There was a silence. Abi wrapped her arms around her middle. Cora dumped her bag on the ground and frisked herself to find her packet of cigarettes. It took her three attempts to fire up her lighter.
“Look,” I said, as Cora exhaled a cloud of smoke, “why don’t we just take a vote?”
Mason scoffed.
“It’s the fairest way,” I said. “Surely? And I don’t see how else we’re going to decide.”
Abi nodded. Cora rolled a shoulder.
“So,” I said. “Let’s start with who votes we go back. Raise your hand if you think we should call it a day.”
Abi had her hand in the air almost before I’d finished speaking. Cora put her hand up, too, her cigarette between her fingers, and her arm hinging at the elbow.
We looked at Luke. Even then, even though we were supposed to be voting, it somehow still came down to him.
He focused on Mason. “For the record,” he said, “I never really thought you had anything to do with it. With Sadie, I mean. With what they said.”
Mason was clearly waiting for whatever came next.
“But the thing is,” said Luke, “I can’t stay out here. And it’s not because of the water, or because of whoever might be out there. It’s Dylan. He’s hurting, man. A lot. I feel bad enough for leaving him as it is. And you know my parents aren’t going to be looking after him.” He kicked a stone. “Not the way he needs.”
I don’t think any of us were surprised. Luke hadn’t wanted to come with us in the first place. And when he mentioned Dylan, there wasn’t exactly much that we could say. Not even Mason.
I watched as the others gathered up their stuff. When they started walking back the way we’d come, I lingered next to Mason in the clearing. I waited until the others were out of earshot.
“It was always a long shot, Mase,” I said, trying to sound consoling. “And who knows, maybe the police have found something while we’ve been gone. Something that puts you in the clear.”
Mason turned on me then, as though I’d just accused him of killing Sadie myself.
“That was convenient for you, wasn’t it? You didn’t even have to vote.”
He made to walk off and I pulled him back. “Mase, wait. What do you mean? I just . . .” Something in his expression made me let go of his arm.
He sneered at me, and shook his head. “Don’t even bother trying to justify it. I know exactly what you did.”
“LOOK AT THOSE leeches,” said Nicky, as Fleet maneuvered the car through the entrance gates.
Fleet glanced out the driver’s-side window. Most of the news vans were either down by the river or up in the woods, the more respectable outlets having—at least on the face of it—honored police requests to show some consideration to the local community, and in particular to stay away from Sadie’s school. But there were always going to be a few hacks who pushed the boundaries. Literally, in this case—the school grounds were fenced off from the road, and three or four men were leaning against the wire mesh, cameras in one hand and cigarettes or vape sticks in the other. They’d noticed Fleet’s Insignia approaching the school gates, and one or two were tracking it through their telephoto lenses.
“At least they’re getting wet,” said Fleet, taking in the rain. He was tempted to stop the car and shoo the photographers away, but he knew they’d only flock back again. Less like leeches then; more like pigeons. Plus they were wasting their time, anyway. No editor in their right mind would print a picture from a pap who’d doorstepped a school—would they?
There was a visitor’s space free in an awkward corner, and once they were parked Fleet led the way inside the building. There’d been a few modernizations to the school over recent years, but the general layout didn’t appear to have changed since Fleet had been a pupil here himself. Harbor Park remained the only major secondary school in town. It wasn’t large by city standards, but if you lived within the parish, and unless your parents were rich enough to send you to one of the private schools in the surrounding countryside, this is where you were destined to serve your adolescence. Purely out of curiosity, Fleet had checked the school’s Ofsted rating, and hadn’t been surprised to discover that, according to the government’s inspectors, Harbor Park “required improvement.” It was tired, in other words, with the majority of investment flowing elsewhere—a fitting symbol of the town itself.
The head teacher met them in the entrance hall. Ms. Andrews was a thin woman, tall and stooping. She had the look of a long-distance runner, Fleet thought, or perhaps of someone whose primary form of exercise was worrying. In many ways she reminded Fleet of Superintendent Burton, though the comparison did the head teacher a disservice. Rather than being a politician, Ms. Andrews struck Fleet as a genuine crusader, albeit a battle-weary one, only just about clinging to the diminishing possibility that she might one day make a difference.
“Detective Inspector,” the head teacher offered by way of greeting. She nodded to Nicky as she took Fleet’s hand. They’d all met before, shortly after Sadie had gone missing, but this was the first time Fleet and Ms. Andrews had spoken since events in the woods, and the first time since the school had been back in session. The new term had begun two days before. Sadie would have been entering the sixth form, beginning her A levels—taking her first steps toward a boundless future.
“I’m sorry we’re not meeting again under better circumstances, Ms. Andrews,” Fleet said, “but thank you for arranging this at short notice. Are they ready for us?”
“They are,” the head teacher confirmed. “They’re in my office. And they’ve requested I sit in, if
