by N V Peacock
‘Ummm, is this okay?’ I show the policeman my phone. ‘It’s from last summer.’
‘Last summer?’ He gives me an odd look.
‘There are more photos at home,’ I add quickly, although it’s a lie. There are no other photos. Leo isn’t a big photo taker either. I don’t think he even owns a picture of me taken in the last four years.
‘Your son’s full name?’
‘Robin Leo Duffill.’
‘And the last time you saw him, was here at the fair?’
‘Yes, I said that already,’ I whine and have to stop from stamping my foot like an ill-tempered child.
‘Where in the fair, exactly?’
I point over to the wheel behind the Coconut Shy; it’s still slowly spinning around. Why haven’t they stopped it?
‘What were you doing?’
I was texting – that sounds bad. I wasn’t watching my son. ‘I didn’t want to go on the ride; he went on by himself,’ I finally push out.
‘You saw him on the ride?’
‘Yes, he waved at me.’
‘So, you lost him after he went on the Ferris wheel?’
Did I see Robin? I saw the red jacket. Leo’s texts distracted me. However, I’ve already told DC Kimmings I saw him. ‘He never came off the ride.’
‘What? He couldn’t have gotten off, though. The ride doesn’t stop.’
He doesn’t believe me. ‘I saw a red jacket, but when I approached the boy coming off the ride, it was someone else; it wasn’t Robin. I waited for him, but he never got off the ride.’
DC Kimmings looks up at the Ferris wheel. ‘Are you sure you saw him on there in the first place? If I ask the fair worker running it, will he be able to confirm your son got on the ride?’
‘I think so.’ I’m losing my credibility. I can’t even get the pattern of events that just happened straight in my mind. Wait, the dad with the little girl – there was someone else who saw us in line. ‘There was a man with his daughter in line near us. He can tell you.’
‘Did you get his name?’
‘No, I didn’t get his name. I didn’t know I’d need it later for a police interview,’ I yell and notice everyone at the fair is now looking at us. Some have their mobiles lifted as if I am a special sideshow for their entertainment.
‘Okay, okay. I understand. Do you live near here?’
‘Yes, on Rockingham Drive; it’s part of the Oak Cross Estate.’
He speaks into his radio and then turns to me. ‘Let’s get you home. Your son could be there already.’
‘He’s not at home. Listen to me. There was a skeleton on the Ghost Train. He was talking to us. The lady at the booth …’ I grab DC Kimmings’ arm, and I drag him towards the chain-smoking fair worker. ‘She claims they don’t have a skeleton on the Ghost Train.’
The policeman allows me to push him towards the booth. ‘Is this correct, ma’am? Did you say there are no skeletons on the Ghost Train? Could someone who doesn’t work here gain access to your rides?’
The woman slowly puts out her latest cigarette. ‘Our security is tight. Course there’s skeletons on the Ghost Train.’
‘That’s not what you said,’ I butt in.
‘It’s understandable you don’t remember what I said.’
‘My memory is fine, you condescending bitch.’
The skinny woman reacts as if no one has ever called her bitch before, all wide-eyed and flustered.
‘Let’s keep this civil,’ says DC Kimmings. ‘I want information on your security on the Ghost Train. If the skeleton isn’t one of your workers, could someone break into your ride?’
‘No one broke in. Why wouldn’t there be skeletons on the Ghost Train?’ She then lays her beady eyes on me. ‘Come on, dear. You’re in shock. Let us help you.’ The woman reaches to pat my arm. I slap her nicotine-stained fingers away.
‘All right. Calm down.’ DC Kimmings stands between the booth and me. ‘I’ve been called out on more cases of kids going missing than I’ve had hot dinners. They usually turn up. We need to get you home now.’
‘They don’t usually turn up. What about Thomas Doncaster? He didn’t turn up. Alive anyway.’
He twitches at Thomas’s name. ‘I understand how you feel, but let’s get you home, okay?’
‘Home? I need to search the fair. Robin could still be here. What about the car park?’ I rush past the policeman and begin banging into people as I sprint on rubbery legs towards the makeshift car park at the bottom of the fair.
As I get to the first line of cars, I see police blocking the exit. They are checking each vehicle as it leaves, but there are so few cars. Black Friars is in the centre of three neighbouring estates. Most people could have easily walked to the fair.
‘Are you checking all the exits?’ I ask the policeman as he catches up with me.
‘Please, Robin is probably already at home waiting for you.’
‘No, he’s not. You have to believe me. The skeleton took my son.’
The DC nods and speaks into his radio. ‘Search the Ghost Train from top to bottom. Talk to me about their security. Check how easy it would be for someone to break in.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s just a precaution. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.’
Yeah, sometimes, it isn’t as bad as you think. Sometimes it’s worse.
The police radio crackles. ‘Ghost Train looks clear.’
‘Secure the exits, just in case,’ DC Kimmings says.
The whole park is one big exit. Each side bleeding into a different housing estate. They can’t keep track of it all. The skeleton could have already slipped out, Robin unconscious over his shoulder. Shuddering, I imagine the growing grin across the abductor’s face. Dad smiled when he would take his victims home; it was the only smile of his I tried to forget.
I need more help than the police can give. Even though I have no idea what I’ll say, I have to call Leo. Picking up my phone, I scroll to my contacts, but stop. It feels like, if I say Robin is missing aloud to him, it becomes real. Yet arriving in a police car won’t be good either. I text, Is Robin with you?
I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply. DC Kimmings guides me into the back of his car, like a criminal. People are looking at me as if I’ve done something wrong. But I have committed a crime, I’m a shit mother. My son is lost because I wasn’t watching him. I was too busy hiding my secrets to stop someone taking my child. The worry of my exposed past now feels so trivial against losing Robin, it’s laughable.
The car rumbles and we slowly edge out of the park. I imagine the ghost of a headless nun and an angry monk, looking on at me from the dark tree line, judging my loss. Then I remember what Robin said before the fair. He wanted to play on the swings where he met Nostrom.
‘The play area of the park. We need to check it. Robin might be there.’
The police officer slows to park near a hedge. ‘Okay, let’s check the play area.’
Chapter 17
From the back of the police car, I can make out the eerie, motionless swings in the dark. As a reminder that kids shouldn’t be playing at this time of night, the park is unlit.
DC Kimmings opens my car door and offers me a sizeable torch. It’s heavier than I expect and I almost drop it. He flicks his flashlight on, illuminating me. I fumble for the button on mine, find it, then click it on.
Without speaking, we search the park. Instantly, I can tell it’s a waste of time. There are no sounds of children at play, no squeaky swings, no laughter. No one is here.
After a few moments, DC Kimmings strides back to the car. I hear the muffled sound of radio chatter. He steps back out and fixes his light on me.
‘They are sending a dog unit down here to sweep the area. We should leave now.’
I squeeze my eyes shut against the bright light. ‘No, just a moment longer. Please. I haven’t checked the bushes. I should look there, just in case.’
‘Robin is probably home by now. We need to leave a
nd let the other officers do their jobs.’ He switches off his torch. Darkness envelops me, a sharp life reminder that everything can change at the click of a switch, the opening of a door, or the arrival of a text.
I look down at my phone. I want to see a message from Leo telling me Robin is with him, but my phone is stubbornly unhelpful.
DC Kimmings motions for me to once again slide into the back seat of the car. Quickly, I scan the play area one more time with the torch. Robin isn’t here. I slowly slip into the police car.
It takes less than five minutes to pull up outside my house. The car has no siren or flashing lights, so slinks past the usual neighbourhood curtain-twitchers. DC Kimmings helps me out of the car. I walk up my drive. Put the key in the door. I step in and look down to where Robin’s shoes should be. They’re not there.
Leo strides across the living room towards me. He’s about to say something but stops when he sees DC Kimmings.
‘There was no need to call the police. I’m hurt about you keeping a secret from me, not what the secret was,’ Leo says with a sigh.
‘No,’ I say. I slip down to the floor, finding the first step of my stairs to sit on. ‘Robin, is he here?’
‘He’s with you, isn’t he?’ Leo moves forward, extending a hand to the DC. ‘Leo Duffill.’
‘DC Kimmings,’ the policeman says shaking hands.
‘Robin’s missing,’ I blurt out.
‘What do you mean, missing? He was with you. How can he be missing?’ Leo shouts.
‘Let’s calm down, Mr Duffill. Does Robin have a key?’ DC Kimmings asks.
‘No, he’s too young to have his own front door key.’ Leo locks his eyes on me. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I sent you a text to ask if he had come home. You didn’t answer it.’
‘I didn’t hear my phone. I was in the extension.’
‘Then calling you wouldn’t have made a difference, would it?’ Bending, I take off my boots and throw them at Leo’s feet.
Easily sidestepping my flying footwear, Leo says, ‘A ringtone is longer and louder than a text tone, Cherrie.’
DC Kimmings interrupts our argument by radioing for an update. We all wait for the reply. I need to hear someone say Robin is safe; that this has all been a massive wake-up call; that my petty little worries mean nothing. My past doesn’t matter. Robin is what matters and I swear I’ll never forget it. Never.
The radio crackles. A voice comes over the static; they are sending people to check the house.
‘You need to search the fair,’ I whine.
‘He’s not home,’ Leo tells DC Kimmings. ‘I’d tell you if he were.’
Police cars pull up outside; these ones have their sirens whooping like angry primates. People in uniform fill up my open-plan living room; it’s like watching dull, duplicate clowns flow out of a wailing Mini. A petite woman in a soft grey skirt suit follows them in.
‘I’m DCI Jeddick,’ she says. ‘We are doing everything we can to find Robin, but you need to help us. Do you have an up-to-date photo? You said you had one here.’
‘DCI? Why are you here? I thought DCIs were for high-profile cases only?’ They think Robin has been taken by the same man as Thomas Doncaster. Why else would they send the top brass?
She smiles at me. ‘Popular misconception. I’ve personally been on more missing child cases than I care to mention. Most turn up in the first few hours.’
Leo moves forward and grabs a school photo from the mantel. ‘It’s just a month old, taken when he started Year Four.’
He gives it to DCI Jeddick, who passes it to another officer.
‘Gov, I’m going to search upstairs,’ says DC Kimmings.
When the DC disappears, my stomach twists up with a weird feeling of abandonment.
‘We are going to search your house. You’d be surprised how many kids are hiding at home, scared they’re in trouble. Are there any places where he could hide?’ asks DCI Jeddick.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Robin’s not that kind of kid.’
‘And I told you, he’s not here. I think I would have seen him,’ Leo says, his voice getting louder by the word.
‘You’re wasting time,’ I add.
Leo shakes his head. ‘This isn’t happening,’ he whispers.
The DCI crosses her arms over her chest. ‘This is DC Steadman.’ She motions to a broad-shouldered, heavy-set man who huffs and puffs as if he’s one brisk walk from a heart attack. ‘He will interview you now, and I need you to be honest. Honesty finds your son quicker. Okay, I’m going to leave you in his capable hands and get back to the station.’
DC Steadman’s large hand snaps out towards me. I shake it, but it’s sweaty and he grips me too tightly, so my fingers practically pop out of his professional gesture. ‘Good to meet you both, sorry about the circumstances.’
Nodding, I fall back onto the couch. Leo sits beside me, no part of him touching me. His issues will have to be dealt with later. I can’t concentrate on him right now.
‘Is your son on any medications?’ DC Steadman asks as he pulls out a thick-looking iPad covered in black rubber.
‘No,’ I reply.
‘So there’s nothing he needs to get back to take? Insulin? Inhaler?’
I shake my head.
‘Has he ever run away before?’
‘No, he’s not like that,’ Leo says.
How many times are they going to ask the same question? As if I will suddenly realise they’re right on the thirtieth time they ask.
Leo huffs. ‘Robin is a good boy. He’d never leave either of us.’
‘Yet you told DC Kimmings he ran away from you to go on the Ferris wheel, and then went on it alone?’ he asks me.
Leo’s weighty hand suddenly presses down on my knee. Avoiding his stare, I look away. I can hear officers opening doors upstairs, rootling through my private stuff. What will they think if they find my box of criminology books tucked at the back of my wardrobe?
A policewoman comes up to DC Steadman and whispers something to him.
‘Do you have the keys to your extension?’ he asks Leo.
‘He’s not in there. I always lock it. He can’t get in.’
‘We’d like to check anyway.’
‘It’s still under construction and dangerous; I don’t want people in there. I’ll check it myself; your officer can wait by the door.’ He gets up and strides across to the kitchen drawer, retrieves the key, then goes into his new room alone.
DC Steadman gives me an odd look. ‘The notes say your son was wearing a red jacket, and you saw a child step off the Ferris wheel in a similar jacket. We’re tracking down the other boy, along with the father and daughter you mentioned in the queue. It will take time. There’s no CCTV in Black Friars Park, but there are plenty of cameras around it on the estates. We’re doing everything we can.’
The police continue searching my house. They find nothing. All of them then leave, save for DC Kimmings who sits with Leo and me as we silently drink cold tea. I look up at the clock to see it has been four hours since I last saw Robin. Now, even his photo from the mantelpiece is gone. I’ve been sitting in the same cross-legged position for most of that time; my legs are numb. The dull ache of pins and needles is gripping them both from toe to thigh. I should stretch; instead, I accept the pain, welcome it. It’s my only feeling.
A helicopter flies overhead.
‘It’s searching for Robin,’ DC Kimmings says. ‘You know, your name sounds familiar. Have you ever been arrested, Cherrie?’ His eyes narrow, expecting me to blurt out I’m some sort of criminal mastermind.
‘No, and shouldn’t you have that in your files if I were?’
‘Of course, I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve heard your name somewhere before.’
I can’t take another round of Guess Who, not now. Clamping my mouth shut, I sink into the couch, my senses searching for the scent of my little boy. Only a few hours ago, Robin was here watching TV. The couch fabric still imprisons hi
s essence. I bow my head and lose myself in a quick imaginary rewrite – we didn’t go to the fair tonight. Leo came home early with a DVD for us to watch instead. Robin is in my arms; his face smeared with chocolate. His sweet breath laced with Haribo, and his tired limbs sprawled all over me.
The sharp trill of our house phone slices through my daydream.
Chapter 18
Leo reaches the phone first and presses the button to put it on speaker.
‘DCI Jeddick here. We’re still searching for Robin, but with the circumstances as they are we would like to set up a TV appeal right away; say first thing tomorrow. We’ve already circulated Robin’s photo to media outlets, but if you are both strong enough to do the appeal in the morning, it could really help.’
‘Anything we can do,’ Leo replies, then hangs up.
Circumstances as they are? What the fuck does that mean? Is there something they’re not telling us?
DC Kimmings edges closer. ‘Cherrie, this is important. If someone has Robin, and that might not even be the case, but if someone does, it’s important to show …’
I don’t care what he says next. The Doncasters made an appeal for their son and all it got them was a shoeless corpse.
Did the murderer who stole Thomas’s life take my son tonight? Or is Robin’s disappearance something to do with me? Is it because he’s Mr Bones’ grandson? At this point, I can neither assume, nor discount, anything.
I look over at DC Kimmings. ‘My given name was Leigh-Ann Hendy.’
‘Pardon?’ DC Kimmings picks his iPad up again.
‘My father was the serial killer Mr Bones. In the early 1990s, he murdered eleven boys. He used their bones to create sculptures for his private art gallery. I changed my name when I was seventeen.’ My shoulders slump, and I all but fall back against the sofa.
Leo grunts. ‘This better not be something to do with your sordid family history.’
Pursing his lips, DC Kimmings looks over at Leo. ‘Go make another cuppa, will you?’
‘This is your fault. No matter which way you cut it,’ Leo whispers as he gets up.