Little Bones

by N V Peacock

  ‘Park yourself,’ says a woman next to me. ‘The prisoners come to you.’

  I weave my way through the plastic maze and find a table by the door. I hope, from this vantage point, I’ll be able to recognise Dad as he comes in.

  The chair is uncomfortably cold. There are no arms and the back is hard against my spine. I’ve already forgotten my plan. My hands are sweaty, and I’m hungry again.

  Hearing a little boy laugh, I twist around to see kids playing in the corner of the room. Who’d bring children to a prison? I can’t imagine letting Robin come here.

  Prisoners dressed in matching grey tracksuits with red sashes walk in single file into the room. It’s like the world’s worst beauty pageant. All of them look forlorn until they spot their visitor.

  I try to watch them without looking too crazy, or desperate. Even though each second that ticks by feels as if it’s burrowing into me, germinating seeds of worry. What if Dad doesn’t show up? What if he’s punishing me for not visiting him before, or for changing my name to start a new life? What if he doesn’t recognise me? What if …

  The flow of prisoners slows. I wring my hands together as I lock eyes with a parade of deviant criminals. Where is my dad?

  Chapter 28

  ‘Leigh-Ann?’

  Suddenly, there he is. Greyer and thinner than I remember, but still my dad. I’m shocked at how close he is to me now. He’s not even wearing handcuffs or a Hannibal Lecter mask. He looks normal apart from the grey Converse-style trainers pulled together with Velcro, no laces. He’d have never worn anything so dull when he was free.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ I whisper and get up, not sure what prison etiquette is for a daughter who has ignored her father for decades. Lifting my arms, I lean in to give him a slight hug, but see a guard move to stop me, so quickly sit back down.

  Dad picks a chair across from me and sits, his sharp blue eyes, just like Robin’s, never leaving mine. The smile I tried so hard to forget getting bigger by the second.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ he says.

  ‘Funny, I thought the same about you.’ I almost laugh.

  ‘Where else could I go?’

  ‘How’d you recognise me?’

  ‘You grew up pretty. It’s like looking in a mirror.’ He chuckles and adds, ‘So, Leigh-Ann, lots to catch up on.’

  ‘I changed my name to Cherrie, remember? I’m sorry,’ I blurt out. Why did I just apologise?

  ‘That’s a lovely name. I used to call you Ma Cherie, do you remember?’ He leans forward for my answer.

  ‘Oh, um, I didn’t remember that.’ Now I do though.

  ‘May I ask why you changed your name?’

  ‘I couldn’t take the taunting anymore. Did you know everyone called me Little Bones?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. It must have been awful. I never did like Mr Bones either. I wish I’d picked my own nickname.’ He looks down at the table, then beams a killer smile up at me. ‘I’m a granddad now. Isn’t that something?’

  ‘Yes, it’s why I’m here. I need your help.’ I wanted a little benign small talk before I launched into why I’d come for my first-ever visit, yet I can’t afford to wait. We only get an hour, and Robin could need every minute.

  ‘Ma Cherie, if I can do anything to help you, I will. You know that, right? I am always here for you.’

  ‘Here,’ I say. ‘In prison. Yeah, and you were always there for me, except when you were butchering eleven boys.’ I instantly regret my anger. I need to keep him on my side. Robin needs him.

  Sighing, Mr Bones sits back in his chair. ‘You have every right to be cross, Ma Cherie. I understand.’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ I should have waited to ask that until after he’d told me everything he knew about Robin’s abductor, yet that question has been burning a hole in my brain for so many years, it was bound to shoot out.

  ‘The why was never important,’ he replies. ‘But, you need not worry about that now.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a changed man?’ I’m fucking this up.

  Dad inches his hands across the table, bringing our skin closer together. He looks over at the guard staring at us and winks at him.

  ‘Don’t be mad at me, Ma Cherie, I am the same man. If they let me out today, I would drive the streets again seeking new bones to make my next masterpiece. I have decades of ideas I’m desperate to work on. Ones that would fit smaller bones.’ Leaning in, he whispers, ‘I just won’t get caught again.’

  A gasp almost chokes me.

  Grinning, he whispers, ‘Breathe, Ma Cherie. Breathe for Daddy.’

  I’m an idiot; why did I come here thinking he’d help, that he’d even know anything I could use to find Robin? I’m grasping at serial killer straws.

  I bend down to pick up my bag, but realise it’s not here, it’s in the locker. His hand shoots out across the table and grabs my wrist. My head snaps up towards the guard, but he is now watching another table.

  ‘Never be frightened of me. You are the best piece of art I ever created. You’re beautiful and strong down to your bones. I never hid who I was from you, but you were too small to understand. I’m sorry. Looking back, which I’ve done a lot, I can see I was cruel to you. I didn’t mean it. Please, how can I help you now?’

  I stare into his eyes and I’m eight years old again. My father, the only person who truly cared for me, as flawed as he is, wants to help.

  ‘Robin is missing,’ I whisper.

  ‘What? When?’

  ‘Last Friday night, we went to a fair in Black Friars Park and someone took him.’

  ‘Who took him?’

  ‘We don’t know; it’s why I’m here. The abductor was dressed as a skeleton.’

  Dad leans back, releasing my wrist. ‘Understood. What can I do to help, Ma Cherie?’

  ‘I need to find out if what’s going on is to do with the Mr Bones case. Has anyone sent you letters, a fan perhaps?’

  Dad laughs. ‘It’s not like in films. Someone reads our post before we see it. They weed out anyone talking about murders or crimes. All I see are marriage proposals from desperate women.’

  Just because Dad’s not seen any letters from the copycat, doesn’t mean there were none; but, if they were weeded out, surely the police would have them. There’s also my stalker, who I haven’t seen since Robin’s disappearance. If he tracked me down for answers, then he’ll have tried to contact Dad.

  ‘Okay, so some asshole started a podcast about our family and the murders.’

  ‘What’s a podcast?’

  ‘It’s like an independent radio show. In one episode, the host revealed my identity along with where I work. The dad of one of your victims started stalking me.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘That’s the thing; I don’t know. He never told me his name, or the name of his son. Has anyone tried to see you?’

  Closing his eyes, Dad shifts in his seat. ‘Some of the parents tried, but I never granted them VOs. One tried more than once. His name was Lawrence something … Lawrence Edwards. I was tempted to see him. I remember his son; wonderful cheekbones. I thought perhaps his father had them too.’

  Before I can stop myself, I say, ‘Fuck sake, could you at least try to act like a normal person?’

  ‘I didn’t bring you up to use such foul language,’ he says.

  ‘You didn’t bring me up at all, remember?’ I bite my lip to stop anything else coming out. I need his help. This family reunion isn’t for me and my psychological issues, it’s for Robin.

  Before I can apologise with a lie, Dad holds up his hands.

  ‘Did you get the name, Lawrence Edwards?’

  ‘Okay, thank you.’ I make a mental note of the name, intending to save it on my phone later.

  ‘Are there any other suspects?’ asks Dad.

  ‘I found a paedophile living down the street.’

  ‘Lowest form of life. Did you confront him?’

  ‘Damn right, I did. But he wouldn’t let me in.’
r />   ‘This may be cold comfort, but those monsters take kids to keep them for as long as they can, and then pass them on to others as they age.’

  My eyes glaze. I need to be quicker. What could be happening to my baby right now? How many tears has he already cried? If Oscar Greer has done anything to my son, he’s a dead man.

  Seeing my hesitation, Dad says, ‘You’ll find him. You’re strong, I can tell. More like me than your mother. I’m sorry she left you alone. If I’d known what she was planning …’

  ‘You were already locked up and awaiting trial by then. There was nothing you could have done.’

  ‘Ma Cherie, I’m so sorry for leaving you. I despised your mother’s weakness, yet I always knew who she was. Tigers don’t change their stripes. I loved your mother, but she loved me so much more. I should have known she couldn’t be alone.’

  ‘Mum wasn’t alone. She had me.’

  ‘You were never enough for her, but you were always my special girl. My protégée. The pieces we made together were some of my best creations.’

  Sitting very still, I realise now what the clichéd shiver down your spine actually feels like. It’s so horrific, it makes me wonder if it’s the same sensation that all those other people felt before. Surely not, for the saying to be bandied around so carelessly. I can’t seem to move. My whole body is rigid and cold. Suddenly, I’m a little girl measuring an ivory stick in my hands, wondering how something so light could hold up pounds of flesh, sinew, and pints of blood; even for a body as young and small as mine.

  Mr Bones smiles, his icy blue eyes warming by the second. ‘Tell me about Robin,’ he says, his tone even warmer than his eyes.

  My mouth won’t open.

  ‘Is he a good boy?’

  When I still don’t answer him, his smile widens. ‘Please, Ma Cherie. Tell me about your life. You’re a mother.’

  My neck cracks as I look down at my watch and realise I still have over half an hour left. It would embarrass both of us if I left midway through the visit.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he says with a hopeful smile.

  Fuck it, I tell him about Robin, Leo, and even Mrs Duffill, whom he laughs at and tells me he used to have a crush on Joanna Lumley. Something to do with the TV show The Avengers.

  He is too easy to talk to. I share more than I intend. He laps up the facts of my new life like a hungry cat, smiling and laughing in all the right places.

  When the hour is up, I nod at him. ‘Bye, Dad.’

  ‘See you soon, Ma Cherie. I’ll think about Robin. If I come up with anything, may I call you?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  Moving around the table, he lunges forward to hug me. Before I can escape, he catches me in his arms. He smells of soap and toothpaste; I feel his stubble graze my skin as he gently kisses my cheek.

  ‘Hey, stop that. It’s not allowed!’ yells the guard.

  ‘It’s easy to kill someone,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘You just need a good reason and a way of disposing of the body. Without a body, it’s harder to charge you.’

  The guard pulls him away from me. Laughing, Mr Bones puts his arms up.

  ‘Sorry, mate. I haven’t seen my little girl in decades. I just wanted a hug.’

  I leave before I see, or hear, any more. I have a name now – Lawrence Edwards. Out of the three possibilities, I want it to be him. When I looked into his eyes, he was no killer, just a miserable man whose sadness had crept into his soul and set up shop. Oscar Greer is terrible; God help him if he has Robin. An unknown copycat could be a different story altogether, especially one who travels round the country with a fair as Mariah predicted.

  After I retrieve my stuff from the locker, I text Lawrence Edwards’ name to Leo so he can pass it on to Patricia. He comes back straight away and asks what it was like to meet Mr Bones. I ignore his question.

  As I go to leave, I give my mobile number to the front desk for Dad to call.

  Outside, I find my taxi waiting.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to the driver, scrambling into the back seat.

  ‘It go okay in there?’ he asks me.

  ‘Time will tell.’ I slump back, my eyes aching and stomach growling. How can I be so hungry again?

  The taxi drops me off at the train station. I tip the driver a twenty. He passes me his business card, in case I come back. I throw the card in the bin outside the station.

  There’s half an hour before my train, so I buy an inordinate amount of food from the station shop and sit with it in the cold waiting room.

  While thinking through my next move, I eat a bland sandwich. Leo will have now told the police about Lawrence Edwards; they’ll find him. Nevertheless, I can’t rely on it being Lawrence. Robin has more of a chance if I check out Greer, and hunt down more suspects; dressed up, the skeleton could have been anyone.

  While I wait, I’m surprised at how many times my thoughts rewind to Dad. We spent just one hour together and I have already remembered a thousand things I want to tell him. However, as much as he was helpful, he was also incredibly creepy. He may have been sorry for leaving me, yet he wasn’t sorry for making eleven mums and dads lose their sons. And for what? Art, which only us and a handful of police officers would see? After he created his first sculpture, he redecorated a back room in our house for his private exhibition space. He bought expensive lights; I helped him position them, to better show off the colours and curves of the piece. Sinfully, I enjoyed it; so much so I forgot what I was highlighting, where it came from, and that I had played with its owner just days before.

  I’m glad I could just walk away today. Leave Mr Bones locked up where he can’t hurt any more little boys.

  Looking down, I see my whole sandwich has disappeared into my belly. I’m about to rip open a bag of crisps when my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognise, which is happening a lot now. It’s like some grim caller lottery. I don’t have the luxury of ignoring it; it could be news on Robin.

  I answer.

  Chapter 29

  ‘Cherrie?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It’s Mariah. I had a vision. I need to tell you something important about Robin.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told you Robin is still at the fair, but in my vision, they were packing up. They are leaving soon and if they do, you’ll never see him again. You need to get there now.’

  ‘I’ll pay them a visit when I get back home.’

  ‘Promise me?’ There’s a weird tremor in her voice.

  ‘Yes, I promise.’

  ‘The Ghost Train. Check the Ghost Train.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll check it.’

  ‘Do the police have any leads?’

  ‘Not really.’ I toy with the idea of telling her about Lawrence Edwards, but if she has real powers, surely she knows about him already.

  ‘Good luck, Cherrie. Thank you for listening to me now.’

  Hanging up, I think of how Mariah has helped me. Gratitude is difficult for me at times; growing up, there was little to be grateful for, so it was a skill I learnt late in life. Right now, I’m grateful for Mariah. Whether I believe her or not, I can hear an urgency in her voice. She believes in me; believes that I can find Robin.

  I hear my stomach growl, so shove half a chocolate bar into my mouth. Sitting across from me is a man giving me an odd look. Usually, the weight of his stare would crush my confidence and make me leave the cold room to wait on the colder platform. Today, I flip him the bird. Shocked, he looks down to stare at something interesting on his shoes.

  I finish my chocolate in time to see the train slither and sigh its way into the station. I gather my things, then make my way onto a carriage. Fortunately, there’s no rogue passenger in my designated seat this time. Sitting down, I close my eyes.

  I don’t sleep; just sit in an almost stage. The chasm in between sleep and rest. As much as I need the peace, my brain won’t switch off. Thoughts slam around my head like bumper cars. Each one denting my mind’s
eye, distorting its clarity into warped shards. Do I trust my dad? Does Mariah have powers? Am I wasting time on the wrong suspects and damning my son to pain, fear and death? A hot flush of nausea rolls over me. I run to the toilet and throw up everything I’ve eaten in the past couple of hours; heaving until my stomach is sore, and my throat aches. I slide down onto the dirty toilet floor, and put my back against the door. The toilet may smell like sick, but at least it’s my sick.

  Help me, Mummy, is the voice in my mind. Help me.

  Pulling myself up, I splash water on my face, and then glare at my reflection.

  ‘I’m coming, Robin. I’ll find you.’

  Once I’m back in my car, I look at my watch – it’s six o’clock. The perfect time to sneak into the fair. Mariah clearly believes Robin is there, and she’s been right before.

  Once at Black Friars Park, I leave the car two streets down from its entrance and walk the rest of the way. Looking down at myself, I wished I’d worn darker clothes. What is the right outfit for breaking into a travelling fair? It’s not exactly the essential fashion trends advice you see in Cosmo.

  It’s dark now, and the streetlights are highlighting everything in an eerie glow. There are kids already roaming around the park. I want to yell at them to go home where it’s safe, but I can’t draw attention to myself. They are some other mother’s problem.

  Ducking behind a tree, I scan the entrance to the fair. There’s no music on yet; the rides appear dull and still. It’s like something out of a Scooby Doo cartoon. An empty fairground filled only with memories of past fun, and teeming with fake ghosts and monstrous men wearing masks.

  Mariah told me I needed to start my search on the Ghost Train, which makes more sense than I’d like to admit. I close my eyes and remember where it sits in the fair. It was on the left, towards the edge of the park, near the Ferris wheel. I sneak around the side of Black Friars and slip between the Tea Cups and the Carousel. I kneel by an empty cotton candy stand, drinking in the scene before me – there are scattered fair workers throughout; men in overalls tightening screws on rides along with women cleaning seats. They talk, laugh, and seem oblivious that they played a role in Robin’s disappearance. If they hadn’t come to town, if I’d have never shown Robin the poster, he’d be safe at home right now.