Little Bones

by N V Peacock

  I search for what to expect when you visit a prison. I scan each page of each website. Is it as complicated as it looks?

  Logging off the computer, I check my phone: nothing. I make a cup of tea. My fingers itch at the sight of the knives in the cutlery drawer. I can bear this, I can.

  Greer is a good, solid suspect. I don’t need my dad to give me any serial killer clues or advice … but perhaps I do need him. I loved him when I was little. He was always there for me. Mum took little interest in her only child. She only loved her husband. Losing him was why committing suicide was as easy as abandoning me. I was just an everyday reminder of the man she lost. She bought all those pills. Filled up the bathtub; swallowed the tablets one at a time with a glass of water. It would have taken a while for her to do it all. I remember that day. Mum left me watching TV. She hadn’t even loved me enough to take me with her.

  No, I do need Dad now. I pick up my mobile and call the prison. I need my dad, but this time I also need Mr Bones.

  Chapter 26

  The phone rings. I haven’t seen my dad since I was eight years old, and he hasn’t contacted me. What will I say to him? He doesn’t even know he has a grandson. Do I just blurt out about Robin being missing, and tell him I’ve only now reached out to ask about his fanboys? I haven’t thought this through. I should hang up.

  The phone stops ringing. I hear an automated message about the prison. They will record this call and so on. The message stops as suddenly as it started.

  ‘Can I help you?’ comes a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Umm, yes, I hope so. I want to speak with a prisoner, William Hendy.’

  ‘I can’t just put calls through to inmates. They need to call you. Please hang up and …’

  ‘How can he call me when he doesn’t have my details, or know I need to talk to him?’

  The woman sighs. ‘Don’t hold your breath; Mr Hendy doesn’t do interviews.’

  Is she insinuating he won’t see me? ‘Well, thanks for your fucking help.’

  ‘There’s no need for foul language.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really need my dad right now. Can you help me?’

  ‘Your dad? You’re his daughter?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Cherrie, I mean Leigh-Ann Hendy.’

  ‘Well, yes; okay, there’s an online email system.’ She gives me the address. ‘You can use this service. You email and we print it off for the prisoner the same day.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say and hang up.

  I go to the site and follow the instructions, then stare at a blank email for the next hour. What do I write? Somehow, this is even harder than thinking through what I would say face to face. Do I tell him the truth? I begin typing about Robin, how great he is, and that he has an imaginary friend called Nostrom. I tell Dad I need his help, but I’m not specific as to why I need it. I press send before I can change my mind, or liberally redraft the email with swear words.

  Now, I have to wait.

  The sun flutters through the dining room window. I close my eyes. In its bright warmth, I imagine Mrs Duffill’s house in Spain. Robin playing in the sand. Leo wearing surfer shorts, which billow in the water as he swims. Me in a bikini, sipping cocktails on a sun lounger. Mrs Duffill drowning in the nearby pool. Her damp bouffant hair slowly dragging her, head first, towards the tiled bottom. That’s awful. I need to stop being so mean.

  Perhaps Mrs Duffill and I are fuelling this cycle of hate together, one giving the other cause to react. Maybe I should extend an olive branch; especially now. She loves Robin almost as much as I do. She’ll be feeling his absence just as much.

  I make another crisp sandwich that I don’t eat, then check my email for the Visiting Order. It’s not there. Would Dad ignore my pleas for help? It’s not essential I speak to him. The police now have all the details of my past, so have probably already spoken to him. I might be putting myself through this all for nothing. My dad might have some Hannibal Lecter-style unique insight into what’s going on, but it’s not as if he’s psychic … Though I know someone who is. Shit, I should have done this sooner.

  Driving to Mariah’s house on autopilot, my mind twitches with questions. I realise that her gift isn’t easy to interpret, and there will only be vague answers; but ambiguous answers are better than nothing. After all, she did predict Robin’s abduction and Thomas’s death, so there has to be some insight she can give me. I should have listened to her from the start; if I had, maybe I’d be curled up on the couch right now with Robin and Leo.

  Pulling into her drive, I see her car, so I know she’s in. I jog to her front door and knock. No answer.

  ‘Mariah!’ I shout through her letterbox.

  The door opens. It’s Jon.

  ‘She’s with Sarah,’ he says. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I missed my appointment Saturday night. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We saw it on the news. We tried to warn you.’ He gives me a sympathetic smile, with undertones of I told you so.

  ‘I know you did, but I need her help now. Will she help me? I’ll pay her anything you ask.’

  Jon purses his lips and looks behind me as if someone in the street is watching. ‘Okay. Come in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He smiles awkwardly as if he’d prefer anyone but me at his door, but he stands aside to let me pass. As I enter the house, I smell their dinner. I look at my watch and realise I’ve interrupted their teatime.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry about barging in like this. Has your little girl eaten yet? I’m not disturbing her dinner, am I?’

  ‘She’s upstairs playing now. Sorry about the mess, I was just tidying up the dishes.’ Jon walks me into their kitchen. Like all their rooms, it’s a small, yet strangely sparse space, holding just the basic kitchen appliances and a little dining room table and four chairs. Three used plates sit on the table. It’s not exactly what I’d call a mess.

  The house feels so different compared to when I came for my first reading. Then, it was cold with a musky scent, but today it’s warm and smells like a home.

  He moves to clear the dishes, and I jerk in front of him to help. I put my hand on one plate and my finger touches something soft. Looking down, I see cheese spread on a stray piece of carrot. I almost burst into tears, yet manage to hold it together. I can’t have a breakdown in their kitchen over cheesy vegetables.

  ‘You do this for Sarah too?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, kids hate veg; it’s all we can do to get her to eat them. We also add whizzed-up carrots and broccoli to gravy and sauces.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. I must try it with Robin …’ I say, my voice trailing off with his name.

  ‘I’d introduce you to Sarah, but Mariah doesn’t like her speaking with the clients. You understand. It’s nothing to do with …’

  ‘Sure.’ I help him put the dishes in the dishwasher. After, Jon sits me down in the living room with a cup of weak tea.

  ‘I’ll see if Mariah can see you now.’ He sighs. ‘I’m sorry about your son.’

  I want to say it is okay; it’s a natural knee-jerk response, but I can’t seem to push it out. Probably because it’s not okay.

  Sipping hot, tasteless tea, I wait for Mariah. As I do, I hear little Sarah bumping around upstairs playing.

  I’ve almost drained my drink when Mariah sweeps into the room. She’s wearing a pink dress and a fuchsia shrug. Her hair is messy, and her make-up is heavy, although not as perfect as when I last saw her here.

  ‘Do you have good news for me?’ I ask her.

  I hear the faint voice of Jon telling Sarah to be quiet because there’s a visitor downstairs who needs their help. Mariah notices me eavesdropping so explains, ‘She likes to play tag with her dolls. It can get pretty noisy.’

  It’s an odd game. I’m guessing Sarah likes to win at things; she can’t lose when dolls are chasing her.

  Mariah leads me to the reading room. Wordlessly, she gives me the cards. I shuffle them, cut them with my left hand, t
hen give them back to her.

  Drawing only one card, she looks up at me. ‘We only need help tonight, only the advice on what you should do.’

  Wiggling her fingers over the card like a magician performing a trick, she smiles at me.

  A big bang sounds upstairs and she blushes. ‘Sorry about that, Sarah is in one of her moods tonight. It was supposed to be family time.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for just barging in. I could talk to her, tell her how important you are?’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I can’t vouch for her attitude, and you’ve had enough abuse recently.’

  Wow, Sarah sounds like a right little madam. ‘Okay, thanks again for doing this,’ I tell her. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  Smiling, she flips over the card: the Wheel of Fortune. It looks like the bloody Ferris wheel.

  ‘Hmmm, the cards are saying you have to go back to the fair.’

  ‘Back to Crazy Clive’s?’

  ‘Yes, a man from the fair took Robin. He still has him. Your little bird never left there.’

  Robin’s still at the fair? Wait, what? ‘How can that be?’ I ask. ‘The police checked the fair.’

  ‘He’s a clever man. This is not his first time, but his first did not go as he planned. It frustrated him, made him act sooner than he would have liked.’

  ‘Has he hurt my son?’

  ‘No. Robin is safe. For now.’

  ‘Is he a copycat?’

  ‘Pardon?’ She looks at me, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘The fair worker, does he want to be like another killer?’

  Mariah closes her eyes. ‘Yes, I think he does.’

  One more question. ‘Has the abductor made contact with me?’

  The psychic takes a deep breath and then says, ‘I cannot answer that. I do not wish to go any deeper into this disturbed man’s mind. You understand this, don’t you?’

  I do understand. More than I’d care to explain. I nod. ‘But Robin is safe?’ I ask again.

  ‘For now.’

  Most psychics tell you what you want to hear, but Mariah has proved herself anything but that type of psychic. She told the truth to Tracy, Shania and hopefully Gurpreet too. I hope I’m hearing the truth now; Robin is safe and he’s where I left him. It’s why the CCTV didn’t pick anything up; he never left the fair. The man who has him is echoing my dad, why and how much of Mr Bones’ MO he’s copying, who knows. Robin can’t end up chalky sticks of art. I won’t let it happen. I need to hear his laugh again. The world needs to have him in it to make it a better place.

  I get up and hug Mariah. She pats my back. ‘Go to the fair,’ she whispers.

  But what about Oscar Greer? If Robin’s still at the fair he can’t be at Greer’s house. ‘There’s another man,’ I say to her. ‘His name is Oscar Greer. He’s a registered sex offender. Are you sure he doesn’t have Robin?’

  Mariah looks back at the cards. ‘Hmmm. He’s a horrible man. Awful, but it’s not him.’

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ I say.

  ‘Nothing, Cherrie. I look forward to seeing you here again, with Robin. He’s such a good boy, your little bird.’

  ‘Thank you. Perhaps he and Sarah could play together.’

  Mariah quickly covers her mouth. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful. Your little bird and my little angel. They’ll be such great friends.’

  I make it to the door in time to see Jon. I thank him too, before getting back into my car with a new plan of action. It was someone at the fair. It sounds so obvious. Why didn’t the police think of it? Should I say something to them? No, I doubt they would believe where I got my information from; the other side isn’t their typical informant.

  I need to get back to Crazy Clive’s Fair and search it properly. I didn’t do it on Friday night because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I was too busy trying to remain calm and answer the police’s fantastic array of useless questions. I’m not sure why I even trusted the chain-smoking freak at the fair. It was stupid to think a stranger would be honest and help me. The police took me away before I even made it back to the Ghost Train.

  At home, I sit at the dining room table with my laptop. I need to check out how long the fair will be in town. When I log on, I see there’s an email from the prison. Dad has replied.

  Chapter 27

  Dear Leigh-Ann,

  You changed your name … a rose by any other.

  I’m a granddad. I’d love to see you and Robin, if that’s why you’re contacting me. Has he asked about me? Does he know what I did?

  Anyway, please find attached the VO form. They have told me you need to bring your passport as a form of ID, and a pound coin for the locker. I’ve never had a visitor who wasn’t a solicitor or a policeman.

  I’m looking forward to seeing you both.

  Dad

  X

  Dad thinks Robin’s coming too. Like I’d ever put my son through a prison visit. But, if I do something terrible to the skeleton copycat for taking Robin, I’ll end up in prison too. Would Leo let Robin come to see me there? I shake off these thoughts. Even though Mariah has given me a lead to replace the need to see Dad, I still print the Visitor Order form off. Holding something in your hands feels good. An email attachment is nothing. It doesn’t really exist. You can’t touch it, or rip it up into confetti.

  Online, I search for Crazy Clive’s Fair. I find their website, which features several towns announcing where they’ll be pitching up next. Grabbing some paper, I make a timeline of their stops and google the towns they’ve already visited plus the words missing child. Nothing. Perhaps they are so sneaky that no one has pieced it together, or could Mariah be wrong? Yet she was right about Thomas Doncaster. I quickly check to see when the fair arrived in Northampton, but it doesn’t coincide with Thomas’s disappearance either. They came here three days after Thomas went missing and had travelled from Scotland. Wait, Patricia mentioned this, or maybe she didn’t. I can’t remember.

  I smack my forehead with my palm as if my brain is an engine needing a jolt to get it going again. The fair opens at seven; it’ll be too busy now, so I need to get there tomorrow before it opens, that way the workers will be busy with their preparations, and there’ll be no crowds to spot me lurking; hunting the copycat.

  My stomach grumbles. I pull away from the laptop, all the while suppressing the urge to whack the uninformative machine across the table. There’s cereal in the kitchen cupboards, so I pour out a massive bowl and cover it with milk. I eat on the couch. While I do, I flick on the TV and start an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. When the bowl is empty, and my belly full, I fall asleep listening to the sounds of oversexed doctors.

  Something touches me. It’s like little fingers holding my nose. I gasp awake and see a message on the TV asking if I’m still there, if I want to watch another episode. Switching it off, I check my mobile. Like magic, it rings as I touch it, making me jump.

  Right now, I can’t take another unknown caller. Fortunately, when I look down, I see it is Patricia.

  I answer with, ‘Have you found Robin?’

  ‘Umm, no, but we have CCTV footage that has given us more to go on.’

  ‘You’re calling me at …’ I squint at the clock on the mantel. ‘Three in the morning to tell me you found CCTV footage? What the hell is on it?’

  ‘Well, umm. Perhaps I should come over. I know Mr Duffill wants us to leave you alone, but it’s my job to help you through this.’

  ‘Help me through this!’

  ‘I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.’

  Silence.

  As calmly as I can, I ask, ‘What was on the footage?’

  ‘Mr Duffill has already identified Robin in the picture.’ She pauses, then pushes out, ‘He’s holding the hand of a man dressed as a skeleton.’

  This is not news to me. I want to scream at Patricia to catch up. Remind her I’ve already told the police about the skeleton.

  ‘Both leave the fair. They head towards …’

 
‘Pardon? They didn’t leave the fair.’

  ‘What do you mean? The camera clearly shows them leaving the fair.’

  Is Mariah wrong? Maybe they left and doubled back? ‘Okay, where did they go?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell – not all the cameras work. At some point, they get into a car.’

  ‘What kind of car?’

  ‘It’s parked at an angle so we can’t see the number plate, but it appears it’s a dark car.’

  A dark car. Just like the one I saw here. Just like the dark car that belongs to the man who was stalking me. Wait, it makes a twisted sort of sense, a son for a son. Mr Bones took his little boy, so maybe he took mine. Not so much a copycat, but a vigilante out to even the score.

  ‘Patricia, there was a man who listened to that fucking podcast and found out my name and where I worked. He stalked me; went to Dawson’s Food, and came to my house.’

  ‘Did anyone else see him?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t imagine him! Oh, sorry, yes. Kylie was there. She saw him.’

  ‘Kylie who?’

  ‘I’m not sure of her surname, but she’s staying at my friend Tracy Carter’s house.’

  ‘Yes, we have Tracy’s details. I’ll send someone over to speak with Kylie. Why didn’t you report a man stalking you at the time?’

  I sigh; not wanting to admit to Patricia that it scared me people could find out who Cherrie Forrester used to be. ‘He is the dad of one of Mr Bones’ victims. He wanted answers I couldn’t give him. He could have taken Robin.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Keep your phone on. I’ll keep you updated.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to her.

  ‘This is a horrible thing that has happened to you, Cherrie. I read about your past. I’ve looked into the Mr Bones case. You don’t deserve to lose your son over something your dad did.’

  ‘Thank you, but I haven’t lost my son yet,’ I tell her and hang up.

  I roll this new revelation around my mind. Too many suspects and not enough time. My stalker! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It makes sense. He has to be my priority now, then the copycat fair worker, then, pervert Greer. How am I going to discover the bereaved father’s name? Maybe the shop will have footage of him. I text Tracy and ask her to look up the recordings for the day he lingered around the cheeses. She texts back that she’ll check.