from uncles and aunties. I remember thinking before that it didn’t seem fitting but I shrugged it off.
Well, I’m not shrugging any more, Hastings. And I’ve made a discovery. In some of Naomi’s pictures online, Max isn’t tagged as Max Hastings but as Nancy Tangotits. I thought it was some kind of private joke before but NO, Nancy Tangotits is Max’s actual Facebook profile. The Max Hastings one must be a tame decoy he kept in case universities or potential employers decided to look up his online activities. It makes sense, even some of my friends have started changing their profile names to make them unsearchable as we draw closer to uni-application season.
The real Max Hastings – and all his wild, drunken photos and posts from friends – has been hiding as Nancy. This is what I presume, at least. I can’t actually get on to see anything: Nancy has his privacy settings set on full throttle. I can only see photos or posts that Naomi is also tagged in. It’s not giving me much to work with: no secret pictures of Max and Andie kissing in the background, none of his photos from the night she disappeared.
I’ve already learned my lesson here. When you catch someone lying about a murdered girl, the best thing to do is to go and ask them why.
Persons of Interest
Jason Bell
Naomi Ward
Secret Older Guy
Nat da Silva
Daniel da Silva
Max Hastings (Nancy Tangotits)
Sixteen
The door was different now. It had been brown the last time she was here, over six weeks ago. Now it was covered in a streaky layer of white paint, the dark undercoat still peering through.
Pip knocked again, harder this time, hoping it would be heard over the droning murmur of a vacuum cleaner running inside.
The drone clicked off abruptly, leaving a slightly buzzy silence in its wake. Then sharp footsteps on a hard floor.
The door opened and a well-dressed woman with cherry-red lipstick stood before her.
‘Hi,’ Pip said. ‘I’m a friend of Max’s, is he in?’
‘Oh, hi,’ the woman smiled, revealing a smear of red on one of her top teeth. She stood back to let Pip through. ‘He certainly is, come in . . .’
‘Pippa,’ she smiled, stepping inside.
‘Pippa. Yes, he’s in the living room. Shouting at me for vacuuming while he’s playing some death match. Can’t pause it, apparently.’
Max’s mum walked Pip down the hall and through the open archway into the living room.
Max was spread out on the sofa, in tartan pyjama bottoms and a white T-shirt, his hands gripped round a controller as he furiously thumbed the X button.
His mum cleared her throat.
Max looked up.
‘Oh, hi, Pippa Funny-Surname,’ he said in his deep, refined voice, his eyes returning to his game. ‘What are you doing here?’
Pip almost grimaced in reflex, but she fought it with a fake smile. ‘Oh, nothing much.’ She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Just here to ask you how well you really knew Andie Bell.’
The game was paused.
Max sat up, stared at Pip, then his mum, then back to Pip.
‘Um,’ his mum said, ‘would anyone like a cup of tea?’
‘No, we don’t.’ Max stood. ‘Upstairs, Pippa.’
He strode past them and up the grand stairs in the hallway, his bare feet thundering on the steps. Pip followed, flashing a polite wave back at his mother. At the top, Max held open his bedroom door and gestured her inside.
Pip hesitated, one foot suspended above the vacuum-tracked carpet. Should she really be alone with him?
Max jerked his head impatiently.
His mum was just downstairs; she should be safe. She planted the foot and strode into his room.
‘Thank you for that,’ he said, closing the door. ‘My mum didn’t need to know I’ve been talking about Andie and Sal again. The woman is a bloodhound, never lets anything go.’
‘Pit bull,’ Pip said. ‘It’s pit bulls that don’t let things go.’
Max sat back on his maroon bedspread. ‘Whatever. What do you want?’
‘I said. I want to know how well you really knew Andie.’
‘I already told you,’ he said, leaning back on his elbows and shooting a glance up past Pip’s shoulder. ‘I didn’t know her that well.’
‘Mmm.’ Pip leaned back against his door. ‘Just acquaintances, right? That’s what you said?’
‘Yeah, I did.’ He scratched his nose. ‘I’ll be honest, I’m starting to find your tone a tad annoying ’
‘Good,’ she said, following Max’s eyes as they looked over again to a noticeboard on the far wall, littered with posters and pinned-up notes and photographs. ‘And I’m starting to find your lies a tad intriguing.’
‘What