Free Bitter Fruits: DI Erica Martin Book 1 (Erica Martin Thriller) by Alice Clark-Platts

He shifted imperceptibly. ‘I barely sawher though. I saw her a few days before as well. There was a big hockey tournament on the Thursday down at Maiden Castle. A few of my mates were playing, Emily was playing. We went down about three in the afternoon and, when the tournament finished, ended up having a few beers in the bar.’
    Martin looked over at Jones.
    ‘The one which overlooks the sports field?’ Jones asked.
    ‘Yeah. Emily was there, I’m pretty sure. Had a few cheeky ones and then headed home. Quite early. I’ve got a nine a.m. every Friday morning, which is a pain.’ He seemed to wilt then, rubbing his hand over his face.
    ‘Are you okay, Nick?’ Jones asked softly.
    ‘Yeah. I mean, no. It’s a bit of a shock I suppose.’ His hands were trembling, Martin noticed. ‘You didn’t speak to Emily then, at Maiden Castle?’ she persisted gently. ‘Just saw her there with others?’
    ‘I think so. Might have said hello or something.’ He directed this at Jones, seeming to prefer her easier audience. ‘Loads of people there to see, you know?’
    ‘At the Regatta, do you remember who Emily might have been with? Who were her friends?’ Jones asked.
    ‘Um, Annabel was there, I think. Emily didn’t live with anyone, though, you know, like in a house share. So, she was friends with lots of different people. Idon’t know them all.’ Nick rubbed his knees and gave a loud sigh. ‘Look, is this going to take much longer? If I’m missing this lecture, I at least want to make hockey practice at lunchtime.’
    Martin looked at him. A boy who had heard about the death of his sometime girlfriend only this morning and yet came to his lecture anyway, played hockey at lunchtime as if it were a normal day. A boy who said he’d heard about the death before anyone else, before any official announcement had been made. Another poker chip of possibility spun into the pile, resting in a corner of Martin’s mind.
    ‘Where were you, Nick? On Sunday night?’
    Nick looked at the women. ‘Seriously?’
    Martin nodded.
    ‘I was there. At the Regatta. Ask anyone. Loads of people saw me. I left about 7.30 p.m. and walked down the river back to the college bar. Had a drink and had an early night.’
    ‘You walked along the river? Which way did you go?’ Martin asked.
    ‘Down to Prebends and then turned left up to Joyce.’ Nick’s voice cracked in the middle of this sentence. He nodded as if to convince himself.
    ‘You didn’t see Emily on your way home?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Sure about that?’
    Nick met her eyes with his. ‘Yes.’
    ‘Is there anything you want to tell us, Nick? Anything at all, anything out of the ordinary?’
    There was the smallest of hesitations before the boy shook his head. ‘No, nothing,’ he said.
    ‘Do you know Simon Rush?’
    Nick looked startled. ‘Yes. He’s the college president. Why?’
    ‘Was he friends with Emily, do you know?’
    He shrugged. ‘Not especially. He’s a third year. Has his own crowd.’ He looked at them intently. ‘Is he involved in this? Do you think he’s involved?’
    ‘Do you have a Facebook account?’ Martin asked, ignoring the question.
    Nick looked puzzled for a moment. ‘Yes, of course,’ he answered as if Martin had asked him if the sky was blue.
    ‘Twitter? The Durham Media account?’
    Nick nodded. ‘Yes and yes.’
    ‘Anything you want to tell us about that? About Emily’s Facebook account, for example?’
    Martin noticed a scarlet tinge begin to creep across the boy’s face.
    ‘No,’ he said, less certainly.
    ‘Sure? No photographs of you and Emily you think might be in any way relevant to this case?’
    There was silence. Martin could suddenly see the stress Nick was under, the pulse point on the line of his jawbone jumping like a bean. He gave a nervouslaugh. ‘Well, there’s no point denying it, is there? You must have seen it.’
    ‘Seen what, Nick?’ Martin asked quietly.
    ‘The photo Shorty put online. The one I took of