by Louisa Scarr
‘Go on,’ he says cautiously.
‘I wanted to tell you first. Before you found out any other way.’
‘Okay…’
‘It’s just…’ Liam takes a long breath in. ‘I’ve been seeing someone,’ he says quickly. ‘And it’s not serious. But I think it could be. And I didn’t want you to think… or… I don’t know. But I wanted to tell you.’
Robin is surprised. But not shocked. And his overwhelming feeling is joy: he’s pleased for Liam.
He leans forward across the table towards his brother-in-law. ‘Mate, it’s been nearly six years since Georgia and the twins died,’ he says softly. ‘You deserve some happiness.’
‘It’s not about replacing them. Nobody could ever take their place.’ Liam’s still staring miserably at his hands. ‘I wasn’t even looking. But she’s in my cycling club, she does triathlons and she’s… I don’t know.’ He looks up and meets Robin’s gaze. ‘She’s nice. I like her.’
Robin thinks about Steph. These women and their triathlons. Then he has a sudden worry. ‘What’s her name?’
Liam frowns a little, his eyes sharp. ‘Lizzie. Why?’
‘No reason,’ Robin replies with relief. ‘Listen, Liam. I knew you were going to meet someone one day. And I’m glad you guys have so much in common. Because if she still likes you after seeing you in this get-up, then, well…’ Robin smiles.
‘Piss off,’ Liam says again, and the awkwardness is gone. ‘You sure you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. But thank you for telling me. Do you want to stay for dinner?’
‘No, no, I should go. Need to finish this ride before it gets dark.’ Liam wipes his face again with the towel, then folds it into careful quarters. He stands up and Robin follows him.
He opens the front door, as Liam puts his shoes on and wheels the bike back into the street. ‘Oh, shit!’ Robin says, catching a glimpse of his car. ‘I still have Freya’s suitcase in the boot.’
Liam fastens his helmet with a loud click. ‘Better go and drop that off to her then.’
‘Nah, she can do without it until tomorrow.’
‘Sure?’ Liam raises his eyebrows then gets on his bike. ‘Perhaps she can help you with some closure on your case.’
Robin watches as Liam cycles off down the road, his lean figure streamlined and elegant on his bike. He tries to imagine his own stocky build in Lycra, and fails. No, cycling is definitely not for him.
He looks back into his house, at the case file strewn on the table. Then, without further thought, he grabs his keys and phone, and heads off to Freya’s.
46
There are more cars than usual outside Freya’s house, as Robin pulls in: her pastel-blue Fiat 500 and two others. He sees a light on, and hears voices and laughter, as he rings the doorbell.
Freya answers with a smile and a quick thank you, then heads straight back inside. Robin follows her, plonking her suitcase down in the hallway and walking through to the kitchen.
All the lights are on, and Josh Smith is there. Robin watches them. They’re standing in front of her chest freezer. The lid is open, and the appliance is humming loudly, desperately trying to keep cold.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks, and they turn. Josh looks sheepish.
He nods a greeting. ‘Sarge,’ he says, despite the fact they’re off duty. ‘It was her idea,’ he adds quickly.
‘I don’t want to know,’ Robin replies. Freya and Josh start playing rock-paper-scissors, and Robin watches them curiously as he flips the kettle on, before going into the living room. Mina is sitting on the sofa, silent, a mug of tea in her hand. Robin slumps down next to her, then gives her an awkward sideways hug.
‘It’s been too long, Mina,’ Robin says. ‘Surprised to see you here, though.’
‘Don’t consider me part of their hare-brained scheme,’ Mina replies, going back to slowly sipping her tea. ‘I’m just here for the peace and quiet, and to pretend my sergeant’s keeping me late at work.’
Robin nods. ‘Fair enough.’ There’s an explosion of laughter from the kitchen. ‘What are they doing?’
‘Josh has a theory that the man got into the freezer alone, without help. Freya’s trying to prove it’s not possible.’
‘Josh thinks it’s an accident? Interesting,’ Robin says, almost to himself. He smiles at another burst of laughter from Freya. He’s enjoying hearing it, wondering how long it’s been since he’s heard her laugh like that. ‘Has she been okay this afternoon?’ he asks quietly.
‘Freya?’ Mina looks towards the kitchen. ‘She was quieter than usual last week and got upset at something on Friday. She seems more herself since the weekend.’ Mina stares at Robin. ‘Anything we should know?’
‘It’s not like that, Mina.’ Why is everyone so convinced that he and Freya are together? Robin thinks. First Liam, now Mina.
‘No?’
‘No, never.’
Mina nods, seemingly satisfied with his denial.
‘But keep an eye on her, will you?’ Robin continues. ‘She doesn’t tell me everything. It would be good to know someone else is looking out for her.’
‘Always,’ Mina replies.
The two of them sit in silence for a moment, listening to the chatter in the other room.
‘Mina,’ Robin starts. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?’
Mina turns towards him, an interested look on her face. ‘Fire away.’
‘Do you like being a mum?’
Mina raises an eyebrow but pauses, giving his question due consideration. ‘Some days, no. When the little sods won’t sleep, when you spend hours preparing a dinner they refuse to eat. When they turn every nice, civilised social occasion into absolute chaos.’ She smiles thoughtfully. ‘But when they nestle their heads into your chest or put a chubby warm hand in yours. When they’re actually quiet and asleep. When you see them change, and grow into their own little personalities. Then yes. Those are the moments that are worth it.’ She looks at Robin with curiosity. ‘Why?’
‘Just… just think maybe I’ve reached that age,’ he replies.
She gives a sharp bark of laughter. ‘Let’s not kid ourselves, Butler. You’re way past that age. How old are you now?’
‘Forty-three next month.’
Mina finishes the last swig of her tea. ‘Good job you’re a bloke,’ she says to her mug.
Noise starts up again in the kitchen: Josh talking quickly, Freya giggling.
‘What are they up to?’ Mina says, getting to her feet. She grabs Robin’s hand and pulls him off the sofa. The two of them go to the kitchen and stand in the doorway.
Freya is standing next to the freezer, which is now shut.
‘Push!’ Freya shouts at the closed lid. ‘Push harder.’
‘Is Josh…’ Robin starts, as the lid pops open and Josh stands up, putting his arms out in a triumphant salute. He is wearing clothes that Robin recognises as Freya’s – an old T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, far too small for him – and Robin bitchily enjoys the normally pristine Josh looking such a state.
‘See,’ Josh crows. ‘It is possible. And it’s way harder to get out of there than I thought it would be.’
‘So, what?’ Robin asks, looking from them to the freezer. ‘Your theory is he got in that freezer by himself, then couldn’t get out and suffocated?’
‘Yes, why not?’ Josh replies. ‘He would have been looking for somewhere dry, and with those teenagers in the bus shelter, he had nowhere else to go.’
‘But an old freezer?’ Robin looks doubtful, and Freya points at him.
‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks your theory is bullshit.’
‘It was blowing a full-on gale. He’s cold, wet. Probably not thinking straight. How do you know what you’d do in such circumstances?’
Robin raises his hands in defeat. ‘Okay, okay. You have a point. But it’s a theory, Josh, that’s all. How do you prove it?’
The three of them look towards Robin, and he realis
es how effortless it is for him to take charge. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters. ‘Your case, Josh. Whatever you think.’
Josh nods and stands up a bit straighter. ‘I’ll go and get changed,’ he says, and heads off.
Robin watches him go. Despite his initial misgivings, Josh Smith doesn’t seem like a bad bloke. Sure, he has an air of arrogance and confidence that Robin is suspicious of, but Freya seems to like him. She’s still laughing with Mina, returning her slowly thawing food back to her freezer, putting her kitchen to rights. She has a slight flush on her cheeks.
Being here, throwing theories around, challenging, testing the DCs, Robin realises how much he misses being at work. Being back to his usual job. A case that doesn’t involve his oldest friend. Where he can immerse himself in the evidence and the theories and the teamwork. Everything with Finn is exhausting. All the pieces that don’t fit. He just wants it to be over.
But he knows that despite Craig’s best efforts to prove to him that Finn is guilty, he can’t believe it. He picks up a bag of peas and replaces it in the freezer. And Josh’s theory comes back to him.
He stands up straight and takes a sharp intake of breath. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket and dials a number, not caring now about keeping his distance.
‘Steph?’ he says as she answers. ‘I need you to look at a body for me. I need a second opinion on Dr Simon Sharp.’
47
Tuesday
Sophie’s up early; she knows what she has to do. She stands, nervously, at the door, hand poised to knock. She debated bringing croissants or coffee, but rejected the idea quickly. She doesn’t want to be too obvious.
She knocks loudly, twice. She feels her stomach knot and forces a smile on her face.
A man opens the door and blinks at her, confused.
‘Sophie?’ he says. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you’re in, Col,’ she says, deliberately shortening his name. She knew he would be there. It’s Tuesday, nine a.m. Colin is a man with a strict routine. ‘I need your help.’
He flushes slightly and shows her into the room. It’s crowded, with rows of computers, piles of monitors and keyboards in cardboard boxes, wires trailing. Other faces pop up from behind their computers, meerkats curious at the strange arrival to their territory. The smell is a mix of Lynx body spray and barely suppressed BO.
Colin points to the seat next to his desk. She sits down and looks at the monitor. On the screen are rows and rows of incomprehensible code.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘So,’ she begins. ‘One of the students I’m supervising on the BSc has managed to delete a file.’ Sophie smiles, a hand on his arm. Flirting gently. ‘An important one.’
Colin nods sagely. ‘Do you want me to recover the file?’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Maybe.’ He shrugs. ‘If the backup’s still there.’
‘Oh, that would be incredible, thank you,’ Sophie gushes.
Colin blushes again. ‘What server are we looking at?’
‘BBC-READ-VID-DR07,’ Sophie says, carefully spelling out the name of the BBC server from the piece of paper that Justin White showed her on Sunday.
Colin nods and turns to his computer. She waits as he starts work, staring intently at the screen as he types. Lego R2-D2 and C-3PO figures stand guard, Blu-Tacked to the top of his monitor.
Sophie knows Colin from freshers’ week; they were in halls together all those years ago. She’d liked him instantly. He was studious but fun, with a fondness for Star Wars and flaming sambucas. She’d bumped into him again in the first year of her PhD and discovered that he was back at Reading, now in the IT department. And a man who knows computers is always useful. Laptops fail, files are lost, operating systems crash.
And videos are deleted.
‘So,’ Colin says, not shifting his gaze from the screen. ‘You’re in luck. I can log on remotely, so we don’t need to go to the server room.’
A row of windows and file names appears on the screen.
‘What are we looking for?’ he asks.
Sophie frowns. ‘Start with any video files recorded last Tuesday night.’
Colin turns, his hand paused on the mouse. ‘The night of the storm?’ he asks slowly.
Sophie nods.
It’s clear Colin has realised she’s lying. There’s a long pause. Everything is completely silent, bar the tap of keyboards. And then: ‘Did you know,’ he says, quietly, his eyes back on his screen, ‘that Lego released a special edition Snowspeeder in 2019, to coincide with the twentieth anniversary of Lego Star Wars?’
‘Did they?’ Sophie replies, innocently.
‘Hmm. And it’s a retired product. So you can’t get it from shops. But I found one on eBay. New and sealed in its box. One of a kind.’ He lifts his eyes for a second, meeting Sophie’s gaze. ‘Would you like to see it?’
Sophie suppresses a smile. ‘Sure,’ she replies. ‘Send me the link.’
He nods, picks up his phone and taps quickly. Then goes back to his computer.
Sophie’s phone beeps. She opens it up. Seventy-six bloody quid. For a Lego set. But it’s worth it. For Finn.
Colin’s still moving between windows, typing commands into the search function.
‘The police were in,’ he says, under his breath. ‘Spoke to Jimmy.’ He points to the office on the far side. ‘My boss.’
Sophie pauses. ‘And?’
‘He couldn’t find the video files. Whoever got in before us did a good job. Backups gone, too.’
Sophie holds out her phone to Colin. ‘So why have I just ordered a Battle of Hoth Snowspeeder?’ she hisses.
But he smiles. ‘For the event log.’
She turns quickly. ‘You can see who logged in and when?’ He nods. ‘And why don’t the police have that already?’
‘Because Jimmy’s a dickhead and didn’t give it to them, and the police didn’t think to ask.’
He starts typing something incomprehensible to Sophie, his fingers flying over the keys.
‘It was the nineteenth last Wednesday, right?’ he asks, without looking up.
She cranes forward towards the blue screen and the line of code.
Get-EventLog security | Where-Object {$_.TimeGenerated -gt ‘05/19/2021’} | Where-Object {($_.InstanceID -eq 4634) -or ($_.InstanceID -eq 4624)} | Select-Object Index,TimeGenerated,InstanceID,Message | Add-Content C:Downloads.txt
He presses return with a flourish. Immediately, the screen fills with data. What looks like numbers, times, dates. Her eyes scroll the list, until she sees what she’s looking for.
She looks at the username. And she knows who deleted the file.
48
After Robin disappeared from her house last night with barely a goodbye, and Josh and Mina left, Freya found that, once again, she struggled to sleep. But this time it was the man in the freezer giving her pause.
She doesn’t know why Josh’s theory bothers her so much. It is plausible. Tragic, yes, but possible, that he climbed in and suffocated. After all, there are laws around dumping freezers for that reason: kids have died in that exact way. But that was children. Was a fully grown man really so weak that he couldn’t force his way out?
And the fingerprints on the freezer are an anomaly. Who do they belong to? Connor? The boys? Someone else entirely? She lies back against her pillow in frustration.
As the light starts to trickle in, signalling morning, Freya gives up and goes into work. There is nobody else in the car park, the incident room empty as she sits down at her desk just past seven a.m. She puts her coffee and almond croissant down, boots up her computer, then pulls up the photos of the freezer.
The fingerprints cluster over the top and round the handle. Freya theorises it was the trio of boys: had they been messing around with it and didn’t want to own up to the cops? Or had they been involved? And what about Connor Vardy?
There was something about Connor’s interview that Freya found odd. The
normal level of nerves was there, but there was something else. A shiftiness. A desperation to get away. The fresh bruise on his cheek.
She remembers Robin’s words about Finn: he so wanted to be liked. Desperate to fit in.
Freya needs to know more. She logs on to the police databases and starts to find out all she can about Connor Vardy.
* * *
Two hours later, Josh arrives, a tray of coffees in his hand. He’s startled to see her there, already so engrossed in her work, and hands her one of the cups. She takes it gratefully. He shrugs his jacket off, then sits down next to her.
‘What are you looking at?’
‘Background for Connor Vardy,’ she replies.
‘Anything interesting?’
She’s gone through both the RMS and the PNC with a fine-tooth comb, then looked up records for his mother and grandfather. She’s called children’s services, the National Probation Service. Carried out internet searches. Called on every resource at her disposal. And she lays it all out for Josh.
‘So, as a kid, he was on the watch list with children’s services, never in school for longer than a few days at a time. His mother was a mess – warnings for shoplifting, drunk and disorderly, the lot.’
‘When did she die?’ Josh asks.
‘2015, and, as you know, Connor went to live with his grandad. And at that point his life turns around. He starts getting good grades. College says he’s a good kid, could go far.’
Josh squints at the screen. ‘So, what’s your point?’
Freya sits back in her seat, clutching her coffee. ‘He knows these boys. And I think he has more information than he’s letting on about that night. Let’s get him in, in a proper interview room.’
‘We can’t arrest him, we have no grounds,’ Josh replies.
‘Fine. Voluntarily then. But let’s make sure it’s recorded, lay it all on thick. Make him sweat.’
‘He’ll say the same as he did before.’
Freya smiles. ‘Let me try? Please?’ she begs. ‘I have an idea.’
49
