The Search Party

by Simon Lelic

  He hit his head on something as he fell, and from that point on and until the darkness took him, there was only pain: sharp, intense, welcome, like an old, familiar friend.

  DAY NINE

  THE FIRST THING Fleet noticed when he woke was the scent. It was dizzyingly intimate, and at first he thought it was coming from the pillow that was unaccountably beneath his head.

  But when he cracked an eyelid, he saw red lips, dark hair, and a face more familiar to him these days in his dreams. He blinked and, rather than disappearing as Fleet had half expected it to, the face only came into focus.

  “I thought I told you to take care of yourself.”

  That voice. Jesus, that voice. As warm as the perfume she was wearing, and just as capable of stinging when applied to an open wound. Which . . . ow . . . his entire body seemed to be at the moment.

  “Holly? What the . . . Where am I?”

  Fleet tore his eyes from his wife and realized he was in a hotel room. Not his hotel room, but one very much like it.

  “You’re in room one,” said another voice, and Fleet turned to see Anne standing near the door. “Ground floor,” she explained. “You’re not an easy man to move when you’re only half-conscious, Detective Inspector. I’ve known cats that were easier to haul upright than you.”

  Fleet winced himself sitting. “You . . .” A flashing memory of what had happened, of those first few digs into his ribs, and the choking sensation from the dust that had been inside the bag. “You found me? Outside. Did you . . .”

  “I didn’t see what happened. I didn’t even hear it. I only happened to go out to put the rubbish in the bin before I went to bed. Collection day tomorrow,” she added with a shrug, then looked at her watch. “Today, I mean. In fact, it’s probably been and gone.”

  “Why, what time is it?” said Fleet, moving suddenly and sending a jolt through his rib cage that was powerful enough that it might have been delivered by another fist. As for his head . . . Christ. He’d only once in his life known anything like it—the time he and Thomas Murphy had filched a bottle of gin from Tom’s mother’s drinks cabinet, and Tom had tricked Fleet into downing most of the bottle. When Fleet wasn’t looking, Tom had been topping up his own glass with water, meaning Fleet had got the lion’s share of the hangover, too.

  “It’s barely seven,” said Holly, holding a hand against Fleet’s chest to pin him. “And just so we’re clear, you’re not going anywhere anyway. Except maybe to A&E to get that bump on your head checked out.” She turned to Anne. “Is there an A&E near here?”

  Anne opened her mouth to answer, but Fleet interrupted.

  “I don’t need to go to A&E. I need . . .” He’d moved, and he winced again. “I need to get to the station.”

  Holly laughed, a single, bitter bark. “What did I tell you?” she said to Anne over her shoulder.

  Anne smiled sympathetically, and Fleet couldn’t tell whether it was aimed at Holly or him. “I think I’ll leave the two of you to work it out,” she said. “Just shout if you need anything.”

  She slipped into the corridor outside, closing the door quietly behind her. When she was gone, the room immediately felt smaller, the atmosphere within it thicker. Holly seemed to feel it, too, and withdrew a fraction from her position at the head end of Fleet’s bed.

  “She called you?” said Fleet, to test the silence. “That’s how you’re here?”

  Holly’s lips were in a pout, her arms folded across her chest. Fleet knew the signs well: his wife was braced for an argument.

  “She got my number from your phone. Used your thumb to unlock it. She’s a smart lady,” she added, and to Fleet it sounded like an accusation.

  “Very smart,” he said. “Attractive, too, in case you didn’t notice.”

  It was a risk, but it broke the tension. Holly tutted, unfolding her arms, and turned her chin to hide her smile.

  Fleet shuffled until his back was against the headboard. “What did she say to get you to come down here?” he asked. It struck him that he hadn’t said thank you to Anne—and immediately after, as he waited on his wife’s response, that maybe he should be withholding judgment on whether Anne deserved his gratitude or not. Maybe she’d rescued him from a physical beating, but he could already sense that there was an emotional one still to come.

  “She said you’d been hurt. She said she figured I’d want to know.”

  “And did you?”

  The pout was back. Already. “I’m here, aren’t I?” But rather than crossing her arms again, Holly exhaled, and dropped onto the foot end of Fleet’s bed.

  Fleet tried not to wince as the ripples carried through the mattress.

  “What happened, Rob? You’ve obviously been busy making new friends.”

  “I was just getting reacquainted with an old one, actually,” Fleet answered. Seeing the look that came into Holly’s eyes, he held up a hand. “He found me. I didn’t go looking. I promise.”

  Holly opened her mouth, then shut it again. She looked his way, studying him, and shook her head. “You’re a mess. You do realize that, don’t you? They spared your face, but your body’s black and blue, and I really don’t like the look of that bump.” She reached to touch Fleet’s forehead, and Fleet shied away. “I’m serious about A&E, you know. You need to get yourself checked out.”

  “I know. And I will,” Fleet lied. “But not today.”

  Another pout. “The case?”

  Fleet nodded. “Things are coming to a head. Roger’s set on charging the girl’s boyfriend, but . . .”

  Holly waited. “But . . .” she prompted eventually.

  This time Fleet was the one to shake his head. He regretted it immediately, and reached to test his bump with his fingertips.

  “You don’t think he did it,” Holly said for him. “You think Roger’s just trying to draw a line.”

  “I know Roger’s trying to draw a line. The man’s a walking Magic Marker.”

  Holly laughed. “Now there’s an image,” she said. “Personally, I’ve always pictured him as more of a ruler. You know, if we’re comparing him to stationery.”

  “The ruler’s just what he’s got stuck up his—”

  “Rob,” said Holly sharply, swiftly followed by another laugh.

  You see? Fleet told himself, beneath his smile. It’s moments like this that are the problem. How much easier things would be if he and Holly never accidentally got along.

  “So what makes you so uncertain?” Holly asked him. “About what’s his name. The boyfriend. Are you even sure the girl is dead? Because they said on the news—”

  “Mason. The kid’s name is Mason. And we’re not sure of anything. That’s the problem.”

  Once again Holly waited.

  Fleet sighed. “I was never convinced, you know. About Mason. I mean, it all made sense. The idea that he killed Sadie was about the only theory that did. He had motive, opportunity, the temperament. But it just . . . it never felt right. You know?” Fleet glanced and saw Holly nod. “The only thing I was sure of was that Sadie’s friends were lying to us. Holding something back. And as for Mason . . . he’s basically his own worst enemy. Since the day Sadie went missing, all he’s been doing is digging himself further into a hole. That’s why we kept on at them. We had to. I had to. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been doing my job. But I swear to God, Holly, it wasn’t like people have been saying.”

  “What have people been saying?” said Holly, frowning.

  “They think we—I—became fixated. Because of what happened to Jeannie. You see, Mason . . . he’s Stephen Payne’s son. He’s the one who—”

  “I know who Stephen Payne is,” Holly interrupted. “Christ, Rob, we haven’t been separated for that long.”

  From the moment Fleet had finally told Holly about his sister—about a month before they got married—she’d been almost as furious
about what had happened as Fleet was. More so, actually, because by then Fleet had managed to bury his own fury deep inside him, whereas Holly’s rage was righteous and raw. So he’d known she would hardly need reminding who Stephen Payne was. What he’d actually been about to tell her was that Payne was one of the men who’d jumped him. (Allegedly, the copper in him cautioned, reminding him that he had no actual proof. He hadn’t even seen his attackers.) But Fleet decided that, on balance, it was probably better—safer—if he kept that particular piece of information to himself. Heaven knew what Holly would do if she found out.

  “Anyway, the link with Stephen Payne is only part of it, I’m guessing. People see me as someone who’s got it in for the entire community. They think . . . I don’t know what they think. That somehow I’ve got it into my head that Sadie’s friends are just like Stephen Payne’s gang from back in the day. They got away with what they did, and I left town, but now I’m back and looking for revenge.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!”

  Fleet twitched a shoulder, and realized he’d found a part of his body that didn’t hurt. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if I’d really wanted to get back at Stephen Payne by taking it out on his son, I could have had Mason in custody the day Sadie went missing. My team would have supported me. Roger would have given me a great big pat on the back.”

  “Exactly,” said Holly, as though that settled it.

  “But what I can’t help thinking,” Fleet went on, “is that maybe that’s where I went wrong. Maybe the people round here are right after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, maybe if I’d ignored that voice in my head—if I’d focused on following the evidence and taken Mason into custody at the start—the search party would never have happened. Because that part is unquestionably true. Sadie’s friends only set off into the woods in the first place because we put them under so much pressure.”

  “Because they were lying to you! Because they’re still lying, I’m guessing. And you just said, you don’t think Mason did it.”

  “No, I know, but—”

  “So there you go then! You said it yourself, Rob. If people lie to you, you have to put them under pressure. Getting to the truth is part of your job. Christ, it is your job. And if you’re blaming yourself for the way things turned out in the woods, you can cut that shit out right now. You didn’t want that to happen, did you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “And you’re big enough and ugly enough to know that the whole world doesn’t turn around you, right? That it’s not just the decisions you take that dictate what happens to the rest of us. Right?”

  Fleet couldn’t help but smile.

  “So are you done now?” said Holly. “Feeling sorry for yourself, I mean? So some people around town are talking shit. So what?” She exhaled angrily, shaking her head. “What does Nicky think? About Mason, about Roger. About what people around here are saying,” she added scornfully.

  “Nicky’s loyal. Even if she thought I’d screwed up, she wouldn’t—”

  “Nicky’s loyal for a reason, Rob. She’s loyal because she knows better than anyone that you’re a damn fine copper. And more important, that you’re a damn fine human being. Honestly, Rob. You’ve beaten yourself up enough over the years, wouldn’t you say? And as for that poor kid out there in the woods . . . surely you know by now that you can’t save everyone. I know you want to. I know that’s why you do what you do. But not everything is on you, Rob. Even Jeannie. What happened to her isn’t on you.”

  Fleet didn’t respond. Mainly because he didn’t know how to.

  They sat in silence for a moment. From the expression on Holly’s face, she seemed afraid that she’d gone too far.

  “What’s he like?” she said at last, her tone softer now. “The boyfriend. Mason. How badly screwed-up is he? I mean, Jesus. To have Stephen Payne as a father. Whatever that poor kid’s done in his life, whatever he’s guilty of now, you’d have to imagine he’s already been punished enough.”

  Fleet didn’t have to imagine anything to know that what Holly had said was true.

  “Mason’s angry. Stupid. Young.” What Fleet didn’t add, but he was thinking, is that Mason had come to remind Fleet of himself when he’d been Mason’s age. Fleet had been just as disdainful, just as arrogant, just as insecure, deep down, in his sense of self-worth.

  As was her knack, Holly appeared to have read between the lines anyway. “Sounds like someone else you used to know,” she said.

  Fleet returned her smile, then flinched at the pain in his head.

  “Here,” said Holly, reaching toward the bedside table. “Anne left a packet of paracetamol.” She tossed the box onto Fleet’s lap, and held the glass of water while he popped the pills from the blister pack. He swallowed two, shaking his head when Holly offered him the water.

  She shuddered. “I don’t know how you can do that. What if they got stuck in your throat?”

  “It might help with the diet,” Fleet said.

  “Which is going well, I see,” said Holly, nodding at the bulge where Fleet’s belly was beneath the covers.

  “You may mock,” said Fleet, “but all this padding comes in handy when somebody’s trying to kick the shit out of you.”

  “Oh,” said Holly, ignoring him, “your cigarettes were in your pocket, in case you’re wondering. If you’re looking for them later, you’ll find them in the bin.”

  Once again Fleet smiled, quietly.

  They sat in silence for a moment, each of them lost in their thoughts.

  “So what happened?” said Holly, after a moment. “If you don’t think Mason did it—who did?”

  “Jesus, Holly. Do you think I’d be sitting here if I knew?”

  “But you have a theory. I can tell.”

  God, she could be annoying. Fleet didn’t mean to be so transparent, but his wife could see through him as though he were a piece of glass.

  “I have an idea,” he admitted. “That’s all.”

  “And?” Holly prompted.

  “And I hope I’m wrong,” Fleet said, sighing again. “I really, really do.”

  * * *

  * * *

  She helped him dress. Fleet possessed nothing she hadn’t seen before, but even so, he felt uncomfortable at the echo of intimacy. Holly did, too, he could tell, though she disguised it better than he did, passing him his clothes and helping with the buttons with a brisk efficiency. In the end, the process took about three times as long as it should have done, though it would have taken far longer if Fleet had been on his own.

  “You’re serious about going to work today,” said Holly, as she watched Fleet struggle to tie the laces on his shoes. He could bear the pain in his torso if he stood up straight and didn’t breathe too deeply, but hinging at the waist brought on a sensation of a knife being thrust into his kidneys.

  “I’ll manage,” he said. “Really. They weren’t trying to kill me. Just to send me a message. I’d have been able to drag myself inside if I hadn’t hit my head when I fell.”

  His fingers fumbled to loop the final knot. When he was done, he stood up straight, exhaling away his discomfort. He looked around the room, and Holly did the same. She’d already stripped the bed and cracked the window, and with Fleet superficially as good as new, there was nothing left to be done.

  They lingered.

  “So what now?” said Holly. And Fleet knew exactly what she meant.

  He turned and took hold of one of her hands. Just lightly, fingertips to fingertips. “I’ve missed you, you know,” he told her. “Every day.”

  Holly brought her other hand abruptly to her mouth, as though to catch a sudden sob. Water welled in her eyes. “I’ve missed you, too,” she answered, once she appeared able to trust herself to speak.

  “And I’m glad you came,” Fleet said. “Really. I’m grate
ful.”

  “Don’t say it, Rob.”

  “But . . .” he went on, and Holly shook her head.

  “I said, don’t say it. Not yet. We’ll talk. We will. But after this is over.” She gave something between a sniff and a laugh, and used a finger to dam the water in her right eye. “Whatever this is,” she said.

  There was a knock, and like teenagers caught in an upstairs bedroom, they let go of each other’s hand and moved apart.

  Anne poked her head around the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but . . .” She looked at Fleet. “There was a call for you. A DS Collins?”

  “Nicky? What did she want?”

  With an apologetic glance toward Holly, Anne allowed herself to cross the threshold. “She wanted to speak to you, but I said you were busy. Which she didn’t take kindly to at all.”

  “No,” said Fleet, with a glint. “I don’t imagine she did. Did she leave a message?”

  “She did. And she told me to deliver it right away. She said, and I’m quoting now, ‘The kid’s turned up.’ And something about a business card? She seemed to think you’d know what it meant.”

  Fleet turned to Holly. He didn’t have to say anything for her to start nodding. She’d read the sudden urgency in his eyes.

  “Go,” she said. Then, when Fleet spun away, “Wait, Rob. Here.”

  She snatched his car keys from the bedside table and tossed them toward him. As he caught them, Fleet was already moving for the door.

  CORA

  I’D ALREADY LOST sight of Luke as I crossed the stream. He’d disappeared into the darkness, chasing after whoever was out there. And I don’t know why I was so panicked, but I just had this feeling that something terrible was about to happen. That Luke . . . that he was in danger.