The Hawkshead Hostage

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘But …’

  He gave her a look that suggested he knew he’d been wrong to dismiss her so easily. ‘You knew him better than anyone, I’m guessing. How long had you been going out together?’

  ‘Seven weeks,’ she said promptly.

  ‘Why do you want to see the photos?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Get in the car and tell me while we drive. Don’t catch the eye of those reporters. They’ll be noticing you anyway and trying to guess who you are.’

  Bonnie cared nothing for reporters. ‘It’ll take longer than that. You won’t understand if I don’t explain everything.’

  ‘We can make a start.’

  So she tried to make him understand the game, and how clever Ben was, and how she’d found the message at Colthouse. She was nowhere near finished by the time they got to the Hawkshead car park. They sat in the stationary car, still talking. At first glance, Bonnie couldn’t see Corinne’s motor.

  He was obviously interested. He asked sensible questions and kept checking that he’d got it right at every point. ‘So you know for certain that Ben went to Colthouse yesterday?’

  ‘More or less. It’s just possible it was earlier than yesterday, but I don’t think so. The rushes hadn’t gone dry at all, which they would have done. There’ll be a picture of it on the phone, with the time and date. He’ll have wanted it for the game, you see. To be included as one of the ways people can signal to each other.’

  ‘This is one of those adventure games that people play on their computer, right? Doesn’t it take thousands of pounds and months of work to create one of those? Or am I out of date?’

  ‘They’re not all like that. But we’d need technical help to get it up and running, yes. We’re still just collecting images and ideas for the narrative, at this stage. The latest idea was to have a young Fletcher Christian in the cast. You know who he was?’

  ‘The mutiny on the Bounty. How does he connect, then?’

  ‘He went to school with Wordsworth, and lived around here somewhere. Simmy knows about him.’

  ‘Ah – Mrs Brown. Did she open the shop late this morning? Or is she out searching for Ben as well?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t given her a thought all day.’

  ‘And where’s Corinne?’

  ‘Good question. She said she’d be here.’

  ‘Okay, then. Phone her, and tell her you’re going to Kendal with me.’

  ‘Can I say I’m helping you with your enquiries? I’ve always wanted to say that.’

  ‘Say what you like,’ he told her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simmy and Helen Harkness sat with their coffee at a table set on the pavement. They were within sight of most of the centre of Hawkshead, watching people come and go, a majority of them wearing hefty backpacks and carrying sticks. ‘I never saw much point in walking for its own sake,’ Simmy remarked.

  ‘It’s addictive. I did it obsessively in my twenties, all the Wainwright stuff. It was exhilarating. I learnt my way around, at the same time. I could go on Mastermind specialising in Cumbrian villages.’

  ‘And have you passed it all on to your kids?’

  ‘You mean Ben? A lot of it, yes. I took them up all the fells when they were little. The girls never liked it much, and Wilf got sick of their complaining. Ben was the keenest by miles. He and I did an epic hike from Bassenthwaite to Ulverston when he was fifteen. He must have told you about it.’

  ‘Not that I can recall. How far is it?’

  ‘About sixty miles, I think. We took it slowly over four days, and spent the nights in a tent. It was amazing. I’ll never forget it.’ Simmy watched as the present reality returned to Ben’s mother’s awareness and tears filled her eyes. ‘He’s my special one. I don’t suppose I need to tell you that.’

  ‘He is very special,’ said Simmy, with a sniff. ‘We’ve absolutely got to find him.’

  ‘We won’t do it sitting here, will we?’ Helen had her mobile on the table beside her. She fingered it thoughtfully. ‘There must be somebody we can call,’ she said. ‘Isn’t there always somebody these days?’

  ‘Like who?’ Simmy stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Bonnie. Melanie. Even the Moxon man. Just to find out the latest news. I feel as if we’re in a void, knowing nothing.’

  ‘You could try Bonnie, if you’ve got her number. I have a feeling Melanie won’t be much use.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The man who was killed – she was going out with him. Or at least, staying overnight in his room. I think she was getting very fond of him.’ Simmy thought again of Melanie’s tears at the sight of Dan’s body. It now seemed to be a matter of urgency to check how she was today. ‘I feel bad about it, taking her down there where we found him.’

  ‘You couldn’t have known. You were looking for Ben, if I’ve got it right.’

  ‘Yes, but Ben’s message said there was a body. I should have thought before letting her go with me. Melanie’s very young, and actually quite naïve in some ways.’

  ‘You’re joking. That girl’s the most streetwise I ever met.’

  ‘Maybe she is by Windermere standards, but that’s not saying much, is it? Through all the things that have happened since last autumn, she’s been at a distance. This is the first time she’s been faced with anything really horrible. But of course we had no idea it was Dan who was dead – and I never dreamt she loved him, either.’

  Helen shook her head impatiently. ‘It’s too late to worry about him. And Melanie will get over it.’

  Simmy had initially felt glad to have the company of an older woman, as a change from the youngsters she habitually mixed with. Now she was less sure she liked it. Bonnie and Ben and Melanie were so clear-sighted and definite about everything. Their freshness and zeal were invigorating. Helen Harkness was none of these things, and although Simmy knew it was very unfair to judge her in this time of wild anxiety, she was finding the morning increasingly depressing. Everything she said seemed to be dismissed or belittled.

  ‘What do we do now, then?’ she asked with a sense of defeat.

  ‘Well, look who it isn’t!’ came a voice from the pavement. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  They both turned to see Corinne standing there, hands on her hips, hair all over the place. Here was another older woman, Simmy thought glumly. Corinne had to be in her mid forties at least, despite the multiple piercings and long skirt. Corinne ignored any suggestions of respectability or obligation to conform, not entirely unlike Simmy’s own mother. Her girlishness was alternately appealing and irritating. Her opening remark was firmly in the latter category.

  ‘I expect we’re here for the same reason that you are,’ said Simmy rather sharply.

  ‘Yeah. Hi, Helen. This is all a real bugger, isn’t it? Bonnie made me drive her up here, so she can get on with searching for your boy.’

  Simmy looked down the little street. ‘So where is she?’

  ‘First Colthouse, then the hotel, so she says. Got some idea in her head. Those two – they were like twins, with their own secret language. I had a pair once, for a few months. Jabbered away in gibberish, obviously understanding each other perfectly. Made me feel a bit weird, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘At the hotel?’ Simmy stared. ‘On her own?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Corinne said, taking a chair from another table and sitting down. ‘Bonnie’s always fine.’

  ‘That’s what we thought about Ben,’ said Helen. ‘But there’s some dreadful people out there, capable of killing. I don’t know how you can say Bonnie’s fine, or how you can let her just go off on her own.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ Corinne flashed angrily. ‘Besides, who are you to talk?’

  Simmy watched them both as they realised how foolish and damaging such an exchange was. They both grimaced and then slumped in their chairs. ‘Sorry,’ said Corinne. ‘That was way out of order.’

  ‘She’
s got her phone, obviously,’ said Simmy.

  ‘And she’s already called me once. I’m to meet her in the car park in a bit. Where are you parked?’

  ‘I left it out by the campsite,’ said Helen. ‘We walked in from there. This place is lovely, isn’t it? You think it’s a warren, at first, and you’ll never find anywhere – then you look again, and it’s absolutely tiny. The whole village is right here before your very eyes.’

  ‘Shame about that bookshop,’ said Corinne, eyeing the large, empty building. ‘Right in the middle of town like that. Makes it look depressing.’

  ‘Too big for most businesses,’ said Simmy, with an air of knowing all about shops and premises. ‘You’d need good turnover to cover the rent.’

  ‘It’s been like that for two years or more,’ said Helen. ‘Somebody must be losing money on it.’ Her architect’s eye roamed over the big, square edifice, clearly speculating on how it might be brought back to life. ‘You could make a flat on the top floor, for a start.’

  ‘Don’t!’ moaned Simmy. ‘That’s what Bonnie keeps saying about the upper floor of my shop. I’ve started keeping things up there, to show her I need it for storage … Do you want coffee?’ she asked Corinne. ‘Because we were just thinking of leaving. Although we don’t know what to do next.’

  Corinne gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘Well, as it happens, I haven’t had a thing today. My mouth’s disgusting. Would it be a real pain if I had a quick cup?’

  ‘Not really. I could phone Melanie and see how she is.’

  ‘And I ought to check in with that liaison woman,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve been gone for hours. Something might have happened.’

  ‘They’d call you if it did,’ said Corinne. ‘Do they come to you, or have I got to go in to order a coffee?’

  ‘Quicker to go in,’ Helen advised.

  Simmy called Melanie first. The phone rang for several seconds. ‘Hello,’ came the eventual response. ‘Simmy? Has something happened?’

  ‘No. I just wondered how you were. Are you at work?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’ve just had Bonnie asking me the same thing.’

  ‘Really? So how are you?’

  ‘Don’t ask. I’m a mess. It’s nice of you to think of me, though.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  The hollow laugh sounded more like the old Melanie. ‘What – in this house? Did I tell you my mum got another dog? A mad puppy that does nothing but torment the other one all day. And shits everywhere, obviously. It’s not safe to walk across a room. And the old man’s off, for some reason. Says he’s cricked his neck, lazy bugger.’

  ‘You might be better off at the hotel,’ said Simmy, without thinking. It was axiomatic that Melanie spent as little time as possible in her family home. One major motive in opting for a career in hospitality was that most places provided accommodation. The Hawkshead Hotel had been a disappointment in that respect.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well … sorry. That was a daft thing to say. But you need to be out of the house. You’ll just stew about everything if you stay there.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  Simmy couldn’t think. She was at Helen Harkness’s mercy, unless she got a ride in Corinne’s ramshackle vehicle. They were not one inch closer to finding Ben and the morning was virtually gone. ‘It’s all rather a muddle at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll phone you again in an hour or two, and we’ll work something out.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten about Ben, you know,’ said Melanie, suddenly sharp. ‘I get that everybody’s much more worried about him than Dan.’

  ‘It’s not a matter of either one or the other, is it? It’s all the same thing.’

  ‘Not quite. Ben’s most likely still alive, and Dan isn’t. That’s different, actually. About as different as you can get, the way I see it.’

  The most likely sent a blade across Simmy’s chest; she could feel it as a genuine pain. ‘You need to come here and help us find him,’ she panted. ‘His mother’s here, and Corinne. Bonnie’s at the hotel, apparently. Come and help us. We should all be together.’

  ‘I might come and find you later,’ Melanie conceded. ‘Bye, Simmy.’

  Finally, Simmy thought, she’d reached the crucial point. The people who loved Ben should all be together. Not just for each other, but for him. They would create a force field against whoever was holding him and by sheer willpower come to his rescue. At that moment, it seemed possible.

  Corinne’s coffee arrived and she drank it in a single draught. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now, come along ladies, we’ve got to get ourselves organised. The morning’s been a complete waste, so far. Unless Bonnie’s come up with something. That wouldn’t surprise me.’ She looked at Helen’s phone. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Five to twelve.’

  ‘Blimey! Come on, then. Back to the car park.’

  They walked in the road for most of the way, as did everyone else in Hawkshead, thanks to the absence of traffic. The occasional exception had to crawl through the pedestrians enduring dark looks along the way.

  Corinne’s car was under a tree in a corner, its scratches and dents concealed by the shadows. ‘Will she find it?’ worried Simmy. ‘It’s not very visible.’

  ‘She knows I always tuck it away if I can. Don’t worry about it.’

  Helen was slightly behind them, walking with a limp that Simmy hadn’t noticed before. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’ she asked, wondering how that could be possible.

  ‘No, no. It’s arthritis. I’m scheduled for a new hip at the end of this month. I’ve been putting it off, thinking I was far too young, but they’ve persuaded me. It’s my own fault for spending most of my life at the drawing board. I’m convinced that’s made it worse.’

  ‘But what about all that fell walking?’

  ‘Good question. I probably didn’t mention that I’ve hardly been anywhere for a couple of years now.’ She winced. ‘It gets worse as the day goes by. Mornings aren’t too bad, as a rule. And of course I didn’t think about it at all today.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ Simmy sympathised. ‘I had no idea. What about that sixty-mile hike you did with Ben?’

  ‘I was doped up with painkillers a lot of the time. It was my final flourish. I enjoyed it all the more for knowing that.’

  ‘But you’ll be okay again once you’ve got the new hip.’

  ‘Two new hips, eventually. Let’s hope so. Things can go wrong, you know.’

  Simmy could see fear in the woman’s eyes. ‘Not to be undertaken lightly,’ she said. ‘I’d be pretty scared at the prospect. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. Anything must be better than constant pain.’

  ‘I try not to make a fuss,’ said Helen with a hint of self-mockery.

  ‘Hey! Look!’ Corinne had reached her car and was removing a sheet of paper from under the windscreen wiper. ‘Someone’s left me a note.’

  She held it out so the others could see it and read it aloud. ‘Hope this is the right car. A boy asked me to say he’s okay. It was early today. Sorry I can’t stop. It’s probably all a joke, anyway. He was with a woman and said his name’s Ben. Sorry, I don’t want to get involved in anything.’

  They all stood rigid with shock. Then Simmy took it and read it again. ‘But where was he? If he could tell this person which car is yours, why couldn’t he tell them what’s happened?’

  ‘Who’s the woman he was with?’ said Helen.

  ‘The kidnapper. It must be,’ said Corinne.

  ‘We’ve got to think this through,’ said Simmy, wishing Melanie were there. Or DI Moxon. Or – best of all – Bonnie. ‘It says “early today”, so that must be before we got here. So did this person hang around all morning looking out for your car? Then when it turned up, put this note on the windscreen? That’s very public-spirited for someone who doesn’t want to get involved.’

  Corinne rubbed her face vigorously. ‘I’ve never known anything so weird.’

  ‘You would if you’d kno
wn Ben all his life,’ said Helen. ‘He likes to make things complicated.’

  ‘Not this time,’ said Simmy with certainty. ‘If he could have said more, he would have. He knows this isn’t a joke. He’ll have been sure that Bonnie would come looking for him, and assumed she’d have to get Corinne to drive him. Look at the registration.’ She pointed at the front of the car. ‘W456 OBY. That’s fairly memorable. If someone was controlling him, stopping him from talking to anyone, he’d have to keep it very short. I bet this note was written by an old woman, who lives around here somewhere. I can just imagine him pretending to bump into her or something like that, and asking her to leave this note.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Helen. ‘Far more likely to have been a kid. An adult wouldn’t take any notice of him.’

  ‘You could be right. Look at the paper,’ said Simmy. ‘It’s been torn out of an exercise book. Probably a schoolbook, don’t you think?’

  ‘Written with a felt tip, not a biro,’ said Helen. ‘As if that meant anything.’

  ‘It means he’s okay,’ said Simmy, feeling a rush of emotion. ‘That’s the main thing.’

  Helen was still examining the note. ‘All the spelling’s right. A young kid wouldn’t write like this. It’s quite nice writing, as well. Looks more like a girl than a boy, if my lot are anything to go by.’

  ‘It’s not anybody we know, obviously,’ said Corinne. ‘I hope this is the right car. If they knew us, there wouldn’t be any doubt about it, would there?’

  ‘Obviously,’ Simmy repeated. ‘“He said his name’s Ben”. So how could it have happened?’ She closed her eyes to think. Then, ‘So he’s in a shop or somewhere with the kidnapper, who’s a woman. A person, who might be a teenager, maybe let out of school now the exams are finished, the same as Ben, is close to him. Ben whispers, “I need you to help me. Can you watch out for a blue Citroën, number plate W456 OBY, and put a note on it, or talk to the people in it, and say Ben says he’s okay?” That’s all it need have been. He might have repeated the number. Then the person spends the morning watching for the car, but didn’t want to approach directly, because it all feels pretty dodgy. Ben might just have said – “tell them I’m okay.” That would only take a few seconds.’