by Erin Kinsley
‘Not so far.’ Hagen pulls away from the kerb. ‘But this is a long way from over. This is another chance, another bite at the cherry.’
‘We all need to stay positive, but I don’t think that’s how the Keslakes would look at it, Brad,’ says Naylor, and Hagen has to agree she’s right.
When the phone rings, Evan is on the sofa eating his fish fingers, watching a nature programme about grizzly bears in Yellowstone National Park. Jack is in the kitchen, dumping the uneaten remains of his own meal in the bin. He’s ready for a whisky, but won’t allow himself to open the bottle before the clock shows 7 p.m.
It’s cold at the foot of the stairs. Maybe the whole house is colder than it should be. His and Dora’s battle over the central heating thermostat was a running gag between them, her turning it up, him grumblingly turning it down. The place feels chilled, and before he takes the call, he turns it up a few degrees and blows a kiss for her into the air.
‘Dad? It’s me.’
Jack’s pleased to hear Matt’s voice. Matt will indulge him in his grief, giving him a chance to reminisce, to talk about Dora, which if the truth be known, in his hurting heart of hearts is, at the moment, all he wants to do.
‘How are you doing, Dad?’
‘Oh, I’m all right,’ says Jack, and as he says the words, tears prick his eyes. ‘Soldiering on. What else can you do? I was going through a few things this afternoon, having a bit of a clear-out, but I didn’t get very far. Everything I thought I should throw out, I ended up putting back in its place. Just like your mother would have done.’
‘It’s early days,’ says Matt. ‘Don’t go worrying about that yet. You and I can do a bit when we come up for Christmas.’
At the prospect of Christmas, Jack sighs.
‘She didn’t make it, did she, bless her. It’ll be a strange do without her.’
‘Yes, it will. But for Evan’s sake . . .’
‘Oh, yes, for Evan’s sake,’ says Jack. ‘I expect he’ll want a tree.’
‘We’ll bring a tree. We’ll bring turkey, pudding, the lot. All you have to do is sit and drink your Glenfiddich and wear a party hat. You can do that, Dad, for Mum’s sake. Listen, can Evan hear what you’re saying?’
‘He’s watching telly. I’m out in the hall.’
‘Have you seen the news today?’
‘We don’t watch the news. You know that.’
‘Well, first of all please make sure you don’t, not in front of Evan. Something’s happened. We’ve had the police round. They came to see Claire this afternoon.’
‘Have they got the bastards?’
‘I only wish they had. Actually, it’s the opposite. Another boy’s been taken.’ Jack takes a deep breath and decides to sit down. ‘Are you there, Dad?’
‘I’m here. That’s very bad news.’
‘They think it’s the same gang or ring or whatever they call themselves. The same ones who took Evan.’
‘God help him. How old?’
‘Eleven.’
Jack shakes his head.
‘And does this unfortunate young man have a name?’
‘Liam.’
‘If I ever get near them, they’ll wish they’d never been born.’
‘The thing is, Dad, the police want to talk to Evan. Hardly surprising, really. They want to see if he knows anything that can help them. He must know something, after all. He might know plenty, if only he’d talk.’
‘He says enough, these days,’ says Jack, ‘enough to get by. There’s too much chatter in the world anyway, if you ask me.’
‘Claire and I talked, and we think we should try and help, as one family to another. If there’d been anything anyone could have done to help us, we’d have been desperate for them to do it. We just think it wouldn’t be fair to say no, for Liam’s sake. For his parents’ and grandparents’ sake. What do you think?’
Jack considers, and as he’s thinking, he believes he hears a footfall on the stairs, on the second step from the top which always creaks. He turns and looks up to the landing. No one is there.
But it makes him think of Dora and what she would say. She’d try and help, without the slightest hesitation.
‘If you agree then I’ll agree, but it isn’t down to us, is it? It’s up to Evan.’
‘We think you could persuade him. We think he’ll listen to you.’
‘And if he says yes? Have we got to come hiking down there? I don’t believe I’m up to driving all that way, not the way I’ve been feeling. My ticker hasn’t been good. The doctor’s given me some new pills.’
‘They’d come up there, Dad. And either me or Claire would come too. You won’t have to drive anywhere.’
Jack sighs.
‘All right, I’ll do my best. As long as I’m not to blame if he refuses.’
‘No one’s to blame for anything,’ says Matt, ‘except those bastards. Look on the bright side, we might see them in court yet.’
‘We should see them swinging from the highest branches of the tallest tree in the land,’ says Jack, ‘but of course that’ll never happen.’
‘Never say never,’ says Matt, and he laughs a laugh with little mirth. ‘Will you let us know how it goes?’
‘Aye, I’ll keep you posted.’
Jack hangs up the phone and glances at his watch. Close on seven. A decision must be made: Glenfiddich first, or talk to Evan. The Glenfiddich should be deferred. The music on the closing credits of the nature programme is just beginning and now would be a good time, before Evan’s absorbed in something else. Once Evan has focused on something these days, it can be difficult to snap him out of it. When he enters the world of grizzly bears or whales or dolphins, he seems to join the creatures there, and slip away.
He considers the thermostat and decides to leave the heating turned up till bedtime. As he heads for the lounge, he feels that strange fluttering in his heart, a palpitation his new tablets are supposed to have stopped. He stands still, waiting for it to pass, but the fluttering continues and tickles his throat, making him cough. A minute goes by, and the palpitation passes, but just when he thinks it’s settled down, there’s a stabbing pain in his chest which takes his breath away. It hurts, but only briefly, there and gone in a flash so he can tell himself it was nothing. Did he take his pills at lunchtime? Maybe he forgot. He should be using that special box of Dora’s with the compartments for a week’s worth of pills, Monday through Sunday, morning, noon and night, if he could only find the motivation to sort it out.
He’s so tired. As he enters the lounge, Evan shifts some of his bee books out of the way, and pats the sofa next to him for Jack to come and join him rather than sitting in his big armchair. Jack’s glad to sit down, and decides he’ll do the smart thing – the thing Dora would tell him to do – and skip the whisky tonight. Evan’s offering him the TV remote, asking him to choose something to watch, but when Jack takes it, he switches off the set.
‘I’ve got a better idea than telly,’ he says. ‘First of all, you and I have to have a bit of a chat. And after that, I think it’s time we had a re-match at draughts. I seem to remember last time we played, you won, and I want a chance to reclaim my laurels. What do you say?’
Evan smiles, nods, and is going to jump up from the sofa to fetch the draught board. Jack touches his arm to stop him.
‘Not so fast, ace,’ he says. ‘That was your dad on the phone. I’m going to tell you something now which might upset you, but much as we might not like it, sometimes upsetting things come knocking at the door. Like losing your grandma. We’d have done anything to stop that but there wasn’t anything to be done. What’s happened, happened, and we have to do our best and get on. Like the business when you were gone from us.’
He feels Evan stiffen, his muscles tense, and knows he might be about to run from the room.
‘You must listen t
o me, son. There’s something we have to talk about and it can’t wait until we’re entirely ready to face it because the world doesn’t work like that. It’s here and it’s urgent, not for us – if it were down to me it would never be mentioned, ever, you know that – but because someone else is involved now and I think we should try and help them. But before we talk about what your dad said, you and I are going to set some ground rules, because the world might be coming looking for us but that doesn’t mean to say it has to come here. This place is a special place, wouldn’t you say, and I see no reason why we should let anyone in who we don’t love or like or want here. Only nice people are welcome. And I’m not saying the police aren’t nice people, but they deal with bad people, and we don’t want anyone here either who’s got any connection to anyone bad. So you and I can agree where our boundaries are. And I say, we make the stream at the bottom of the lane there our frontier. No one we don’t want here crosses that. Everywhere this side of that line – this house and the barn and our fields – is sanctuary. Do you know what I mean by sanctuary?’
Evan shakes his head.
‘It means a place where you can’t be touched, somewhere protected by an invisible shield. This is our land. One day I hope it’ll be your dad’s and yours to look after, the same as my dad – your great-grandad – looked after it before me. So picture it with a great, high imaginary wall down by the stream, and that’s how it’s going to be. OK?’
Evan nods uncertainly.
‘The thing is, son, those men who took you, they’ve taken someone else. A boy called Liam.’
Instantly, Evan curls into the smallest ball he can make. With both hands, he covers his face, then covers his ears instead and squeezes his eyes shut.
‘Evan, you must listen to me. The police need your help to find him. You know things that could help him, could bring him home much faster than . . .’ He thinks of Dora’s words when Evan was found, her dismay at their negligence in not spending all their time between his leaving and returning in searching for him, in not dedicating themselves to that quest. Ever since she said that, Jack has felt the same. Why did they do nothing? Why did they rely on the authorities? ‘Well, faster than you came back to us.’
Evan is crying, and Jack finds it hard to bear. He pulls Evan’s hands from his ears, and hugs him close.
‘I know, I know. Sssh now, ssh. There’s another thing about this place of ours I forgot to say, and that is that it breeds Ferrers men who are brave as lions. When something has to be faced, we tackle it square on. Don’t we, old man? Don’t we? If I could do this for you, you know I would, and your dad and your mum and your grandma would have done too, but only you can do this. What they need to know is locked away in your funny old brain-box.’ He taps Evan on the head. ‘It’s all locked away in there, and it’s time for some of it to come out. They’ll be nice people who’ll want to talk to you, but they won’t be coming here. They’ll have a special place where you’ll go, a safe place, and I wouldn’t doubt for one second they’ll be supplying all the chocolate digestives you can eat. But we have to think of that boy Liam. If we don’t try and help him and help his mum and dad get him home safe, then are we good people? I think if we don’t help him, we might come one day to regret it. Do you want some time to think about it?’
Tucked away under his grandpa’s arm, Evan nods.
‘All right then. You be having a little think and you let me know what you decide. Now, are you ready to take on your mighty grandpa at that game?’
Evan shakes his head.
‘We’ll save that for another time then, shall we? Is there something good to watch on the old goggle-box?’
Evan doesn’t move, so Jack takes the controller and finds an episode of Dad’s Army they’ve watched a couple of times before, vintage humour from an era Jack remembers well but which seems distant and out of reach, as remote in time as the dated clothes and set furnishings and even the characters. Do people like that still exist? Did they ever? Was it a more innocent time, really? he wonders. Weren’t the same horrors out there that are out there now?
Evan isn’t really watching; Jack can tell because he isn’t laughing at the gags. Twenty minutes later, Evan reaches for the controller and mutes the sound.
There’s silence between them. Then Evan says, ‘I will help Liam.’
Briefly Jack closes his eyes, picturing all the drama to come, more disturbance in an already too-disturbed young life.
‘That’s my boy,’ he says. ‘My brave boy. You’re doing the right thing.’
Evan says nothing else but stands and leaves him, and Jack hears him padding up the stairs in his Star Wars socks, and the creaking as he reaches the second step from the top.
That night, in the small hours, Jack hears Evan shout, in the torment of his first nightmare in several weeks. Maybe they should leave him be, let him put it all behind him. But there’s another boy out there, another Evan, and how could they live with themselves if they did nothing to help?
In the panic of his dream, Evan shouts again. Jack climbs from his bed and puts on his dressing gown and slippers. Opening Evan’s door as quietly as he can, he finds Biggles Delivers the Goods on the nightstand and, by the light seeping in from the landing, begins to read.
THIRTY-SIX
10 December
From the third floor, the view from Campbell’s office window is of a typical British December: wet roads in cold rain, sky a persistent, drab grey, bright, twinkling lights forcing a mood of manic festivity and panic shopping. Campbell’s got all his official Christmas cards arranged on his desk, tasteful snowy scenes with generic greetings from various organisations – the Prison Officers’ Association, branches of the Courts and Tribunals Service, Victim Support – and scrawled signatures with no messages. As far as Naylor can see, there isn’t a personal card among them.
Campbell must be expecting a long meeting, since he’s asked her and Hagen to sit down, but Naylor sees no reason it shouldn’t be quick. Campbell’s got a short ‘to do’ list by his left arm. Naylor can’t read his handwriting upside down, but the items he’s completed have been crossed out using a ruler.
Campbell sits back in his chair.
‘So, give me some good news.’
‘Liam’s abduction has prompted the Ferrers family to encourage Evan to talk to us,’ says Naylor. ‘Of course we’re hoping something will come out of that.’
‘I hope so too,’ says Campbell. ‘How are you going to proceed?’
‘We’ve requested a room at Harrogate station as being the nearest place to where Evan’s staying with viable facilities. We might have interviewed him at home but he doesn’t want that. We’re thinking Rose should go with me rather than relying on North Yorks to provide someone. Women only, of course, and Evan’s met me and Rose before. The fewer new faces he sees, the better.’
‘Sounds good,’ says Campbell. ‘When will you meet?’
‘We’re planning to travel up this afternoon, just as soon as Rose can confirm childcare arrangements, with a view to seeing Evan tomorrow morning, as early as we can. Obviously Cheshire are pushing us to get on with it but it’s not an easy situation. As we understand it, Evan’s still very fragile. If we go too fast, he might clam up on us again.’
‘Rose knows what she’s doing,’ says Campbell.
‘With respect, Sir, she didn’t get far last time,’ says Hagen. ‘I think we need to stay mindful that Evan’s been highly traumatised and he may never open up, or not before we’re collecting our pensions, anyway. Maybe you could advise Cheshire that we’re doubtful of a result through this interview and suggest they pursue every other avenue they’ve got as aggressively as possible.’
‘I’m sure they’re already doing that. But we can hardly blame them for keeping their fingers crossed, can we?’
‘As long as there’s no reliance,’ says Hagen. ‘That’s all I’m saying. The other
thing to bear in mind is that the family’s not exactly overwhelmed with what we did for them. Evan was only recovered by a happy accident, so I can’t say I blame them. If he reacts badly, I can see them pulling the plug. We’ve had no resources on this case for months. Now it’s all hands to the pumps again. It just feels like we’re fire-fighting all the time, instead of taking a methodical approach which might have got a result.’
‘I’ll be sure to pass your comments on to the Chief Constable, Bradley,’ says Campbell, ‘but you’re not saying anything I don’t already know. Just do your best. And let’s hope Rose and Rachel come back from Yorkshire with something we can use.’
‘Is that your strategy for a fast-track promotion?’ Naylor asks Hagen as they walk down the stairs. ‘Telling him he’s mishandling our caseload?’
‘It wants saying,’ says Hagen. ‘How can we work like this, dropping investigations and picking them up again at a moment’s notice? We need to be methodical, organised. If he’d left us on the case, we might have had a result by now and Liam Keslake might never have been taken.’
‘And all those cases we’ve looked at in the interim would still be waiting to be assigned,’ says Naylor. ‘I get what you’re saying, of course I do. We’ll just have to make sure we use this breakthrough to nail these bastards, for all our sakes.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
11 December
Rose guides Evan into a room in the Vulnerable Witness Suite where Naylor is already waiting. The room’s without windows, but it’s pleasant and warm, with plush, comfortable chairs and a coffee table, and soft pink walls. There’s a picture of purple heather in bloom on open moorlands and a TV on a stand with video recording equipment, but there’s no intention to video anything today. The sound recording equipment is unobtrusive, and there are biscuits on the table – though no chocolate digestives – along with a can of Coke and bottled water. Naylor has brought in coffee for her and Rose. The room smells of it as Evan enters.