by Mark White
‘Cara’s out there with him. She’ll look after him. I think they’re quite close. Nice lad, by all accounts.’
‘Aye, he seemed pleasant enough.’
The Station door opened and Liam Turner walked in, sporting a pair of ridiculously oversized headphones that failed to confine to his own ears the sound of AC/DC belting out ‘Hell’s Bells’ with their trademark gusto. ‘Alright, dad?’ he asked, pulling out an mp3 player from his pocket and switching it off. He removed the headphones and sat down next to his father.
‘Hi, Liam. Any news?’
‘Not that I know of. There are loads of people out looking for her. Some of them have spread out into the fields, and PC Jones has sent a few more to go down to the river and check along the bankside. Jack Emery has gone off in his tractor to let some of the farmers know – he’s going to ask them to keep their eyes peeled for her.’
‘Good lad,’ said Turner, ruffling his son’s shaggy hair. There weren’t many sixteen-year-old kids who were prepared to get up at silly o’clock in the morning to deliver newspapers. Contrary to popular belief, running a village store was hard work and demanded long hours spent juggling all manner of tasks. Bill Turner knew that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of his son taking over his store – he was far too ambitious and inquisitive to settle for that – but in knowing that he wasn’t interested, Bill loved his son all the more for helping him and Yvonne when other kids might have locked themselves away in their rooms or stayed out late with pals.
‘It’s been over two hours now since she disappeared,’ said Liam, enjoying the opportunity to sit in a real-life Police Station and play detective. ‘She must be here somewhere.’
‘Unless someone’s taken her away,’ Turner added. There’s always a chance she was kidnapped.’
Jennings shook his head. ‘Possible, but I doubt it. For one, you wouldn’t get far without a vehicle in these conditions. Cara has been asking the residents whether or not they can remember seeing any vehicles either coming in or out of The Cross between eleven and twelve o’clock this morning. Nobody can recall seeing anything, apart from Louise Tattersall and a couple of others who said they’d seen Sid Henshaw driving his quad bike near to the Post Office. Hard to hide a girl on a quad.’
Liam Turner’s face suddenly became a shade paler. ‘Did anybody report seeing a big black car?’ he asked. ‘A big four-by-four.’
Jennings looked at him. ‘Not that I know of. Why do you ask…did you see something?’
‘Errm…well…I didn’t actually see it in Shepherd’s Cross, but I definitely saw it in the distance, driving up the lake road. I was walking Brewster up by Smiddy’s wood at the time – I remember thinking that it seemed to be going pretty quickly given the state of the roads.’
‘What time was that?’ asked his father. ‘Think carefully, son – it might be important.’
‘I’m not sure. But I reckon it must have been around eleven or eleven-thirty. Not long before I came home, and that was probably about an hour ago.’
Bill Turner looked at Jennings and noticed the concern on his face. ‘I know a couple of people who drive a black four-by-four, Brian. But none of them live out that way,’ he said. ‘Any idea?’
Jennings paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before answering. ‘Aye, I have an idea. A good idea.’ He stood up and began pacing the floor again. ‘Listen up, you two. I need you to do me a favour.’
‘Of course,’ Turner said.’ What do you want us to do, Brian?’
‘I want the pair of you to split up and find Cara as fast as you can. Ask her to come back to the Station straight away. Tell her it’s urgent; tell her to drop anything else she’s doing, do you hear me?’
Father and son nodded their reply together like synchronised puppets.
‘Okay. Off you go. And please be as quick as you can. We have no time to lose.’
They didn’t need asking twice. They hurried out into the cold, grey afternoon air: Bill Turner heading left, his son turning right; stopping only to throw on their jackets as they went outside. Jennings watched them running off and returned to his seat, burying his head in his hands. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, removing his hands and looking up at the clock on the wall. ‘Who are these people?’
Chapter 8
2.00pm: Wilf Blackett cursed with frustration as the plough attached to the front of his tractor struggled to shift some of the deeper drifts of snow that blocked the eight-mile stretch of road from Shepherd’s Cross to the main highway. If it wasn’t for the two hundred quid that Sergeant Jennings was paying him for his troubles, he would have probably conceded defeat by now and headed home. With every yard of progress, it became clearer to him that he didn’t have the right tool for the job: what was needed was one of those heavy-duty council gritter lorries with a proper snowplough secured to the front. But Jennings had told him that the council boys wouldn’t be able to come this far out until tomorrow morning as a result of the problems on the so-called priority roads. I don’t see what the hurry is, Blackett thought, the near total whiteness outside beginning to blur his vision. He only has to wait one more day – what could be so pressing that he needs to get out sooner?
If only he knew…
Suddenly the tractor dipped to the side, its wheels slipping into a shallow ditch at the side of the road. ‘Shit!’ he shouted, fighting with the steering wheel to gain control of the machine. Thanks to his driving skills, not to mention a large slice of good fortune, he managed to steer the tractor back on to the flat of the road. He turned the engine off and leant back into his seat. ‘That’s as far as I go,’ he muttered to himself, catching his breath and reaching for his flask. He’d only cleared a couple of miles at most, but he knew that he couldn’t go on. It was too much of a risk: any more slip-ups like that and he’d be walking home. He could just about manage two miles if he had to, but walking for five or six miles in these conditions wouldn’t be so easy, especially as darkness would be falling in the next couple of hours.
He held the flask to his lips and took a long, comforting slug of whisky; and then another. Thirty seconds later he started the engine, carefully manoeuvred the tractor through one hundred and eighty degrees, and began his journey back towards Shepherd’s Cross.
Chapter 9
2.30pm: Liam Turner was first to find Cara, her bright-yellow Police jacket making her stand out like a beacon against the snow. He’d spotted her standing at the opposite side of the village green with Ben Price, near to The Fallen Angel. Three years of trudging around the village delivering newspapers every morning had kept him fit, so it didn’t take him long to make his way over to them. He didn’t say a word until he reached them, not wanting to draw attention to himself or arouse the curiosity of those who were searching for Chloe. Although he couldn’t actually recall Jennings swearing him and his father to secrecy, common sense told him that whatever Jennings had in mind was not for public knowledge.
‘Cara,’ he said, catching his breath and checking around to make sure nobody could overhear him. ‘Sergeant Jennings needs you to come to the Station straight away. He says it’s urgent.’
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, setting off immediately without waiting for a reply.
‘I’m not sure. But I think it has something to do with Chloe.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Liam.’
They made their way back across the village green towards the Station, Liam and Cara leading the way, closely followed by Ben Price. Cara didn’t try to stop him from coming with her; if Jennings had some news regarding Chloe, then Ben had every right to hear it.
They arrived at the Station two minutes later, Jennings acknowledging them with a smile as they came in. Liam hovered in the doorway. ‘I better find my dad,’ he said to Jennings. ‘He’s still out there looking for Cara. Do you need me for anything else?’
‘Not right now, lad,’ replied Jennings. ‘You’ve done a good job. Thanks for your help. Keep searching for Chloe, will you?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, closing the door behind him as he left.
‘What’s happening, Sarge?’
Jennings glanced briefly across to Ben before answering her. ‘It might be nothing, but Liam reckons he saw a black four-by-four heading up the lake road around eleven-thirty this morning. I’m wondering whether it might belong to our new friends. It certainly matches Liam’s description, and if you remember, Blackmoor told us when we were up at Fellside Hall earlier today that King had come into town on an errand. Seems too much of a coincidence to me, wouldn’t you say?
‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Ben. ‘Are you saying they’ve taken Chloe?’
‘Calm down, Ben. It’s probably nothing. A couple of southern academics have moved into a rundown old Hall a couple of miles from here. There’s no evidence to suggest that they’re anything different to who they say they are, but Cara and I have been up there a couple of times now, and let’s just say…let’s just say they’re a bit odd.’
‘So you do think they might have taken her?’
‘Not necessarily. But let’s not beat around the bush here,’ he said, directing his words at Cara. ‘If Chloe’s just upped and disappeared like that, and practically a whole village can’t seem to find her on its own back doorstep, then it strikes me there’s a distinct possibility that somebody may have taken her. And it wouldn’t surprise me if that same somebody happened to be connected with the incident at All Saints’ Church.’
‘What incident?’ asked Ben, starting to panic.
‘It’s not important,’ replied Jennings, his voice quiet but firm. ‘What is important is that we find your daughter as soon as possible. And I reckon that heading up to Fellside Hall might not be the worst idea I’ve ever had.’
‘How do you want to proceed, Sarge?’ asked Cara. ‘I can’t let you go alone this time.’
‘I don’t want to go alone,’ he said. ‘It’s too dangerous. If they have taken her, we’ll need to be ready for trouble. I want you to go and inform Emily Mitford that you and I need to go up to Fellside Hall on Police business. Tell her that she is to remain in charge of the search operation in and around Shepherd’s Cross. I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige. That way, at least we’ll be able to maintain a level of activity down here while we’re away.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Ben, a look of steely resolve in his eyes. ‘It sounds like you might need an extra pair of hands; and if my daughter is up there, I want to be with her. There are enough people searching for her down here. I’ll be more useful with you.’
Jennings sighed. ‘I’m not sure. What if –’
‘Please,’ said Ben. ‘I want to come with you.’
There was a brief moment of silence as Jennings considered Ben’s request. ‘Okay. But I want you to stay close to me, do you hear? You’re to remember at all times that you’re a civilian…you don’t have any authority to intervene in Police business, is that understood?’
‘Loud and clear.’
‘Good. Right then: Cara – you go and find Emily and come straight back after you’ve spoken to her. Ben and I will lock up here and wait for you in the Land Rover. Be as fast as you can. The light’s already starting to fade, and I don’t want to be stuck up there after dark.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She zipped up her jacket and hurried outside.
Jennings walked across to the other side of the room and unlocked a cupboard, retrieving a padded waistcoat and a truncheon. ‘Okay, Ben. I want you to take these,’ he said, handing them to Ben. ‘They’re for protection only, do you hear? Under no circumstances are you to use them for anything other than self-defence.’
‘So you do think she’s up there?’ Ben asked, fastening the waistcoat.
‘Right now, I honestly can’t say either way. However, I think there’s a better than average chance that she is. There’s been too much happening in this village since those two have arrived for all this to be simply a coincidence. And if my suspicions are proved correct, we may well be in for a difficult couple of hours. Come on, let’s get going.’
‘Shouldn’t you call for backup?’
‘The phones are down. There is no backup.’
He motioned for Ben to leave the Station, following behind him and turning off all the lights before locking the door and heading to the Land Rover. Regardless of whether or not Blackmoor and King had kidnapped Chloe, Sergeant Jennings had a strong feeling that they would not be greeted this time with the usual hospitality. He didn’t care: he was ready for trouble; as ready as he would ever be. He’d wasted enough time tiptoeing about like a kid who’s scared of his own shadow. A little girl’s life was at stake. He wanted answers.
Chapter 10
3.00pm: Emily Mitford sat at a large table in The Fallen Angel, the map in front of her remarkably accurate considering the fact that it was hand drawn. Despite her aversion to soggy carpets and damp seat cushions, Tina Radcliffe had agreed to Cara’s request that her premises be used as a makeshift meeting point for the various search parties that were out combing the area for Chloe. To avoid unnecessary duplication of effort, Emily had drawn up a map of Shepherd’s Cross and its environs, agreeing to coordinate the search in Cara’s absence. She may have been too old to be out scouring the streets, but a ‘back-office’ job like this was an ideal use of her organisational skills.
Although the search was now approaching three hours, the mood of the villagers remained surprisingly upbeat; as if having a shared sense of purpose was the perfect antidote to the depressing conditions of the previous three days. Nevertheless, three hours was a long time for a six-year-old to be missing, and every lane or field that Emily ran a red strike through on the map was a lane or field less to search. The red strikes now far outweighed the unmarked areas, which could only mean one thing: they were running out of options.
‘What do you think, Emily?’ asked Tina, filling up the large tea urn for the third time that afternoon. ‘Do you think we’re going to find her?’
‘We have to believe that we will,’ Emily replied, without looking up from her map. ‘It will be dark in hour or so; it will be nigh on impossible to find her then. In the meantime, we’ll have to give it everything we can. We can’t afford to let our heads drop.’
‘Dougie Hickman’s going around saying that she’s been kidnapped by those newcomers up at Fellside Hall; he reckons that’s why the Police are up there. And there are a fair few folk who think that Reverend Jackson’s got something to do with it; that he’s been up to no good with her, and that’s why we’re not allowed inside the church. A couple of them are even saying he’s probably one of those paedophile vicars who get their kicks from fiddling with the bairns.’
‘Really, Tina! You should know better than to listen to dangerous, unfounded rumours like that. They won’t help us find that little girl, will they?’
‘I can’t help listening to ‘em – they’re what folk are saying…well, what some of them are saying, anyway. And Bill Thompson’s not denying it, is he?’
‘Bill Thompson is doing exactly what Sergeant Jennings instructed him to do, which is to say nothing either way until the investigation is over. Honestly, Tina, you’d be wise not to get involved in such drivel; you’ll only be adding fuel to the fire. You know what this place is like. You can’t keep anything secret in The Cross.’
‘Maybe so,’ she replied, smiling to acknowledge the arrival of Wilf Blackett as he walked into the pub. ‘But even you can’t deny that there’s something iffy going on at Fellside Hall. Why else would the Police have dropped everything and hot-footed it up there, taking Ben Price with them? They obviously think there’s a chance that Chloe’s up there. Kidnapped, I reckon.’
‘Whisky and water please, Tina,’ said Blackett, hoisting himself onto a stool by the bar. ‘Make it a double, will you? I need thawing out.’
‘I take it you didn’t make it through to the highway?’ asked Emily. ‘Too deep, was it?’
‘Aye, too deep and too
dangerous. My tractor hasn’t got the power to push on through the bigger drifts; we’ll have to wait for the heavy truck ploughs to come tomorrow. Until then, it looks like we’re stranded here for another night.’ He placed some money on the bar and took a heavy sip from his glass. ‘Christ, that’s good,’ he said, before taking another, smaller sip. ‘Any news on the girl?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Emily. ‘But we’re all still hopeful of finding her.’
Blackett nodded and said nothing. If there was one attribute that was essential for surviving in the remote North Pennines, it was hope: hope for a productive lambing season, hope for a kind winter, hope for the arrival of wealthy tourists in summer. It wasn’t easy living in a place where the line between success and failure was so thin, where one’s livelihood often depended more on the vagaries of lady luck than one’s own actions.
‘And another thing,’ said Tina. ‘Have either of you seen Frank Gowland in the last couple of days? It’s not like him to simply up sticks and disappear without saying anything. He’s always the first customer to come in here on a Sunday morning…and usually the last to leave. You can set your watch by him. And I’ve no idea where Ted Wilson’s got to either: he’s another one who’s usually as regular as clockwork.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ Blackett said. ‘I can’t remember seeing either of them.’
‘Nor me,’ said Emily. ‘For goodness sake, what a weekend! I don’t think I can take much more of this.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of one of the search parties. There were four of them: Bill and Liam Turner, Dougie Hickman and Jack Cranfield; and from the despondent look on their faces, they were not about to convey any messages of joy.
‘No luck?’ asked Tina, taking out some fresh mugs from the dishwasher and setting them down on the bar.
‘Nothing,’ Bill Turner replied, pouring some milk into one of the mugs before filling it with hot tea from the urn. He looked tired – they all did – but he was also determined. As soon as he and his group had warmed themselves up and recharged their batteries, they would all head back out again and renew their search.