They started across the field toward the woods.
“How far have we got to go?” Fleet asked.
“Far enough,” Nicky answered. “Especially in brogues. But they were closer to the edge of the forest than they apparently realized.”
“They were lost?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. When they called, they struggled to pinpoint their location. On the other hand, I’ve got a feeling they knew where they were heading. But their stories are . . . garbled. Which is understandable, given the circumstances.”
Fleet turned, but could see only the tip of Nicky’s nose past the solid yellow wall of her hood.
“You said they called in,” he said, prompting her.
“That’s right. About two hours ago. It took us an hour to find them. Would have been longer if we hadn’t already been on their trail. The ambulance is apparently on its way, but I guess it got stuck behind a tractor or something. And . . . Well. There’s no rush.” She looked at him meaningfully.
“Sadie?” Fleet asked. It was all he could say, all he needed to.
But, “No,” said Nicky. “Not Sadie.”
They passed through the tree line. Even at the edge of the forest the foliage was dense, but there was something like a path cutting through the undergrowth.
About a mile in, they reached a clearing, and Nicky moved to one side. Unlike most of the cops assigned to the investigation, she’d worked with Fleet before, and she knew him well enough to appreciate that the time for commentary had passed. It was important to Fleet that he be able to make his own assessment. When he wanted more from Nicky—or from anyone—he would ask.
The first thing Fleet noted was how well Nicky had preserved the scene. Unexpectedly, this far from the road, there was a clutch of buildings on the other side of the clearing—all long abandoned, by the look of them. There was a small cabin, as well as two large barns, presumably for crops or farming equipment, not that anything was being cultivated out here now. All the structures had been taped off, as indeed had the entire area. Patches of the open ground between Fleet and the buildings had also been marked, and covered with tarps to protect them from the rain. Footprints? Fleet wondered. Or blood?
He skirted the edge of the clearing, as the rain on his hood struck a steady patter—only interrupted every so often by a heavier drop from the branches overhead. Fleet pulled the hood back to release himself from the distraction.
Half a dozen steps from the access path he saw them. While they’d waited for the ambulance to arrive, Nicky and her three colleagues had herded them under cover, beneath the roof of one of the barns. The four kids were seated on the ground, wrapped in silver blankets, and Fleet noted they were even more poorly prepared for the weather than he was. They had on trainers, T-shirts, shorts, and all were soaked to the skin. They looked like Glastonbury-goers on a comedown, long after the music had stopped.
Fleet’s attention moved on, his eyes sweeping the shadows in the outbuilding.
And then he saw it. The body at the base of the tree. It was beyond the view of the kids in the barn, but from the way the teenagers were facing, it was obvious they were aware it was there.
“Jesus Christ,” Fleet muttered. He looked at the kids again, and then the body.
You heavens above, rain down my righteousness.
For the first time since he’d been a teenager himself, Fleet felt the urge to cross himself.
DAY SEVEN
ABI
WE SHOULD NEVER have been out there in the first place. We should have . . . I don’t know what we should have done. What the hell do you do in a situation like that?
Did he really . . .
Is he really . . .
I mean, we didn’t make a mistake or anything? That’s all I’m asking. Like, maybe it wasn’t as bad as we thought it was, or the ambulance people got to him in time, and—
No.
No.
I know.
I just . . . I can’t believe it, that’s all. I mean, I can see it, literally see it, right in front of me, every time I close my eyes, but even still it . . .
Oh God. Oh Jesus.
We just . . . we should never have been out there. We shouldn’t.
But it was about the act of looking. That’s what it was. The not just doing nothing while you lot dredged the river, and searched the allotments, and the old railway cutting, and all the other places that could have hidden a . . . that Sadie might . . . that . . .
Sorry.
I just . . . I didn’t expect it to be this hard. I thought I could . . . that I’d just . . . To be honest, I don’t know what I thought.
Do we really have to go through it all again? I mean, you know how it ended. How he . . . how he died. And I told you I didn’t see. It all happened so quickly, and I . . . I mean, I’m tired, and . . . and there’s so much I don’t remember, and . . .
Right. Of course.
No, I . . . I get it. I do. Let’s just . . . let me just . . . I’m fine. It’s fine.
I was saying . . . What was I saying?
Right.
We had a choice, we figured. Sit around waiting for a call or a text or whatever, or for someone to come knocking on the door, with news you knew was going to be a fist into your stomach. Or go out and join in the search. Not the actual search, where you lot were. We knew you wouldn’t let us within fifty meters, not a bunch of sixteen-year-old kids who you’d basically already accused of being involved somehow.
But the search. Bigger picture. The Search for Sadie Saunders.
It’s like, our mums and dads were out there helping you. And most of them didn’t even
