Dalton cracked a lopsided grin. ‘I managed to snatch an hour or two, sir.’
Fleet leaned closer to the DC’s computer screen, which was tiled with browser windows showing various social media websites.
‘So, what have we got?’
Dalton glanced at Nicky over Fleet’s shoulder. Fleet sensed rather than saw Nicky nod her head.
‘Well,’ said Dalton, flicking between windows at such a rate that Fleet had to blink to keep focused. ‘This.’
On screen, the DC had maximised a window showing a page with an Instagram header, and a message announcing, Sorry, this page isn’t available.
‘OK …’ said Fleet, waiting for Dalton to explain.
‘You see, what I thought was,’ the DC said, ‘if we were going to try to work out where the rumours about Sadie sleeping around originated, simply by following the posts, it would be like trying to untangle Christmas lights. Like, when they get all knotted? And you can’t tell the beginning from the end? And that made me think of bulbs.’
‘Bulbs?’ said Fleet.
‘Bulbs,’ agreed Dalton. ‘On the Christmas lights.’ He nudged his glasses further up his nose and shifted in his seat, his tiredness evidently forgotten as he excitedly continued to explain. ‘You know, when one of them blows. And even though the lights are probably fine, the only way to get them working again is to check each bulb individually. My dad used to make me do it every year. It was like a tradition, as much a part of Christmas as putting up the tree. I remember, this one time, years ago now this was, I –’
Nicky coughed meaningfully.
‘Right,’ said Dalton, nudging his glasses again. ‘Sorry. But my point is, it’s like that old story about shovels. You know, the idea that when a man walks into the garden centre to buy a shovel, it’s not a shovel he really wants. What he really wants is a hole.’
Bulbs, shovels – Fleet was losing the gist. He stole a glance at Nicky, whose expression told him to stick with it.
‘I’m not following you, Detective Constable.’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. All I’m trying to say is, it’s not the posts themselves we should be interested in. It’s any suspicious activity around the posts. Such as a deleted account, for instance.’
‘The broken bulb,’ said Fleet, catching up.
Dalton’s face lit up, almost as though he were plugged into a power source himself. ‘Precisely.’ He turned back to his computer screen. ‘And of all the Instagram accounts most heavily involved in spreading rumours about Sadie, this is the only one that was deleted after Sadie went missing. Although what the user probably didn’t realise is that, when it comes to social media, nothing is ever gone forever, not if you know where to look. Or maybe she did realise, but there wouldn’t have been anything she could do about it.’
‘She?’ said Fleet.
‘Don’t get too excited,’ Nicky chipped in. ‘The user data associated with the account was all fake, as far as we can tell. But Garrie here uncovered the name of the account itself.’
She nodded at Dalton, who flicked to another window on his screen and highlighted a line of text amid the code. ‘The account’s an old one,’ he said. ‘It’s been active on and off for a couple of years.’
‘SweeneyTodd2002,’ Fleet read aloud. It took him a second or two to make the connection. ‘Sweeney. As in, Lara Sweeney?’
‘It has to be a possibility,’ Nicky replied. ‘The nature of the previous posts would seem to fit. Sarky comments and stupid jokes, mainly. All very teenage-girl. Garrie here is going to dig a little deeper to see if there are any other ways to identify the user. But the rumours about Sadie definitely originated from this account. It’s much easier to untangle a ball of string if you have an end to start from.’
‘Or a ball of Christmas lights,’ said Fleet, letting his hand fall on the young detective constable’s shoulder. ‘Let me know when you have anything more.’
‘There is one other thing, actually,’ said DC Dalton. ‘The stories about Sadie’s parents. You wanted to know about those, too, right?’
‘Tell me,’ said Fleet.
‘Well, it’s pretty much the same story,’ said Dalton. ‘Another deleted account, another anonymous user – although my hunch is it’s the same person. Same pattern of messages, same syntax, that sort of thing. This time they were posting under Princess_69.’
Fleet rubbed a hand across his cheek. A phrase he’d repeated the night before came back to him. Something the couples counsellor had said to him and Holly. It sounds like there’s more than one thing going on …
‘I’m assuming you’re on that, too?’ Fleet said to Dalton. ‘Trying to trace who owned the account?’
‘Absolutely,’ Dalton replied. ‘In fact, I’m hoping having two leads to follow might make things easier. At the very least it doubles our chances.’
Fleet nodded. A bit of good news, finally. ‘We should talk to Lara,’ he said to Nicky. ‘Find out what she has to say for herself.’
‘Sure thing,’ Nicky answered. ‘I’ll set it up.’
Fleet clapped Dalton on the shoulder. ‘Good work, Detective Constable. Outstanding, in fact. Keep it up.’
‘Sarge?’
Both Fleet and Nicky turned. One of the uniforms had appeared behind them. ‘Sorry to interrupt, guv,’ he said to Fleet. ‘But, Sarge’ – he turned to Nicky – ‘you said you wanted me to let you know when he arrived. The Payne kid.’
‘He’s here?’ Nicky asked him.
The officer nodded. ‘I’ve stuck him in interview two.’
Nicky turned to Fleet, who took a breath.
‘Shall we?’ he said.
Mason
Here we go again. You really don’t give up, do you? Why don’t you just arrest me and have done with it? I mean, if you’re really that sure I did what you’re accusing me of.
There’s only one reason you’re focusing on me. You know it, I know it. So let’s talk about that, shall we? Let’s talk about what
