The Sleepover Read online

  “Nick? Nick, are you there?” I’m about to climb up when a train thunders past, the deafening clatter and strident horn echoing beneath the railway bridge instantly transporting me back thirteen years: to Alex leading me toward this very tree, with the same gentle, crooked smile as the son he never met. Look, Izzy! Come and see what I built for our boy . . .

  But as I finally haul myself up to peer inside, I discover only rotten, mossy timbers that crumble beneath my fingers. It’s no one’s secret sanctuary anymore, and Nick isn’t here.

  * * *

  “Oh, Beth. You were right.” I fall into her open arms, still breathing heavily from jogging back to her house. “I checked the bus stops. Newsagent . . .” I pull away, casting a yearning glance up the stairs, hoping against hope that Nick will appear at the top of them. “It’s like he’s vanished into thin air.”

  Beth hugs me again, rubbing her hands up and down my arms. “I’ve been going over and over everything. Every conversation last night. What the boys talked about. They’ve hardly said a word. I think they’re in shock. And the police said they can’t formally interview them without their parents present. They’ve called Katie Baxter and Ayesha Matlock, but—”

  “The police.” Nick is really gone.

  “They’re here, Izzy.” Beth reaches for my hand. “So is—”

  “Craig,” I say, stumbling past her into the living room to see him sitting on the sofa, with Jason, Adrian, and Samir, now all dressed in almost identical jeans and hoodies, lined up alongside him.

  “Isobel.”

  “What are you doing here?” Fear emerges as antagonism. I wonder who phoned him; I was so certain Nick would be at our old apartment that I didn’t make that call.

  “Are you OK, sweetheart?” He doesn’t rise to my hostility but stands up and walks slowly toward me, arms outstretched as though ready to pull me into a hug.

  “Nick isn’t with you?” I take a step back, looking up at his face, the flint-gray eyes as hard to read as ever. “He didn’t come to your apartment, or phone you?” I take out my own phone, checking for the hundredth time that Nick hasn’t called me.

  “I’ve been trying his number, too.” Craig shakes his head. “No reply.”

  “So how did you know—”

  “Izzy,” Beth interrupts, “this is DCI Maxwell.” She gestures to a tanned, dark-haired man in a navy overcoat standing in front of the fireplace. “And DS Clarke.”

  “That’s me.” A tall woman in a black trouser suit smiles and holds up her ID. “And you’re Mrs. Brookes? Mrs. Isobel Brookes? Your son is Nicholas Brookes, aged twelve? Sorry about the formality. We just need to confirm everyone’s identities for the record.” She writes something in her notebook; I notice in surprise that she’s already filled two pages.

  “I understand young Nick’s gone walkabout, Mrs. Brookes. Izzy, isn’t it?” The senior detective steps forward with a smile; he looks as though he’s about to try to sell me insurance.

  “Yes. Nick’s my son. But his surname’s Blake. I didn’t change it when I married his stepdad.” I nod at Craig, watching him settle himself back on the sofa. “We’re separated.”

  DS Clarke checks her notes. “Right. I see. It’s just that Mrs. Atkins called him Nick Brookes when she reported him missing.”

  “Oh, right. Well, Nick’s always tended to use both names. He worries that people might think it’s odd we have different surnames, you see. He still introduces himself as Nick Brookes sometimes.” I glance at Beth, who nods, confirming my guess. “It’s a little confusing, I know.” For him, too, probably. “Anyway, I just thought it might help you to have all the facts.” I watch DS Clarke jot down another note, wondering if she thinks I’m scoring points against my ex rather than offering any information that might help them find my son.

  “And you were right.” DCI Maxwell smiles again. “It is helpful. My very first question was going to be who has parental authority for Nick.”

  “I do. I have sole custody. He’s my son.” I can’t resist a sideways glance at Craig. “But he was here last night. When he . . .”

  “He was here for a sleepover, yes? Is that a regular thing?” The detective’s smile is encouraging, intended to put me at ease.

  “No. It was his first, actually. I thought he might have got . . . upset. I wondered if he’d run back to our old apartment. We used to live somewhere else, you see. Before I married. That’s where I’ve just been. Nick was very attached to his old treehouse. I thought that’s where he might have gone. But it wasn’t.” I bite the inside of my lip, fighting tears.

  DCI Maxwell nods understandingly. “Sorry to ask the obvious, but I take it you’ve rung him and he’s not picking up?”

  I stare at my phone again, willing Nick to call. “It goes straight to voice mail now.”

  “Any medical concerns we should know about?” DS Clarke looks up, pen poised. “Any history of anxiety or depression. Self-harm.”

  “What? No. I mean, things haven’t been great for Nick at school. But nothing like that. He does have asthma, though.” I reach into my bag. “And he left his inhaler behind.”

  “I see.” DCI Maxwell’s smile fades. “That is a worry. Given Nick’s age, we wouldn’t generally class him as officially missing until after twenty-four hours. His asthma, though . . . That does leapfrog him into the high-risk category.”

  Tears blur my eyes now. Not officially missing. Nick couldn’t be more missing. “He left without telling me. He’s never done that before.”

  “Apart from when he ran off to school by himself,” Craig points out. “Sorry. Just making sure they have all the facts,” he adds, when I swivel around to glare at him.

  “Every detail helps.” The detective nods at Craig before turning back to me. “We’ll need to carry out a thorough risk assessment. DS Clarke here will take care of that. If you could talk her through everything, Izzy: what’s been going on for Nick—at home, school, any problems he’s been having. That sort of thing. In the meantime, we’ll liaise with the Missing Persons Bureau. We’ll need a recent photo of Nick, of course.”

  “Try not to panic, Mrs. Brookes,” his colleague says gently. “We’re here to help.”

  I stare blankly at her delicate-boned face, neat ponytail, and earnest brown eyes. She looks so young that, fleetingly, I worry if she’s experienced enough to be left in charge, as her boss seems to be suggesting she will be. “Thank you,” I say automatically.

  “You’re in good hands with Sarah,” DCI Maxwell says, as though reading my mind. “She’ll walk you through what happens next. As I say, the first step is to build up a picture of Nick’s life. Daily routine, friends, worries. Whatever springs to mind. Anything that might, for instance, have caused him to run away.”

  “Run away? Surely he’s been taken?” I blurt out, unable to contain the fear any longer. “Why else hasn’t he called me? What if he’s trapped or hurt? What if he left the house and someone saw him, snatched him? You need to get out there and start looking for him!”

  “And we will,” DCI Maxwell says calmly. “Starting with every likely place you can think of. Anywhere Nick likes to hang out. Places he might be hiding.”

  I’ve already looked, and he wasn’t there. “He doesn’t go out much. School. Dance class. Like I said, this was his first sleepover.” I try not to catch Craig’s eye, but I sense that he’s bursting to say how much he disapproved of it all along.

  DS Clarke lifts her pen to get my attention. “Did he say anything odd last night? You phoned him around ten, yes?” She checks her notes. “Notice anything different about him?”

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure. He . . . I . . .” I stare at the window, watching sleet pelt against the glass like tiny bullets. I imagine Nick’s face stinging with cold; I try not to picture him lying dead in a ditch, eyes wide and staring, blood seeping around his body after some dreadful attack. Or holed up with a kidnapper: blindfolded, terrified, tortured . . .

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “
Take your time, Izzy.”

  DCI Maxwell’s mellow voice pulls me back from the dark place I can feel myself sinking into. I try to return his sympathetic smile, and I’m just managing to get a grip on my emotions when I notice Craig frowning at me. I can guess what he’s thinking: You’ve let Nick down again. I can’t bear his disapproval. If he hasn’t come here to help, I want him to go. It also occurs to me that he might not have any right to be here, given that we’re separated.

  I’m about to ask if that’s the case when I notice DCI Maxwell watching Craig, too, while DS Clarke’s serious brown eyes are still fixed on me. Suddenly it dawns on me that we’ll all be under scrutiny. A child has disappeared overnight; the detectives’ sympathy will no doubt be tempered by suspicion. A risk assessment, DCI Maxwell said. That means investigating if someone close to Nick has hurt him, I think nervously.

  “Nick was a bit quiet—last night on the phone,” I say, wishing I’d pressed him harder to say if something was wrong.

  “Quiet as in tired? Or grumpy?” DCI Maxwell smiles kindly. “Kids can do that, hey? My two have definitely perfected the art of the cold shoulder when it suits them.”

  “We’re very close,” I say firmly. “Nick’s been a bit thoughtful lately. But then he’s just started a new school and, well, he got badly picked on at his last one. Maybe last night . . .” My eyes automatically flick to Jason. “Maybe something was said that drove him out.”

  “Mr. Brookes told us what happened last year. It must have been tough for you, too.”

  “Yes. Yes, it was. Very.” I glance at Craig again, remembering the part he played in that. He doesn’t take his eyes off the detectives. I turn to look at Beth, but she busies herself gathering cups. They had coffee before I arrived, I realize: coffee and a chat about how I mollycoddle Nick? I lingered too long when I dropped him off; I arrived too early to collect him. A clingy, overprotective mum.

  I suddenly realize why DCI Maxwell has only turned up to introduce himself, before handing the investigation over to his more junior colleague. This isn’t a crime scene, as far as he is concerned; he doesn’t believe any offense has been committed other than a slightly neurotic mother smothering her son so much that he had to get away. Anger bubbles up as I turn to him. “You think Nick has run away from me, don’t you?”

  * * *

  “Puberty’s a tough time.” DCI Maxwell shrugs off his coat before coming to sit next to me at Beth’s kitchen table. “Body changes. Family relationships. Friends. Homework and exams. These days you can throw social media into the mix. That adds up to any number of reasons Nick might have decided to take off. I’m not saying that’s what happened.” He holds up his hands, as if anticipating my objections. “We just have to consider all the possibilities.”

  “Not without telling me. He would have told me,” I say again, even as a voice in my head reminds me how little Nick has told me lately, about anything. “Unless he can’t. I’ve phoned and phoned him. Someone might be keeping him from picking up.”

  “I’m absolutely not dismissing that possibility.”

  “Honestly?” I appreciate his discretion in suggesting we have a quiet chat in the kitchen, but I still feel impatient with the detective’s phlegmatic calm.

  “I give you my word on it. But there are no signs of a break-in. Nothing to suggest an abduction. Our FSIs—forensic scene investigators,” he clarifies, “will confirm that, of course. I’m just saying we need to keep an open mind at this stage. Teenagers can and do go missing for perfectly innocent reasons sometimes. Take last month. Sixteen-year-old girl in Teddington told her mum she was going shopping. Didn’t come home all night. Parents called the police. Twelve hours later, daughter turns up saying she’d gone clubbing instead.”

  “Nick’s not a teenager.” I dig my fingernails into my palms. “He doesn’t go shopping. Or clubbing. He’s not on Facebook. He’s only twelve, for God’s sake.”

  “Yes. And it’s a tricky age. Look, I promise I’m not ruling anything out. But family issues do tend to be the best starting point.”

  “Nick was fine when I dropped him off. Excited about the sleepover. Happy to see his new friends. I can’t believe they have nothing—absolutely nothing—to say about last night.”

  “Maybe not to us. But we’ve got specialist officers trained to interview children. I know you want to grill them, Izzy. I can’t let you do that. We have strict protocol with youngsters. I’m sure you appreciate that. But I appreciate how frustrating it is that they’re saying so little. Given the right questioning, though . . . hopefully they’ll open up.”

  “They better had,” I snip, thinking of Jason’s cagey glances.

  “Sleepovers can be fun. In my experience, they can also turn sour. Parents relaxing the rules a bit. High spirits can get out of hand. I’m not saying that’s what’s happened. I just want to reassure you we don’t believe abduction is high up the list of probabilities. I know it’s your worst fear. But there’s nothing at this point to suggest Nick has been taken.”

  “You’re sure?” I wish I felt more convinced. “I mean, so someone might not have broken in. They could have been hanging around outside. And if Nick did go out . . .”

  “We’ll check everyone local who’s previously come across our radar. I’m not discounting the possibility of an opportunist crime. I’m just saying that in these cases we often find there’s either a push or a pull. That has to be our starting point. Has Nick run to someone or did something, or someone, drive him away?”

  “Which brings us back to last night. The sleepover. I promise I won’t grill them, but I’m simply not going to be able to go home without those boys telling me something.”

  * * *

  “I’ve got football in half an hour, Mum.” Adrian’s is the first voice I hear as we return to the living room. “Coach said I’ll be off the team if I’m late for practice again.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll make it today, sweetheart.” Beth flashes me an apologetic look, and I know her blush is for the awkwardness of mentioning everyday clubs when there is no chance of Nick attending his own. “Let me give him a call.”

  “How about we chat some more, hey, guys?” DCI Maxwell suggests as Beth leaves the room. “Just while we wait for your parents.” He smiles as three heads nod in unison. “Nothing heavy. The officers at the station will take official statements from you. But I bet you’re all very worried about your friend. I’m sure you can imagine how upset his mum is.”

  His head jerks in my direction, and the boys’ faces swivel toward me: a lineup of fear, nervousness, and the instinctively guilty expressions I know all children have when their behavior comes under scrutiny. It’s impossible to know how much of their reticence is due to the shock of what’s happened and how much to remorse—or a guilty conscience.

  “You were the only ones there when Nick disappeared.” I try not to sound accusing.

  “I slept in the spare room,” Jason points out.

  “What time do you reckon you called it a night, son?” DCI Maxwell asks.

  “I’m not your son.” The look Jason gives him could start fires.

  “Point taken.” The detective holds up his hands. “But you’re Nick’s friend. And I know you want to help.”

  “Please. Anything you can tell me. All of you,” I add, looking at Jason, Samir, and Adrian in turn. “If Nick said anything. Or if one of you had a fight with him.”

  “He’s my best friend.” Adrian’s chin wobbles. “I told you everything. Honest.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re doing great.” DCI Maxwell gives Adrian a quick thumbs-up, before turning back to Jason, the oldest and clearly the least intimidated by the situation.

  “I left this lot to it about eleven thirty,” he says, speaking to the detective rather than me. “I had my earphones in so I didn’t hear much. I’ve got no idea how long they stayed up. They were messing about. Just kids’ stuff, like,” he scoffs, as if he’s above that sort of thing.

  “Nick was r
eading,” Samir offers, dark eyes widening as he speaks for the first time.

  “I told them that already, dude.” Adrian punches his arm.

  “Thank you, Samir.” I smile at him, recalling Nick referring to him as a quiet boy who “prefers computers to people.” I can tell he’s the least confident talking in front of adults.

  “Do you need to take our fingerprints?” Adrian’s knees bounce up and down.

  “Yes, we will indeed.” DS Clarke jots yet another note on her list. “If that’s OK with you guys? We’ll need to identify all the prints found in your mum’s house.”

  “Let’s concentrate on last night for now, OK?” DCI Maxwell crouches down in front of the boys. “Don’t worry about what we’re doing. Think about what you know. The last thing Nick said to you. Anything going on at school. Unfamiliar names he’s mentioned.”

  “Something must have happened.” I try really hard not to yell.

  “Think of it like a puzzle.” The DCI shoots me a discreet warning glance. “Nick’s sleepover. And we need you guys to fill in the pieces.”

  “Adrian’s sleepover.” Adrian waves a hand. “It was my sleepover. At my house.”

  I almost smile at his eagerness, in contrast to Jason’s scowl as he slumps deeper into the sofa cushions. Samir still looks terrified, watching me with tear-filled eyes.

  “I hope he’s OK, Mrs. Brookes,” he says. “He told me he’s got a show soon. He was teaching me a few dance moves. We watched some last night on YouTube.”

  “Good on you,” DCI Maxwell approves. “I’m impressed. Two left feet, I’ve got,” he adds, rolling his eyes with comic self-deprecation. “Nick do anything else online?” he asks casually. “Visit any chat rooms, log into group video apps? FaceTime or WhatsApp anyone?”