The Chapel

by S. T. Boston

  “That’s good, really good,” Mike said encouragingly. “Is there anything else?”

  He looked downtrodden and sighed, “No,” he said.

  “Did you or your wife see or experience anything strange there?”

  “I really don’t see,” Rob Harrison began.

  “It matters,” Mike cut in, not wanting to lose him now. He decided to change tact. “Tell me about the night they went missing, you went to the Horners’ barbeque, didn’t you?”

  Rob gave Mike a look that said, how the fuck did you know that? But he didn’t voice it. “Yes,” he said, in a resigned tone. Mike knew the police had probably been over this account so many times that the thought of living it again would have been unbearable, but he needed to hear it. Mike knew he had about as much chance of getting a transcript of the interview from Mark Samuels as he did of baptising a cat. “We got there between seven and eight.”

  “Who was there?” Mike asked.

  “From what I could tell the whole village, I never met them all, but the ones we chatted to seemed like a friendly bunch. Seth Horner, that’s the husband of the lady who caretakes the place, is some hotshot scientist.”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting the Horners earlier today,” Mike said. He felt bad that both Scotty and Tara were being left out of this, but right now he had the rapport with Rob Harrison, and he needed to run with it. “Tell me, Rob,” Mike had opted for the use of his first name now, it often got people in traumatic situations to respond to you better if you spoke on a less formal level. “Did you, your wife or the two kids eat and drink anything at that party?”

  “We all did,” he said with confusion.

  “Did they drug test you in custody?” Mike asked. Despite the dangers he knew they were facing he felt alive and on the pulse. He looked at Tara who had her voice recorder on, the red light glowed in the dim room telling Mike she was getting it all, so they could go back over it later.

  “Yes, they drug tested us because of how we just fell asleep.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asked.

  “The night they went missing, Carol and I just went out like lights in the lounge, she woke me up just before ten on the Saturday morning when she couldn’t find them. I mean I doze off on the sofa sometimes, who doesn’t? But never like that and not for the whole night. I think they wanted to pin neglect on us, but Ellie is eighteen and she’d only had a few drinks and when they went missing, she was the one with Hen.”

  “Did they find anything with the toxicology?”

  “No, I mean I don’t think so, or they wouldn’t have let me out?” Rob said.

  “Whatever was used,” Tara cut in from the back of the room, “was obviously something that would never show up in blood work.”

  Rob looked at her, his pale, stubbly face confused, “What are you getting at?” he asked and then looked to Mike and Scotty, letting them know the question was theirs to answer, too. “I’ve just spent thirty hours locked up in a cell going over this time and again. They were on about getting a warrant or something to hold me for longer.” Tears welled up in his eyes and he wiped them away. “Do you know that I’d have happily stayed. ‘Cos in there it didn’t seem real, it was like life was on pause and I knew that when, if – they let me out that I’d have to really face it. They should have charged me,” he said with anger. “I might not have been the one to take them but it’s my fault. I wasn’t there for them when, when….,” he trailed off and bit back more tears.

  “They let you go, Rob, because they didn’t have any viable evidence other than circumstance to get a warrant to keep you for longer. I’m surprised they kept you longer than twenty-four hours if I’m honest, but this is a high-profile case and heads will roll if anything is missed. But I know things have been missed,” Mike said. “Not through any fault of the police mind, if we are right then this case goes way beyond anything they have ever dealt with or would ever consider. If the DI running this thing knew I was even here talking to you we’d be locked up, too. He’s told me to leave this alone, but I can’t leave it, we can’t leave it. Not knowing what we know, which is why we are here. You need to hear me out on this,” Mike paused a second. What he had to say next was a risky move, but he needed to get Rob Harrison’s attention. He took a deep breath and went for it, “I don’t believe that either your son or your daughter are dead,” he said firmly. “I know the police do and I know that right now you probably do, but we don’t.”

  “The shoe,” Rob Harrison said, and his voice took on a little emotion now, not pain, this was more anger. “I saw HIS shoe!” he spat at Mike and his hands began to shake slopping the water over the sides of the glass. It spilt down the sides and dripped to the floor where it darkened the blue carpet beneath. “It was in a fucking evidence bag, his Clarks trainer, the kind with the lights in the heels, only the lights won’t work now because it was in the sea.” Now a tear did roll down his cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away. “I was with him when we bought him those shoes. I can remember the day, I can remember the shop assistant who I paid and how he had to wear them right away, and how he kept looking in the shop windows to see the lights in the heels as he walked down the Highstreet, and the look of pure joy on his face when he made them flash.” Rob took a deep breath and sobbed. “And now it’s in a fucking evidence bag, so don’t you sit there and tell me my kids are not dead, don’t you give me that false hope. Don’t you dare!”

  Mike let the emotion pass for a few seconds, the silence seemed longer and the tension in the room was so strong he felt as if it were a tangible thing that he could touch. He placed a comforting hand back on his shoulder, he didn't shrug it off or flinch away which was a good sign. Instead, he wiped his wet fingers on the light grey fabric of the custody joggers and looked at Mike with those red-rimmed eyes. Mike could see a pleading in them. "I don't say things like that lightly, Rob," he said. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he needed to remain sure sounding and assertive. "I said it because I believe it. Can I say for sure? No, of course I can't but we honestly believe that both Henry and Ellie are alive and likely still in that village somewhere. They are in danger; very grave danger and I need you to listen to what we have to say. When you do you will know why the police are way off the mark in their suspicions. Casting you and your wife into the spotlight of blame has been one masterful act of misdirection."

  “And you think you can get them back?” Rob asked. There was a hint of hope in his voice now and Mike hated himself for giving it because if it all went to shit or he was wrong then Rob Harrison would have the rug whipped from under him a second time, and there was no telling where that might lead. Maybe to an electrical cord tied around a loft beam and the other around his neck, or to a pile of prescription pills and a bottle of Jack, or – Mike shut the ideas from his head, this was no time for those WHAT IF’s!

  “I don’t know,” Mike answered truthfully. “We are going to try. The police will be releasing the keys to The Old Chapel any day now, we are going in there when they do, and I mean to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Why can’t you take what you have to them now?” he asked suspiciously.

  Mike gestured for Tara and Scotty to come forward. In the hand that didn’t hold the audio recorder she had a pre-prepared file, it contained all the information and research they’d done on the place, and a fully typed account of what June had told them as well as statemented accounts of the strange experiences they’d had since getting embroiled in the case. She opened the file and began to lay out pictures of the missing girls on the foot of the bed by where Rob sat. He looked at them, his brow creasing as he pored over the many images.

  “Because it’s too fantastical and goes beyond reasonable thought. When Tara and Scott here brought this to me, I didn’t believe it either, so I don’t expect you to. Over the last day or so I have had some weird things happen to me that go beyond my understanding and now I do believe it, that’s why I am here. If I thought for a second that the police would
act on this then I’d be handing it to the DI in charge, but they won’t.”

  Rob looked from Mike to Tara and then to Scotty and then from him to the images and printouts of old newspaper articles that were now spread out and taking up most of the lower end of the bed. "Who are these girls?" he asked.

  Tara picked up the first image, the one of Lindie Parker and began to run through it, and Mike let her. She and Scotty had unwound the mystery and now was their time to speak; Mike just sat back and listened. Rob didn’t interrupt once, not when she delved back to the history of the Device family, nor when she told of the dream she’d had or the details of the PC who’d suffered a fatal accident whilst inside The Old Chapel. He remained focused and didn’t cut her off as she told him of the upcoming Grand Climax and how they felt that both Henry and Ellie’s taking was intrinsically linked to the coming Friday, July 27th. The parts she missed, and there weren’t many, Scotty filled in and hearing it all told out over the twenty or so minutes it took, Mike realised more than ever before how it fit together like the pieces of some fucked up jigsaw puzzle. Tara finished with Mike’s visit to the Horners’ place and the voices he’d heard on the FM receiver. When she had said all there was to say a silence followed, not a long one, although it felt that way. The silence was long enough for Rob Harrison to digest it all and Mike waited pensively for him to yell at them to ‘GET THE FUCK OUT’ and scream about how crazy they were.

  “I’m going in with you,” he finally said, and Mike let out a deep sigh of relief without even realising it.

  “No,” Mike replied.

  “Yes, if that is true, I’m going with you,” his voice had more body to it now, more purpose, some of that previous hollowness had been filled. He put the glass down on the carpet and scrubbed his hands over his face. “It sounds crazy,” he said.

  “I know,” Mike replied with earnest.

  “But it fits. Just how it all happened. I’m not sure I do or can believe it, but it fits. And what else do I have now?” He looked to Mike, but Mike had no answer to give. “If the people in that village did take them, then it still doesn’t explain how they got out.”

  “I have a feeling that once we figure that bit out, we will unravel this whole thing,” Mike said. “I just need to get inside. But you can’t come with us.”

  “They are my kids, my family,” Rob Harrison protested angrily.

  "I know but I need you here, you have a part to play in this, Rob. It might be an important one and the thing that saves our lives." He looked at Mike with new curiosity now, so Mike ran with it. "I'm guessing we will be in there by Wednesday at the latest. If by Eleven PM on Friday night you have not heard from us you take all of this pack to DI Samuels, you tell him to send whatever resources he can to The Old Chapel. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen on Friday. If I can’t get to the bottom of this by then, you make him listen.”

  “And if he won’t, if it’s too late?”

  “He’ll listen,” Mike said, being sure of no such thing. He could live with the lie though, for now, he'd given Rob Harrison something he felt he didn't have before their visit, purpose. And if a man as low as Rob Harrison felt he had a purpose it might just be the one thing that saves him. “We go back a long way, he knows I have a hand in this, he doesn’t like it one bit, but he knows. I’m going to give you a pre-addressed envelope as well, it contains all of this information, if we don’t come back then you take it to the post office and send it via first class recorded delivery. It’s for the Reeds. As you probably know they own the building and they deserve to know, if only so they can close the place down.”

  Fresh tears welled in Rob Harrison’s eyes, not tears of sadness this time, but tears of anger, frustration and maybe just a tiny bit of hope, “Okay, Mike,” he said and wiped them away before they had a chance to fall. “Promise me you’ll find them, you promise me that.”

  “I promise,” Mike said. He knew it was one that he probably couldn’t keep, or that by the time he found them it might be too late, but it was just another one of those things you said to stick a plaster over the wound.

  Scotty collected up the sheets of paper and sorted them into order before slipping them back into the A4 sized wallet. He passed them to Rob Harrison who nodded in thanks and sat there clutching them in his hand.

  The pieces are all in place now, Mike thought to himself as he looked at the sorry mess that was Rob Harrison. Well as in place as they can be. A few days ago, Rob had just been a regular family man, doing the best he could for his kids, and now he’d been robbed of that. Seth and Lucinda had sat there smiling at him and feigning concern and he felt hatred for them broil inside of him. He didn't know to what extent they were involved but he had no doubt they knew. All he needed now were the keys and the game would be on. How it would play out he had no idea, all he knew was that by this time next week it would likely all be over and that there was a very good chance they’d all be dead.

  Chapter 37

  A young waitress whose dark brown hair was tied back in a tight bun balanced three glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice on a circular brown tray toward them. Mike watched her weave in and out of the packed outer seating area of Wreckers, one of Charlestown’s many small and privately-owned eateries. She finally reached their table after avoiding a myriad of various obstacles such as pushed out chairs and carelessly abandoned bags and placed the three glasses down, one in front of Mike, another in front of Tara and finally one onto a coaster where Scotty sat.

  It was a little after eleven AM on Wednesday morning, the tide was up, and the water of the quay danced in thousands of tiny sparkling ripples that shimmered across its surface. The day was idyllic, and the fresh smell of the sea carried itself on the warm summer breeze. Above, gulls wheeled a called to each other in a deep, clear blue sky. Occasionally a fishing boat would jug its way out to sea where it would stay until the tide turned, then turned again allowing them back in with their catch.

  A stark reminder that everything was far from right with the world, despite the idyllic day, was the Police rib. It was moored against the far quay wall with a lifejacket wearing officer at the helm, a colleague was sat by his side holding a clipboard stuffed with paperwork. Occasionally one of the team of three divers would come up, remove their mask and cling to the rib, talking with the two officers onboard, some form filling then followed before the dive mask was fixed back in place and the diver disappeared once again below the still waters.

  “The tide brings in new junk and then washes it back out every time it turns,” Scotty commented before taking a deep swallow of juice and letting out a sigh of satisfaction. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and added, “I’ve seen it in Cowes harbour.”

  Charlestown was already brimming with tourists and more than one or two frantic looking parents were shouting pointlessly at their unruly kids to stay away from the edge of the harbour and to stop climbing on the twin metal railings that lined it to stop people falling in.

  The last day and a half, since the visit with Rob Harrison, had been spent going over and re-going over what they’d learned and digging for more, but it seemed that they had already learned all they could from the public records held online.

  Tuesday had been spent in Plymouth, first out at the Central Library trawling through old newspapers and microfilm. They found a few other stories relating to the missing girls that had not been available online, but nothing that helped at all, or provided a link to The Old Chapel, or Trellen in general. From the library, they'd driven to the Plymouth and West Devon Record Office only to be turned away due to lack of appointment. The portly bespectacled clerk informed them that the earliest they could return was the following Monday, but not between twelve and two PM as they were closed for lunch. He then produced a stack of forms for them to fill out covering which records they wanted access to. Mike had taken the papers with the empty promise of returning with them later that day, knowing full well that they wouldn’t as by Monday this thing w
ould likely be over.

  By the time they’d got back to the Travel Lodge Rob Harrison had gone. He’d posted a handwritten note under Mike’s door in an almost illegible scrawl that could have been written by someone with early-stage Parkinson's.

  Mike, Tara & Scott

  I’ve moved to the Milestones Hotel in Plymouth, it’s nearer the hospital and I need to be there for Carol. She is all I have now, and she needs me. It's time I stepped up and got a grip on things. I'm still not sure I can believe what you told me. Sorry. I will honour your two requests and I have your files with me.

  All the best

  Rob Harrison

  Mike had put the note with the case papers, the same papers which Rob had two copies of and had referred to in his letter. In a way Mike had felt relief at what he’d written, it wasn’t full of hope and Mike had a feeling that if the worst happened, or they lived but failed to unravel the mystery of just what had happened to Ellie and Henry Harrison, then the rug that he worried about being pulled from under Rob’s feet wouldn’t hurt that badly. Quite rightly he wasn't pinning all his hopes on them, for if you didn't expect too much then the let-down wasn't as hard to take.

  That Tuesday evening they’d spent time with a tasteless Indian takeaway and two six packs of Corona. All three of them camped out in Mike’s room reading what they could about the Pendle Witch Trials and the life of Jennett Device. They read varying accounts and watched a number of YouTube documentaries, but none told them more than they already knew, and all accounts seemed to reach the same conclusion, that Jennett Device had died in Lancaster Gaol. No one it seemed had as much information on the case as June Rogers, proprietor of Cornwall’s Museum to Witchcraft and the Occult.