by Simon Lelic
“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 get my head around what happened, that’s all. I can’t get the picture out of my brain.
No. Thank you. I’m OK. And you want to know, right? And my mum said I should tell you what I remember. And I promised her I would, so I will.
Not everything she tells me to do, no. Why? Why do you ask? People think she’s strict, and she is, I’m not saying she’s not, but that doesn’t mean . . . it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the way she is.
No. Never. I mean, not like argue argue. I’m not saying I don’t disagree with her sometimes. With her way of looking at things, the fact that she’s always constantly going on about . . .
Nothing. It doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s only looking out for me, trying to give me the opportunities she and my dad never got themselves. They came to this country with nothing. With literally the clothes on their backs. And my dad, before he died, he worked crazy hours, and now my mum does, too. So it’s only fair that I try to be respectful.
Look, is this relevant? You wanted to know about the search party. Didn’t you? The day we left? So can’t we just talk about that?
Right, that’s right. So I went to Cora, and me and her went to Abi, and then Abi suggested we go to Mason.
Right, sorry, that’s right; after me and the girls had already been to Luke. And yeah, yes, Luke wasn’t all that happy with the idea of asking Mason along. In fact, he wasn’t happy at all.
No effing way, is what he said.
He didn’t say effing, obviously.
Oh, OK. Well, if you’re sure. My mum doesn’t like it when I swear, so I try not to, but I suppose if I’m only telling you what other people said, it doesn’t really count.
But Luke, the way he reacted. It was because of all the rumors, I suppose. I mean, you basically as good as told the world that you thought Mason was guilty. That . . . that he’d killed Sadie. That’s what everyone was thinking, anyway. Not me. Not Cora and Abi. At least, I don’t think so. But Luke . . . I guess he wasn’t sure. With eve
rything that was going on, I suppose he didn’t know what to believe.
“Come on, Luke,” said Cora. “Mason’s your friend.”
And that’s one of the things I’ve been struggling with most of all. Like, how did we get to the point where we all just suddenly turned against one another? After we’d always been so close? Because I know we’re all kind of different, and you’re probably wondering why we were even friends. But the thing is, we basically grew up together. We went to the same nursery, the same schools, all the way up to Harbor Park. I was always best friends with Luke, and Cora was best mates with Sadie. That was when we were younger. But then Mason started being mates with Luke, which meant Mason and I became friends as well, and then Abi started hanging around with Cora and Sadie. Abi fell out with her old friends, I think. In primary school, this was. They were basically always mean to her, and Sadie sort of took her under her wing. She was like that, you see. Even when she was younger. She’s always been kind, and generous, and . . . just . . . just a genuinely nice person. And it wasn’t because she was so talented or so . . . so pretty that everyone liked her. She always just seemed to be able to get on with people. In a way I’ve never really . . . I just admired that about her, that’s all.
So Sadie—her and Luke—I suppose they were the link that held the rest of us together. And actually the fact that we’re so different is one of the things that in the end made us so close. Plus, like, none of us has ever really fit in with anybody else. There’s me with my skin, Mason with his music and his boots, and Cora with her clothes like she’s planning to put on weight. Like a skater, basically, apart from the fact she’s never been on a skateboard in her life. Abi’s normal, sort of, but even so, she’s never been liked. She just . . . she tries too hard, I think, always posting pictures of herself on Instagram, or going on about saving the world. Not like Sadie, who was popular without even trying, but what I think is, us lot were like an antidote for her. When she was with us, she could just be herself, just the person she’d always been. She didn’t need to be the star of the show, or top of the class, or whatever else people were expecting her to be. And for Luke it was the same sort of thing. If Sadie had the pressure, Luke had all the responsibility. With Dylan, mainly, but also in terms of looking after himself. It’s like, he never got the attention from his parents that Sadie did, for example. Nowhere near. And again, when he was with us he could just forget. Particularly when Mason was around, because Mason’s got this way of making you feel like what other people think doesn’t even count. Which, again, I’ve always admired. He never lets anyone give him any shit. It’s like, with me, I do OK at school and that, but it doesn’t seem to count for anything. Being smart just makes people hate you, bully you, or else they’re on your case trying to push you to do even better. You can’t win. But Mason has never bought into any of that. I wish I could be like him.
I remember this one time—we must have been about thirteen—we were all hanging about in the woods. We had this place we used to go. Like a base, you know? It was near the stream, our favorite climbing tree was nearby, and there were these old stumps in a sort of circle you could use as seats.
Anyway, we were all there—everyone except Abi. And when she turned up she didn’t say anything, and it was obvious she’d been crying. And the weird thing was, she had on this hat. Like, a woolly hat, which came right down over her ears, even though it was the middle of summer.
“What’s with the tea cozy, Abi?” said Mason.
Which maybe wasn’t exactly the most sensitive way to say hello, given that Abi was obviously so upset. But with us lot it was just the sort of thing you came out with, although admittedly Mason more than most. But what I mean is, because we knew each other so well, none of us ever tried to hide anything. Nobody ever made out they were cooler than they were, and if something shitty had happened, you just admitted it. You didn’t try to pretend everything was OK, not the way we all had to do at home.
So Abi took off her hat. She still didn’t say anything. But the thing was, she didn’t need to. Because her hair, which was normally sort of mousey, was bright green.
“Whoa!” said Mason. “What the hell, Abi? What happened?”
Abi burst into tears. But slowly it all came out. She’d had her hair cut, apparently, and she’d been feeling all brand-new, until she’d got home and her dad had started laughing. All, like, “How much money did you waste on that?” and “I don’t know why you even bother.” Just to make her feel bad. And apparently what he said was, “You’re a five, Abi. On a good day. You’ll never deserve a higher score than that. Look at your mother if you want someone to blame.” And Abi was distraught, but what she also thought was, I’ll show him. And her dad’s always liked blondes, which for some messed-up reason means Abi’s always wished she was blonde, too. So she bleached her hair. Herself. And whatever she used . . . Well. Obviously it hadn’t quite worked.
“He’s gonna laugh at me for the rest of my life!” she wailed. “Everyone is. The entire school!”
“So what?” Mason said, grinning. “I actually think it’s awesome.”
“It’s not awesome,” said Abi. “It’s hideous. There’s no way I’m going to school tomorrow. I’m never showing my face in public ever again!”
And that’s when Mason got all serious. “Screw that, Abi,” he said. “I’m all for bunking off school and everything, but only for the right reasons.” And he made her swear. I mean, it took about an hour, literally, but he wouldn’t let it drop until Abi promised she’d turn up the next day at school. And then what he did was, he got the rest of us all together that evening. Him, me, Luke, Sadie and Cora. And he’d got hold of this bottle of hair dye. And none of us even had to think about it. I mean, my mum didn’t talk to me afterward for about a month, and Sadie’s dad practically had a stroke. But it didn’t matter. We’d have dyed our hair green even if it had meant getting expelled. For Abi’s sake, you know? For ours.
And that’s what I mean. That’s how it was with us before.
But then I guess something changed. Probably around the start of the summer. For me, I . . . I was concentrating on preparing for sixth form, I suppose. That’s why I didn’t always go out when the others asked. And anyway, me and Mason, we . . . I don’t know. It’s like I said, I was always mainly friends with Luke, and just lately, with Mason . . . it had been a bit awkward, I suppose. Not just for me. For everyone. Because before Mason and Sadie got together last year, Mason had been with Cora. So Cora was dealing with that, plus the fact Sadie seemed to be hanging around with Abi more, when before, Cora and Sadie had been inseparable. So it was all just . . . just different, that’s all. And then, after Sadie went missing . . . Well. To be honest, the rest of us have hardly spoken.
But Luke.
I was telling you about Luke.
“You’ve heard what they’re saying about him,” he said, talking about Mason, about how he didn’t want us asking him along. “You know what they’re saying he did.”
“They’re saying stuff about the rest of us as well, just in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Cora. “And anyway, are you really going to listen to a bunch of rumors? In this town? You know what people are like. You know what the police are like. They always think it’s the boyfriend. The husband, the lover. If they had any actual evidence, they would have arrested him by now. The fact that they haven’t—”
“Means they haven’t found it yet,” said Luke. “It doesn’t mean Mason didn’t do it. That he isn’t secretly some kind of psychopath.”
“A psychopath? Really?” Cora threw up her arms and turned away.
Abi looked slightly afraid.
“Dude,” I said, stepping forward. We were at the footbridge, the big one near the caravan park, where the river’s at its widest. Not far from where you lot began the search. “Mason isn’t a psychopath,” I said. “My mum is a psychopath. To give you a frame of reference.”
; For a moment Luke just stared at me, and I was worried I’d said the wrong thing. Like, joking. Was that still OK? Because we hadn’t. It didn’t feel like we had. Not since Sadie had gone missing.
But then Luke laughed. It was only a snort, really. But it was like something suddenly lifting.
Luke looked ashamed. Ashamed or afraid or just upset, really, I suppose. And tired. You know? Just really, really tired. Which we all were, I think. I don’t know about the others, but I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time since Sadie had gone missing.
“Yeah,” Luke said. “Yeah, OK. Sorry.”
Cora gave him this broken little smile.
We had to backtrack to get to Mason’s house. He lives with just his dad now—his mum left home when Mason was small—and they aren’t particularly well-off. None of us are, but in this town it basically goes in rings. If you live by the water you’re considered rich, even though most of the flats round there are usually empty. It’s Londoners who own them mostly, people who come down to go sailing, or play golf at the course along the coast. Then, round the high street, it’s mainly families. A long way from being rich, but doing OK. That’s where I live; Sadie and Luke’s family, too. Cora and Abi are in the next ring, just before you get to the trading estate. The houses there are bigger, a bit, but scruffier. It’s not rough exactly, but me, personally, I don’t like walking there at night.
As for Mason, he lives in an area that’s basically one step up from the caravan park. The houses are all bungalows. Not even bungalows, really. I don’t know what you call them. They look like the classrooms on the field at school—the temporary ones, the teachers call them, even though they’ve been there since the 1980s.
When we got there Mason’s dad was round the side of the house. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but whatever it was he didn’t seem to be enjoying it, because he was just standing there with his hands on his hips. Then again, Mason’s dad isn’t the kind of person who seems to particularly enjoy anything. Mason can’t stand him. He blames his dad for his mum leaving home. Which from what I’ve heard is probably fair, to be honest, because he drinks, he doesn’t really work, he’s basically what my mum would call a—
