Кара Хантер - All the Rage

`˜I'm not sure.'

But I don't like it. And when I see what Somer's sent me I like it even less.

`˜Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.'

I hear Somer sigh. `˜I wish I could.'

`˜And you're sure? There's no chance we got this wrong?'

`˜We double-checked. The Applefords only have one other child. Nadine, born 6th June 2002.'

`˜So Faith isn't their daughter. She's their son.'

`˜That's not how she would see it, sir. I mean, yes, that's what's on the birth certificate, but I think Faith would say she was always a girl inside.'

And, of course, everything now falls into place. Why she didn't want to be examined by a doctor. Why she didn't want to talk to us `“ why she didn't even want to report what had happened to her. Why her mother is being so protective. It may even explain why the Applefords moved here in the first place. It was a fresh start; a chance for Daniel to leave his old identity behind and begin a new life. As a girl.

`˜There's no record of a change of name `“ no application for a Gender Recognition Certificate?'

`˜No, sir.'

`˜So legally speaking, Faith is still Daniel.'

`˜Quite possibly. Which would mean she probably had to apply to the college in that name. I think that's why the principal was so cagey. She told us she `њcouldn't tell us anything`ќ about Faith's personal life. We assumed that meant she didn't know anything, but looking back now, I think she chose that phrase very carefully.'

I take a deep breath. Alex has gone back to the sitting room. I can hear the sounds of the TV, the rain on the glass lantern above my head. I know what I have to do; I'm just not looking forward to doing it.

`˜OK, Somer. Leave it with me. I'll call Harrison and tell him we want to escalate this. To a possible hate crime.'

* * *

***

It's late, but there's no way Somer is getting to sleep any time soon. She picks up her phone and hesitates, wondering if she'll wake him. But she knows he doesn't go to bed early and, right now, she'd really like to hear his voice.

He picks up at the second ring: he wasn't asleep.

`˜Hey, I was hoping you'd call. How's it going?'

`˜The case? Better, I think. We may have made a breakthrough.'

`˜You have `“ or you have?'

She smiles; he's good at that: making her own up to her own achievements. It never comes naturally to her, not even now.

`˜You're not too shabby at this detective lark, are you?'

He laughs; he has a good laugh. `˜Well, I think I may have inside info on this particular suspect.'

She sits back in her chair and draws her feet up under her; she can hear the faint murmur of voices in the background.

`˜You watching TV?' She isn't really interested `“ she just wants to talk. About anything, nothing.

`˜Uh-huh.'

No need to ask what. For a DI with over ten years' experience Giles has an endearing addiction to true crime. TV, books, podcasts, you name it, he does it, as the recordings now racking up in Somer's Sky box testify. And she gets it `“ up to a point. She watched The Staircase with him and it was completely riveting, but Giles runs through the whole range, all the way from serious documentary to things like Wives with Knives and Southern Fried Homicide , which she'd initially assumed had to be spoofs. But as far as Giles is concerned, it's all equally fascinating. `˜Helps me understand why,' he'd said, when she quizzed him. `˜Why, after ten thousand years of human evolution, we're still doing such appallingly shitty things to each other.'

`˜How was your day?'

She can hear him stretch now. `˜OK. Not exactly exciting.'

`˜Have you heard from the girls about the summer?'

Saumarez has two daughters who live with their mother in Vancouver. Somer hasn't met them, but they're due over for the long school holidays. She's been trying not to let the prospect completely freak her out.

`˜Still waiting for confirmation on the flights.'

She tries to think of something to say, but the long day is taking its toll.

`˜It'll be OK,' he says, reading into her silence. `˜Really. They're nice kids. They just want me to be happy.'

And you make me so.

He doesn't say it, but perhaps he doesn't need to.

`˜Can't wait to meet them,' she says, realizing, suddenly, and with a jolt of happy amazement, that she actually means it.

* * *

There are different types of silence, in this job. There's the silence of anger and impotence, when we have absolute knowledge but absolutely no evidence and can't do a damn thing about it. There's the silence of pity, at the terrible things people go through, even `“ or especially `“ at the hands of those who are supposed to love them. And there's the silence of failure and regret, when we've done everything we can but it just isn't enough. But when Somer pins up the copy of Faith's birth certificate it's a different sort of silence entirely. You can almost smell the dread. At where this might go, what it might turn out to be.

`˜So you think it could be a hate crime?' says Gislingham, turning to me.

I nod. `˜I hope not, but yes. It has to be a possibility.'

Everett is looking uneasy. `˜But she's still insisting she wasn't attacked. How can we even start investigating it properly if she won't tell us what actually happened?'

`˜We'll just have to hope she changes her mind,' observes Baxter, who appears to be taking over Gis's old role as Principal Stater of the Bleeding Obvious.

There's another silence. A silence of evaluation. Of deliberation.

`˜So how do you want us to play it?' Quinn now.

I take a deep breath. `˜We start by re-interviewing Faith. Formally, this time, and as a matter of urgency. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that this needs to be handled extremely carefully, but there's no getting away from it: we need to know who else besides her family knows about her status.'

`˜I can check her social media again,' says Baxter. `˜See if there's anything online `“ if she's logging on to any discussion boards for trans kids. Nothing popped the first time but I wasn't exactly looking for it.'

`˜That's an excellent idea, Baxter,' says Gis, who's clearly putting his recent `˜Giving Feedback' session to good use (`˜be positive, use their name'; I should know, I was sent on that damn course myself).

`˜Yes, I agree,' I say. `˜And let's see if we can track down the father as well.'

Gis nods and makes a note.

I glance round again. There's only one person who hasn't said anything.

`˜Any thoughts, DC Asante?'

He considers, and he takes his time doing it. Evidently he, at least, isn't afraid of silence.

`˜No,' he says eventually. `˜I think we've covered everything.'

* * *

Everett and Somer are in the car, across the road from 36 Rydal Way. There's no sign of life inside. The postman knocked five minutes ago but no one answered. They can still see him, a few doors along, talking to an elderly woman with a chihuahua barking tetchily in the crook of her arm. Somer makes a face; her grandmother had one of those when she was a child. She's hated crabby little dogs ever since.

She looks at her watch. `˜The college said Faith had called in sick, so she should be here. And surely the mother must have left for work by now.'

`˜And taken the delightful Nadine with her,' says Ev heavily. She pushes open the car door. `˜So let's just cross our fingers we have more luck than the postie.'

The two women walk up the path to the front door. The street is now completely deserted, apart from a couple of jackdaws scrapping over some raw and unidentifiable roadkill. It's not the happiest of omens.