“No laptop?” I queried as I ate more slowly, the sweetness of the strawberries tasting tart against the ice cream.
“Dad said it was too hot, it might overheat,” Liam said as he dug through his rucksack for a pen, his notebook on his lap. “I’ll have to type it all up when I get home.”
“You could do with a Dictaphone,” I mused.
“I’m saving up for one!” Liam told me, before explaining which dictation machine he wanted and his dad’s suggestions, and how he was already saving for driving lessons, even though he had a fair way to go until he turned seventeen because a journalist has to be able to drive around.
I scraped my bowl clean and licked the spoon, setting it down on the grass for the ants. A wasp was bothering Douglas, and I batted it away.
“This is delicious, thanks,” he said, gesturing to his iced coffee, which was half-gone.
“Yeah, it was great,” Liam agreed. “Much better ice cream than at home.”
Douglas cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. I chuckled gently.
“Expensive tastes, lad? You’ll have to be a high-flying journalist if you want to afford the best ice cream.”
“I will be,” Liam said, confident as ever. His dad and I shared an amused look.
“I’m sure you will,” my wife agreed. She stood up, stretching her legs. She was wearing a lovely, cornflower-blue sundress today, and her pale hair looked golden in the warm light. “I’ll leave you boys to it.”
I reached out to snag her hand, drawing her back so I could kiss her palm. She looked down at me fondly, the laughter lines around her eyes as familiar to me as her voice.
“Enjoy your afternoon,” I said, and she gave me a soft smile.
“And you, love.”
She left, taking the bowls and empty glasses with her so the wasps would stay away, and I watched her go. Liam, when I looked back at him, had an unimpressed expression on his young face, and I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t been much interested in love at that age, either, and it had taken me a longer time than some to find my wife, but I’d never regret the waiting.
“Alright,” I said, taking a sip of lemonade and settling back into the deckchair. “What are you looking for today, lad?”
“A summertime case?” He gave a shrug. “All anyone talks about lately is the weather, and everyone at school will be talking about their summer when we go back in September.”
“That’s right enough.” I rubbed a hand over my chin as I thought. A case had immediately come to mind, but I wondered whether it was suitable. I was sure the kid had seen more disturbing things on evening TV by his age, but it’s different when the story is real and happened close to where you live.
As I was mulling it over, Douglas excused himself to go to the loo before we got started, and I turned to Liam.
“Tell me truthfully now, have my stories ever given you nightmares, Liam?” I watched him closely as he shook his head vehemently.
“No! Never, I promise.”
“Not even a small bad dream?” I put up a hand when he went immediately to deny it. “I won’t stop telling you about the cases if you have had one, okay? I just want to know what kind of story to tell.”
“There was maybe one,” Liam admitted after a second, avoiding my eyes and squirming. “But it was only the one time.”
“And which story was that about?” I asked, keeping my expression neutral. It was a skill I’d learned in the police, but it’d proved useful throughout the years in situations as varied as keeping my cool against some drunkards in the pub and when opening a Christmas present I didn’t much like.
“It was uh- the first one,” Liam explained. “With the man, your friend, who was poisoned.”
“Ah.” I gave a nod. Honestly, that case had a strong hold over me, too. Graham had been a good friend, and I still thought of him every so often. His niece, Alice, and I exchanged Christmas cards each year. “So the one involving the kids didn’t bother you? The kidnappings?”
“No, I was fine with that, really fine.”
“Have you started without me?” Douglas said as he arrived back and looked between us.
“No, not yet,” I said with a smile, taking a sip of my now-lukewarm lemonade. “I was checking with Liam about which story to do.”
Liam’s expression was hopeful, even puppyish, and I smiled.
“Alright. There was a summertime case that happened during a heatwave that lasted for weeks-”
“Hotter than today?” Liam interrupted.
“Aye, on some days, it was. Everyone’s grass died, and the river was the lowest I ever saw it, I can tell you.”
Liam had his notepad ready, and I could see that he’d already written out the date and made some scrawled notes that were entirely illegible to me. I turned my mind to the case I was planning to tell the lad and his father and sobered as I remembered how it had all developed.
“In truth, the case actually began in April, though we didn’t realise it right away. There was a group of teenagers - your age, Liam, or a tad older - who started to kick off. The hot weather seemed to seed a bit of madness in all of them and, before we knew it, we had a serious problem on our hands.”
One
Jules approached the school gates with a couple of mates, striding up leisurely and loitering against the chipped railings. It was another baking day, and he wore a sweat-darkened grey tank, showing off the results of his efforts in the gym since he’d turned seventeen.
The little kids came streaming out of the school, dressed up in uniforms smarter than Jules had ever worn, baulked at the sight of him and his friends and skirted warily around them. Jules hid a crooked smirk behind a half-smoked cigarette.
He was here because he wanted something or, more accurately, someone. Word had gotten around
