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I did my best. No records of either Elena or Blackwood or Greenwood at any schools in Bristol or the surrounding areas until a year ago, where I found an Elena Greenwood. I widened my search and found an Elena Blackwood in two Cirencester schools—primary and secondary. Date of leaving matches up with Bristol school. Might be a coincidence but I don’t think so. Age corresponds with birth cert. Let me know if you want me to search for anything else
Good luck mate
I stared at the screen and then at Elena, asleep next to me. Rubbing my hand across my face, I groaned under my breath. Fuck. Why did everything have to get so complicated? Why was she lying to me? What was she hiding?
I had to find out, and I wouldn’t stop until I’d uncovered the truth about what my little liar was hiding from me.
30
KNOX
“Are you gonna tell me what this is all about now?” Tristan adjusted his sunglasses, scanning the streets to his left as we hit the outskirts of Bristol, passing the turn-off for IKEA. “Not that I mind skiving off school with you, but you’ve been suspiciously secretive.”
“There’s a reason I picked you for this. You’re good at chatting shit with girls.”
“This is about girls?” He immediately perked up, the horny fucker.
“Down, boy. Your dick isn’t getting involved in this little mission.” I laughed at his whining sound of protest. “All you need to do is talk nicely to a few of the girls coming out of the sixth form of the school we’re going to. Show them Elena’s photo, find out what they know about her. I have…suspicions, and I need to see if they’re right.”
“Okaaay.” His head turned towards me. “I can do that.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, man. You know I’ve got your back. Ro has too.” His gaze returned to the windscreen, his fingers tapping on the dashboard. “So Elena’s involved in some shady shit, is she?”
“I don’t know. It’s a fucking mess.”
We fell silent as the satnav directed us towards one of the more run-down suburbs, and finally, we were pulling up in front of a school. It was 1970s-style concrete blocks, with peeling green paintwork. A sign outside, almost obscured with graffiti, pronounced it as St. Catherine’s Academy. After parking the Nissan Juke—which I’d purposely used today, knowing my Maserati would stand out like a sore fucking thumb—we exited the car and made our way to the gates.
“Sixth form girls only. They wear different clothes to the rest of the school. No proper uniform—anything in black, grey, or green.”
“I’m on it,” he promised me, and I trusted that he’d play his part right. As for me, I was going to attempt to sweet-talk the school receptionist, utilising all the tricks I’d picked up from my dad.
After clapping Tristan on the shoulder, I made my way inside the school with confident strides. Eighty percent of getting what you wanted in life was being able to bullshit—to act like you deserved it, to look the part, to be able to talk the talk.
I stopped in front of the reception desk. The woman behind the desk looked to be in her mid-twenties, which made things easier.
“Hi.” Leaning on the desk, I gave her my most charming smile, knowing that my biceps were straining against the fabric of my shirt. Thank you very fucking much, lacrosse.
“H-hi.” Her cheeks flushed as she took me in. “How can I help you?”
“Well.” Glancing at the nameplate she had affixed to her cardigan, I allowed my smile to widen. “Kayla. I was wondering if you could help me with a little project I have. One of your former students is up for an award for services to the community. She’s a good friend of mine, and I promised that I’d announce the award.”
Angling my body further, I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “As soon as I’d agreed to announce the award, they asked me to make a speech. I’m supposed to pepper the guests with anecdotes and stories about her life.” With an exaggerated sigh, I rolled my eyes. “They want so much from me, Kayla. What can a poor man do?”
She stared at me, her cheeks still pink and her pupils dilated. “What can I do to help?”
“I was wondering if you had any anecdotes about her time here. Maybe any awards, notable achievements, anything like that?”
“I—I’m sure I can find something.” Her fingers went to her keyboard, poised and ready. “What’s her name?”
“Elena Greenwood.”
She tapped away, immediately professional, and I pushed down my unwarranted impatience while I waited for my answers.
“Oh.” Her face fell. “I’m sorry. She was only a student here for one year, her first year of sixth form. Although…” Her brows pulled together as she studied the screen. “She did receive an outstanding achievement for music in February of that year. Would that be any good?”
“That would be perfect. Thank you.” I gave her another smile, waiting as she hit a button and the printer next to her desk juddered to life, eventually spitting out a single sheet of paper. She handed it to me, Elena’s name jumping out as if it were highlighted in neon letters. Folding it carefully, I nodded at Kayla.
