Matt Whyman - The Savages

This was largely down to the fact that Jack Greenway was waiting for her at the main doors. Standing beside his hybrid, he looked restless, wired, and a little nervous, all of which seemed to melt away when Amanda beamed at him.

Sometimes, Vernon English was thankful that he lived alone. His marriage had crashed long ago, but at least he was free to transform the lounge in his flat into an incident room without being made to take down all the photographs and notes he’d taped to the wall. This wasn’t something he’d done before, but the Savage case was beginning to consume him.

‘What am I missing?’ he asked himself, sitting back on his sofa with his feet on the coffee table. The wall opposite was plastered with long-range snaps of the family, including Oleg and Jack Greenway, as well as magazine adverts featuring Lulabelle Hart. He’d pencilled arrows between some pictures, and on others added colour-coded cards with his thoughts on them. Most made sense at the time. Looking at it all now, the private investigator could be sure of only one thing: he’d need a professional decorator to restore the room once he’d cracked this case.

Leaning forward, with his eyes locked on the wall, Vernon reached for the burrito in the box on the table. It had been cold for some time, but even though he’d been distracted he wasn’t going to give up on it. Chewing on his takeaway supper, the private investigator focused his attention on the section of the wall devoted to Titus Savage. The man was behind the death of the model, and he would not rest until he’d uncovered evidence to prove it.

At the same time, Vernon could not ignore the fact that he was a little jealous. Titus was a success in the City, where being ruthless was basically a virtue, while at home he showed a different side entirely and his family clearly adored him for it.

‘Some people have it all,’ he muttered, and eased himself to his feet. ‘Others make do with the leftovers.’

Taking himself to the window overlooking the pound shop on the high street with the sale on, Vernon pressed his forehead to the glass and sighed. He kept a handful of pictures in simple wooden frames on the ledge in front of him. All of them were taken during his marriage, from the honeymoon to the last Christmas they’d spent together. In each one, the face of his ex-wife had been carefully obliterated with marker pen. As far as he was concerned, she no longer existed. Even so, he wasn’t prepared to deny himself the fact that he had once shared his life with someone special. He picked up one of the frames and studied it. Had things worked out between them, he too could’ve been a loving father. Whatever Titus hid from the world, Vernon English could only begrudgingly admire his commitment in building a family and keeping it together.

‘What is your secret?’ Replacing the picture on the ledge, Vernon returned his attention to the wall. His eyes darted from one image to another, following pencil trails and then imagining fresh alternatives. Yet again, it just looked like a tangled mess. Vernon turned away, his thoughts switching to the possibility that there might be some hot sauce in the kitchen cupboard, and then came around full circle. ‘There it is,’ he said, and took a step back to gain some perspective. This time, he didn’t focus on individual surveillance shots or his scribbled hunches. He just stared at the little gap at the very heart of it all. All of a sudden, it looked like the eye of the storm. Vernon grabbed a pen from the top of the TV and scribbled one word in the space. He underlined it with a slash before standing back once again. Everything he had discovered about the family was tied to it in some way. What he’d missed until now was that it had to include the death of Lulabelle Hart.

‘Food,’ declared Vernon, reading it out loud as if that might help bring him clarity. It didn’t prove anything, but just then there was something in it that the private investigator pledged to pick apart. ‘Food is the key,’ he said with some confidence, and glanced at a shot of Titus once more, ‘or I’ll eat my words.’

A cheer broke out from the boys who had gathered on one side of the skateboard ramp. One of their number had just pulled a frontside five-forty turn. It was an impressive trick, but went completely ignored by the girls opposite. Sasha Savage, Maisy and Faria sat across from them with their backs turned, elbows flat on the safety rail and their feet dangling over the drop. They were on lunch break, talking about everything and nothing in particular.

‘You’re quiet,’ Faria said to Sasha. ‘Everything all right?’

‘I’m good,’ Sasha replied. ‘Just hungry.’

Faria offered her a cigarette.

‘It’ll kill your appetite,’ she said. ‘And then some.’

Sasha smiled but declined the offer.

‘She’s waiting for Jack,’ said Maisy, and flashed them both a look. ‘It would be rude to eat now if he’s planning on sharing his lunchbox with you.’

Everyone giggled at this, including Sasha.

‘Seriously, he’s been good like that,’ said Faria. ‘Why can’t he do the same thing for us two?’

‘Because we eat meat,’ Maisy said, as if to remind her. ‘Plus he doesn’t fancy us.’

‘How do you know?’

‘When was the last time you saw the inside of his car? Sasha’s the only one who gets a ride in there.’

‘Maisy!’ Sasha pretended to look scandalised, only for Faria to adopt a charitable expression. Sasha picked up on it straight away. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ Faria replied quickly, but found she couldn’t escape Sasha’s gaze. ‘Probably nothing, anyway.’

‘What nothing?’ asked Sasha.

Faria sighed to herself.

‘My sister saw him at the weekend,’ she said. ‘He was up at the university campus. Dropping off some girl.’

Faria stopped there and turned to Sasha as if perhaps she could provide an explanation.

‘Jack was upset with me the last time I saw him,’ she said, thinking back to that moment in the house, ‘but he wouldn’t do that.’

‘It was his hybrid,’ insisted Faria. ‘For sure.’

Sasha held Faria‘s searching gaze for a moment more, and then broke off with a shrug.

‘You don’t seem too concerned,’ said Maisy.

‘It’s probably something to do with his new vegan regime,’ said Sasha. ‘Jack is taking things much further with his food than I’m prepared to go, but I’m sure he’ll have an explanation. I’ll ask when I see him.’

‘Why was he upset with you?’ asked Faria.

‘Not me as such,’ said Sasha. ‘My brother confessed to a practical joke he’d played on him.’

Both Faria and Maisy sucked the air between their teeth.

‘Did Jack suffer any injuries?’ Faria enquired.

‘He’ll survive,’ said Sasha, and winced to herself at the memory of the knife she’d pulled without thinking.

‘Whatever the case, he’s late,’ said Maisy, checking the time on her phone. ‘He’s usually here for you by now.’

Leaving straight after morning lessons, Jack Greenway’s journey from school to the university took twenty minutes. The journey was unplanned, but he felt compelled to catch up with the young woman who had moved into his thoughts. Amanda Dias wasn’t hard for him to track down. He found her handing out leaflets at the main entrance to campus.

‘Do you drink milk?’ she asked Jack when he trotted up to greet her.

‘Sometimes,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I should stop that, too, shouldn’t I?’

‘It would be kinder on cattle to drink their blood,’ she said. ‘Did you know that in some industrial dairies calves are forcibly removed from their mothers so they don’t drink from the udder. It might mean a higher volume of milk for the farmers, but how would you like to be taken from the teat?’