‘They’re all here,’ answered Fleet. ‘And they all still have questions to answer. But I’ve got a feeling’ – Fleet regretted the word the moment it escaped his mouth – ‘I’ve got a sense there’s only one person’s story now that matters.’
‘You’re right, Detective Inspector,’ said Burton. ‘There is only one story that matters. The one that will appear on the front pages of tomorrow morning’s newspapers.’
‘But, sir …’ Fleet took a breath. ‘Sir, if I may. I agree that it looks bad for Mason. He’s not going to come out of this with very much credit, however things turn out. He’s reckless, unstable, angry …’ Which, given his provenance, is hardly surprising, Fleet didn’t add. ‘But I’d bet my career that he’s no killer.’
‘But one of the others is? Is that what you’re saying? Because if you take with one hand, Detective Inspector, you sure as hell better be giving with another.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying, sir. However …’ Fleet added hastily, before Burton’s patience – and possibly one of his blood vessels – finally ruptured. ‘I believe we have a better idea now about what actually happened.’
‘A theory, you mean,’ said Burton, derisively. ‘If I may, Detective Inspector, the time for theories has passed. Theories aren’t going to satisfy the two dozen journalists who are less than an hour away from gathering in the room next door.’
‘With respect, sir, nobody is going to be satisfied until we understand what happened to Sadie. Charging Mason isn’t going to alter that.’
Burton glanced around the room. Any eyes that had been looking in his direction immediately dropped away. Fleet could tell the superintendent was caught between looking like a fool in front of his troops, and making a bigger idiot of himself up on stage before the nation’s media. Fleet had suggested they have this conversation in private when Burton first strode in, but Burton had blustered that there’d be no need. No doubt he was regretting that now.
‘I’m listening,’ the superintendent said, grudgingly.
Fleet turned to Nicky, and gave her the slightest of nods.
‘Well, sir,’ she said to Burton. ‘The first thing is, we’ve had corroboration from Forensics that the phone the kids discovered in the woods was likely to have belonged to Sadie. They haven’t yet been able to draw anything conclusive from the blood traces, but what they did find was one of Sadie’s fingerprints.’
‘A fingerprint doesn’t prove ownership, Detective Sergeant. You’re going to have to do better than that.’
‘You’re right, sir. It doesn’t. Except this print was taken from inside the phone’s casing. On the battery, to be precise. And there was also a partial on the SIM card. Sadie’s print was there, and nobody else’s. Which, taken in the context of the circumstantial evidence linking the phone to Sadie …’
Burton had started nodding and was holding up a hand. ‘All right, all right. There’s no need to labour the point. And anyway, I don’t see how this changes things. I’d already said to you both that I accepted the phone was Sadie’s.’
Fleet blinked. He must have missed that particular conversation with his superior. The last thing he could remember Burton saying on the subject was, quote, fuck the phone.
‘The other thing we’ve had confirmed,’ said Fleet, ‘thanks to DC Dalton over there …’ Fleet winced as he twisted. The paracetamol he’d taken back at the hotel had long worn off, not that it had done very much to numb the pain in the first place. Nicky noticed, and shot him a frown, but Burton was looking where Fleet was pointing. DC Dalton was seated at his desk by the window, and he turned the colour of one of the fist prints on Fleet’s ribcage.
‘The internet gossip,’ Fleet went on. ‘The rumours about Sadie that had been circulating over the summer. DC Dalton managed to pinpoint the account from which they originated. And by backtracking a bit further, he’s also managed to identify who owned them. The names of the accounts at first suggested they might have belonged to Lara Sweeney – either that, or someone who wanted to make it look like they belonged to Lara.’
‘And? Which was it?’
‘The latter,’ said Fleet. ‘Dalton was able to establish a link between the accounts and an email address owned by one of Sadie’s friends. Abigail Marshall, to be precise.’
Burton wore the expression of a man still waiting for the punchline. ‘So one of Sadie’s friends got pissed off with her for some reason, and decided to spread a few rumours to settle the score. So what?’
‘As it happens, sir, I don’t think it was Abi who started the rumours. It was her account, yes, but that doesn’t mean the posts were hers.’ Again, it was just a feeling Fleet had, though he consciously avoided confessing as much. ‘But anyway, that isn’t really the point. The point is, we believe the rumours were based on fact. That Sadie was unfaithful to Mason, and somebody somehow got wind of this.’
‘Sadie was unfaithful to Mason? Forgive me, Detective Inspector, but aren’t you supposed to be trying to convince me that Mason isn’t our man?’
Our boy, Fleet resisted saying. He had the distinct impression the superintendent had lost sight of the fact they were dealing with children here. Not adults. Not even potential criminals, by most international standards. Children.
‘I hear what you’re saying, sir,’ said Fleet, ‘but, taken together, it seems to me that these findings fundamentally alter the overall picture. There’s the phone, to start with. The fact Sadie bought it three days before she went missing. There’s the likelihood Sadie had been caught doing something she might have regretted, together with the possibility that she was pregnant. And remember her parents are Catholic, meaning abortion would at the very least have been problematic. And finally, there’s the fact that Sadie was keeping back money she would ordinarily have paid straight into her savings account.’
‘I’m failing to see the connection, Detective Inspector.’
‘We think Sadie ran, sir,’ said Nicky,
