Every step Pip took was considered, careful, staring down at the forest floor and the mud that bunched up around the outline of her shoes. A record of her having been there, a trail of imprints that stalked her through the woods. But she was looking for someone else’s prints: the jagged vertical lines on the soles of the Nike sneakers Jamie had been wearing when he disappeared.
And so was everyone else, eyes down and circling, searching for any of the signs Pip had mentioned in the briefing. Eighty-eight volunteers had turned up after school, most from her grade but a few juniors too. Thirty people on Connor’s team, now searching the fields behind the school and knocking on doors at the far end of Thatcher Road, Acres End, and the lower part of Courtland, to ask residents if they’d seen Jamie between 12:02 and 12:28 a.m. Friday night. Twenty-nine people on Cara’s team, who were farther north, combing through the fields and farmland up near Old Farm Road and Blackfield Lane. And twenty-nine people here with Pip, standing in a wide ant-line, staggered every six feet as they searched from one end of Lodge Park to the other.
Well, thirty people, now that Ravi had joined them. Max’s trial had adjourned early today; it had been Max’s turn on the stand and—Ravi told Pip reluctantly with a glint in his eyes that looked like hate—Max and his lawyer had done an all right job. They’d prepared an answer to everything the
prosecution threw at Max in cross-examination. Closing remarks from both sides had followed and then the judge sent the jury off to deliberate.
“I can’t wait to see his face tomorrow when he goes down. Wish I could record it for you,” Ravi had said, using one foot to check inside a holly bush, reminding Pip of that time they were in these very woods, re-creating Andie Bell’s murder to prove Sal didn’t have time to be the killer.
Pip glanced up to her other side, exchanging a small, strained smile with Stella Chapman. But the face of Layla Mead stared back at her, sending a cold shiver down her back. They’d been out here for more than an hour already, and all the team had found was a tied baggie of dog shit and a
crumpled bag of barbecue chips.
“Jamie!” someone down the line called.
The shouting had been going on for a while. Pip didn’t know who’d started it, who first called out his name, but it had caught on, spreading sporadically up and down the line as they trudged on.
“Jamie!” she called in response. It was probably pointless, a literal shout into the void. Jamie couldn’t still be here, and if he was, he’d no longer be able to hear his name. But at least it felt like they were actually doing something.
Pip stalled, breaking the line for a moment as she bent to check beneath a raised tree root. Nothing.
Her phone chimed, disturbing the crunching of their feet. It was a text from Connor: OK, we split into threes to do the door knocking. Just finished Courtland and moving on to the fields. Found anything?
“Jamie!”
Pip was relieved she didn’t have to cover Courtland, the road where Max Hastings lived, even though his house was just outside the search zone. And no one would be home anyway; Max and his parents were staying in an expensive hotel near the courthouse for the duration of the trial. But still, she was glad she didn’t have to go anywhere near that house.
Nothing yet, she texted back.
“Jamie!”
But as she pressed send, her screen was overtaken by an incoming call from Cara.
“Hey,” Pip answered in an almost whisper.
“Hi, yeah,” Cara said, the wind rattling against her microphone. “Um, someone on my team just found something. I’ve told everyone to stand back from it, set up a perimeter, as you’d say. But, um, you need to get here.
Now.”
“What is it?” Pip said, the panic riding her voice, twisting it. “Where are you?”
“We’re at the farmhouse. The abandoned farmhouse on Sycamore Road.
You know the one.”
Pip did know the one.
“On my way,” she said.
—
They were running now, her and Ravi, turning the corner onto Sycamore Road, the farmhouse set back and growing out of the small hill. Its dull-white painted bricks were cut through and sliced up by blackened timber, and the roof seemed to be curving inward now, in a way that roofs shouldn’t do, like it could no longer quite hold up the sky. And just out of sight, behind the abandoned building, was the place where Becca Bell had hidden her sister’s body for five and a half years. Andie had been right here all along, decomposing in the septic tank.
Pip tripped as they crossed from gravel to grass, and Ravi’s hand skimmed hers instinctively, to pull her up. And as they neared, she saw the gathering of people, Cara’s team, a colorful spattering of clothes against the dull colors of the farmhouse and the long-neglected land strewn with high tufts of weedy grass that tried to grab her feet.
Everyone was standing in a loose formation, all eyes trained on the same place: a small cluster of trees by the side of the house, the branches grown close to the building, like they were slowly reaching over to claim it as their own.
Cara was at the front of the group, with Naomi, waving to Pip as she shouted over her shoulder for everyone to get back.
“What is it?” Pip said, breathless. “What did you find?”
“It’s over there, in the long grass at the bottom of those trees.” Naomi
pointed.
“It’s a knife,” said Cara.
“A knife?” Pip repeated the words, her feet following her eyes over to the trees. And she knew. She knew before she even saw it, exactly which knife it would be.
Ravi was beside her as she bent down to look. And there it was, half- concealed by the grass: a gray-bladed knife with a yellow band around the handle.
“That’s the one missing from the Reynoldses’ kitchen, isn’t it?” Ravi asked, but he didn’t need Pip to answer—her eyes told him enough.
She studied it through squinted eyes, not daring to get any closer. From here, a few feet away, the knife looked clean. Maybe a few flecks of dirt, but no blood. Not enough to be seen, at least. Pip sniffed, pulling out her phone to take a photo of the knife where it lay, then she drew back, beckoning Ravi to come with her.
“OK,” she said, panic hardening into something like dread. But Pip could control dread, use it. “Cara, can you call Connor, tell him to let everyone on his team go and come over here, right now.”
“On it,” Cara said, phone already halfway to her ear.
“Naomi, when Cara’s done, can you tell her to call Zach to dismiss my search team as well.”
Pip and Ravi had left their team in the care of Zach and Stella Chapman.
But they wouldn’t find anything out there in the woods, because Jamie had come here. Jamie was here, carrying a knife he must have taken from his house. Here, at the outer limit of their search zone, which meant that his brief stop had been somewhere else, before he’d walked to the farmhouse. And here, right here, at 12:28 a.m., his Fitbit stopped recording his heart rate and step count. And there was a knife.
A knife was evidence. And evidence had to be dealt with in the correct way, without breaking the chain of custody. No one here had touched the knife, and no one would, not until the police arrived.
Pip dialed the number of the Fairview police station. She walked away from the gathering, plugging her other ear against the wind.
“Hello, Eliza,” she said. “Yes, it’s Pip Fitz-Amobi. Yep. Is anyone at the station? Uh-huh. Could you do me a favor and ask anyone who’s free to come over to the farmhouse on Sycamore Road? Yes, that’s where Andie B— No, this is about an open missing persons case. Jamie Reynolds. I’ve found a knife that’s connected to his case, and it needs to be collected and documented as evidence. I know I’m supposed to call the other number….Could you just, this one favor, Eliza, I swear, just this once.” She paused, listening down the other end. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Fifteen minutes,” she said, when she rejoined Ravi. They might as well use those fifteen minutes, start trying to work out why Jamie might have come here.
“Can you keep everyone back from those trees?” she asked Naomi.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Come on.” Pip led Ravi toward the farmhouse entrance, the red-painted front door dangling from its hinges, like a mouth hanging open.
They stepped through, and the inside of the house wrapped them up in its dim light. The windows were fogged over by moss and grime, and the old carpet crunched under their feet, covered in stains. It even smelled abandoned in here: mildew and must and dust.
“When do we move in?” Ravi said, looking around in disgust.
“Like your bedroom is much better than this.”
They continued down the hallway, the old, faded blue wallpaper peeling off and away in rolls that exposed the white underside, like small waves breaking up against the walls. An archway opened into a large space that once must have been a living room. There was a staircase on the far side, yellowing and peeling. Windows with limp, sun-bleached curtains that might have been floral-patterned in a previous life. Two old red sofas in the middle, brushed with gray, clinging dust.
As Pip stepped closer, she noticed a break in the dust on one of the sofa’s cushions: a clearer, circular patch of the red material. As though someone had sat here. Recently.
“Look.” Ravi drew her attention to the center of the room, where there were three small metal trash cans, upturned into stools. Scattered around
them were food wrappers: Oreos, potato chip packages, empty Pringles cans.
Discarded beer bottles and butts of hand-rolled cigarettes.
“Maybe not so abandoned after all,” Ravi said, bending to pick up one of the butts, raising it to his nose. “Smells like weed.”
“Great, and now you’ve put your prints on it, if this is a crime scene.”
“Oh yeah,” he said, and gritted his teeth, a guilty look in his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just take this one home with me to dispose of.” He pocketed it and straightened up.
“Why would people come here to hang out and smoke?” Pip said, studying the scene, questions surfacing from every corner. “That’s rather morbid. Don’t they know what happened here, that this is where Andie’s body was found?”
“That’s probably part of its charm,” Ravi said, sliding into his movie- trailer voice. “Old, abandoned murder house, the perfect place for a smoke and a snack. Looks like whoever it is comes here pretty often and I’m guessing this is a nighttime activity. Maybe it’s worth us coming back later tonight, staking out the place, see who comes here? They might be connected to Jamie’s disappearance, or maybe they saw something last Friday.”
“Stakeout?” Pip smiled. “All right, Sarge.”
“Hey, you’re Sarge. Don’t you use my own names against me.”
—
“Police are here!” Naomi called into the farmhouse as Pip and Ravi were showing Connor and Cara what they’d found inside.
“I’ll go deal with them.” Pip hurried back through the hallway and into the outside world. She screwed her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. A police car had pulled up on the gravel road, doors on either side pushing open. Daniel da Silva stepped out from the driver’s side, straightening his police cap, and Soraya Bouzidi from the other.
“Hi,” Pip called, walking forward to greet them.
“Eliza said it was you,” Daniel said, unable or unwilling to hide the disdain in his face. He didn’t like Pip, not since she’d suspected him of being Andie’s killer, and that was fine, because Pip didn’t much like him either.
“Yep, it’s me. Cause of all the trouble in Fairview since 2019,” she said flatly, catching sight of Soraya smiling quickly. “Here, it’s this way.” She led them across the grass, pointing them toward the small huddle of trees.
Daniel and Soraya continued over to the long grass by the roots. Pip watched them looking down at the knife and then looking at each other.
“What is this?” Daniel called to her.
“It’s a knife,” she said. And then, more helpfully, “The same knife that’s missing from a rack in the Reynoldses’ house. Jamie Reynolds, remember, he’s missing? Friends with your sister?”
“Yes, I—”
“Case number four nine zero zero one five two—”
“Yes, OK,” Daniel interrupted. “What is all this?” He gestured to the students, still gathered a ways back from the farmhouse.
“That is a search team,” Pip said. “When the police won’t do anything, I guess you’ve gotta turn to high schoolers instead.”
The muscles twitched in Daniel da Silva’s cheek as he chewed on his tongue. “Right!” he shouted, clapping his hands loudly three times, surprising her. “Everyone go home! Now!”
The students disbanded immediately, breaking off into small, whispering groups. Pip gave them a grateful nod as they moved past the police and away to the road. But the Ward sisters didn’t go, and neither did Connor or Ravi, standing in the entrance of the farmhouse.
“This knife is vital evidence to a missing persons case,” Pip said, trying to regain control. “It needs to be collected and documented and handed over to the evidence clerk.”
“Yes, I know how evidence works,” Daniel said, darkly. “Did you put this here?” He pointed at the knife.
“No,” she said, that hot primal feeling awakening again. “Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t even here when it was found.”
“We’ll take it,” Soraya stepped in, placing herself between Daniel and Pip, disarming them. “I’ll make sure it’s correctly dealt with, don’t worry.” The look in her eyes was so different from Daniel’s: kind, unsuspicious.
“Thank you,” Pip said, as Soraya made her way back to the squad car.
When she was out of earshot, Daniel spoke again, not looking at Pip. “If I find out this isn’t real, that you’re wasting police time—”
“It’s real,” she said, the words crushed down to fit through her gritted teeth. “Jamie Reynolds is really missing. The knife is really here. And I know the police don’t have the resources to make every case a priority, but please listen to me. Tell Hawkins. Something bad has happened here. I know it.”
Daniel didn’t respond.
“Do you hear me?” she said. “Foul play. Someone could be dead. And you’re doing nothing. Something happened to Jamie, right here.” She gestured toward the knife. “It has something to do with someone Jamie’s been talking to online. A woman named Layla Mead, but that’s not her r—”
And she stuttered to a stop, eyes circling his face. Because as soon as she’d said Layla’s name, Daniel’s reaction had been immediate. He sniffed, nostrils flaring, dropping his eyes like he was trying to hide them from her. A creep of pink spread across his cheeks as his wavy light-brown hair fell across his forehead.
“You know Layla,” Pip said. “You’ve been talking to her too?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been talking to Layla,” she said. “Do you know who she really is?”
“I haven’t been talking to anyone,” Daniel said in a low, rattling hiss that made the hairs on Pip’s neck stand end up. “No one, you understand? And if I hear a word about this from you again…”
He ended the sentence there, leaving Pip to fill in the blank he’d left behind. He stepped back from her and straightened out his face just as Soraya was returning from the car, her hands covered by blue plastic gloves gripped around a paper evidence bag.
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Photograph of knife outside abandoned farmhouse.jpg
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Case Notes 5.docx
THE KNIFE
Found in a location that corresponds to Jamie’s step count data, before his Fitbit stopped recording and his phone was turned off. I think this confirms it was Jamie who took the knife, which means he had to have gone home between the calamity party and the sighting on Weevil Road, to pick up his hoodie and the knife. But why did he need a weapon? What had made him so afraid?
If the theory is that Jamie did indeed return home, how does the timing work with Arthur Reynolds’s movements? How did Jamie have enough time to visit Nat da Silva, walk home, and grab his hoodie and the knife, all before his dad got back at 11:15 p.m.? The timing isn’t just tight, it’s almost impossible. Something in my timeline isn’t right, and that means someone is lying. I should try to talk to Nat again, maybe she’ll be more honest with me about Jamie when her boyfriend isn’t there?
DANIEL DA SILVA
He’s been talking to Layla Mead; his reaction made that perfectly obvious. Is it possible he knows who she really is? He was clearly trying to hide any connection to her; is that because he knows something? Or is it just because he wouldn’t want that information getting back to his wife, who’s taking care of their new baby while Daniel has presumably been talking inappropriately to another woman online? I got the sense last year that this isn’t out of character for Daniel.
And another observation, we now know of three people Layla Mead has been talking to: Jamie, Adam Clark, and Daniel da Silva.
And here’s the slightly strange thing: all three of these men are in the 29-to-recently-30 range (well, not Jamie, but that’s what his profile originally said). And they all look vaguely similar: white, with brownish hair. Is this a coincidence, or is there something to it?
THE FARMHOUSE
Jamie went there on Friday night. Well, at least, he was just outside.
And clearly the place isn’t as abandoned as we thought. We need to find out who goes there, and why, and whether they are connected to Jamie’s disappearance.
STAKEOUT TONIGHT
I’m picking Ravi up just before midnight, meeting Connor and Cara there. I’ve just got to wait for Mom and Dad to fall asleep first. I parked my car down the road and told them I’d left it at school, so they won’t hear me when I go. Need to remember to avoid the third stair down—that’s the creaky one.
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A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder: The Disappearance of Jamie Reynolds
Season 2, Episode 2 successfully uploaded to SoundCloud.
