Simon Lelic THE SEARCH PARTY Contents Prologue Day Six DI Robin Fleet Day Seven Abi Cora DI Robin Fleet Mason Fash Cora Mason DI Robin Fleet Abi Cora DI Robin Fleet DI Robin Fleet Fash Cora Abi Cora DI Robin Fleet Day Eight DI Robin Fleet Mason Fash DI Robin Fleet Mason Abi Cora Fash Mason Abi Cora DI Robin Fleet DI Robin Fleet Mason Abi Fash DI Robin Fleet Day Nine DI Robin Fleet Cora Abi Fash DI Robin Fleet Luke DI Robin Fleet DI Robin Fleet Day Ten DI Robin Fleet Acknowledgements About the Author Simon Lelic is the author of five highly acclaimed thrillers: Rupture (winner of a Betty Trask Award and shortlisted for the John Creasey Debut Dagger), The Facility, The Child Who (longlisted for the CWA Gold Dagger and the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger), The House (a Radio 2 Book Club choice) and The Liar’s Room. Praise for Simon Lelic ‘An intricate and powerful thriller’ Tana French ‘Hugely gripping’ Mark Billingham ‘Simon Lelic writes beautifully and has a real talent for chilling stories’ Cara Hunter ‘Stephen King-like’ Sunday Times ‘Hooked me from the first page’ Nuala Ellwood ‘Had me in a headlock from the start and wouldn’t loosen its grip till the last page’ John Marrs ‘Deliciously dark and clever with a satisfying twist. Very highly recommended’ Mark Edwards ‘Taut, unsettling and brilliantly done’ T. M. Logan ‘You’ll try to outguess the plot but always be one step behind’ C. J. Tudor ‘Totally gripping. A real page-turner. I loved it’ Claire McGowan ‘Sent shivers through me’ Jane Corry ‘Lelic can plot like a demon’ Guardian ‘A writer to whom attention must be paid’ Independent By the same author The Liar’s Room The House For my family Operator: Emergency, which service please? Caller: Hello? Hello? Operator: Do you need fire, police or ambulance? Caller: I can’t … Hello? Is anyone there? Operator: I can hear you. Can you hear me? Caller: Yes, I … Thank God. Please, help us. Please. Operator: Can you tell me what’s happened? Caller: Hello? She’s gone. I can’t … Operator: I’m here. I can still hear you. Where are you? Caller: I don’t know. In the woods. Somewhere, I … Please. We need an ambulance. Operator: Right. An ambulance. Can you tell me where you are? What can you see? Caller: Oh God. Oh God. Operator: You’re in the woods, is that what you said? Caller: Yes. Yes. Near … a building. A house, or … [inaudible] Operator: A house, you say? Do you know the address? Caller: There isn’t one. It’s empty. Abandoned. But … Please. Just come. Quickly. Please. Just – [call ends] Day Six DI Robin Fleet The bloody rain. For twenty-four hours it had fallen, flaying the banks of the river with a tropical fervour. Except it was cold. Granted the summer was officially over, but just two days ago the volunteers had been wearing shorts, while Fleet had stood sweating in his thinnest suit. Since the weather had broken, the water had struck like winter hail. Hard, pitiless, icy. A month’s rainfall in barely a day, so they said. Fleet didn’t know about climate change, all that, but he knew when something wasn’t right. And this weather? It was freakish. As messed up as everything else that was going on in this town right now. He paused in the doorway of his hotel to light a cigarette, taking almost as much pleasure from the brief burst of warmth as he did from the nicotine itself. He exhaled a cloud of smoke that was immediately doused by the tumbling rain, then took two more drags and tossed the cigarette into the gutter, knowing it would be ruined anyway the moment he stepped into the torrent. That’s 50p down the drain right there, said a voice inside his head. His wife Holly’s, unmistakeably, and Fleet felt a pang from somewhere in his gut. It was like an ulcer, this constant twinge, and he hadn’t yet found a way to stop it hurting. He thought of home. Was it raining like this there, he wondered? Because it felt biblical. If he were to get into his car and drive the three miles to the parish limits, would he find himself confronting a ring of blue sky, a rainbow bridge to the world outside? You heavens above, rain down my righteousness … What was that? Genesis? Isaiah? The quote came unbidden, as powerfully evocative as a familiar smell, and it made him want to light another cigarette. ‘Detective Inspector Fleet?’ Just as he’d been about to dash towards his company Insignia, Fleet turned. It was the hotelier, a woman in her late forties to whom Fleet had taken an instant dislike on first meeting her, only to later reverse his opinion completely. She dressed primly, rarely smiled, and wore her hair in a skin-stretching bun. Fleet had marked her down as yet another disapproving gossip, in a town with far more than its fair share, but she’d proved discreet, generous and obliquely loyal. In many ways, she was the closest thing Fleet had in this town to a friend. ‘There’s a call for you,’ said Anne, as she pointed over her left shoulder. Her expression was apologetic. She was familiar enough now with Fleet’s business to know the news he received was never good. Fleet checked the screen of his mobile. There were no missed calls, but there was also no reception. The entire town was pocked with dead spots. Which seemed as appropriate an analogy as any. He followed Anne back inside. The hotel wasn’t luxurious, but it was a luxury. Fleet lived only an hour or so along the coast, but rather than travelling back and forth he’d taken a room here, at the Harbour View Hotel. For convenience, he’d told himself. The Harbour View was no more or less than your typical seaside-town B&B, and Fleet might
