Deep Wate - Sarah Epstein Page 0,62

better. In fact, it makes me feel worse. Henry’s missing. And these photos seem … not right.

‘Should I take them to Doherty?’ I ask.

Before Sabeen can answer, we hear the door open at the top of the stairs. Sabeen throws me a panicked look as I gather up the photos like a deck of cards. Tom can’t know about these; he’s already stressed out of his mind. Something like this might tip him over the edge.

Heavy footsteps descend quickly, and I manage to slip the polaroids into my pocket just as Tom appears behind us, nudging his glasses to the top of his nose. We’re so busy making sure the photos are squirrelled away that we completely forget to drape the tarp back over Henry’s bike.

Tom’s eyes find it straightaway. His expression is one I can’t read. ‘Is that …?’

‘It is,’ Sabeen says, standing up. Her gaze darts from my face to my pocket, double-checking the photos are safely stowed. I give her a whisper of a nod and stand up as well.

‘Right. Okay,’ Tom says, shaking his head slightly. ‘That’s … unexpected. I didn’t realise Ivy had donated it.’ Seeing the bike here seems to have rattled him too. He casts an eye over the basement like there might be other surprises hidden in the clutter.

‘I’ve gotta go,’ I tell Sabeen.

‘And you’ll do that thing we talked about?’

She means taking the polaroids to Doherty. A look of reluctance passes between us because once we do this there’s no taking it back. Sabeen glances at Henry’s bike, and I can sense what’s going on inside her head. It’s the same thing going on inside mine.

‘I will,’ I assure her. ‘First thing tomorrow.’

We need to find Henry. At any cost.

One week before the storm

1 JANUARY 2019, 9:37

Missy: Happy New Year!

2 JANUARY 2019, 10:55

Henry: Hey.

Missy: Hi! How are you?

Henry: Not great.

Missy: What’s up?

Henry: I hate being at home. My brother’s a d-bag.

Missy: What did he do?

Henry: You’re gonna think I’m a baby.

Missy: No I won’t. Tell me. Please?

Henry: Last week he pushed me off this really high rock into the reservoir.

Missy: OMG.

Henry: I can’t really swim. Like, I’m really bad at it.

Missy: What the hell is wrong with him?!

Henry: I dunno. He snapped.

Missy: Has he done something like this before? Is he dangerous?

Henry: He’s never tried to hurt me before.

Missy: Maybe something changed?

Henry: Great. Now I’ve gotta watch my back with him AND my mother.

7 JANUARY 2019, 12:26

Missy: Heeey. Are things better this week?

9 JANUARY 2019, 17:31

Missy: Up for a chat?

11 JANUARY 2019, 11:47

Missy: Where are you?

18 JANUARY 2019, 11:08

Missy: Henry, please message me.

1 FEBRUARY 2019, 2:05

Missy: WHERE ARE YOU???

15 FEBRUARY 2019, 19:36

Missy: Henry …?

Now

The red-headed police officer seems less than thrilled to see me.

She gives me a curt smile, placing her hands on the reception desk and leaning forwards. ‘You again.’

‘I’d like to speak to Sergeant Doherty, please.’

‘He’s busy right now. I can pass on a message.’

I glance behind her at the only part of the police station I can see behind the glass. Beyond the computer area is a row of small rooms. A couple have closed doors and window blinds, making it impossible to see inside.

‘How long will he be?’ I ask.

‘Well, that’s hard to say.’ Her voice has taken on a slightly patronising tone. ‘I can’t really give you an answer.’

‘It’s urgent.’ I fidget with the zipper on my pocket. The polaroids sit stiff and insistent against my hip.

‘If it’s urgent, I can help you,’ she says. ‘Or another officer.’

I peer at the closed doors again. ‘I’ll wait for Sergeant Doherty.’

She straightens to her full height and folds her arms across her chest. ‘How about you tell me what’s going on, hmm?’

Definitely patronising.

‘I have new evidence he’ll be interested in,’ I explain. ‘About Henry Weaver’s disappearance.’

She eyes me for a second, then reaches behind the counter to retrieve a lined notepad. She slips a pen from her shirt pocket and clicks the end, raising her eyebrows for me to go on.

‘It’s something I need to show him,’ I say.

‘Show me then.’

‘I’d rather deal with Sergeant Doherty.’ Add that to phrases I never thought I’d say.

The officer sighs and asks me for my name before gesturing towards the row of vinyl chairs along the wall. A woman I vaguely recognise from the hairdresser’s looks up from her phone long enough to sigh and lift her handbag off the seat beside her. I’m about to sit when I spot Doherty walking through the back room with a coffee mug in