with you.'
'Who? Your bird?'
'Yeah. Sara.'
'Fat fucking chance. All she did was jabber about you. Rabbit fucking rabbit.'
Nathan's head twitched.
'I'm sorry?'
'All she did was talk about you. How brilliant you are. How I could use you better. Blah blah blah.'
Nathan smiled at his lap.
'Right,' he said.
'The funny thing is, I was sort of starting to believe her.'
Nobody spoke until Nathan said, 'Fuck it. Shall we go for a drink ?'
The only place they could find was a cheesy nightclub. The music was too loud for conversation -- so they just sat round a table and drank, and got drunk, and caught taxis home.
The next morning, a smiling snapshot of Elise Fox was on the front page of the Daily Mirror. But the main photograph was of Mark Derbyshire. He looked unshaven and haunted, snapped getting into his BMW. He wore a polo shirt that was too small for him, and a leather jacket that was too young for him, jeans that were too baggy, and a baseball cap and sunglasses that did not suit him.
The headline read FEARS GROW FOR PARTY GIRL, 19. The subheading was Elise 'Not Seen' Since Disgraced DJ's Showbiz Party.
In the snapshot, Elise was smiling. Nathan stared at it. He couldn't connect the face to the dead girl they had lain face down and naked in the soil.
The full story was on pages 9--13, and Nathan looked it up. But all he saw was a rehearsal of Mark Derbyshire's previous, disastrous run in with the tabloid press -- and a sneering list of the Z-list celebrities 'rumoured' to have been in attendance at his party.
In the evening, Nathan turned up for work as usual. But again, Mark Derbyshire didn't.
The deep scores in Howard's face were deeper. Tonight there was no 'best of tape. Instead, the station had pulled Dave Huckabee, a retired breakfast DJ from a chair on the local television news. Dave had agreed to host the show until Mark Derbyshire returned.
Mark Derbyshire had been accused of no crime, but from the moment another man slipped on his headphones and sat before his microphone, that became a technicality. So did Mark's acquittal, fully thirteen years before. All that mattered to the press was the past accusation and the humiliation that followed it: Mark's 'fall from grace'.
Nathan looked at the newspaper photograph of Mark and was moved to a terrified pity. But he knew he'd let Mark go to prison forever before he allowed himself to be implicated in Elise Fox's disappearance.
He thought of his own face in the newspapers, and felt the world spinning out of control.
The next afternoon, two police officers came to his door.
10
The man -- who was compact, with reddish hair - introduced himself as DS William Holloway. With him was PC Jacki Hadley.
Nathan invited them in.
Holloway asked if he might have a glass of water, then went to the kitchenette and took a mug from the drainer. The mug had been sitting there so long its base was filmed with dust.
The woman, Hadley, stood by the window. A double-decker bus went past. Hadley was watching it. Nathan understood. There was something surreal and fascinating about it: an upper deck of oblivious strangers, sailing directly past your living-room window.
Holloway drained the water.
'Do you mind if I sit?'
'Please.'
He took a dining chair, the first person to sit in it since Sara, in just a T-shirt, reading the Guardian Review.
Hadley stayed by the window, hands clasped at the small of her back, watching the intermittent buses go past.
Nathan sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, offering Holloway a cigarette. Holloway said, 'Not since New Year's Eve, 1989,' and took a biro from his jacket. 'So, Mr Redmond.'
'Nathan.'
'So, Nathan. I expect you'll have gathered why we're here.'
'Pretty much. Mark's party.'
Holloway pointed the biro at him, as if to say Well done!, then said, 'What time did you arrive at the party?'
'I don't know. Nine, maybe. A bit later.'
'And what time did you leave?'
'That, I can't tell you.'
Holloway scrutinized him.
'Drinking,'
'Who? Your bird?'
'Yeah. Sara.'
'Fat fucking chance. All she did was jabber about you. Rabbit fucking rabbit.'
Nathan's head twitched.
'I'm sorry?'
'All she did was talk about you. How brilliant you are. How I could use you better. Blah blah blah.'
Nathan smiled at his lap.
'Right,' he said.
'The funny thing is, I was sort of starting to believe her.'
Nobody spoke until Nathan said, 'Fuck it. Shall we go for a drink ?'
The only place they could find was a cheesy nightclub. The music was too loud for conversation -- so they just sat round a table and drank, and got drunk, and caught taxis home.
The next morning, a smiling snapshot of Elise Fox was on the front page of the Daily Mirror. But the main photograph was of Mark Derbyshire. He looked unshaven and haunted, snapped getting into his BMW. He wore a polo shirt that was too small for him, and a leather jacket that was too young for him, jeans that were too baggy, and a baseball cap and sunglasses that did not suit him.
The headline read FEARS GROW FOR PARTY GIRL, 19. The subheading was Elise 'Not Seen' Since Disgraced DJ's Showbiz Party.
In the snapshot, Elise was smiling. Nathan stared at it. He couldn't connect the face to the dead girl they had lain face down and naked in the soil.
The full story was on pages 9--13, and Nathan looked it up. But all he saw was a rehearsal of Mark Derbyshire's previous, disastrous run in with the tabloid press -- and a sneering list of the Z-list celebrities 'rumoured' to have been in attendance at his party.
In the evening, Nathan turned up for work as usual. But again, Mark Derbyshire didn't.
The deep scores in Howard's face were deeper. Tonight there was no 'best of tape. Instead, the station had pulled Dave Huckabee, a retired breakfast DJ from a chair on the local television news. Dave had agreed to host the show until Mark Derbyshire returned.
Mark Derbyshire had been accused of no crime, but from the moment another man slipped on his headphones and sat before his microphone, that became a technicality. So did Mark's acquittal, fully thirteen years before. All that mattered to the press was the past accusation and the humiliation that followed it: Mark's 'fall from grace'.
Nathan looked at the newspaper photograph of Mark and was moved to a terrified pity. But he knew he'd let Mark go to prison forever before he allowed himself to be implicated in Elise Fox's disappearance.
He thought of his own face in the newspapers, and felt the world spinning out of control.
The next afternoon, two police officers came to his door.
10
The man -- who was compact, with reddish hair - introduced himself as DS William Holloway. With him was PC Jacki Hadley.
Nathan invited them in.
Holloway asked if he might have a glass of water, then went to the kitchenette and took a mug from the drainer. The mug had been sitting there so long its base was filmed with dust.
The woman, Hadley, stood by the window. A double-decker bus went past. Hadley was watching it. Nathan understood. There was something surreal and fascinating about it: an upper deck of oblivious strangers, sailing directly past your living-room window.
Holloway drained the water.
'Do you mind if I sit?'
'Please.'
He took a dining chair, the first person to sit in it since Sara, in just a T-shirt, reading the Guardian Review.
Hadley stayed by the window, hands clasped at the small of her back, watching the intermittent buses go past.
Nathan sat on the sofa and crossed his legs, offering Holloway a cigarette. Holloway said, 'Not since New Year's Eve, 1989,' and took a biro from his jacket. 'So, Mr Redmond.'
'Nathan.'
'So, Nathan. I expect you'll have gathered why we're here.'
'Pretty much. Mark's party.'
Holloway pointed the biro at him, as if to say Well done!, then said, 'What time did you arrive at the party?'
'I don't know. Nine, maybe. A bit later.'
'And what time did you leave?'
'That, I can't tell you.'
Holloway scrutinized him.
'Drinking,'
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