Heatwave

by Oliver Davies

  Not long later, I received a call from reception to let me know that Mickey White and his mother were downstairs waiting for me. I headed down the stairs and found Mickey hiding nervousness behind a frown and his mother openly fretting.

  “DCI Mitchell,” I said and went over to shake Ms White’s hand. “Thank you for coming in.”

  A plainclothes officer lingered by reception, and she gave me a nod when she saw me appear. She’d been the one to bring them both in, then, and she headed off as I showed Mickey and his mum towards an interview room. I would’ve preferred to talk to Mickey on his own, but he was fifteen, and he needed a parent or guardian to be with us while I talked to him.

  “Mickey told me what happened,” Ms White started as soon as we’d sat down. “He didn’t mean it, he-”

  “Ms White-”

  “Donna, please.”

  “Okay, Donna, we’ll talk about Mickey’s actions soon, but I need to set up the recording equipment first, alright?”

  She gave a small nod. Mickey kept his head down and refused to meet my eyes or his mother’s.

  I introduced myself to the recording equipment and got Mickey and his mum to do the same. It felt strange to be doing this without Stephen at my side, but time was of the essence.

  “Alright,” I said, taking a sip of my water before I went on. “Mickey, I’ve got some questions regarding the group of teenagers you were with on the night in question, and depending on how helpful you are to the police will determine how severe the consequences of your actions are, is that clear?”

  Mickey’s mother gave her son a nudge in the side when he didn’t say anything.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Good.”

  He wasn’t looking particularly keen to cooperate, still, and I wasn’t sure whether coaxing or scaring him would work better, so I’d try both. Flatly, I laid out exactly what would happen if he chose not to answer our questions and what punishments he could expect to face for trespassing, property damage, burglary, and terrorising the home’s inhabitants to the point where one of them ended up in hospital.

  “But that wasn’t me!” Mickey said, just as I was finishing. He looked pale as a ghost and desperate. “I didn’t do that stuff. I didn’t break anything-”

  “The problem is, you’re the only one we can place at the scene. You’re facing the punishment for everything that group did, whether or not you took part in it.” I let that hang in the air for a second.

  “Mick,” his mum said, low and pleading, “c’mon, honey, you’ve got a way out here. Don’t mess up your future-”

  “Mum, stop-”

  “You fell in with the wrong-”

  “Mum, please,” Mickey repeated, stronger, and Donna White fell quiet, looking so upset that I really felt for her. Mickey looked torn in two as well, but I had less sympathy for the kid because he could fix this, and so far, he wasn’t choosing to.

  When I left an open silence and Mickey didn’t start talking, I decided it was time to try a softer approach.

  “You called 999, Mickey,” I said, gentling my voice. “You were scared for that man’s life, and you quite possibly saved it. You cared enough about him to do that, didn’t you?”

  He gave a small nod.

  “And that farmer who got injured when his barn was set on fire?” I reminded him. “Whose livelihood is going to suffer because some teenagers got bored, whose animals were burned, do you think that’s fair?” I paused for a moment, looking between Mickey and his mother. Ms White kept turning to look at her son, clearly urging him to say something, anything.

  “I don’t think you meant for anyone to get hurt,” I went on when Mickey stayed mute, “but by letting this group go on like this, you’re enabling them to carry on doing this. That farmer got away with a bump on the head, the elderly man had to go to hospital, and he’s still recovering. How long is it going to be until they kill someone?”

  Mickey had curled into himself as I talked, projecting every body language sign that he wanted me to stop telling him the things he didn’t want to hear. But I pushed on because it was the truth, and he needed to face it.

  “I know you don’t want to rat them out,” I said evenly, “but these are the consequences if you keep on protecting them; innocent people getting hurt or killed. If they set a house on fire next time, and there’s a child inside-”

  “Okay!” Mickey yelled, suddenly enough to make both me and his mother jump. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you!”

  My shoulders relaxed, the edge of my tension fading. I hadn’t been sure for a minute there whether Mickey was going to help or not.

  “Thank you,” I said genuinely. “Can you tell us the names of the other group members?”

  Mickey opened his mouth and shut it. “I can’t.”

  “Mick, please,” his mother groaned, looking badly distressed. “Honey-”

  “No, I can’t, mum,” he said urgently, “I don’t know them! We weren’t meant to tell each other our names. It was all secret, you had your own codename.”

  I sat back in my chair, staring at Mickey. Unfortunately, I thought he was telling the truth.

  “No real names,” I said, my voice flat with disappointment. I gave a heavy sigh. “I hope that’s not a lie, Mickey.”

  “No! It’s not, I swear, okay?”

  “Alright. Give me the codenames, then, please.”

  Mickey nodded and reeled off five or so before he had to stop and think about the others. None of them meant anything to me, other than sounding exactly like the kind of silly nicknames fifteen-year-olds might come up with for themselves.

  “Now I need physical descriptions, as detailed as you can remember.”

  After a brief pause and a pleading look from his mum, Mickey obliged. We went through the list of codenames he’d provided, and he gave descriptions for each of them, as much as he could remember.

  “They’re gonna kill me for this,” he muttered halfway through.

  I looked at him for a second, trying to decide how serious he was being.

  “We won’t let you get hurt,” I said.

  “Yeah? How?” he demanded. “Soon as I’m back at school, they’ll all know I snitched.”

  “We’ll have them all brought in, to face the consequences-”

  “There’s too many,” he hissed, suddenly fierce. “You don’t understand!”

  “Mickey,” his mother said gently, touching his shoulder, “what do you mean? Do you think they’ll hurt you?”

  Mickey went sullenly quiet and just shrugged.

  “What do you mean there are too many?” I pressed. “Are there more people involved than on this list?” I pointed to my notebook, where I’d written out the codenames Mickey had provided.

  “Of course there are.” He sounded tired and resigned now. “It’s a whole thing.”

  “Do you know who’s running it?” I asked. This was worrying news, and even as part of me thought I saw a bigger pattern in all this, I was very much hoping it wasn’t true.

  “I don’t know,” Mickey mumbled. “The blond guy seems like he’s in charge usually.”

  We’d only gotten partway through the code names list so far, and Mickey hadn’t mentioned a pale blond teenager yet, which I’d been listening out for.

  “What blond guy?”

  “Pale blond, tall?” Mickey sighed. “I don’t know. He has a lip ring or something. He’s older than the others and kinda bossy.”

  “Alright, that’s good to know,” I said, pleased. “Do you know anything more about him?”

  Mickey shrugged and then shook his head.

  “How did you all meet then? This is bigger than just kids from your school.”

  “Online.”

  “Where online?”

  At that, Mickey stalled, looking sideways towards the door. A long moment passed where I stayed quiet and waited for him to decide what he was going to say.

  “Look, I’ve told you what you wanted, haven’t I?” he said finally. “Th
at’s enough to get me let off, isn’t it? I’ve helped with your investigation or whatever.”

  “I can’t promise leniency if we don’t have your full cooperation,” I said with a slight frown. I wasn’t sure why he was pulling back now, at this question, when he’d been willing to give up the rest.

  “I want some water,” Mickey said after a second.

  I looked between him and his mum before giving a nod and getting up to fetch him a cup, and his mum one too. I hoped his mother could talk sense into the kid while I was out of the room, but I wasn’t sure. For a kid that seemed to have been pushed by his peers into doing these stupid things, he also had a streak of stubbornness.

  When I came back, Mickey and his mum weren’t looking at each other. I put the cups on the table and sat back down opposite.

  “Which website did you guys meet on?” I repeated the question after Mickey didn’t seem inclined to speak first.

  “I can’t tell you.” He looked up from the table to give me a pained look. “They’ll kill me, and I mean it this time. It’s like- the biggest rule, okay?”

  “We’ll leave that for a minute,” I sighed, rubbing my forehead, “but we’ll be coming back to it. What can you tell me about the patches I’ve seen teenagers wearing?”

  I flipped through my notebook and pushed my sketch towards Mickey so he could see the flammable warning symbol. He barely looked at it, though, and I had a feeling he knew exactly what I’d meant as soon as I’d said ‘patches.’

  “What about them?” He rubbed a hand through his messy hair, looking uncomfortable.

  “What do they mean?”

  “I don’t know. They’re just a way of showing membership, I guess.”

  “Membership to what?”

  “The group?” Mickey didn’t look too sure.

  “Does the group have a name?”

  “Not really,” he said but wouldn’t meet my eyes. I guessed that that was a lie but pushed on, regardless.

  “Who designed these patches? Whose idea were they?”

  “I don’t know.” Mickey shrugged.

  “Kid, so far, you’re not helping me much. We’ve got a few codenames, and that’s it. If you want-”

  “Alright!” he snapped. “You don’t need to threaten me. It was the blond guy, I guess, who was handing them out. I dunno whose idea it was or whatever.”

  “Where did he get them made?”

  “How would I know?” Mickey pulled an affronted face.

  “Have you got a patch?”

  “No,” Mickey huffed. “I’m not high up enough, I’m not important.”

  “So they’re a sign of rank?”

  “I guess so.”

  We continued on, cycling back around to the same questions that Mickey still wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer. I tried to tell him that there was no point being half-hearted about it; he’d told us this much, so he would do better to tell us all of it. That way, we’d be able to catch the teens faster, he wouldn’t be in any danger, and he’d have us on his side. But Mickey was stubbornly determined not to give up the website name, and glancing at the time on my watch, I relented.

  “Okay, we’ll call it a night,” I sighed. I flipped my notebook closed and pulled a business card from my pocket. “Mickey, you change your mind about telling me, you call straight away, day or night, understand me?”

  “Okay.”

  “And if there are new developments, if they contact you or you hear something important, you ring that number, am I clear?”

  “So you want me to spy on them?” he challenged.

  I looked at him steadily. “I thought we’d agreed that neither of us wants more people getting hurt.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, dropping his head to look down at the table.

  “It’s not about spying. It’s about stopping someone else from ending up in hospital.”

  Mickey just nodded. I sent a look towards his mum, who was fiddling with her handbag.

  “Mickey’ll do it,” she tried to assure me. “He’s a good boy, really.”

  “I hope he’ll do the right thing,” I said firmly before getting to my feet.

  “What about the consequences? Will they be lenient?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I’ll make it known that he’s spoken to us today,” I told them both since Mickey had looked up sharply when his mother asked the question. “But it’ll also be in the report that he didn’t answer all of our questions.”

  “Come on, that’s not fair!” Mickey retorted. “D’you want them putting me in hospital for being a snitch?”

  “Of course not,” I frowned. “If you genuinely fear for your safety, we can have you protected, Mickey.”

  “It’s fine,” he snapped. He shoved his chair back. “Can we go now?”

  “Aye, you’re free to go for now,” I sighed. “But don’t leave the city, understood?”

  Mickey’s mum gave me a nod of acknowledgement whilst Mickey glowered at the floor and made for the door as soon as I gestured towards it. Ms White apologised to me for her son’s attitude before she went after him, as he was striding away towards the doors, clearly desperate to leave. I stood in the reception foyer with my arms folded and watched them go.

  Mickey had given us useful information, and though he’d not disclosed all of it, he’d also highlighted what we needed to find out and what was important. He’d confirmed that the blond teenager, Jules, was significantly involved, too, which was useful.

  My eyes were feeling dry and beginning to twitch with tiredness, so with a yawn, I made my way slowly back up to my desk and began to pack up. For once, I didn’t much want to run home considering how late it was, so I booked out one of the plain cars out on the system and drove it over to Sam’s. No doubt I’d be terrible company for her since I’d be asleep within ten minutes of getting in, but at least I could fall asleep with her nearby. I knew now that we wouldn’t be able to have that for much longer.

  Ten

  Sam shuffled sleepily into the kitchen the next morning just as I was rinsing off my breakfast dish and getting ready to leave.

  “Why’re you dashing off so early?” she asked, her eyes still half-closed with sleepiness. I stepped over to wrap her in a hug, resting my cheek against hers.

  “I wanted to fit in a long run before work.”

  She hummed, seeming too drowsy to summon any more words. I smiled as she turned to head for the shower, sparing a moment to lay out her breakfast things before I headed out the door.

  At this time of day, the air was as fresh as it got, and I breathed it in in deep draughts as if I could store the coolness inside me. There’d been no rain overnight, and it was set to be another dry, boiling day, but the crisp air felt washed clean, new and revitalising. I pushed myself hard after having driven home yesterday. Sam had agreed to drive the car I’d borrowed back to the station this morning, and then we could both run home after work, provided I could off on time tonight.

  For the moment, though, I didn’t dwell on work, or the intricacies of our still-unfolding case, or even on Sam’s steadily approaching day of departure. I pushed it out of my head and let the running wash over me, pushing me through the cool air. By the time I reached the entrance to the station, my heart was pounding, and I stopped, panting, and put my hands on my knees.

  Straightening up, I looked around, taking in the steadily waking street around me. Across the road, the food van for the shops had drawn up, and crates of produce were steadily unloaded. Several early morning businesspeople and road maintenance workers were already heading into the just-opened shops to buy their lunch, and the passing traffic was beginning to pick up as people drove to work or school.

  I was stretching out the tension in my legs, still catching my breath, as a movement off to the right of the shops caught my attention. It was only for a moment, and only from the corner of my eye, but I swore I saw someone in a grey hoodie looking over at me. I watched the person’s back disappear down into a side road and stared aft
er that, unsure whether I’d seen them turned my way or not and whether it mattered if they had been. I’d been watching the street, too, as I unwound from my run. I briefly considered walking over the road, just to see where they went, and to catch sight of their face, before I shook my head and dismissed the idea.

  I turned away towards the station and crossed the car park at a light jog, shaking the thoughts from my mind. My paranoia was up after those boys I’d met in the alley, and I was on edge, but I couldn’t afford to go chasing after shadows right now.

  Our old superintendent Gaskell had often warned me to stay on track during cases and not to get caught up in taking leaps of faith and relying too heavily on speculation and imagination. I liked to think that I had a good gut instinct for reading people and situations, but I also needed to tell when my instincts were being affected by my emotions. And I reckoned that this was one of those times when my logical brain needed to win out over my imaginative one.

  Stephen arrived at the station shortly after I’d gotten settled at my desk, my hair wet from the shower and making my collar damp. The day was already warming up, and I’d closed a couple of the blinds near my desk to keep the worst of the heat out.

  “If your hair wasn’t wet, I’d assume you’d been here all night,” Stephen teased.

  “And if you hadn’t brought me coffee, I’d be offended by that comment.”

  I gratefully accepted the mug he offered me and savoured a sip. Still nicely refreshed from my cool shower, this was the only time of the day when having a hot coffee made sense.

  “How’d it go with the kid last night? Did you miss me?”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” I said, ignoring his last comment. “I’ve sent you an email with the main points, but we still haven’t got names, nor the site where the teens met.”

  “So it was definitely online, then?” Stephen said distractedly as he pulled up my email.

  “Aye, read through that, and you’ll see.” I got to my feet and stretched, my back clicking. “I’m gonna go and see if Keira’s in yet.”