Nicky made a bat face, fluttered her hands like wings. Fleet gave a pissed-off laugh. He didn’t mind the superintendent parading before the television cameras, even taking credit that wasn’t his due. What he objected to was being asked to run an investigation, and then to find that the very person who’d appointed him had seen fit to undermine his authority. Apparently Burton had taken the liberty of briefing the CPS on everything they had against Mason Payne. Which remained thin, in Fleet’s opinion, and he could tell the government lawyer had felt the same. But Burton had obviously bullied the man before Fleet had arrived, and the lawyer had confirmed that the CPS would in theory be willing to proceed with a prosecution. At which point Burton had looked at Fleet as though he’d done him a personal favour, on the level of saving his career.
‘As for the situation in the woods,’ the lawyer had gone on, ‘I understand the picture there remains hazy. You’ve got a dead body, and a weapon, but nothing much more conclusive than that. Yes, Payne’s fingerprints are on the knife, but there are at least two other sets on there as well, not to mention the prints that are too distorted to identify. And there’s nothing definitive to say the crimes are connected. As such, even manslaughter would be a stretch. But if you really want to go down that route, it would be helpful if we could show the jury Sadie’s body.’
Fleet had left the table at the country hotel willing the man to choke on his granola. But the message from the superintendent had been clear: find Sadie and find the truth, or be prepared to settle for what they had. And he’d spelled out the timing to Fleet as well. The river search would be called off within twenty-four hours. At which point it would be considered beneficial to community relations if Fleet could coordinate the announcement of the arrest. It was a cheap PR trick, and the fact that Fleet had been expecting it did nothing to make him feel any less like a politician’s patsy.
‘So what did the CPS say?’ Nicky asked.
‘That there was enough evidence to start proceedings against Mason,’ Fleet told her.
Nicky showed her puzzlement at his tone. ‘Which is good news,’ she said. ‘Right?’
Not for Mason, Fleet found himself thinking. He glanced towards the corridor containing the interview rooms.
‘Is everybody here?’ he asked.
Nicky gave an almost nod. ‘Cora and Abi arrived just before you did. Fareed is in room one. No sign yet of Mason.’
Fleet checked his watch. Already it was almost ten o’clock, another reason the superintendent’s little breakfast gathering had caused him such irritation – Fleet had lost time he could profitably have spent doing exactly what his superior had asked him to: hunting for the truth about what had happened to Sadie.
‘Give him another half an hour, then send a taxi,’ said Fleet, half wanting to be there to see Mason’s reaction when a squad car pulled up outside his house.
‘The kid gloves are coming off then, I take it?’ said Nicky.
‘They are for Mason,’ said Fleet. ‘In the meantime, until he gets here, let’s make a start with the others.’
Nicky rose from her desk. ‘Before we do, boss, there are a couple of things you’ll probably want to see.’
Fleet raised his eyebrows.
‘Sadie’s financials, for one thing,’ said Nicky, handing him a clutch of papers. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I took another look at these myself when I realised something was bothering you.’
‘What did you make of them?’ said Fleet, scanning the figures himself.
‘Not a lot, to be honest,’ said Nicky. ‘Other than to feel slightly depressed at the thought a sixteen-year-old girl had more in her bank account than I do.’
‘She was saving for university,’ said Fleet. ‘That’s what her parents said. Sadie paid in almost every penny of the money she got each week for working at the local Harvester. Except …’ Fleet turned to Sadie’s wage slips. ‘Here. Look. She was working extra shifts over the summer. But almost from the first day of the holidays, the deposits into her savings account stopped.’
‘So that leaves … what?’ said Nicky. ‘About four hundred quid unaccounted for?’
‘Literally,’ said Fleet. ‘Because it wasn’t in her bedroom and it wasn’t in her purse.’
‘She could have spent it. It was the summer holidays, after all.’
‘Spent it on what, though? Ice cream and candyfloss?’
‘Cider and cigarettes, more likely,’ said Nicky.
‘Except that’s an awful lot of cider. And Sadie didn’t really smoke. Only socially, from what her friends have said. And she didn’t have any fancy new clothes. No new trainers or anything like that.’
‘Not that she would have needed to pay for that stuff herself, anyway,’ said Nicky. ‘All the things she wanted, her parents bought. She was daddy’s little princess, after all.’
‘Quite,’ said Fleet. He tapped the paperwork against his leg.
Nicky allowed him a moment to ponder before she moved on.
‘We made a start on the social media stuff, as well,’ she said. ‘Trying to trace the source of the rumours about Sadie? I say we, but really … Well. Maybe you should speak to him yourself.’
Nicky led Fleet deeper into the open-plan office. It was as busy as it would be all day, with every one of the dozen or so desks occupied. Soon enough, people would be heading out to follow up on their particular assignments – some towards the woods, others to the Overlook and the river – but for the time being they were working the phones, frowning at their computers or wading through hours of almost certainly useless CCTV footage.
‘You remember DC Dalton,’ Nicky said, stopping at the workstation of a detective who, in his baggy suit and spectacles, looked barely any older than Sadie’s friends.
Fleet nodded a greeting. Dalton made to stand, but Fleet gestured him back down.
‘You look like you’ve had about as much
