Hirsch wondered if saying “I” was a misstep. What did he have to offer? And would his saying “I” necessarily cancel his apparent ties to the despised Redruth police, in Nathan’s estimation? There was silence and it grew and he was conscious of a kind of misery and defeat in the air.
“Just a couple of questions,” he said gently. “For example, do you know what Melia’s plans were last weekend?”
“Nup. Going out. She’s always going out.”
Hirsch said, “I’ve spoken to Gemma. She drove Melia to the pub down in Redruth but after a while she went to the drive-in with another friend and isn’t sure what Melia’s movements were. Do you know? Did you see her on Saturday night or Sunday morning?”
Nathan shook his head.
“Where did you go?”
“Pub.”
“Where?”
“Spalding.”
“With the guy who dropped you off just now?”
“Yeah.”
Still Nathan was looking at the ceiling. “What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“Your friend.”
“Sam. Hempel.”
“Would he know anything of Melia’s movements?”
“Nah.”
“Did you spend the night out, or did you come home?”
“Home.”
“You didn’t notice if Melia was at home or had been home and gone out again?”
“She does what she does.”
“What about this boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?”
“Older guy, apparently.”
Nathan shrugged, said, “Dunno,” and showed no other interest.
H IRSCH RETURNED TO THE sitting room.
“Did you see Nathan?” Leanne asked.
Hirsch nodded. “Unfortunately he doesn’t know anything.”
Leanne exchanged glances with Yvonne Muir. “Von thinks it would be okay if you looked at the computer.”
Hirsch shot the neighbor a smile. “You can look over my shoulder if you like.”
Both women demurred, as if fearing what they’d see. Hirsch sat himself at the old monitor, switched on the box and, waiting for it to boot up, smoothed out the paper slip from Melia Donovan’s wallet. The machine was slow, and no wireless.
There were two passwords: the first gave him access to a file named
MelD
and it proved to contain a handful of school essays, saved emails, journal entries and photographs. He’d examined all of it within a few minutes. Nothing stood out, apart from several references to “Cool.” A name? A concept? The second password gave him access to the Facebook page. He poked around in it. It revealed nothing of her secret life.
“Before I go, Mrs. Donovan, could you give me a list of Melia’s school and town friends?”
That took a while, Leanne embarrassed because the list was brief and opened gaps in her knowledge. Hirsch returned to the station and started dialing. School holidays, so half the kids on the list were away. The others professed to know nothing of Melia’s movements and were astonished that anyone would think they did.
T HAT AFTERNOON HE BIT the bullet and called Kropp.
“What do you mean, missing?”
“She left a note, didn’t say where she was going.”
“Have you tried family? Friends?”
“No luck, Sarge.”
“What’s she scared of? What’s she hiding?”
“Maybe she just feels guilty for not looking after her best friend, Sarge.”
“Find the slag, all right? Drag her along to the inquest.”
“Sarge.”
“And what’s this about a Quine hearing?”
“I have to attend, Sarge. All next week.”
Kropp said nothing but what Kropp was saying was
dog, maggot
.
N EXT ON H IRSCH ’ S LIST was Dr. McAskill. “Sergeant Kropp gave me the short version, but I was wondering if there’s anything to add.”
There was a sense of the doctor drawing himself up on the other end of the line. “I don’t feel comfortable having a side conversation about it.”
Hirsch sighed. “The thing is, Sergeant Kropp has all of us working on it and it’s my job to piece together the kid’s last movements. So, anything?”
“I suppose you mean stomach contents?”
“It’s a start.”
“She’d not eaten much prior to death—a hamburger and chips
“Just a couple of questions,” he said gently. “For example, do you know what Melia’s plans were last weekend?”
“Nup. Going out. She’s always going out.”
Hirsch said, “I’ve spoken to Gemma. She drove Melia to the pub down in Redruth but after a while she went to the drive-in with another friend and isn’t sure what Melia’s movements were. Do you know? Did you see her on Saturday night or Sunday morning?”
Nathan shook his head.
“Where did you go?”
“Pub.”
“Where?”
“Spalding.”
“With the guy who dropped you off just now?”
“Yeah.”
Still Nathan was looking at the ceiling. “What’s his name?”
“Who?”
“Your friend.”
“Sam. Hempel.”
“Would he know anything of Melia’s movements?”
“Nah.”
“Did you spend the night out, or did you come home?”
“Home.”
“You didn’t notice if Melia was at home or had been home and gone out again?”
“She does what she does.”
“What about this boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?”
“Older guy, apparently.”
Nathan shrugged, said, “Dunno,” and showed no other interest.
H IRSCH RETURNED TO THE sitting room.
“Did you see Nathan?” Leanne asked.
Hirsch nodded. “Unfortunately he doesn’t know anything.”
Leanne exchanged glances with Yvonne Muir. “Von thinks it would be okay if you looked at the computer.”
Hirsch shot the neighbor a smile. “You can look over my shoulder if you like.”
Both women demurred, as if fearing what they’d see. Hirsch sat himself at the old monitor, switched on the box and, waiting for it to boot up, smoothed out the paper slip from Melia Donovan’s wallet. The machine was slow, and no wireless.
There were two passwords: the first gave him access to a file named
MelD
and it proved to contain a handful of school essays, saved emails, journal entries and photographs. He’d examined all of it within a few minutes. Nothing stood out, apart from several references to “Cool.” A name? A concept? The second password gave him access to the Facebook page. He poked around in it. It revealed nothing of her secret life.
“Before I go, Mrs. Donovan, could you give me a list of Melia’s school and town friends?”
That took a while, Leanne embarrassed because the list was brief and opened gaps in her knowledge. Hirsch returned to the station and started dialing. School holidays, so half the kids on the list were away. The others professed to know nothing of Melia’s movements and were astonished that anyone would think they did.
T HAT AFTERNOON HE BIT the bullet and called Kropp.
“What do you mean, missing?”
“She left a note, didn’t say where she was going.”
“Have you tried family? Friends?”
“No luck, Sarge.”
“What’s she scared of? What’s she hiding?”
“Maybe she just feels guilty for not looking after her best friend, Sarge.”
“Find the slag, all right? Drag her along to the inquest.”
“Sarge.”
“And what’s this about a Quine hearing?”
“I have to attend, Sarge. All next week.”
Kropp said nothing but what Kropp was saying was
dog, maggot
.
N EXT ON H IRSCH ’ S LIST was Dr. McAskill. “Sergeant Kropp gave me the short version, but I was wondering if there’s anything to add.”
There was a sense of the doctor drawing himself up on the other end of the line. “I don’t feel comfortable having a side conversation about it.”
Hirsch sighed. “The thing is, Sergeant Kropp has all of us working on it and it’s my job to piece together the kid’s last movements. So, anything?”
“I suppose you mean stomach contents?”
“It’s a start.”
“She’d not eaten much prior to death—a hamburger and chips
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