The interior and exterior of the pick-up were tested for blood and other physical evidence. Nothing untoward was found. There were no traces of blood in the flatbed, nor any DNA. If it was used to transport a body, the remains must have been extremely carefully wrapped in some impermeable covering. I note that Mr Mason owned a number of high-viz vests and other similar items of protective clothing for use on building sites, which could in theory be used for this purpose, though the jacket found in the car definitely had not been: the only DNA was Barry Mason’s. There was also a hard hat and a pair of black safety boots with steel toecaps, likewise bearing only his DNA. There were other high-viz items in the house, but the damage caused by the fire has rendered them useless for evidential purposes.
The car showed no signs of being recently valeted (indeed, rather the opposite). The DNA of Barry, Sharon and Daisy Mason was found on the seats, as well as that of another male, presumably Leo Mason. The latter principally took the form of bitten fingernails consistent in size with a child’s hands. Samples from the other individuals were mainly hair and some skin, though there were vaginal secretions from two other unidentified females, mostly in the back of the car, as well as minute traces of semen, identified as that of Barry Mason.
There was only one unexpected finding. We have not taken a DNA sample from Leo Mason, but based on the fingernail fragments, I can state categorically that he is not related to the rest of the family. Leo is not the Masons’ biological child.
*
‘So why didn’t you tell us Leo’s not your son?’
I’m standing in Barry Mason’s cell. It’s Sunday morning. I can hear the bells from the colleges, each ringing to their own approximation of the time. And actually that’s as good a thumbnail of the character of this town as you’re likely to get. Barry is lying on his back on the bed with his knees up. He’s badly in need of a shower. As for me, I’m badly in need of a shot to the brain. Because I can’t believe it took me so long to work it out. Leo doesn’t look anything like either of the Masons, and if nothing else, the timeline should have screamed at me – if they were married in December 2005 and Leo is ten, Sharon would have been pregnant at the wedding. Which she clearly wasn’t.
Barry sits up and runs his hands through his hair, then he swings his legs round over the side of the bed.
‘I didn’t think it was any of your bloody business,’ he says eventually. But the fight has gone out of him. ‘Daisy’s the one who’s missing, not him.’
He rubs the back of his neck and looks up at me. ‘Should I be talking to you without my lawyer?’
‘It’s not related to the pornography charge. But you can call her if you want. We’ve got an extension, by the way – we can hold you for another twenty-four hours before we have to charge you.’
He stares at me for a moment, considering, then sighs. ‘OK, have it your way.’
‘So why did you decide to adopt? You’re clearly able to have kids of your own.’
‘We didn’t know that then, though, did we? Look, I only asked Moira for a divorce because Sharon was pregnant, but then she lost the baby and she was all over the place. The doctor said she might not be able to have another – they said IVF was the only option but the odds were against us. We’d be lucky if it took. So we decided to adopt.’
‘But do the IVF anyway. Just in case.’
‘Right.’
‘How old was Leo when you got him?’
‘About six months.’
‘You were lucky – there aren’t many babies available these days.’
He looks away.
‘Mr Mason?’
‘If you must know, they said he might have – problems. But when we saw him he seemed OK. Nice-looking kid. Took to Sharon straight away.’
And Sharon was desperate to have a child – desperate to keep Barry from changing his mind and going back to Moira. And the money. And his real son.
‘And then Sharon got pregnant after all.’
‘We could hardly believe it. Talk about bad timing. It was only a few weeks after the adoption went through. But by then it was too late. We couldn’t give him back.’
I can’t believe I’m hearing this.
‘What sort of problems?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You said they told you Leo had problems.’
‘They only said he might have. It was too early to be sure. He might just as well be perfectly fine. And he was – when he was a baby. Always really quiet, never gave us much trouble. Not like Daisy – she was always a bugger to get to sleep. Cried for hours – drove us both crazy. It was only later, when he was about four or five, that Leo began to get a bit, you know, weird.’
‘And when they told you he might have problems – did they say why?’
‘Apparently his mother was doing time and couldn’t look after him properly. Had a drink problem, you know the sort of thing. That’s why he’d been put up for adoption.’
I take a deep breath. It makes sense. The awkwardness, the mood swings. And what I saw with my own eyes, only two days ago. The question is whether that’s all it is. Whether it stops there.
‘What does your doctor say?’
He snorts. ‘Sharon doesn’t have any time for him – says all he ever does is poke his nose in. As far as she’s concerned Leo’s just a bit of a late developer and the doctor can’t prove otherwise. She says how we bring up our kids is nobody else’s business.’
And that adds up too. The last thing Sharon would want is for ‘them’ to think she was bringing up a less-than-perfect child. Or that she’d had to resort to adoption to get one.
‘All that trouble he’s been having at school – the lashing out, the bullying – ’
Barry looks exasperated. ‘Leo just needs to stick up for himself a bit more, that’s all – not be such a wuss. Look, it’s really not that bad. Honestly. Most days, you’d hardly even know. He’s a nice kid. Docile.’
‘Until recently.’
‘Yeah, well.’
‘Do you know why? Did something happen that might have triggered it?’
‘Search me.’
‘Does he know he’s adopted?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, we haven’t told him.’
I count to ten. ‘Don’t you think it’s getting rather late to tell him something like that? He’s bound to find out sometime, and the older he is, the worse it will be.’ I should know. My parents have never told me I’m not their biological son, but I’ve carried that knowledge round with me for over thirty years. I found out when I was not much older than Leo is now, rooting about in my father’s desk where I knew I shouldn’t have been. Snoopers learn no good of themselves. But that wasn’t why I didn’t let on; I knew, instinctively, the way children do, that this was something I could never raise with them, and even now, I never have.
Barry shrugs. ‘Not my call, mate. And it’s not worth arguing about it with Sharon. Believe me.’
* * *
—
Outside the cell, I strike the wall in frustration and jar my wrist. I’m still shaking the pain away when my phone goes. It’s Everett.
‘I wanted to call you last night,’ she says, ‘but I was worried it was too late. Look, I’ve been thinking about Leo. And I remembered that email from the doctor where he referred to Leo coming in for ‘his check-up’. That’s an odd phrase to use – makes it sound like he had them all the time. That’s not normal, is it? And the doctor was really cagey – all that stuff at the end about needing authorization to release any information about the family. I think he was trying to tell us something. Under cover of doing the exact opposite.’
So she’s got there too. She’s sharp, Everett. She’ll go far.
‘I got an email from Challow this morning,’ I say. ‘The evidence in the car proves Leo is adopted.’
‘Jesus – and they didn’t tell us?’
‘Don’t get me started. It doesn’t matter, of course, if that was all it was. But it’s not.’
I tell her what Mason just told me.
‘Shit,’ she says. And then, quickly, ‘Yesterday, when I was sitting with him, he said everything was “all his fault”, but when I asked him what he meant he clammed right up. And then this morning, I came back from the shower and found him under the bed. He said he’d lost something and he’d lit a match to help him look for it. The underside of the mattress had already caught. It’s a miracle the whole place didn’t go up. He said he found the matches in the drawer.’
My turn this time. ‘Shit.’
*