was the place where the girl’s body had been found.
“Fancy seeing you,” a voice came from behind.
She turned round.
It was DC Simon Kelsey. She looked at him with dismay. He was grinning at her. He was wearing a suit, shirt and tie and his hair had the same little sticking-up spikes in the front. The rain was falling on him but he didn’t seem bothered.
“What you doing here?”
“Nothing. I just…”
“They say killers always return to the scene of the crime.”
“Don’t be ridiculous…”
There was no one else around. The people working around the tent were too far away to hear anything and the path behind DC Kelsey was empty.
“I just came out for a walk… I couldn’t sleep…” she stuttered.
“Bad conscience?”
“No! I just felt…”
She shook her head angrily and took a step towards him to the side, to pass him, to get away from him. He stepped backwards, blocking her way.
“Excuse
It wasn’t the first time she’d gone for an early morning walk along the seafront. Usually it exhilarated her. The grey sky and the sea breeze and even the rain didn’t bother her. Just being there was enough to energise her, make her feel alive. Today though, the further she walked, the more disturbed she felt. She realised that the previous evening with Jimmy had indeed only been a distraction. The events of the previous afternoon crowded in again and hung heavily over her.
She thought about the Mills family who had been staying in one of the holiday centres in Sandy Bay. The older brother had gone partying on the beach with other teenagers and somehow his nine-year-old sister had gone along. That was why people thought she had drowned. It made sense. A party on the beach; what young girl could have resisted a paddle in the sea at night?
But none of this had anything to do with her, she thought, a feeling of frustration building up inside her chest. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like dozens of other people. But none of those people had her background, her history.
After a while she reached the area of the beach where the cliff jutted out and the coastal path went inland. She stood for a minute feeling quite puffed. She looked up at the promontory where she’d sat on Friday evening, drinking red wine from a plastic beaker and thinking about her life. She’d thought about the letter she had written. She’d weighed up her decision to break the rules and contact Lucy Bussell. She’d even thought, for a few fearful moments, about whether it was possible that she might be sent back to prison. A women’s prison.
Now that fear seemed like a joke. Now she appeared to be in real trouble. Not because she was guilty of anything but because of who she was and what she’d done eight years before.
It was raining properly. She put her hands in the pocket of her sweatshirt and walked off the beach past a boarded-up café and through an empty car park. She looked at her mobile. It showed 06:44. It was Tuesday morning – the holidaymakers had yet to wake up. She headed for the coastal path, following the yellow arrow that pointed to a path on the right.
She paused when she noticed two police cars parked in a layby further along.
She turned onto the path. About twenty steps further on she saw that the walkway ahead had been closed off. Police tape had been zigzagged from a fence post to a gnarled and twisted tree to stop people going any further. She went up to the tape. About ten metres ahead she saw a white tent in a field to the left. The tent was in the far corner – a sort of inflatable structure, with people going in and out of it wearing white boiler suits. One of them was holding an umbrella up and talking to one of the others.
It was the place where the girl’s body had been found.
“Fancy seeing you,” a voice came from behind.
She turned round.
It was DC Simon Kelsey. She looked at him with dismay. He was grinning at her. He was wearing a suit, shirt and tie and his hair had the same little sticking-up spikes in the front. The rain was falling on him but he didn’t seem bothered.
“What you doing here?”
“Nothing. I just…”
“They say killers always return to the scene of the crime.”
“Don’t be ridiculous…”
There was no one else around. The people working around the tent were too far away to hear anything and the path behind DC Kelsey was empty.
“I just came out for a walk… I couldn’t sleep…” she stuttered.
“Bad conscience?”
“No! I just felt…”
She shook her head angrily and took a step towards him to the side, to pass him, to get away from him. He stepped backwards, blocking her way.
“Excuse
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