‘Hello? Are you there?’
‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘Sorry. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the release of Craig Wright.’
‘What am I meant to say to that? That I’m glad I don’t live anywhere near Preston, that I can’t believe he’d have the nerve to go back there? That’s what anyone would say, and they’re not even related to us.’ She sighs heavily. ‘You’re not allowed to print anything about Craig Wright in connection with my sister, though, are you?’
‘No. But I wanted to put Jenna’s name out there – get her in the public eye again. See if we can jog someone’s memory.’
There’s silence down the line.
‘Are there any comments you want to make about your sister?’ says Luke.
‘I read your article from that Facebook link. All those angry people who never even knew my sister that commented about her. I’m surprised they weren’t deleted. It helps, you know – when people you don’t know comment like that. I don’t feel so alone. For years I felt that everyone had forgotten – that my sister didn’t really exist, and I’d made her up. No one talked about her every day any more. I don’t mean Mum and Dad – they spoke about her every time I went round… and to be honest it got a bit much. Until they divorced, that is. It’s like they reminded each other of Jenna – she had different features of both of their faces, you see. They couldn’t get past that. Once they were apart, they moved on, in some kind of way.
‘So, what I’d like to add is that Jenna was a lovely sister. I know I’m meant to say things like that because she’s dead. It must’ve been the age difference. Had we been closer in age, we’d have probably fought all the time. Mum wasn’t much of a talker… I mean, you know. I learned everything from Jenna. She took me to town when I saved enough pocket money and I got my ears pierced. Mum found her voice when we got home, though, I can tell you that.’ Olivia gives a half-hearted laugh that peters out. ‘There are loads of things I could tell you about Jenna. What angle are you going for? You’ve already done a piece about that man’s release.’
‘I was thinking of putting a still-not-found-the killer piece, like I said. Her last known movements. And if we get quotes from you and your parents? People want to read about those left behind – it brings the humanity back into a cold case.’
Luke kicks himself for the clichés he’s coming out with.
‘Oh yes,’ she says. ‘Of course.’
‘Do you think either of your parents would be willing to talk to me?’
Olivia sighs heavily down the line.
‘Depends what mood you catch Mum in.’ She relays her mother’s email address. ‘I’m only giving it to you as she doesn’t go online that often. No offence.’
‘That’s fine,’ says Luke, rolling his eyes.
‘My dad’s just moved. It’s all been a bit rushed. I’m surprised he even wanted to go back up north. Anyway – he changes his email address every time he forgets his password, and I don’t want to give out his mobile number without checking with him first.’
Luke grits his teeth. ‘That’s fine.’
‘You could try contacting him on Facebook messenger. He’s always sending spammy GIFs on there anyway.’
‘I couldn’t find him on Facebook.’
‘I should’ve known you’d already tried. He’s called Panhead McPhil on there – don’t ask – and his profile picture is of a Harley Davidson.’
Luke clicks on Olivia’s list of over a thousand friends. He finds her father’s profile and clicks on to his photos. There’s an old picture of him. Luke recognises the thick mop of hair, the bright grey eyes. It’s dated 2010, not that long ago. He doesn’t look that different at all.
‘Found him,’ says Luke.
‘It’s strange hearing you say that about my dad when he’s not even forwarded me his new address.’
‘You don’t think he’s moved back to Preston, do you?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’
There’s shouting in the background in Olivia’s office.
‘I have to go in a minute,’ she says. ‘But I have some photographs of Jenna at home – shall I scan and send them over to you? It might help jog someone’s memory. It’s been horrific knowing her killer is still free.’
‘It must be. The photographs would be great, Olivia. Thanks for taking the time to speak to me.’
‘Oh – I just thought of something that always struck me as a bit strange, but he used to come round to the house a lot when Mum and Dad were out… when Jenna was meant to be looking after me. He was kind to me, I suppose… brought me big bars of chocolate, cans of pop, things like that. I’m sure they used to drink booze up in her room or something – I always turned the telly up loud downstairs or put my headphones on and listened to music.’
‘I guess that’s what teenagers do all the time,’ says Luke.
‘No… I mean, yes they do. But when Jenna went missing, I thought he had something to do with it, but I was wrong.’
‘Who, Craig?’ Luke asked, confused.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I think his name was Jason.’
‘I spoke to Jason Bamber,’ says Luke to Amanda, sitting at her desk in front of him. ‘He’s one of Craig Wright’s close friends – a bit flash… full of himself, but he said he barely knew Jenna Threlfall. Talked to Jason’s girlfriend – who was friends with Jenna at school. She said Craig was seeing Jenna behind Lucy’s back – and she saw him with Jenna the night she disappeared. She reported it to the police, but Erica Wright had given her son an alibi.’
‘Good luck untangling all that, then,’ she says, grimacing slightly.
‘There’s more. I’ve just spoken with Jenna’s sister, Olivia, who said she was sure that the person Jenna was seeing was called Jason.’
‘Shit. Did the police know about this at the time?’
‘Maybe Jason was the second man questioned for Jenna’s murder.’
‘That sounds plausible. So what we’re missing here is…’
‘Evidence. Someone knows where the T-shirt and necklace taken from Jenna are. And I’ve a feeling who that might be.’
‘Hey!’ It’s Derek at his desk next to the window: the ‘sports department’. ‘Check out Granada Reports.’
Luke turns to face the flat screen on the wall as Derek turns up the volume.
‘Local teenager Leanne Livesey has been missing for three days having last been seen with convicted murderer Craig Wright. Let’s go over to Samia Brennan.’
It pans to a large detached house, painted a strange yellowy beige. The reporter stands outside in a beige mac under a large umbrella.
‘Leanne Livesey, who is seventeen years old, was last seen getting in a car with Craig Wright, who has in the last few days been released from prison after serving seventeen years for the murder of his girlfriend, Lucy Sharpe. If anyone sees Craig Wright, the police have advised not to approach him, but to dial 999.’
‘Shit,’ whispers Luke.
‘You can say that again,’ says Amanda. ‘Isn’t that the kids’ home on Mill Street she’s standing outside? I pass that on the way to work. Why aren’t we there? It’s only about a mile away. Bloody Granada Reports , they get everything first.’
Luke grabs his keys from his desk and his coat from the back of the chair. As he’s putting his arm in the first sleeve, his phone rings.
‘Leave it,’ says Amanda.
‘It won’t take a minute,’ says Luke.
Amanda folds her arms as he picks up the handset.
‘Luke Simmons, the Chronicle.’
There’s a few seconds’ silence before a quiet voice says, ‘Luke? It’s me. It’s Erica Wright.’