by Simon Lelic
“I don’t need to hear you out,” said Burton. “You want me to authorize yet another search of the forest. An area, need I remind you, that spans more than thirty thousand acres, and after we have already committed over a hundred officers over the course of the past eight days. Officers, need I remind you, who are badly needed elsewhere. Although even if I had two hundred officers out here—a thousand—we would barely be able to scratch the surface. As recent results show.”
“But the phone . . .”
“The phone proves nothing. All the evidence we have—the evidence you gathered, I might add—points to Sadie being somewhere in that river. We have her bag. We have her coat, which you may recall is covered in blood. You were standing right next to me when the divers pulled it from the water.”
“Fuck the coat,” Fleet said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, fuck the coat. And fuck the river, too. Sadie was never in the river.”
Burton drew himself to his full height. “And you know this how, Detective Inspector?”
“Because, for one thing, we would have found her by now. In spite of the currents, in spite of the tides. Because of them, in fact. In case you’re forgetting, sir, I have experience here. I happen to know what I’m talking about.”
Burton did everything but sneer. “Make up your mind, Rob. Your history in this town is either relevant or it’s not. It’s not a card you get to play as and when it suits you.”
Fleet bit down, hard. “The other thing to bear in mind,” he said, doing all he could to keep his voice steady, “is that the evidence has moved on. At first it made sense to focus on the river, to focus on Mason, too, but now, in light of the phone—”
“To coin a phrase,” said Burton, “fuck the phone. If the phone is all you have, you’re wasting both your breath and my time.”
“It’s not just the phone,” said Fleet, tightly. “It’s the search party, too. It’s what happened twenty feet away from where we’re standing.”
“The search party? How does the search party change anything? A bunch of kids thought it would be a good idea to go wandering in the woods, for reasons known only to themselves, and an argument turned into a tragic accident, leaving one of them dead. We’ve always known what happened out here, Detective Inspector. The only question is who the public decides to blame.”
“I’m not disputing what happened, Superintendent. The part I’m questioning is why.”
“We know why! I’ve just told you why! Because a bunch of misfit teenagers—”
“I agree that’s how it looks, sir, but the truth is, I don’t think even the kids themselves understand what was really going on out here. And that’s what I’m trying to get to the bottom of. And I think, if we can figure that out, we’ll also find out what happened to Sadie.”
Superintendent Burton’s face was as thunderous as the sky above him. “Didn’t I tell you not to interrupt me, Detective Inspector?”
This time Fleet didn’t apologize. He returned the superintendent’s stare.
“You sent me here to find a missing girl,” Fleet said, blinking away the rain in his eyes, “because finding people is what I do. If you still want me to find her—to find out what happened to Sadie Saunders—then I’m telling you, we need to search the woods. Again. Properly this time. Not the way we did the first time, before we diverted toward the river. And not the way we’ve been doing it over the past forty-eight hours, with half the manpower that should be out here and in barely a fraction of the area we need to cover. Methodically, this time. Tracing the same route as Sadie’s friends.” He took a breath. “It’s your operation now, clearly. Sir. But if you want to be able to call it a success—to stand onstage and take the plaudits and feel like you actually earned them—then I’m telling you what needs to be done. Budget be damned. Backtracking be damned.” Fleet shook his head. He knew he’d already said too much, but he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. “Christ, Roger, have you been sitting counting figures for so long that you’ve forgotten what police work actually involves? Sometimes you have to change course. It’s called following the evidence.”
Burton’s face had turned from gray, to red, to deathly pale. For a moment, the only sound was the patter of the rain.
“Sir—” said Fleet, and Burton raised a palm. Slowly, he let it fall, and then he stepped so he and Fleet were toe to toe.
“The only reason I’m not suspending you right now,” he said, his voice low but full of venom, “is because it would be tantamount to admitting we messed up just as badly as everyone is saying we did. As they’re saying you did, in fact, Detective Inspector Fleet.” Burton leaned closer still. “And as much as you deride those little figures you believe I’m so obsessed with, you seem to forget that without them, neither you nor any copper out here would have a job in the first place. You’d be swigging cider, sponging from the state, just like every other middle-aged male in this decrepit pisshole of a town.” He jabbed a finger at Fleet’s chest. “Do not. Fucking. Forget that.”
The superintendent opened his mouth to say something more, but stopped himself when a pair of uniformed officers who were crossing the clearing came within earshot. When they noticed the expression on Burton’s face, they dropped their eyes and veered away.
Burton took a breath, and exhaled audibly through his nostrils.
“We’re wrapping things up,” he said. “Here, at the river. The search teams have uncovered all they’re going to.”
“And Sadie?” said Fleet.
“Will be found, eventually. Probably by a bunch of mushroom pickers a month from now if she’s really out here in the woods, or else washed up on a beach twenty miles along the coast. In the meantime, there will be a press conference at the station this time tomorrow, at which you will announce that Mason Payne has been arrested for the suspected murder of Sadie Saunders, and for whatever charge you can come up with that will put a lid on the debacle out here in the woods.” Burton pulled back his shoulders and straightened his cap. His tone, when he went on, was dangerously even. “And in case you’re struggling with the figures, Detective Inspector, that gives you twenty-four hours to clean up your mess. If you don’t, I swear to God . . . you’re going to wish you hadn’t left me to do it for you.”
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for the clearing to empty. By the time Fleet and Nicky had got there, the search itself had already been concluded, and now only a few stragglers remained at the scene. The superintendent was long gone, taking his entourage with him. Even Nicky had headed off toward the cars, to try to get a signal on her phone.
After turning his back on the access path, Fleet was able to picture the group of buildings as Sadie’s friends would have seen them when they’d stumbled across them. He had to ignore the POLICE DO NOT CROSS tape sealing off the structures, of course, as well as the boot prints that had turned the area into a goalmouth on a municipal football pitch.
Conscious of the few fading voices behind him, he moved closer to the buildings. There was nothing much to the cabin anymore. The roof was cracked, like an egg caved in by a spoon, and the walls had a drunken tilt. There was nothing inside that Fleet could see through the glassless windows except rotten floorboards and treacherous shadows.
The barns were more substantial. There were two, one set back slightly from the other, and each about the size of a modern block of flats—the type developers slotted into every available space on prime residential streets, with rooms the size of cupboards but plenty of them. Whatever the buildings had once been used to store, they were largely empty now, save for several pieces of broken machinery—a plow in one barn, an engineless tractor in the other—and various bits of junk that had washed up on the tide of passing time.
Beyond the buildings, the forest immediately thickened, so much so that Fleet could barely see beyond the first row of trees. Except . . .
He edged closer, moving bet
ween the two barns and into shadow that was almost as thick as night. Amid the rain, water dripped from the gabled roofs in heavy drops, and one found the gap between Fleet’s coat collar and his neck. The feeling as it ran down his back was of an ice-cold finger tracing the length of his spine. He shuddered.
On the far side of the buildings, he paused, and checked again toward the trees. Briefly, before, he thought he’d seen movement, and for a moment he could imagine precisely how Sadie’s friends had felt out in the woods: Abi when she’d heard something in the undergrowth, Cora when she’d spotted a figure standing over them as they slept.
But there was nothing, just the rain and the morbid light.
Fleet made to head back toward the access path, meaning to catch up with Nicky. But as he turned, it happened again: a flutter at the edge of his vision, accompanied this time by a sound, as well as a distinct, unshakable sensation that someone was watching him.
He spun sharply . . . and almost leaped from his Gore-Tex hiking boots when a hand fell on his shoulder.
He clutched his heart.
“Jesus Christ, Nicky.”
Nicky gave a start herself, half-amused, half-surprised by Fleet’s reaction. “Sorry, boss. I thought you’d noticed me coming.”
“No, I . . .” Fleet glanced again toward the trees. A shrug of air disturbed the leaves on the branches, and then once again all was still.
Keeping one eye on the tree line, Fleet said, “I thought you went looking for a signal?”
“I did. I didn’t find one. I had a bar for a moment, but then it was gone. I was trying to get hold of Forensics, to ask them to get a wriggle on.”
Fleet shook his head. “It wouldn’t make any difference.”
“Burton?” said Nicky.
“You guessed it.”
“But if they find the blood, and it comes back as a match for Sadie’s, or her prints are on the . . .” Nicky trailed off when she noted Fleet’s grimace.
“‘The search teams have uncovered all they’re going to,’” he quoted. “Apparently. We’re to rely on a bunch of mushroom pickers instead.”
“Mushroom pickers?”
Another headshake. “Never mind,” said Fleet. “Bottom line is, if Sadie’s out here, we need some other way of finding her.” He looked out once again into the trees.
“We could ramp up the pressure on Mason,” said Nicky. “Charge him, slam the door, then offer him a ray of light if he points us the way to Sadie’s body.”
“Careful, DS Collins. You’re beginning to sound like the superintendent,” said Fleet. Then, turning from the tree line, “Sorry. That was uncalled-for. I’d take it as a mortal insult if someone said that to me.” He gave her a conspiratorial smile, and Nicky returned it.
“So, what’s the deal with Mason, anyway?” she said, glancing out into the woods herself. “Have we officially gone off him? What’s made you change your mind?”
“I’m not sure I have changed my mind,” Fleet answered. “In fact, right now, I’d still say Mason is our most likely suspect. On paper, anyway.” He angled his head and took a step closer to the trees. He could see nothing, no one, but Fleet couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was looking back at him. And unless some poor PC had been left behind and was hiding until Fleet left, to cover his embarrassment, there was only one other person it was likely to be . . .
“Boss?” said Nicky, frowning. She’d clearly realized something was distracting him. “What are you staring at?”
“I . . . nothing,” said Fleet, in all honesty. “But humor me, will you? Let’s take a look around.”
“But . . . why?” said Nicky. “This whole area, the buildings included, would already have been swept from top to bottom.”
“It would,” Fleet agreed. He led the way toward the tree line.
“Boss? Seriously. What are you hoping to find?”
“That’s something else I’m not sure of,” said Fleet. “But answer me this: if you were trying to hide from someone, where would you go?”
Nicky shrugged. “As far away from them as possible.”
“And if that wasn’t an option?”
“Well, I suppose . . .” Nicky turned her gaze toward the woods. Her expression when she looked back at Fleet told him she’d finally caught on. “Right under their noses,” she said.
The rain continued to fall, and its relentless percussion grew louder as they slipped between the trees. There was marginally more shelter underneath the canopy, but the drops that found them were thicker, heavier, as indeed was the atmosphere more generally in the woods. Amid the undergrowth it was even harder to see than it had been in the clearing, and there was a sense of the gloom pressing in.
Fleet shivered, suddenly feeling the cold. His boots and his jacket may have been waterproof, but his trousers weren’t, and the wool clung wetly to his skin.
“What’s the point of this place, anyway?” said Nicky, as they wove their way between the trees. “The clearing, I mean. The buildings. Is it a farm or what? Or did it used to be, rather.”
“I’m not sure I ever knew it was here,” said Fleet, ducking to avoid a branch. “There were barley fields on the other side of the main road back in the day, and the access path would probably have been wide enough then for that tractor. So it was probably a farmer’s store or something, if not a farm exactly. Unless it was just somebody’s idea of a country retreat.” He glanced Nicky’s way. “It’s probably up for grabs if you’re interested,” he added.
Nicky shuddered in response.
“What? Not a fan of country living?” said Fleet.
“I don’t mind the country. So long as it’s paved. With street lighting. And there’s somewhere I can get a decent latte. Oh, and there are no cows.” Nicky checked across her shoulder, as though on the off chance something bovine might have crept up behind her.
Fleet felt the glitch in his step. “Cows,” he echoed. “You’re afraid of cows?”
“Not afraid, exactly. Just . . . wary. It’s the way they look at you. Like they’re planning something.”
Fleet laughed. “What is it that a cow might be planning?”
“Exactly,” said Nicky, deadpan. “That’s the part I don’t like.”
About ten meters in, they paused. Fleet cast around, and was astonished to see how utterly the clearing was already lost to view. If you leaned to catch the right sightline, you could just about make out the buildings, like icebergs spotted through a fog. But otherwise it was as though they’d stepped through a wardrobe and into a completely different world. The search teams out here must have had a hell of a job.
Fleet tried to recapture that sensation he’d had before, that there was somebody out here watching him. But now, other than Nicky, he would have sworn he was completely alone.
He looked up. “The kids,” he said. “Sadie’s friends. They talked about climbing trees when they were younger. Right?”
Nicky nodded. “They mentioned it once or twice. Why? Are you getting an urge to reenact your youth?” She looked at the tree that was closest to them, barely more than a sapling, and then, brazenly, at Fleet’s belly. “Because no offense, boss, but we might want to look around for something sturdier.”
Fleet frowned at her. “Is that a comment about my weight, Detective Sergeant?”
Nicky shrugged ruefully. “There’s a reason you’ve stopped taking sugar in your coffee. And again, no offense, boss, but if you were expecting me to follow you up, and one of those branches were to suddenly give way . . . Well. Let’s just say I’m not overly keen on the idea of wearing your arse cheeks as a hat.”
Fleet gave a snort. He returned to scanning the branches high above him. “Actually, I was mainly wondering what the view would be like from up there. And how often those search teams would have thought to look up.”
Nicky looked where he was looking, win
cing at the raindrops in her eyes. “Hardly at all, I would imagine,” she said. “Especially in this weather. As for the view . . .” She shrugged. “We can take a look for ourselves if it’s important to you?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Fleet. “To be honest, even if I weren’t so . . . calorifically challenged, I’ve never been the biggest fan of heights.”
“Really?” said Nicky. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not something I tend to boast about. But there’s a reason my bedsit is on the ground floor, and why I always used to insist to Holly, whenever she suggested we go on holiday, that we went somewhere we could drive.”
At the mention of Holly, Nicky looked away. Until Fleet had spoken to Anne about his marriage, Nicky had been the only person—at least as far as Fleet knew—who was aware that he and his wife had separated. And even then, Fleet had never discussed it openly. With Nicky, he simply hadn’t tried to hide it.
“Well,” said Nicky, “for everyone’s sake, let’s hope we’re never asked to find a cow that’s gone missing up a mountain.”
Fleet smiled. “Knowing cows, it would probably be a trap.” He cast around again, all at once convinced that he was wasting what precious time they had.
“See now, look,” said Nicky, and she wandered a few meters deeper into the woods. “If you were going to climb a tree, you’d want to pick one more like this. It’s practically a spiral staircase. And look at those branches. They’re thick enough that they’d probably even hold . . .” Nicky stopped herself, but not before she’d turned in Fleet’s direction.
“A cow?” suggested Fleet.
Nicky grinned. “Right.”
She began walking around the trunk of the chestnut. Fleet looked at his watch. “You’ve officially humored me, Detective Sergeant. I think we can probably wrap this—”
“Boss?”
Nicky was on the other side of the tree. Fleet moved to try to see what had caught her attention. “What is it?”