‘It was. I’ve checked in with Forensics, and they’re bumping it to the top of the queue. It looks like the phone got wet in the rain, so there was no obvious sign of the blood Cora mentioned, and the fingerprint situation is a mess. But if there’s something there, they’ll find it.’
Fleet nodded his approval and unfolded himself into the weather. He’d come prepared this time. As well as a waterproof jacket, he was wearing a pair of boots he’d bought from one of the fishing supply stores near the harbour, and they sank into the ground the moment he took a step from the gravel on to the grass.
He strode heavily towards the woods, as Nicky checked her mobile again at his side.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Not even a single bar. It’s a miracle those kids got reception out here at all.’
They passed several police officers returning from the woods, and Fleet mirrored their salutes.
‘You know,’ said Nicky, ‘that might actually make sense. A disguise, I mean, even if it was just sunglasses and a ponytail. If Sadie bought the phone, but didn’t want to be recognised. And the money. The fact she’d stopped paying her wages into her account. It means she would have had cash – money to spend that couldn’t be traced. Plus, there’s the fact she bought a second phone in the first place …’
‘You think she ran away after all,’ said Fleet, who’d been mulling over the same thoughts himself.
‘Maybe she was planning to,’ Nicky replied. ‘I mean, everyone’s been saying it would have been totally out of character, right? That Sadie was prepping for her A levels after getting straight nines on her GCSEs, had already drawn up a shortlist of universities. But those memes, the stuff online … maybe they bothered her more than people realised.’
‘Because …’ Fleet prompted.
‘Because …’ Nicky frowned. She shook her head. And then she stopped walking. ‘Because the rumours that she was sleeping around were true. Just like Lara said.’
Fleet stopped walking himself. He raised his eyebrows, then turned and continued on.
‘So is that the theory now?’ said Nicky, her voice betraying her excitement. ‘That Sadie ran away? Does that mean … Do you think she might actually be alive? Except …’ She slowed again. ‘How does that tally with us finding her bag? And her coat, more importantly. The blood …’
It was the very question Fleet had been wrestling with, and he didn’t like any of the answers he’d come up with. The only one that made sense was barely an answer at all, just the same meaningless phrase that had been going around and around in his head. It sounds like there’s more than one thing going on …
They entered the forest, and this time they ran into a group of at least a dozen officers heading back towards the Land Rovers. Instead of saluting this time, Fleet frowned. ‘Shit,’ he muttered.
And then, with a glance at Nicky, he picked up the pace.
Superintendent Burton was standing under a canopy that had been erected in the vicinity of the old farm buildings. Fleet noted the place in the dilapidated barn he recalled first seeing Sadie’s friends – looking like partied-out festivalgoers, he remembered thinking. A group of trauma survivors might have been a better description – yet Fleet wondered now what each of them had been contemplating behind their hollowed-out eyes. How they’d managed to get themselves into such a mess? Or how they might get themselves out of it?
‘Sir,’ said Fleet, as he approached. Nicky dropped back a pace, but lingered just behind Fleet’s shoulder.
‘Ah,’ said Burton, turning. ‘Detective Inspector. I understand you wanted to speak with me. It must have been important for you to have driven out all this way.’
Detective Inspector, Fleet noted, not Rob. ‘I believe it is, sir.’
Fleet had tried several times to contact the superintendent over the phone, only to be told each time that he was unavailable. When he’d finally learned where Burton was, he’d decided to corner the superintendent in person. Yet now that he had the man’s attention, Fleet couldn’t help but be distracted by the activity around him. All about there were signs of precisely what he’d feared was happening when he’d seen the uniformed officers trooping from the woods. Here, as by the river, the search was being wound up.
‘Sir, if I may, I was hoping to convince you –’
‘Superintendent? Superintendent Burton? Harry Boxall from the Sun. Any chance of a quick word?’
Fleet turned to see a man in a shabby raincoat blundering across the clearing. There was a photographer behind him who was much better prepared for the weather, from the hood on his mountain-grade jacket right down to the rain cover on his camera.
‘How the hell did they get through the cordon?’ Fleet muttered. Then, raising his voice, he started to wave the two men back. ‘For Christ’s sake, Boxall. You know better than to –’
Burton laid a hand on Fleet’s shoulder, and indicated to a uniform who’d intercepted the men to allow them to approach.
‘Superintendent Burton,’ said Boxall, as he drew near. ‘Is the search for Sadie Saunders being called off? And what about the investigation out here?’
‘Our enquiries on both fronts remain ongoing,’ replied Burton, smoothly. ‘The activity you are witnessing is simply a case of resources being redirected in the most appropriate way. The combined investigation is already the most extensive, and most expensive, in the county’s history, and we are satisfied that the commitment in terms of manpower will soon be seen to have paid off.’
Fleet turned to his superior. Had Burton really just said what Fleet thought he had?
‘Does that mean an arrest is imminent, Superintendent?’ said the journalist, who’d obviously interpreted Burton’s words in the same way Fleet had.
‘It does indeed,’ Burton replied. ‘And it means we are confident justice
