Fleet frowned. “I’m not sure I’m following you, sir.”
“This Mason boy. The boyfriend. You’ve always liked him for Sadie’s murder.”
Careful, Rob, Fleet told himself. Be very careful.
“I always suspected him, sir. Of something. Just as I’ve always had my suspicions about the rest of them. But there’s nothing to say conclusively that Sadie was murdered, let alone that Mason was the one to do it.”
“But he’s your prime suspect. Correct?”
“I . . . Correct.”
“And he was out there in the woods with Sadie’s brother and the others? His prints everywhere, blood all over his shirt?”
“They all had blood on them, sir. I told you, it’s a mess. We don’t yet know the full story. Which is what I’ve been trying to get across. The search party . . . it changes things. What we’re trying to work out is how.”
“So a lesser charge, then. Possession, intent, something. Just for the time being, until we have enough to prosecute for Sadie.”
“But at the risk of repeating myself, sir, we don’t even know for certain that Sadie’s dead.”
“Oh, come on, Rob. This is me and you now. We’re seven days in. We’ve just been watching divers dredging the river. This sort of story, it’s not going to have a happy ending. You know that as well as I do.”
Fleet did know. And he was surprised at himself for wanting to deny it.
“Plus,” the superintendent went on, “it would at least show the community that our focus on these kids—on Mason in particular—has been justified. It would answer some of that criticism I mentioned, mitigate some of our responsibility.”
Now Fleet bridled. Mitigate some of our responsibility? It sounded almost like a threat.
“This wouldn’t be about money, would it, sir?” he found himself saying.
“Excuse me?”
Hold your tongue, Rob, said a voice, even as a louder one egged him on. “The dive teams are barely five hundred meters from the estuary,” he said. “And it’s expensive, mounting this kind of operation, especially for the sake of one girl. What happens when the divers reach open water? Do they have permission to turn around and start again?”
The superintendent reddened. “Careful, Detective Inspector.”
“But if we make an arrest based on what happened in the woods,” Fleet pressed, “even if it eventually comes to nothing, you’ll at least have the cover to scale things down. Pull the divers out, the uniforms, the bloodhounds. Shut up shop and shrug your shoulders and move on.”
Burton rose to his feet. He was the color of a heart attack, Fleet thought, even as he marveled at his own capacity to self-destruct.
There was a knock.
When the superintendent didn’t respond, Fleet did. “Come in,” he called, his eyes never leaving his superior’s.
A constable poked his head into the room. “Sir?” he said, addressing Fleet first. “Sorry to interrupt, but—” He hesitated, as though he’d registered the expression on the superintendent’s face.
“What is it?” Fleet prompted.
“I . . .” The PC forced his attention back to Fleet. He straightened. “The dive teams, sir. At the river. They’ve found something.”
MASON
SO—WHAT? YOU’RE going to start listening to me now? And I’m supposed to trust you? Like, I tell you what happened and this time you promise to believe me?
No way, man. You’re forgetting, I know how this works. I’ve seen it. You put me through it. I’m not falling for the same thing twice. You twist things, try to trap people, even when they haven’t done anything wrong.
But that’s how it starts, isn’t it? Just run us through it, you say, and the next thing I know I’m being accused of murder.
Four times you had me in here. That’s twice more than any of the others. You only didn’t charge me because you didn’t have any evidence. But do you think that makes any difference out there? Do you think anyone believes it when you say I was only “helping you with your enquiries”? Or do you think that maybe they draw their own conclusions? Just like you, in fact. I mean, look at you. You’re sitting there watching me in exactly the same way you were before. You still think I’m responsible. Don’t you?
You know what? Don’t even answer that. Don’t even bother. Because I know exactly what you’re doing. And I know why. I mean, Fleet. You might at least have thought to change your name. It took me a while to put two and two together, I admit, but after I realized, I did a bit of digging of my own. Turns out I knew most of the story anyway—everyone round here knows the story—I just didn’t think to connect the dots. So my point is, don’t bother trying to play games. You’re out for revenge or something, retribution, and step one, for obvious reasons, is you trying to pin it all on me.
So, with all due respect and everything, go fuck yourself.
FASH
FIRST OF ALL, I just want to say how sorry I am. My mum, she . . . she told me it was important I made that clear. And I am sorry. So, so sorry. Truly. About what happened. About . . . about everything.
But I know being sorry isn’t going to bring him back.
The hardest part is, I think I knew something awful was going to happen from the start. I don’t know how. I just did. That’s partly why I was so reluctant to go in the first place. I . . .
What?
Who told you that?
Oh. Right. Well, I . . . I mean, yeah. Yes. It was my idea. But . . . I wasn’t sure. That’s what I meant. I knew we had to do something, that we couldn’t just carry on sitting around waiting. But at the same time, I was in two minds. That’s all I’m saying. And I think I was hoping one of the others would talk me out of it. Maybe that’s why I went to Cora first. I knew she’d be the hardest one to convince, you see. Except Luke, maybe, because of Dylan, but he . . . he . . .
Sorry.
Sorry, I . . .
I just . . . I can’t
