Little Bones

by N V Peacock

  The vat was like a torture device, why is he bringing this up now? Although my anger simmers, I stay silent, to let him continue.

  ‘But they also showed me photos of older boys who were missing. Ones that had not seen the inside of our studio. Why do you think they showed me them?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Because they were making connections where there were none. They didn’t know me well enough to realise that teenage boys were too old for my art. Their bones are less beautiful. I told them the truth and claimed all my victims. I wouldn’t claim the ones who did not belong to me.’

  ‘What are you saying? Was there another killer back then?’

  ‘No. My point is there are more fates than the end of a killer’s blade. Boys run away. Boys hurt one another. Boys have accidents. Murder isn’t the only reason for a child to be missing. Just remember, the police like to close cases.’

  ‘They make connections where there are none,’ I whisper.

  ‘Perhaps all three cases are not related at all.’

  ‘The other missing boys were brothers. That’s too much of a coincidence. Those cases have to be related, but Robin had never met either Doncaster boy,’ I say.

  ‘Would Robin have ever gone off with someone he doesn’t know? Someone he’d never met?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘The boys I took off the streets, I tricked them. You remember, don’t you? You were with me most of the time. They would see you happy in the back seat and believe, as I was a dad, that they could trust me. Sometimes I’d pretend to be a taxi driver. Would Robin have gone with someone like that?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Who does Robin know who could steal him away? Who loves him that much?’

  I roll the idea around in my mind that someone I knew before this nightmare might have taken my son. Someone who wanted him but not me in their life.

  ‘Mrs fucking Duffill,’ I say. ‘She’s moving to Spain and asked to see Robin’s passport, which is now missing. And I caught her with an armful of Robin’s clothes.’ That bitch has always hated me. I bet the issues with the villa were some ploy not to waste her time at a search party looking for someone who is tucked up in her house awaiting their trip to Spain. Who knows what lies she told my son to set this whole thing up.

  ‘You have work to do, Ma Cherie. I sent you a VO form. Let Robin visit me when you find him.’ He hangs up.

  Mrs Duffill must have heard the podcast, found out about my past. Hating me is one thing, but thinking I could ever hurt Robin. Fuck, she even knew we were going to the fair. She asked to come along and when I turned her down, she lay in wait for the right moment to snatch him. Told him lies and spirited him away until she could get him out of the country. After I’m convicted of killing him, of course. Wait … the skeleton. It definitely wasn’t her dressed up, but she has money. She could have hired someone to do the abducting. On the other hand, she could have waved a wad of cash at some unconnected carnival worker.

  I storm upstairs and wake up Leo with a shove.

  ‘What?’ he mutters.

  ‘Your mother,’ I spit.

  ‘What?’ Rubbing his eyes, Leo sits up.

  ‘Your mother has Robin, doesn’t she? The only question is: did you know? Has this all been some shitty act to look like the supportive boyfriend, when you’re planning to steal away with our son to a Spanish villa with your bloody mother?’ I push him.

  ‘What are you talking about? Mum doesn’t have Robin. Have you gone mad?’

  ‘She has his passport. She asked about it at the dinner before the fair. And it’s now missing.’ I move around the bed and open the table drawer to show him it only contains our passports. ‘And, she tried to take Robin’s clothes.’

  ‘Cherrie, wait one minute.’ Leo gets up and walks across the landing into Robin’s room. He comes back out holding a passport. ‘Robin kept it in his room. He never put it back in our drawer.’

  I grasp at the small book and check it. It is Robin’s passport.

  ‘The other day in Robin’s room, she just missed him that’s all. She was taking a T-shirt as a reminder of him, his smell.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she just tell me that?’

  ‘Because you did what you always do, exploded. And Mum doesn’t like to show weakness, which is something you guys have in common.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yeah, and hey, I’ve been at Mum’s house. I would have noticed if she was hiding Robin. She may not like you much, but she’d never do that to you. I wouldn’t either. Still, nice to find out what you really think of me.’

  Getting back into bed, he pulls the covers up to his chin. Our conversation is over. I don’t even get the chance to apologise.

  Deflated, I go back downstairs. Looking at the clock, I see it’s four in the morning. I skim through the texts on my phone to find messages from Tracy, Gurpreet, Kylie and even Shania, yet nothing from the police. Guess they can’t inform their prime suspect of how their investigation is going.

  I need to straighten everything out in my mind. My dad sent me on a brief wild goose chase, which may have just ended my relationship with Leo. I’ve no one left to turn to now. Lifting up my laptop, I click on The Flesh on the Bones. There’s a new episode entitled Thomas Doncaster and Robin Duffill.

  Listening to this will hurt, but I deserve the pain. I’ve acted less like Sherlock Holmes and more like Moriarty; accusing everyone around me and lashing out like a drowning woman determined to take down anyone stupid enough to reach out to save her. I play the podcast.

  ‘I’d just like to take a moment to thank all my sponsors for their support and business, especially Dawson’s Food who have a personal stake in what has happened to poor Robin Duffill.’

  I’m not sure why I gasp at Jai’s new connection to my ex-employers. No doubt, the roving reporter sniffed around where I worked to dig up more dirt, and then used his snake oil charm on Mr Dawson.

  ‘Today we’re talking about the two young boys who have already fallen foul of a monster stalking the streets of our town.’

  It continues like this, recycling information given in earlier episodes. Then, when the time is right, he puts me forward again as the prime suspect.

  ‘How can we trust someone who got a taste for killing so early in life? Evil children become evil adults, the only difference is, as adults, they have more opportunities. My sympathy goes out to the Doncasters and of course, the Duffills; both lost their sons to a monster who hid in plain sight. But what a mask she wore! Helpful shop assistant, devoted wife, loving mother. Leigh-Ann waited for the right time to shed those masks and show her true face. She just didn’t count on a podcast to shine such a bright spotlight on her. Who knows how many other boys would be dead now if The Flesh on the Bones hadn’t stopped Little Bones, the Monster of Northants.’

  Well, this episode just got me a slander suit. No more someone like me did something similar or any other vague conjecture. Naming me as the Monster of Northants has to be something the solicitor can work with; that is of course if Mrs Duffill lets them after Leo tells her of my accusation.

  I slip off my headphones and check the subscribers. The number is so large that I can’t even bring myself to read it off the screen.

  It’s five in the morning so is still dark outside. I need a clue. Something to send me in the right direction. Shuffling into the dining room, I realise there is nothing left to go on; every clue exhausted, every lead dashed, and every chance to find Robin alive has disappeared just like he did at the fair. Lost and useless, I begin to build Robin’s empty robot boxes into a tower. Midway through, I pull part of the costume to my chest and crush it to my heart. Robin was so excited to wear his costume for Halloween. Wait, is it the 31st today? I check my phone and see it is. The realisation my son will never again go trick or treating breaks me.

  I’d always had hope that I could find Robin. Now, all I have is a psychic I’m still not sure I believe in. What she predicts sounds impre
ssive at first until you realise you’d already told it to her, or she could have looked it up. But, no one knew about Nostrom, only me, Leo, Mrs Duffill and Robin himself. Did I say something about him on my first visit? I don’t remember. If I didn’t, that has to count for something. If all I have left is a faceless copycat, perhaps a psychic is my only hope to find him.

  As the sun peeks up from the horizon, I jump into the car and drive to Mariah’s house. I’m sure she’ll be pissed off that I’m waking up her family so early, but I can’t wait. I don’t blame her for dodging my calls. I’ve not exactly been the easiest person to be around, but in all that time she has consistently tried to help me. I just hope she can help me this one final time.

  I pull up behind their car and rush to the door. I knock. Nothing. I beat louder. Footsteps.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say through the letterbox. ‘I need your help. Please.’

  The door opens. Mariah stands there in a pale blue bathrobe.

  ‘It’s early,’ she says.

  The psychic looks different without her make-up; lacklustre and less imposing.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mariah. I need help. I have nowhere left to turn.’

  Closing the door behind her, she says, ‘Now isn’t a good time.’

  Thanks to that bastard Jai, she thinks I’m dangerous too. ‘Please,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want to disturb Jon and Sarah, but I really need you.’

  ‘Ummm, okay. Come in, but we need to be quiet.’

  I walk in as quietly as I can. We sit in the living room together; the same couch I sat on that Saturday night, worried sick someone would reveal my identity. What a moron I was.

  ‘I saw there was another boy taken yesterday. Poor Harry,’ she says.

  ‘Yes, does it mean what I think it means?’

  ‘My gift doesn’t work like that. I can’t just answer questions. I need the cards.’

  ‘Yes, let’s get the cards.’

  ‘I’ve just woken up, Cherrie. Look, perhaps we can talk later today. Meet at the coffee place in town?’

  ‘The one by the pound shop?’

  ‘Yes, the blue one.’

  There’s a myriad of blue coffee shops in town; she’s not being very specific. Also, why would she want to meet me outside of her house? Is she scared of me? ‘I won’t hurt your family,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, that’s not what I meant.’

  Yeah, I get it. Mariah doesn’t want her neighbours seeing me strolling into her home, again. An association with Little Bones, the Monster of Northants, would dent the house price.

  ‘Please help me,’ I say.

  Mariah stares at me. Pity and slight worry dance across her face. I saw that face a lot in the parade of foster families, who all took a turn caring for my welfare. Mariah blinks a few times.

  My feet are itchy. I get up and begin to pace. As I do, I see boxes behind the couch, empty cardboard boxes that weren’t there before.

  ‘Are you moving?’

  ‘Yes, this place is much smaller than we first thought. Not big enough for the three of us. Damn new builds, who knew they would be so stingy with the square footage.’

  One would be forgiven for thinking a real psychic would know they were being screwed on a real estate deal. Or perhaps have bothered to go on a walk-through before putting a deposit down? As if answering my internal question, Mariah blurts out, ‘We moved in really quickly. Our old house had too many bad memories. We wanted a fresh start. I’m sure you understand?’

  Guilt seeps into my thoughts. ‘Is this because of me? Do you have to move because of who I am, and what they’re accusing me of? Because you’ve tried to help me? I know everyone thinks I did something to Robin, but I didn’t. I promise. You believe me, don’t you?’

  ‘I know you didn’t hurt Robin or those other boys.’

  ‘Could you tell everyone else, please?’ I say with a half-smile.

  ‘I can’t do that.’ She drops her stare to my boots.

  ‘I was only joking, Mariah.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I was just answering your question. Force of habit in my profession.’

  A noise upstairs takes her attention. Offhand, she says, ‘He’s awake. I need to get on and make breakfast.’

  ‘Sorry. Yes. I’ll go. Shall we meet at nine at the coffee shop by the pound shop?’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

  She walks me out, and I wave as she closes the door. It’s a small hope. Tiny. I’d cry, but it doesn’t even deserve tears of sadness; maybe tears of anger. Sadness would mean I’m giving up on Robin, accepting his fate. I can’t do that. I need anger instead. Anger so powerful it overrides my fear and common sense.

  As I make my way down Mariah’s drive, I see Jon walking up the street. I wave at him. He has a newspaper in his arms and, as he gets closer, I see Harry Doncaster’s face plastered across the front page. Soon, they’ll cover the Robin flyers with him too. Until the next boy is lost. Robin is condemned to be one of many names forever trotted out every time someone examines the case for ghoulish entertainment.

  Jon looks concerned that I’m at his house so early. I attempt a smile as I move towards my car. As I hear Jon go into the house, a weird feeling tingles over my brain, something Mariah said: He’s awake. I need to get on, but Jon was out of the house and she has a little girl. As I look back towards their door, I’m so tired, I almost fall over with the movement. I put my left hand out to steady myself on their black car. As I do, I look through the car’s passenger window. There’s a pair of boy’s trainers in the footwell. A sight so familiar it punches me in the chest, winding me.

  Robin. They have him. And they own a dark car. I blamed Lawrence for stalking me, but it could have easily been Mariah and Jon in this car, watching my family, waiting for the right time to strike.

  I reach into my pocket for my phone but hesitate. How long will it take the police to get here? Mariah and Jon could run in the meantime. Worse, they could kill Robin just to spite me for finding him. Wait … Is it this easy? It can’t be. Why would they take young boys? Why kill them? They have no motive. Am I wrong? Perhaps their little girl wears boy’s trainers, and Mariah didn’t realise that Jon had left the house? Lots of people have dark cars. Shit, I’ve beat up rapists and accused innocent men of unspeakable things. Can I trust myself with this? No, I can’t. Jon and Mariah are not child-abducting serial killers. They can’t be.

  As these doubts plant themselves in my mind and take root, my phone beeps. I look down to see a text from Leo. It reads, Where are you? You need to look at this, then a link. I click it. It takes me to a news site with the photo of Harry Doncaster. Have they found his body already? However, that’s not what the article is about; it’s a confession. Harry is alive. He has confessed to killing his brother Thomas. He wanted his little brother’s new shoes, those white trainers, and Thomas wouldn’t share. Violently, Harry lashed out. Fearing the police were going to catch him, he ran away. There’s no monster out there stealing little boys and giving back corpses, just one kid with a temper and a footwear fetish. Dad was right. None of this is connected. Jon and Mariah could have Robin. Taking one boy is more realistic than taking three.

  I have to check. Even if I’m horribly wrong, Mariah will understand. I need to get back into their house.

  Trying to barge in on Oscar went badly. Calm, I need to be calm. Little Bones unfurls in my stomach like a night bloom reaching for the darkness.

  Casually, I walk back to their front door and knock.

  Jon answers it.

  ‘I dropped my car keys when I was talking to Mariah, sorry,’ I say.

  He glances behind him before fully opening the door for me. ‘Okay, just be quick. We have a full day today.’

  Smiling, I step inside.

  ‘Where did you drop them?’ he asks, his eyebrow twitching.

  ‘They have to be in the living room. Perhaps down the back of the sofa, where I was sitting.’

  Jon leads me towards the room.

  It’s a str
ange situation. Both of us pretending everything is normal. Both of us knowing it’s not.

  I don’t follow him. Instead, I run up the stairs.

  ‘Hey!’ Jon yells after me. I hear him lumbering up behind me. On the landing, I see three doors. I choose the second one and open it. It’s a girl’s bedroom. There’s a small bed in the centre of the room. A child-sized lump is under a mound of pink bedclothes.

  ‘Robin?’

  ‘Mummy!’

  Chapter 39

  Lunging forward, I grab my son. He wraps his arms around my neck and grips on to me. Feeling his breath on my shoulder, I burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Robin whispers, which makes me cry harder.

  My mind is trying to catch up with my emotions. I found him. He’s in my arms and he’s okay, or at least he looks okay. Quickly, I push back the pink frilly bedcovers and run my hands down his body to check for injuries, or signs of abuse, but there’s none. They’ve not even tied him up with rope, or those painful-looking plastic zip ties.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re all right,’ Robin says, sniffling into my cheek.

  ‘That I’m all right?’ I say. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ Tears overwhelm my cheeks, but I can’t tell if they’re his or mine.

  ‘I’ve been here,’ Robin mutters.

  I stare down at him. He’s wearing Batman PJs and smells of baby shampoo.

  ‘See, I told you she was all right, Jon. I’d have felt it if anything bad happened to my mum.’

  Jon is standing in the doorway.

  ‘Yeah, you were right,’ he mutters.

  I hear footsteps up the stairs. Mariah appears behind her husband.

  ‘No!’ she shouts. ‘No, you’ll destroy my little bird. He’s meant to be with us.’

  ‘It’s over, sweetheart,’ Jon soothes, as Mariah lets out a banshee wail and slips down onto the floor.

  ‘I can still visit,’ Robin says to his kidnappers. ‘Mariah and Jon have been keeping me safe. They said I’d get a proper boy’s room at their new house. I’ve been borrowing their daughter’s room for now. She doesn’t need it.’ Grimacing, he whispers loudly in my ear. ‘Sarah’s dead.’