Her phone pings and she rolls over and picks it up from the floor. Patsie. A selfie with her poking two fingers towards her mouth, then a photo of a saucepan full of diced carrot.
Sasha types Gross and gets a string of green puking-face emojis in reply.
Are you back in school tomorrow? she writes.
The text pings back at once If I can b arsed. Rather watch the telly. There's a photo underneath of her feet propped up on a cushion in fluffy slippers. In the background the Jeremy Kyle Show is on the TV. A burly security guard is trying to keep two teenage girls from scratching each other's eyes out. The subtitle at the bottom says, `You slept with my boyfriend and I'm going to prove it!'
Look at those stupid mares, writes Patsie.
Sasha laughs and texts back, WTAF?
There's a pause then, and Sasha thinks Patsie must have tuned out until suddenly there's another text. Bloody Lee's here, it says. Prancing about showing his rancid tits again. There's another line of puking emojis. I wish Mum would just wake up and dump that loser.
Sasha frowns. You on your own?
Mum shd b back soon.
Don't know what she sees in that perv, writes Sasha. Sure you're OK Pats?
There's a kissing emoji now, then Awww U R the best. I told him to fuck right off. See ya tomorrow babe Xxx.
The stars above Sasha's head are just starting to glow and she gets up and goes over to close the curtains. There's a white van parked up on the opposite side of the road. A man is sitting inside, but Sasha can't see his face.
* * *
`Do you see what I mean?' says Somer. `Faith's not in any of these photos, and she wasn't in any of the ones I saw in the Applefords' sitting room either.'
Baxter is frowning. `So?'
`There were a couple of the mother, and some of a little girl with dark hair, but that's definitely Nadine, not Faith.'
`Still not sure what you're getting at. Perhaps she just doesn't like pictures of herself. Some people don't. Especially bloody baby photos. Mine just make me look like Shrek.'
Somer suppresses a smile. `But there might be a reason why she doesn't have any pictures. What if she's adopted?'
He shrugs. `But even if she is, what difference does it make? No one's going to attack her because of that `“'
`Can you pull up the General Records Office database?'
Baxter gives a heavy sigh but he's seen that look on Somer's face before. When she's in this mood it's best to just let her get on with it.
He taps the keyboard and a new screen opens. He turns to Somer.
`So, what do you want to know?'
`Can we look up Faith's birth certificate? She's eighteen so she must have been born in '99 or 2000.'
Baxter clicks through the search facility, then frowns.
`What? What is it?'
He points at the screen. `That can't be right. Can it?'
But Somer is nodding. `I think it can. In fact, I think it might explain everything.'
* * *
It's gone 11.00 when Everett gets the email from Somer, telling her what they found. And only because she forgot to turn off the phone before she collapsed into bed. The beep and flash of light has her wide awake and seizing the phone before she's even conscious she's doing it. At the end of the bed, the cat stirs and resettles. Everett can feel her heart pounding as she unlocks the phone and peers at the screen. It can't be good for your health to be jolted bolt upright like this.
Then she lies back down again, staring at a ceiling she can't see. Her heart is still pounding and, this time, being woken up in the middle of the night has nothing to do with it.
* * *
Adam Fawley
1 April 2018
23.07
I'm stacking the dishwasher when my mobile goes. Somer. And she doesn't even bother apologizing. And that, take it from me, is not like her at all.
`I'm emailing you something, sir. Can you call me when you get it?'
`What is it?'
`It's a birth certificate. From 1999.'
The line goes dead. And then the phone pings.
`Problem?' says Alex, seeing the look on my face.
`I'm not sure.'
But I don't like it. And when I see what Somer's sent me I like it even less.
`Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.'
I hear Somer sigh. `I wish I could.'
`And you're sure? There's no chance we got this wrong?'
`We double-checked. The Applefords only have one other child. Nadine, born 6th June 2002.'
`So Faith isn't their daughter. She's their son.'
`That's not how she would see it, sir. I mean, yes, that's what's on the birth certificate, but I think Faith would say she was always a girl inside.'
And, of course, everything now falls into place. Why she didn't want to be examined by a doctor. Why she didn't want to talk to us `“ why she didn't even want to report what had happened to her. Why her mother is being so protective. It may even explain why the Applefords moved here in the first place. It was a fresh start; a chance for Daniel to leave his old identity behind and begin a new life. As a girl.
`There's no record of a change of name `“ no application for a Gender Recognition Certificate?'
`No, sir.'
`So legally speaking, Faith is still Daniel.'
`Quite possibly. Which would mean she probably had to apply to the college in that name. I think that's why the principal was so cagey. She told us she `њcouldn't tell us anything`ќ about Faith's personal life. We assumed that meant she didn't know anything, but looking back now, I think she chose that phrase very carefully.'
I take a deep breath. Alex has gone back to the sitting room. I can hear the sounds of the TV, the rain on the glass lantern above my head. I know what I have to do; I'm just not looking forward to doing it.
`OK, Somer. Leave it with me. I'll call Harrison and tell him we want to escalate this. To a possible hate crime.'
* * *
***
It's late, but there's no way Somer is getting to sleep any time soon. She picks up her phone and hesitates, wondering if she'll wake him. But she knows he doesn't go to bed early and, right now, she'd really like to hear his voice.
He picks up at the second ring: he wasn't asleep.
`Hey, I was hoping you'd call. How's it going?'
`The case? Better, I think. We may have made a breakthrough.'
`You have `“ or you have?'
She smiles; he's good at that: making her own up to her own achievements. It never comes naturally to her, not even now.
`You're not too shabby at this detective lark, are you?'
He laughs; he has a good laugh. `Well, I think I may have inside info on this particular suspect.'
She sits back in her chair and draws her feet up under her; she can hear the faint murmur of voices in the background.
`You watching TV?' She isn't really interested `“ she just wants to talk. About anything, nothing.
`Uh-huh.'
No need to ask what. For a DI with over ten years' experience Giles has an endearing addiction to true crime. TV, books, podcasts, you name it, he does it, as the recordings now racking up in Somer's Sky box testify. And she gets it `“ up to a point. She watched The Staircase with him and it was completely riveting, but Giles runs through the whole range, all the way from serious documentary to things like Wives with Knives and Southern Fried Homicide, which she'd initially assumed had to be spoofs. But as far as Giles is concerned, it's all equally fascinating. `Helps me understand why,' he'd said, when she quizzed him. `Why, after ten thousand years of human evolution, we're still doing such appallingly shitty things to each other.'