Catherine Steadman - Something in the Water - A Novel

Phil, Michelle, and I take the sofa while DCI Andy perches facing us on a low leather pouf on the other side of the cluttered coffee table.

“So, I’m not sure how much Michelle has told you, but Holli was on probation after her release. She’s violated that by leaving the house. And she most certainly violated it now by leaving the country.” He says it lightly.

Fuck. This is a little more serious than I had hoped. I didn’t think it’d get that far. Holli’s fled the country?

He continues: “That’s one thing. The probation violation is a separate issue, though. The main issue we’re facing right now is that we’re extremely concerned Holli may be trying to make her way into Syria with Ashar Farooq. That appears to be her plan. Both her and Ash’s plan. We know she boarded a flight at Stansted Airport fourteen hours ago to Istanbul. We’ve got CCTV footage of them leaving the airport in Istanbul and boarding a bus. It’s safe to say we’re concerned. So that’s where we are.” His tone is serious now, businesslike.

Syria. This is huge. And the awful truth is: this is a documentarian’s wet dream. Events superseding planned narrative structure. Filmmaking heaven.

But I definitely don’t feel that as I sit here. I see what a great story this could be. I see it, but all I feel now is dread. A barreling wall of horror speeding toward me. This is real. Holli has done something really bad. There will be a full investigation. I am involved. We are all involved. And there is a large bag of loose diamonds under my loft insulation. Which will look fairly incriminating if the police decide to search our house. Very incriminating.

With every bone in my body I wish that Holli would just breeze back in through the door, right this moment, sullen and vicious, and just be a bit rude to us all.

“Our job is simple,” DCI Foster continues.

“First, we need to find out where Holli is, make sure she’s safe, if possible bring her home. Second, we need to find out who she’s been associating with, at what stage she became radicalized in prison, and how she managed to leave the UK. That’s the information I’m currently interested in.”

How does he think we can help with that?

“Now, I want to be clear: in terms of Holli herself, as of now she hasn’t done anything wrong. The probation violation is very small fry compared to the other things at play here; we’re not interested in punishing Holli for running away. It’s more important to get her home and talking to us about what’s gone on. How she managed to obtain her documents, her contacts. We’re looking to help her, and any other girls like her in this situation. You’ll have to trust me when I say this: it’s not the place they think it is out there. They tend to target younger girls, problem girls, promise great things, and by the time the girls get out there it’s too late to change their minds and they’re trapped. Holli’s going to find that all out pretty soon, if she hasn’t already. They don’t care about these girls; they’re trophies. They are expendable.” Andy looks to Michelle, holds her gaze. “Which is why we need to get her home as soon as we can.”

Michelle has gone quite pale. Her hand fumbles a journey down to her cigarette pocket; she’s forgotten that she left them on the kitchen table, and for some reason, this thought makes me incredibly sad.

“Now, Erin—” The DCI turns his high beams on me. “We weren’t aware you were filming this morning. I guess Holli didn’t pass that information on to her mother. We’ve been talking to the guys down at Holloway Prison about your interview footage of Holli. Obviously, no one’s seen it yet, but we’d be extremely interested to take a look at it. I think what you have there might be the only up-to-date footage we have of Holli. Aside from CCTV footage, which isn’t any real help to us, if I’m honest. I’ve got a lot of departments that are fairly eager to see what you’ve got. Do you still have the footage?”

I nod. “It’s not edited. It’s just raw footage at the moment. I haven’t gone through it myself yet, so I can’t say if there’s anything that stood out in terms of—”

“That’s not a problem,” he interrupts. He hands me a card. Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Foster. His number and email. “Transfer whatever you’ve got as soon as you can.”

“No problem.” I take the card and make a show of pocketing it safely. Policemen make me nervous. They always have. I feel him searching my face, scanning me for something, anything, a peg to hang guilt on. I struggle to keep my face open, blank.

Andy turns to Phil. “You weren’t present at the interview in Holloway, were you? You never met Holli yourself?”

“No, never met Holli. I’m meeting Alexa tomorrow,” he answers, unfazed. But then, he’s not connected to a plane crash, two murders, theft, fraud, and smuggling. I think the worst Phil’s ever done is smoke the occasional joint. And maybe an illegal download or two.

The DCI’s gaze shifts back to me. “Ah, yes, your documentary.” He smiles. I can’t quite tell the smile’s meaning. “Who else’s in it again?”

He knows. He’s almost certainly checked. I hold his gaze.

“Eddie Bishop at Pentonville, Alexa Fuller at Holloway, and Holli,” I reel off. Everything is on record; I’ve got a paper trail to prove it.

Andy gives a little nod. It’s a good group. I know it’s a good group.

He turns back to Phil.

“Anyway, Phil, you’re actually okay to knock off early if you want. It’s just Erin I need. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I have to. So feel free to scarper.” A flash of that smile again.

Phil eyes me. I nod. I’ll be fine . As he leaves he glances back, eyebrows raised. It’s been a weird morning.

This documentary could be bigger than either of us imagined. I know it. Phil knows it too. He’ll be on his MacBook trawling Holli’s social media platforms as soon as he can find a café with Wi-Fi.

Michelle is sent off by Andy, ostensibly to make more bad coffee. Once she’s gone he leans in toward me, elbows on knees, serious.

“So, Erin, your time with Holli, did you notice anything? Anything at all that might have seemed unusual? That might have struck you as odd? Did she mention anything at all?” He looks older when he’s not smiling. Slacker, beaten down, more like I’d expect a detective to look.

I think back to the interview. Two months ago now. It may as well be a year ago for all that’s happened since. Did I notice anything that might suggest her traveling to the Middle East? Did I?

Amal’s image flashes into my mind. The prison guard that day. Middle Eastern Amal. Amal, meaning “hope” in Arabic. Amal, with the kind eyes.

I instantly feel shame.

I push the thought away. I’m not that sort of person. I refuse to be that sort of person. Amal is just an average Londoner trying to do his job; he just happens to have an Arabic name. Stop it, Erin.

Andy sits waiting for an answer.

“I wouldn’t say anything specific, no. Holli was…she was, you know, slightly unnerving, I’ll admit that. I can’t say there was anything definitive but I did get a general feeling from her.” I stop talking. Shit. I replay my words in my head. I probably should have just said “No, nothing” and left it at that. Idiot. I really don’t need the scrutiny of being part of a police investigation right now. Mark and I can only stand up to so much background-delving before the shit hits the fan. My first retainer payment from my Saudi Arabian shell company will be transferring into my bank account in eight days. Money from the Middle East after a girl goes missing won’t look good to a man like DCI Andy Foster.

“Unnerving? In what way?” He looks worried now. I’ve made him concerned. Yes, I seem to have snagged an invisible trip wire. Damn.