by N V Peacock
‘Where’s your mum?’
‘At home. She’s a wreck. Spends all her time staring at her laptop.’
‘I know that feeling, but you shouldn’t be wandering the streets alone.’
‘It’s the middle of the day, I’m good.’ Shrugging, he puts the bag of crisps back on the shelf. With an excessive amount of change, he pays for the can of pop.
‘Do you live near here?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, we’re on Dale Street,’ he says, pointing as if we could see his house from here. He looks down at my hands. ‘Gimme some flyers. I’ll take them down there for you, if you like?’
‘That’s kind of you. Can I give you a lift home?’
‘Thanks, yeah,’ he replies, and walks out of the shop.
I follow Thomas’s brother outside. When he stops for me to catch him up, I notice a Tasmanian Devil temporary tattoo on the back of his right hand, and that his jacket pockets are bulging with unknown stuff.
‘Where’s your car, Robin’s mum?’
‘I’m just there,’ I say, pointing to my Ford.
‘Sweet.’
I walk him over and open the car door. He slips into the passenger seat and, just like with Robin, I have to remind him to put the belt on. When he does, I start the engine.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Harry. You can call me Hazza.’ He shifts his feet, and I notice the sparkling white trainers he’s wearing. They remind me of bones, all chalky and just between dirty and clean; if it were Robin next to me, they would have been in the footwell by now. Choking back the memory, I start the car and our journey falls into an uncomfortable silence. The route I’m driving to his house is jerky due to my lack of knowledge of the estate.
As Harry casually looks out of the window, I realise I’ve just abducted this boy. I could drive anywhere: my house, an abandoned building, or even a sinister art studio, which stinks of peroxide. Harry trusts me when I say I’ll take him home, or maybe he doesn’t care if he makes it back or not. I don’t remember too much about Dad’s child abductions, just that I’d see those boys merrily go with him, disappearing forever. I’d like to say that I thought it was some weird game, but even at that age, I wasn’t dumb enough to believe it. It’s easy to look back with an adult’s eye, and question why I didn’t stop him. They asked Leigh-Ann Hendy that many times. My reply was always the same, because he’s my dad. Present tense. He’s my dad; Mr Bones was always, and will always be, my dad.
I hear a rustling and look over to see Harry opening a bag of crisps. He smiles at me as he crunches, daring me to realise he didn’t pay for them. I’ve seen this behaviour before; he’s acting out, seeking attention. Focused on Thomas’s funeral, Mrs Doncaster is ignoring Harry. I can’t stand shoplifters, yet right now, I have bigger things on my mind.
‘Can I have one?’
Harry offers me the bag and I slip a crisp out. When I bite through it, there’s a loud crunch. He grins at me and keeps eating. Then, with a mouthful of half-mashed salt and vinegar, he says, ‘What happened to Tommy hasn’t happened to your son. I’m not one hundred per cent sure, like. I just don’t think it has.’
My heart jumps into my mouth, but I manage to push out, ‘That’s kind of you to say.’
‘No biggie, Robin’s mum.’
‘Harry—’
‘Hazza.’
‘Hazza, you know you shouldn’t get in cars with strangers, right?’ I pull the car into his street, and he gives me a look of disdain, one that belongs on a teenage face.
‘Now, you tell me!’ He laughs, pointing at a house. ‘I’m over there.’
Parking in front of his house, I half expect to see Mrs Doncaster lingering on their front step, waiting for her only son to return. She’s not there.
‘Thanks for the ride, Little Bones,’ Hazza says.
Before I can react, he’s out of the car and swaggering up his drive.
It’s only as I’m driving home that I realise Hazza didn’t take the flyers as he had promised.
A quick bowl of cereal in front of the TV and I’m out of the house again. I want to arrive at Black Friars Park before the rest of the search party. I’m not sure why, but it feels like I should be the first one there. The host of the party.
For some reason, the afternoon air feels crisper in the park than in the streets. I sit on a bench by the car park with my coat pulled tight around me and stare upwards. Clouds like twisted white animals made of smoke dash across the dusky sky. The longer I stare, the more intricate the animals appear. One is like a charging elephant, another a zebra with fur-frayed stripes. Robin would love them.
I’m dreading the next couple of hours. What if the search party finds a piece of bloody clothing? I couldn’t bear it. Would I then still meet Lawrence to search a paedophile’s house? Probably. I have a knife in my pocket, and just because Mr Dawson made me redundant, it doesn’t mean it will be too.
I should have slept before I came out. How many hours of sleep have I had in the past week? I don’t even remember. What damage could it do to my health or mind? I need to be in fighting form right now. Not falling down a rabbit hole of sleep-deprived insanity.
Patricia pulls into the car park. I get up to greet her.
‘I’m glad to see you here. Trust me, you’ll feel better for doing something,’ she says.
I want to punch her in the face. She thinks I’ve been sitting on my bum all day waiting for news. Hang on, isn’t it her job to keep me informed? Where was that professionalism when she neglected to tell me about today? I wouldn’t have known about the search party at all if Tracy hadn’t told me.
‘Everyone will be arriving soon. We need to mark quadrants on the map to ensure we all search the whole park this time.’
‘This time?’
‘Well, yes, the police searched it on the night Robin went missing, but …’ Her voice trails off in a potential lie.
Lawrence is right; I can’t trust the police. If they didn’t even search the park properly, what else have they not done?
Passively, I wait for over an hour while all the other people arrive. I see Tracy and her gran, so wave at them. They come over and offer me a flask of tea along with a doorstep cheese sandwich.
‘Shania told you what happened?’ I ask them.
‘Ignore her,’ Tracy replies.
‘Easier said than done,’ I echo back a cliché that even I cringe at saying.
The night is now sneaking in around us. A creepy holler from an owl makes my best friend jump.
‘Bloody wildlife,’ she mutters.
More searchers pull up.
‘There’ll be over a hundred. Gurpreet called the PTAs of three schools,’ Tracy’s gran explains.
‘Hundreds of people are coming to help me?’ I say.
Tracy shakes her head. ‘Sorry, Cherry Pie. They’re not here for you, they’re here for Robin.’
As everyone arrives, I can feel something strange lacing the air. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was excitement. Not the same innocent child-like enthusiasm that laced the air here on Friday night, but morbid excitement. Imagine the attention someone would get if he or she were to find my son’s body. They’d change their social media status to ‘heroic finder of dead boys’ and tweet endlessly about how it both strengthened and damaged their superman-psyche. I already want to kill them.
Finding Robin’s body will mean a clue for the police, but the end for me. I won’t be running on maternal need anymore, just vengeance to find the one responsible. If it’s a copycat, he will get his fondest wish to be close to Mr Bones, I’ll bury his corpse for a few weeks; then dig him up so I can pop him in a bath of peroxide. I’ll dunk the leftovers in the washing powder I used on Robin’s clothes. I’ll crack the bones and mould them into a human costume for a robot.
‘You look weird. You okay, Cherry Pie?’
My mouth twitches. ‘I’m plotting.’
‘Thinking about the future is good,’ Tracy’s gran says and hugs m
e. As she does, I have to use one hand to hold my knife away from her stomach.
Once the park is full of have-a-go heroes, Patricia steps in to divide them all into groups. They are all gifted flashlights. I don’t join in a group. Instead, I let Tracy and her gran go on ahead. I linger by the entrance to people-watch. My criminology textbooks talk of cases where murderers insert themselves into the investigation. It was this thought that had me in Jai’s face at the appeal, and although that didn’t pan out, I can’t completely dismiss the theory out of hand. Robin’s abductor could be in the park right now.
People deliberately look at me as they walk past in their groups. They don’t all do it obviously, yet they all stare for as long as they can get away with it. Sly glares, quick glances. I use this time to watch them back. I didn’t see how tall the skeleton was; he was sitting in the cart with us on the Ghost Train; but I would recognise his build; thin and weasel-like. I discount all the women at the search party and focus on skinny men. Being winter, it’s hard to tell their builds due to a plethora of padded jackets, but I still mentally survey the thin-looking men; none I recognise, apart from Mr Dawson whose guilt from firing me has morphed into catering the party. He has set up a table covered in drinks and biscuits. What a lovely man, still supporting the killer ex-employee who is sullying his business.
I see Leo in the crowd. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he stands with Mr Dawson. I hope he’s using his new moody skills as a force for good by giving my ex-employer a piece of his mind. They bark with laughter. He’s not giving him what-for at all, he’s telling a joke while the surrounding people are searching for his missing son’s body. What the fuck? I don’t have time to seethe as suddenly, in one sweeping movement, everyone spans out across the park; beating the grass with their sticks as they go.
Fair workers line up watching them, judging the search party for judging them.
As casually as I can, I head towards the far side of the park. I don’t want to hear someone yell they’ve found something. As awful as it is, at least I have hope; damaged and alive is better than damaged and dead, even if said damage was done by that pervert Greer.
My plan is to slip away just before the end of the search and meet up with Lawrence at Greer’s house. This search party will be my alibi. With that in mind, I need to ensure people see me here. As I move through the park, I hear voices, so gravitate towards them. There are two women up ahead. I position myself behind them, ready to join in their conversation.
‘You know, the poor boy played with my Declan,’ one woman says.
Slowing my pace, I move to their right so foliage obscures me. I squint across and see it’s Kristine with a K.
‘We’ve met the family too.’ It’s Sharon from the school gates.
‘Yes, but I met them only a few days before it happened. Declan and I were in the park when they crossed our path, you know how I like to ensure he gets enough fresh air. It was on the Sunday before it happened. Cherrie was so haughty; you’d think with her past, she’d play it more demure.’ She pronounces demure wrong, but Sharon doesn’t notice.
‘But Robin is a sweetheart. He didn’t deserve this to happen to him.’
‘Do you think she did it?’ Kristine asks.
‘Probably. You heard about who she is, right? I mean if I’d known her son was at my daughter’s school, I’d have complained sooner.’
Complained sooner? Does this mean I have some random parent complaint waiting for me at Robin’s school? Could they expel him because of my dark past?
‘I remember when the first murders happened. Her dad was so handsome; you’d have never thought he could do what he did.’ Sharon whacks her stick over an innocent lump of grass.
‘Yeah, and the wife knew, right?’ Kristine whacks her stick out too, only harder.
‘She must have, but I guess a handsome young husband was worth overlooking a few murders for, from her point of view. Me, I’d have never …’
I stop listening. History is repeating. Rumours keep coming back, like an antibiotic-resistant virus. Even when you think they’re gone, they’re just dormant, waiting to be rekindled by the fires of gossip.
As I move away from the women, a familiar voice sets my teeth on edge; beyond the tree line of the park is Jai. I should ignore him, and the fact he’s crashing the search party, but I can’t.
In less than a minute, I’m behind him. Too busy talking into his phone, he doesn’t hear my approach.
‘Take two.’ Jai inhales and exhales. He rolls his shoulders and jogs on the spot like an athlete.
‘Hello again, my faithful following. Here I am at the epicentre of the crime, as usual, putting the flesh on the bones. Robin was last seen here at Crazy Clive’s Fair, so we will scour every inch of Black Friars Park hoping to find something, anything that could lead us to the poor boy. The search for Thomas Doncaster saw tears, anguish, and a family torn apart with grief. Will history repeat itself?’
Without realising I’m lurking behind him, within touching distance, he continues, ‘This podcast has gone from strength to strength. We have had hundreds of tips and devised many theories on the gruesome events that have unfolded since Thomas Doncaster was reported missing. Too many questions we’ll never know the answers to. Too many horrific events befell Thomas and now Robin. Helping a search party is an experience all in itself. I want to describe to you how I feel right now …’
How he feels? My hands curl into fists, but I keep them by my sides.
‘Hope, horror and above all dread. The maniac responsible for these terrible crimes walked this same path; breathed this same air, and right now could be within metres of me. I read that criminals often put themselves into the investigation,’ he says, then in an annoying, breezy tone adds, ‘Now let’s go for a break.’
He fiddles with his phone, and almost turns around, but doesn’t, instead he ploughs on with his recording. ‘Welcome back! Now, let’s dig a little deeper; Leigh-Ann’s friends organised this search party. Why not Leigh-Ann? I haven’t even seen Little Bones yet. If I had, she’d have probably attacked me,’ he says and laughs.
If he only knew how close to Little Bones he is right now; how close he is to finding out what she can do.
‘Most subscribers believe Robin never left this fair. I suspect we will find him today. I asked the police to bring cadaver dogs …’
That’s it! I reach out, grab his shoulder and spin him round to face me.
‘Whoa, snap, Leigh-Ann, you’re here.’
‘It’s the search party for my son; why wouldn’t I be here? And for the love of fuck, it’s Cherrie.’ My speech is slowed by each word fighting its way past gritted teeth.
‘Okay, okay,’ he says and lifts his phone, which is still recording. ‘Can I get an interview? Get your side of things.’
I want to snatch the phone from his hands, throw it to the ground and grind it beneath my boot, but it would only make everything worse. Instead, I take a deep breath. ‘Turn the phone off, please,’ I say.
Jai clicks off his phone, but I’ve no idea if he’s stopped recording.
‘As usual, what you said was crap,’ I tell him.
‘Which part?’
‘All of it. And you can’t breathe the same air unless you’re next to someone. Your lungs are clean of maniac breath.’
‘I’m not sure they are, Little Bones,’ he says sniffing.
‘Don’t you dare call me that! You made up your mind about me before you started streaming your first episode, and you’ve been infecting others ever since.’
‘I’ve brought much-needed publicity to your case.’ He spins the phone around in his palm so the microphone is aimed at me, like the barrel of a gun.
‘You accused me of killing my son.’ I point at his chest, and Jai stumbles back. ‘You poisoned the public against me.’ My finger thrusts out, my nail grazing his padded jacket. ‘You ruined my life.’ One last stab of my finger and the force to his chest knocks him backwards.
‘Pleas
e, Leigh-Ann, I’m only here to help find Robin. You want to find your son, don’t you?’
‘Yes! I want to find Robin, but you need to stop what you’re doing.’
Jai grins. ‘Or else?’
There’s a butcher knife in my pocket. Sharp and solid, it sits waiting to fulfil its purpose, but there’s a man who deserves its sharp edge more, and I can’t let Jai distract me; in fact, this could help me cement my alibi.
‘Can you record live?’ I ask, motioning to his phone.
‘Yeah, I recorded bits for the podcast to edit together later, but I’m about to Facebook live stream. My PR guru said …’
I put my hands up. ‘Fine, I get it. Stream now.’
‘You’re giving me a live interview?’
‘Yes, but only if it’s quick. I’m here to search for my son, remember?’
Fumbling with his phone, Jai’s grin widens enough for me to see his unnaturally white teeth. This is his moment. I’m giving him what he’s wanted all along. He’ll get even more advertising money. I’m giving in, helping him and his career, and it’s already nibbling at my soul like a rat.
I edge back; will guest-starring on his show look like I endorse it? That what he said about me being connected to the crimes is true? Is strengthening an alibi worth blurring this line? People will see me here at the park. Jai, under oath, would now have to say as much. I don’t have to do this. I don’t want to do this. Too many things are already out of my control. Taking another step back, I say, ‘Please stop your podcast, you’ve caused enough trouble.’ With that, I walk away, leaving Jai to live stream his reaction to my swift exit.
Turning, I double back on myself. I slip through the shadows of the park, an impressive feat considering there are over a hundred people waving torches around like wandering spotlights. I trudge up to the edge of the fair and find all the rides packed away. I go to the caravan with the green door and, for one final time, look around. Peering into each window like a ghoul hunting for a soul to drag down to hell. The rapist is not here. He’s probably with his fellow workers, or maybe even in the hospital with an ice pack on his balls.