Page 94 of Dream a Little Dream

“Why?”

“Because he’s a bellend.”

“Do you often physically assault people who annoy you? Who don’t do what you want them to do?”

“Only the bellends.”

“Was Rahul a bellend?”

Aaron threw his head back and laughed, digging his fingers into his eyes to contain himself. He didn’t answer.

“Do you use social media, Aaron?”

“No.”

Bentley quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t use any social media?”

“No.”

Bentley cocked his head. “Are you telling me you, a nineteen-year-old young man embarking on his first days at university, doesn’t at least have Instagram?”

“No.”

Bentley stared him down.

“Do you want me to repeat that?” Aaron leaned forward toward the microphone. “I, Aaron Jones, don’t have an Instagram account.”

“All young men have social media accounts.”

“That’s projecting, DI Bentley,” Julian cut in. “Not a question, and my client has answered. Several times. He does not need to explain his reasons for not wanting to conform to your stereotyping.”

“Is the reason you don’t have a social media account because you’re being monitored?”

Aaron said nothing.

“DI Bentley, it would be in everyone’s best interest if you were to explain to my client his reason for being here,” Julian cut in like a fucking legend. “My client has answered every one of your questions to satisfactory standards. His reasons for not using social media bear no relation to this case.”

Bentley threw his solid stare at Julian. “Doesn’t it?”

“If you have something you wish to present to my client, I suggest you do this now. Or you will need to arrest him to continue.”

Bentley drew out a piece of paper from his folder. “Can you read through these, please, Aaron? Tell me what you see.”

He pushed over a mound of stapled paper. Aaron read through a transcript of direct messages via Instagram. Between Rahul and, it would seem, him. He snorted.

“You find that amusing?” Bentley asked.

“I find it fucking hilarious, but I didn’t think bursting into laughter would help me get out of here in time forStrictly Come Dancing.” Aaron leaned back in the chair, arms folded. “That’s bullshit. I didn’t send them. I don’t use social media. And if you think I’d send messages, like,” he leaned forward to read one, “the others are just lame’, then you lot need to go on some Gen Z classes.”

Bentley took the transcript back. “You are confirming, for the record, that you did not send any messages to Rahul Mishra?”

“For the final fucking time and for your fucking record and whoever else is fucking listening, I do not have an Instagram account. I did not send those ridiculous fucking messages.”

Bentley sat forward, linking his fingers together on the table. “Aaron, I’m going to level with you. These messages alone could lead to an arrest.” He prodded his finger to the transcript. “They clearly show Rahul talking toyouthe day of his death where you ask him to come drinking with you and a suggestion you take a walk along the river. I don’t want to arrest the wrong person. I want to find out who did this. The thing is, your name keeps coming up. You are taking up a lot of police time. The best thing for all of us is to figure out why these messages exist. If they are yours, and this is innocent, that you were conducting a relationship with him that maybe went wrong, or maybe you didn’t even meet him, or you were leading him to meet someone else, a joke, a university hall initiation, and he ended up dead and you’re protecting yourself or them, then it’s best you come clean. If none of that is true and these aren’t yours, then why are you not concerned that someone is imitating you to shift the blame?”

“I am concerned.Realconcerned.” Aaron pointed at the pages. “Not only can they not tell the difference between thepossessive your andyou are, making me out to be as dumb as fuck, but that’s also a fucking shit photo of me.”

Bentley fell back in his chair with an exasperated sigh. Aaron almost felt sorry for him.Almost. Bentley rubbed his fingers across his forehead.

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