Page 74 of Dying Truth
‘Just point,’ she said, ignoring the crime scene techs that looked her way. She wasn’t committing any sins. Havers’s DNA would be all over the place.
‘Mr Havers, did you see a child named Christian Fellows at any time?’
Havers frowned as though trying to recall. He began to shake his head. ‘All the others had gone to—’
‘Christian Fellows was sent back to get him,’ Kim clarified.
‘No, I never saw him, Inspector.’
‘Okay, thank you for your time, Mr Havers, and if you could just give us a minute.’
Philip Havers nodded and walked away as Kim headed back to the shower.
* * *
The journey from the nearest shower to Shaun’s final position was roughly thirty feet, which the poor kid had crawled on his knees, desperately trying to reach the only thing that could save him.
‘What could this kid possibly have done to upset anyone?’ her colleague asked.
‘Absolutely nothing, Bryant,’ she agreed. ‘He wasn’t significant enough for that,’ she said, not unkindly. She suspected his place in the suit of Spades was likely due to his famous father.
‘He hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t troubled like Sadie. He wasn’t a bad kid or a bully. He had no enemies and yet someone wanted him dead. He had no links to Sadie, and they were completely different kinds of kids,’ she said, walking back to the entrance to the shower block where it divided for boys and girls. She walked it again, slowly.
As she turned the first corner she saw herself in the full-length mirror. But that wasn’t all she could see. The mirror offered her a view of the exact spot where Shaun had taken his last breath.
‘So, what are you thinking?’ Bryant asked, appearing beside her.
‘He saw something, Bryant,’ she said, walking back towards the gym hall just as Havers disappeared into the main corridor.
‘Christian Fellows definitely saw something, and we need to find out where he is.’
Fifty-One
Dawson parked the car beside a Range Rover Discovery that sat in front of a spacious barn conversion. This was nearer to the picture in his mind for the registered address of a Heathcrest Academy pupil.
The door was answered by a woman he guessed to be in her early sixties. Her hair was a short shock of white atop a naturally tanned skin tone. Simple stud earrings adorned her lobes, and a silver chain around her neck accentuated skin that had spent time outdoors.
But this woman was too old to be the mother of the boy he was seeking.
‘May I help you?’ she asked, pleasantly.
‘I’m sorry, I’m looking for Tristan Rock,’ he said. The family must have moved in the nine months since he’d attended Heathcrest.
‘You know Tristan?’ she asked, stepping aside.
Dawson shook his head as he entered the property. ‘Is Tristan here?’
The woman nodded and offered her hand. ‘Louisa Rock,’ she said. ‘Tristan’s paternal grandmother.’
Dawson shook her hand and introduced himself.
She looked puzzled but invited him to sit.
‘What business do you have with my grandson?’ she asked, reaching for a small china cup on the coffee table.
‘I’d just like a moment with either your grandson or his parents, if I may,’ Dawson replied, assuming she was living here in her son’s house. If Tristan was home, he guessed he must be home-schooled now.
‘I’m afraid Tristan’s parents don’t live here. This is my home, and Tristan lives here with me,’ she said, protectively.
