by S J Bolton
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Evi. ‘How terrible for you both, and then to lose Hayley as well.’ Another child had fallen to her death?
‘Aye. And after that, my marriage didn’t last long. John was the one who found her, you see. He never got over it.’
Evi’s mobile beeped. A text message. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, finding her phone in her pocket and looking at the screen. The vicar could text – after a fashion. Six question marks, followed by two Xs and an H.
‘I have to go now,’ said Evi. ‘Thank you for your confidence. I’ll pop back in a couple of hours. Gillian might be awake then, and we can decide what to do. Is that OK?’
56
AT THE CHURCH DOOR HARRY STOPPED, ALLOWING THE three officers to walk ahead of him. The reporters were still hovering. Rushton and the two detectives walked past them without responding to their questions and disappeared inside the Fletchers’ house.
‘Is it true?’
Harry turned. The tall, heavy-set man had appeared like a genie from out of the mist, had maybe even been waiting behind the church for a chance to catch Harry alone.
‘Hello, Mike,’ he said. ‘How are you and Jenny doing?’
‘Is it true? Did they find two other kids in Lucy’s grave? Both with their heads bashed in?’ Mike Pickup was breathing heavily. His face seemed redder than usual and the muscles around his jaw were trembling. ‘Has some sick bastard been using my daughter’s grave…?’
Harry put his hand on the other man’s arm. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s coffee in the vestry.’ Pickup showed no sign of moving. ‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ Harry added. It had the desired effect and Mike allowed himself to be led along the last few yards of path and through the open vestry door.
Harry’s inner sanctum had been invaded. Two police officers leaned against one wall, drinking coffee. Another was examining plans on Harry’s desk. Christiana Renshaw was washing mugs. The vestry had become the incident room.
Harry took a coffee from Christiana and nodded his thanks, then led the way into the chancel. He walked down the steps into the nave and stopped at the first pew. He and Mike both sat down.
‘I’m breaking police confidentiality by telling you this,’ said Harry, ‘because I think you have a right to know.’ The coffee had been brewed some time ago, it wasn’t that hot. Harry took two gulps, to give himself time rather than because he wanted to drink.
‘The remains of three small children were found last night,’ he began. ‘All of them appear to have tumbled from Lucy’s grave when the wall collapsed. One of them has been more or less identified as Lucy, depending upon the DNA sample, which I believe Jenny gave this morning. The identities of the other two aren’t known as yet.’
‘That little lass Megan, from what people are saying,’ said Mike. ‘I took part in the search for her. Didn’t do a scrap of work for two days. I had all the lads out as well.’ He put the mug down on the prayer-book shelf in front of him and fumbled in his pockets. ‘I felt for her parents,’ he went on. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a child.’
‘How’s Jenny doing?’ asked Harry, as Mike removed a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and sat looking at them.
‘She’s been closeted with her dad and old Tobias all morning,’ replied Mike. He tipped the packet upside-down; Harry could hear the soft pat of the cigarettes falling against cardboard. ‘Family confab,’ said Mike, turning the packet the other way. ‘Nothing to do with me, of course. I’m not much more than the hired help.’ He opened the cigarette packet, allowing the contents to fall into his hands.
‘Grief affects people in different ways,’ said Harry, surprised by the bitterness he could hear in the other man’s voice. ‘I’ve heard there’s a special bond between fathers and daughters.’
Mike held a single cigarette between his finger and thumb. As Harry watched, it started to bend. Mike’s eyes were shining. He was taking deep, slow breaths, as though fighting to prevent himself from breaking down. He began shaking his head. The cigarette in his hands was broken, useless.
‘She wasn’t even mine,’ he said. ‘What do you make of that, Harry?’
‘Not biologically yours, you mean?’ Harry asked.
Mike was still shaking his head. ‘Jenny fell pregnant shortly after I met her,’ he said. ‘We weren’t even going out at the time, it was obvious it couldn’t be mine. She never told me who the father was. Just a silly mistake, she said, not even a relationship, except she didn’t want to get rid of it. I kind of admired her for that. But there was no way Sinclair was going to let any daughter of his be a single mother.’
‘So the two of you got married?’
‘Four hundred acres of farmland I got for my trouble. And two thousand ewes. I come from a farming family, Harry, over near Whitby, but I’ve got three older brothers. It was the only chance I’d ever have of getting my own farm. Irony is, I’d probably have married Jenny anyway. I was halfway to being in love with her.’
The mug in Harry’s hands was cooling rapidly, as though Harry was soaking up all its warmth.
‘And you accepted Lucy as…’
‘There was never any question of it. I adored her from the moment I first saw her. And after a while I forgot; I just forgot she wasn’t really mine. I never got over her death. If we’d had more kids maybe. Now, I doubt I ever will.’
The door from the vestry opened and two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, came into the church. They stopped when they saw Harry and Mike, muttered an apology and retreated back into the vestry. Mike watched them go, then stood up. ‘What happened to them, Harry?’ he said, not taking his eyes from the vestry door. ‘What happened to the other two kids? How were they killed?’ Two broken cigarettes lay on the stone floor.
‘The exact cause of death hasn’t been-’ began Harry, getting to his feet and stepping out into the aisle.
Mike turned to face him. ‘Don’t give me that. No disrespect, Vicar,’ he said. ‘You were at the bloody post-mortem this morning. Had their heads been bashed in?’
Harry took a deep breath. This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get drawn in. ‘There was some evidence of head trauma in both cases,’ he began, ‘but we really need to wait-’
‘Like Lucy?’ demanded Mike.
‘The pathologist thought the injuries could be consistent with falls,’ said Harry. Rushton would kill him.
‘Like Lucy?’ repeated Mike.
‘That’s really all I can tell you, I’m afraid,’ said Harry.
Pickup glared at him for a second longer. ‘I’m grateful for your time, Vicar,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’ He nodded at Harry and then set off towards the front of the church. He passed into the vestry and out of sight. Harry’s mobile issued three sharp beeps. He pulled it from his pocket. Evi had arrived at the church and was wondering where he was. He set off in Mike’s footsteps.
‘They’ll be leaving now, I expect.’ The voice startled him. Harry turned to see Christiana watching him. Her voice was like Jenny’s, only softer and sweeter. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak before.
‘I’m afraid the police will be here for quite a while yet,’ replied Harry. ‘It’s upsetting, I know. But necessary.’
‘Not the police. The Fletchers.’ She always wore dresses, he noticed. Tailored dresses, in fabrics that looked expensive. They fitted her perfectly and Harry wondered if she made them herself, like she’d made Lucy’s pyjamas.
‘The Fletchers?’ repeated Harry. ‘Why would the-’ He stopped. Christiana’s hair was loose this morning, held back from her face with an Alice band. It was long, past her shoulders, unusual on a woman in her forties. She was standing close to him now, closer than felt really comfortable, as though she didn’t want to be overheard. He could smell the old-fashioned floral scent she wore and was suddenly reminded of the day she’d scattered scented rose petals beneath the gallery.
‘So many little girls,’ she said. ‘Tell them to go, Vi
car. It’s not safe here. Not for little girls.’
57
‘SO WHERE DO YOU THINK THE CHILDREN WERE PLANNING to go last night, Mrs Fletcher?’
‘That’s assuming they were planning to go anywhere,’ Harry jumped in, before Alice could open her mouth. ‘According to Tom, he was trying to rescue his sister.’
Evi watched the blonde social worker look down at the notepad on the kitchen table, gathering her thoughts. ‘Yes,’ the woman said, after a second. ‘From this mythical little girl of his.’ She looked up again at Alice. Her lips were a bright, glossy pink. ‘Have they ever tried to run away before?’ she asked.
‘Again, assuming they were running away,’ said Harry. ‘In my experience, children don’t run away in the middle of the night, especially when it’s pissing it down with rain. They go in the day, usually when they’ve been told they can’t have any sweets or have to tidy their bedrooms, and they rarely get further than the corner of the street.’
‘Exactly how much experience do you have of children running away, Mr Laycock?’ asked the social worker. Evi raised her mug to her lips to hide a smile. This was as far from a laughing matter as it was possible to get, and yet there was something about Harry in pugilistic mode that tickled her.
‘Does anyone want more coffee?’ asked Alice. Nobody answered her. Four mugs sat on the table in front of them. With the exception of Evi’s, which was occasionally being used as a screen, none appeared to have been touched.
The kitchen door opened and Joe appeared. Everyone turned to him.
‘Mummy, I need a wee,’ he said, glancing curiously from one grown-up to the next. His lips twitched in a faint smile when he saw Harry. Alice stood up. ‘Stay downstairs, poppet,’ she said, indicating the door to the rear of the room. ‘Can you squeeze behind Harry?’
‘I want to get my remote-control Dalek,’ answered Joe, not moving from the doorway. His mother shook her head.
‘Not till the policemen have finished, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Is Millie OK?’
‘She’s building a tower with Tom,’ answered Joe. ‘With firewood.’
‘Oh good,’ muttered Alice, as Joe turned and left the room.
‘The upstairs of our house is still officially a crime scene,’ said Alice, to no one in particular. ‘I haven’t been allowed in Millie’s room today. I’ve had to dress her in Joe’s clothes.’
‘They haven’t found any evidence of this so-called break-in then,’ said the social worker. Hannah Wilson, she’d introduced herself as, arriving just seconds after Harry and Evi had knocked on the door of the Fletchers’ house. She was in her early thirties, on the plump side and with generous breasts squeezed inside a low-cut, tight-fitting sweater. A long, single chain of stones lay against her breast bone, emphasizing the depth of her cleavage. For nearly twenty minutes now, Evi had been waiting to see Harry’s eyes fall to it. So far, he’d managed to resist.
‘ Alice ’s husband’s keys were missing,’ Harry pointed out.
‘Keys go missing all the time,’ answered Hannah. ‘You’ll need a bit more than that if you’re going to prove attempted child abduction.’
‘How about two unidentified bodies in the mortuary at Burnley General?’ said Harry. ‘Both pulled out of the Fletchers’ back garden last night. Sorry to be so blunt, Alice.’
Alice shrugged her shoulders and glanced over at Evi. Evi half smiled back, knowing she ought to try and rein Harry in a little. A visit from Social Services was standard procedure following any incident when police were called out and children deemed at risk. If Harry pissed this woman off, it could turn personal. Hannah Wilson might start flexing her own muscles and the Fletcher family would find themselves caught in the middle.
‘Well, we don’t know at this stage whether what the police are investigating outside had anything to do with the family here,’ said Hannah. ‘In the meantime, my sole concern is for the welfare of the children.’
‘So is mine, actually,’ interrupted Alice.
‘And you have to admit Tom’s story doesn’t quite stack up.’ The social worker looked from Harry to Alice to Evi, as if daring one of them to challenge her. ‘Tom’s face is quite badly bruised. If I understood you properly, Mrs Fletcher, he says he got it when the little girl, who was running away with his sister, kicked him.’
‘That’s what he told me,’ said Alice.
‘But from what I understand from his earlier descriptions of the girl, she doesn’t wear shoes.’
Nobody spoke. Evi dropped her eyes to the table, mentally kicking herself for not spotting that first. The kitchen door opened again. It was Tom this time, the purple bruise vivid against the pale skin over his cheekbone.
‘Mum, Millie’s spilled her juice on the sofa,’ he said. Alice sighed and started to get up.
‘I’ll do it,’ offered Evi, rising and picking up a dishcloth. ‘You finish up here, Alice. I’m sure Mrs Wilson must be nearly done by now.’
Evi followed Tom into the living room. She could hear heavy footsteps moving around upstairs and people talking in low voices. Joe was at the far end of the room, peering around the drawn curtains to see what was happening in the garden outside. Millie, looking impossibly cute in a pair of denim dungarees that had been rolled up at the ankles, waved a stick of kindling wood at her and nearly tumbled backwards into the empty fireplace. Tom rushed forwards and caught her before her head could bang against the hearth.
‘Hi, cutie pie,’ said Evi, when the toddler was safely on her feet again. The little girl appeared to have been crying. The skin around her eyes looked red and sore. ‘Where’s this sticky mess?’ Evi asked.
‘Der,’ said Millie, indicating the middle sofa. Evi found the juice and ran the damp cloth over the seat. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her.
‘How are you feeling now, Tom?’ she asked. ‘Still tired?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Who’s that woman?’ he asked. ‘Is she a doctor, like you?’
Evi shook her head. ‘No, she’s a social worker. She’s here to find out what happened last night and make sure you and Joe and Millie are OK.’
‘Do I have to talk to her?’
Evi perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Do you want to talk to her?’ she asked.
Tom thought for a moment, then shook his head.
‘Why not?’ asked Evi, noticing that Millie was watching the conversation, her gaze going from one speaker to the next as though she understood every word. Over at the window, Joe had gone quite still.
Tom shrugged again and dropped his eyes to the pile of firewood on the carpet.
Evi stared at him for several seconds, then made a decision. ‘Why have you never told me about the little girl, Tom?’ she asked. Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I know you showed me her photograph last night, but you didn’t tell me who she was.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Evi could see Joe at the window. He wasn’t peering through the gap in the curtains any more, he’d turned to look at them. ‘Is it because you think I wouldn’t believe you?’ she continued in a soft voice.
‘Would you?’ asked Tom.
‘I spend a lot of time talking to people,’ said Evi. ‘And I can usually tell when they’re lying. They give themselves away in all sorts of little ways. I’ve watched you closely when we’ve been talking, Tom, and I don’t think you’re a liar.’ She let herself smile, which really wasn’t difficult when you looked at Tom. ‘I think you’ve told me the odd little fib now and then, but most of the time you don’t lie.’ Tom was holding eye contact. ‘So if you tell me all about this little girl, and if you tell me the truth, I’ll know.’
Tom looked over at Joe, then down at Millie. Both stared back, as though waiting for him to begin. Then he started to talk.
‘She’s been watching us for a while now,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, it’s like she’s always there…’
58
‘WHAT’S AN EMERGENCY PROTECTION ORDER?’ ASKED Harry.
‘It’s a court order,’ replied Hannah Wilson. ‘It allows children t
o be taken into care for their own protection. They’re effective immediately.’
Harry sat back down, moving his chair closer to Alice. She was sitting quite still; he might almost have thought she wasn’t listening, had it not been for the trembling in her fingers.
‘Have you discussed this with Dr Oliver?’ asked Harry. ‘As the family psychiatrist I’d have thought she’d be the obvious person to consult.’
‘Dr Oliver can submit a report, of course,’ replied Wilson. ‘I’m sure the magistrate will take it into account.’
Harry was about to respond – quite what he would have said, he hadn’t quite decided – when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs. They could hear Rushton’s distinctive voice, then the front door opening and closing. The footsteps turned in the direction of the kitchen then stopped.
‘This is something the family need to know,’ they heard Rushton say, in a voice that was low but firm. Then he came into the room, knocking on the door politely as he opened it. He was followed by DI Neasden and a female constable. Neasden didn’t look happy.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Fletcher,’ said Rushton. ‘Need a word, if I may.’
Alice seemed to be bracing herself for another blow. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Do you need to see me alone?’
Rushton looked quickly round the table, avoiding Neasden’s eyes. ‘Oh, I think we’re all friends together,’ he said. ‘’Ow do, Hannah. You on your way out?’
‘Have you found something?’ asked Harry.
‘I think so,’ replied Rushton. ‘What time’s your husband home, Mrs Fletcher?’