I had barely stepped out the door when the police car pulled up. Lisa was out of it before the engine even stopped, and she had that look—the one that meant this wasn’t a casual chat. “Brody McAllister, I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft. ”
I laughed.
I actually laughed. “Whoa, I haven’t done anything. ”
She recited my rights like she was ordering a coffee. Standard.
Routine. Except nothing about this was routine, because the phone I’d found in that skip and sold to the pawn shop? Turned out it belonged to Todd—the man who’d been murdered. And now I was sitting in an interview room with my mum playing “appropriate adult” like she was commentating the Grand National.
I’ll tell you one thing about my mum: she doesn’t do quiet. She’d been going on about how the police couldn’t even “lay out the law properly” and how she’d had to use ChatGPT to understand my rights. Sally the copper wasn’t impressed. She kept telling her to sit down and shut up, but that’s like asking the tide not to come in.
“Where were you on the night of Theo’s murder? ” Sally asked. “I was looking after my sisters at home. I can confirm.
”
“Only it’s funny that,” she said, “because we’ve got dashcam footage of you on Coronation Street. And not a kid in sight. ”
My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten about the dashcams.
Everyone has them now, don’t they? Little cameras recording everything, watching everyone. “My sister got ill after pinching a bottle of Sally’s wine,” I said. “I went to get her a kebab.
”
Sally raised an eyebrow. “She did what? ”
“It’s just a trick for me. Chesney can confirm.
”
That’s when Daniel walked in. Now, Daniel and I have history. He’s my uncle, but he’s younger than me—a proper little squirt who thinks he knows everything. He’d had a go at me earlier for not showing up when I said I would, and then he’d got himself into this whole thing with Grandad.
Apparently, while I was out getting that kebab, Daniel had got drunk and ended up comatose on the sofa. Little Bertie—his kid—had nearly burnt the flat down. Then Bertie had wandered off and Grandad had taken him in, which Daniel had called “kidnapping. ”
Yeah.
It’s a mess. “Help? ” Daniel said when he saw me. “After what you put me through?
You need all the help you can get. ”
I stood my ground. “I’m here to talk to Dad. The two of you can go.
”
“I asked him to be here,” my mum said. “When you’re like this, Daniel, you’re not yourselves. And after yesterday… ”
“So what?
You scared to be alone with me? ” Daniel snapped. “Can you blame him? ” I said.
“You hurt him. And it’s only blind luck we’re having this conversation here and not around a hospital bed. ”
The tension in that room was thick enough to cut. Daniel had knocked Grandad over the day before—accidentally, he said, but still.
Grandad had ended up in A&E. And now Daniel wanted to act like the victim. “You do not take my son without my permission,” Daniel snarled at Grandad. “You were comatose,” Grandad shot back.
“Bertie almost burns the kitchen down and he takes a stroll down the cobbles. He could have been killed or worse. ”
“What’s worse than being killed? ” Daniel asked, all sarcastic.
Grandad didn’t back down. “You’re not taking this seriously. Bertie was in your care. ”
I watched the whole thing unfold, feeling like I was trapped in the middle of a storm.
Daniel was spinning out, that much was clear. And everyone could see it except him. Eventually, Sally had had enough. She rescheduled the interview and told me to get out.
My mum grabbed my arm and dragged me out of there, muttering about how I’d learned my lesson. “About what? ” I said. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.
“And when we get home, we’ll have a little talk about your definition of the term babysitting. ”
Brilliant. Just brilliant. The thing is, I did find that phone in a skip.
I did sell it. I didn’t kill anyone. But now I’m caught up in a murder investigation, my own family’s at each other’s throats, and Daniel’s going around accusing Grandad and Adam of trying to take his kid away. And then the social worker showed up.
I was at home, minding my own business, when there was a knock at the door. Mum answered it, and there she was—a woman from Children’s Services, clipboard and all. “I need to speak to Daniel Osbourne,” she said. Daniel came out looking like he’d swallowed a wasp.
“I’m nearly 16 years old. I don’t need you arranging playdates for me. ”
“Just don’t be so rude to your guest,” Mum said. “He’s not my guest.
You invited him. ”
“I thought it would be nice for him to come and have a little bit of tea at our house. ”
“Well, you enjoy tea with him then, ’cause I’m off out. ”
“Where?
”
“Me and Will are going to see a movie. ”
“No, you are not. ”
“YES, I AM. You can’t control ME LIKE THIS.
”
“I can and I will. ”
Daniel stormed off, leaving Mum standing there with the social worker and her clipboard, looking like she’d just been hit by a truck. She’s not happy. Fiz knows as well as you and I how dangerous Will is.
The question is, what are you going to do about it? I didn’t have an answer. I was too busy trying to figure out how my life had gone from selling a phone I found in a skip to being caught in the middle of a murder investigation, a family war, and now a social services assessment. Someone had reported Daniel to the council.
Anonymous call, they said. Some nosy neighbor. Daniel was convinced it was one of us. “Which one of you was it?
” he demanded, looking around the family like we were suspects in a crime drama. “I had nothing to do with it,” Grandad said. “Nor me,” Adam said. “I’d try to teach you a lesson a different way,” Grandad added.
“Yeah, fairly moronic way. ”
Daniel turned on him. “Oh, you’ve made your disapproval of what he did quite clear. But you see, I think that going to the social services is much more up your street.
Was it you? ”
“Of course not. I really hope you know me better than that. ”
“What about you?
” Daniel said, turning to me. “You seem to have a lot to say for yourself earlier, didn’t you? ”
“I was defending earlier. Besides which I barely know you, so why would I care?
”
“Please don’t tell me it was you, Kirk. Get a grip. This isn’t the end of an Agatha Christie film where you go around all the suspects in the drawing room. ”
“More importantly,” Grandad said, “what did social services say?
”
“Oh, they have to do an assessment,” Daniel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah. Hours of interviews, home visits, red tape. Do you think that’s going to be fun for Bertie?
”
“Could be a positive thing,” I said. “Positive thing? ” Daniel spat. “That speaks of a man who’s never cared about anybody else in his life.
He’s my son. And one of you is trying to take him away from me. ”
The room went silent. Everyone looked at everyone else, and for the first time, I saw something in Daniel’s eyes that I hadn’t seen before.
Fear. Real, genuine fear. Because whoever had made that call—whoever had reported Daniel to social services—they’d started something that none of us could stop.
And I had a horrible feeling that this was only the beginning.
