In the army they believed in summary punishment. Somehow someone had got wind of the way Swinton had treated the children at The Nest. First came the humiliation. They had stripped him naked. Then they tied him, spreadeagled, to his bunk and dragged on their cigarettes until they glowed – bright red.
Swinton screwed his head round and watched them disdainfully. It was only when they turned him over and sizzled the cigarette against the tip of his penis that he uttered a low moan. Tom boy clutched on to the doorpost, terrified they would notice him, yet not quite able to bring himself to abandon his only friend. But if he went for the officers he knew that they would delay their arrival – both out of dislike for Swinton and also because they believed in this ‘justice’.
‘Jesu Crist,’ he muttered, ‘oh, Jesu Crist.’
When the officer arrived to deliver Swinton to the police station he found Tom boy crying and Swinton, still tied up, alone in the bunkhouse.
He threw some clothes towards the rigidly angry Swinton and loosened the knots around his wrists and ankles. Swinton’s chest was heaving with fury. ‘Bastards,’ he muttered over and over again.
‘We want you down the nick.’ PC Farthing could muster up not a scrap of sympathy for the soldier.
Joanna decided Swinton looked even more surly than usual, grim-faced, eyes stuck on the floor. She switched the tape recorder on.
‘Gary, we already know that you assaulted Dean on more than one occasion.’
He nodded, chewing slowly on his gum.
‘Did you kill him?’
For a moment Gary Swinton stopped chewing his gum, then he gave a few, rapid bites and looked up. ‘You can’t be trying to pin this on me,’ he said. ‘You bloody can’t. I was with people all night when that kid was murdered.’
Mike leaned over him. ‘What time was Dean murdered?’
Gary gave a few fast open-mouthed chews. ‘You can’t catch me like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t bloody know. All I do know is that the fire was still burning. But it hadn’t got to him all ...’ He thought for a moment. ‘His hand was cold,’ he remembered.
‘You’d been fond of burning Dean.’
Swinton looked worried. ‘That was different,’ he protested.
‘Yes it was, wasn’t it?’ Mike stared at him. ‘Dean was alive then. He would have felt the pain. You recognized the scent of burning flesh, didn’t you?’
Swinton whipped round. ‘You can’t bloody well prove it,’ he said.
‘Other kids will act as witnesses.’
Then Joanna glanced at Mike, the same thought hitting them both at the same time.
Swinton was still nonchalantly chewing his gum, cow-like, slow and rhythmic. Like Chinese water torture it was beginning to irritate Joanna.
‘The other kids,’ Swinton said slowly, ‘they wouldn’t grass on me. We’re all in it together.’
She felt angry then but knew to display that anger towards Swinton would not touch him. He was too used to it. Instead she checked her dislike of him.
‘So you made this child’s life a misery,’ she said. Swinton chewed his gum. ‘Were you buggering him too?’
He leered at her. ‘I ain’t queer,’ he said. ‘Ask any of the birds at the disco.’ He grinned. She could see the gum through his teeth. ‘They should know.’ He leaned right back in his chair. ‘Quite a reputation I got with the ladies.’
‘Really,’ she said coolly, ‘I’d never have guessed it.’
‘Want me to prove it?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
Mike chipped in. ‘Dean wasn’t touched in the last year, Swinton,’ he said. ‘I think you left The Nest about six months ago.’
Swinton swivelled round and stared at Mike. ‘You accusing me, copper?’
And there the law protected him, but they needed to threaten him – to use a lever ...
Joanna took over. ‘Well, if it wasn’t you, Gary,’ she said sweetly, ‘who was it?’
He stared at her and she knew he was rattled. And his mind began working fast.
‘ ’Is grandfather,’ he said. ‘This bloke what used to come for ’im.’
Mike touched the table with his fist. ‘Are you lying, Swinton?’
The soldier boy shook his head slowly, stopped chewing his gum, stared hard at Mike. Eyeball to eyeball it was a battle.
‘I ain’t lyin’,’ he said disdainfully.
‘Did you see the man?’ Joanna asked.
Swinton turned his stare on her. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I did.’ The description he gave matched Ashford Leech perfectly and the photograph they had dug up from an old newspaper gave the same response.
‘ ’E drove some great white estate car,’ Swinton said – strangely anxious to please. ‘I think I saw him a couple of months ago.’
Joanna looked at Mike. Both felt a distinct shiver. Dead men don’t drive cars and Swinton obviously did not know Leech was dead.
‘What sort of car?’ Mike asked.
Swinton shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. Joanna decided to try to rope him in on the investigation. She leaned across the table and offered Swinton a cigarette.
He stared at it with distaste. ‘No thanks. I’ll have one later.’ Then, taking advantage of this new-found comradeship, he leaned back in his chair and grinned, the gap between his front teeth giving him an oddly wicked air. ‘Any chance of a coffee?’
Gritting his teeth Mike stood up.
While he was gone Joanna tried her luck.
‘Gary,’ she said, smiling, ‘we’ve had a bit of bad luck.’
His gaze swivelled round to her.
‘We probably won’t press charges, you know – not over the cigarette burns,’ she said smoothly. ‘After all, the children are safe now, aren’t they?’
He looked suspiciously at her.
‘I mean, you’ve left the home.’
He nodded.
‘But – unfortunately ...’ Mike returned with the coffee. ‘Unfortunately, Jason and Kirsty are missing.’
Swinton actually looked concerned. ‘Since when?’ he asked sharply.
‘They went yesterday morning.’ Joanna stopped. ‘We’re very worried about them, Gary. Do you have any idea where they might be?’
He drank his coffee, frowning into the cup.
Joanna tried again. ‘Do you know any of their hideouts?’
‘Only the moors,’ he said. ‘That’s all I know.’
Mike bent over him. ‘In this weather?’ he said. ‘Have they got some shelter?’
‘Not as I know of.’
Joanna sighed. She had been sure Swinton would be able to help them.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’
‘Can I go now?’
Wearily she nodded.
When he had gone Joanna turned to Mike. ‘Where are they, Mike? Have we been barking up the wrong tree? Is something happening to them? Is there someone we’ve let go who is guilty? Are we about to find two more bodies like Dean’s?’
‘Hey, don’t let it get to you. Jo,’ he said roughly. ‘It’s a job. You’re human. I’m human. We all are.’
‘The Press don’t quite see it like that,’ she said.
‘Talking of the Press, what’s happened to your blonde friend from London? The one with the eye-catching headlines?’
‘Seems to have disappeared,’ she said, then she touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Come on. We’re booked for a briefing. And, Mike,’ she added, ‘thanks.’
He gave a sheepish grin.
She stood at the front of the briefing room, facing her team – Phil Scott, Roger Farthing, Cheryl Smith, Alan King, Mike and the other uniformed officers lent for the investigation. ‘I think we’re getting close to four suspects – all of them male. I’ll just run over them. Please remember the legal phrases – mens rea, actus rea. The guilty mind, the guilty act. If any of you have anything to add, don’t hesitate. Jason Fogg and Kirsty are both missing. We presume they are together. Although it’s possible they have absconded from the children’s home – both have done this before. We’ve alerted police forces countrywide, faxed descriptions to every force. They may have absconded to escape questioning from both the police and Maree, their social worker. However, bear in mind it is also possible they might know something we don’t. They may well know the identity of the murderer. They might even have approached him. So they could come to harm. I am very, very anxious that they are found and brought back as quickly as possible. The Super’s offered me an extra ten uniformed help. They’ll be doing the house-to-house searches and helping collate some of the information on the computer. But we are the original team and I want us to be clear what we are doing. As yet we have dug up quite a bit of dirt and circumstantial evidence but nothing conclusive. But we are getting there. Ashford Leech was the person who posed as his grandfather, regularly abused him and incidentally infected him with Aids. Leech died and the abuse stopped. But Dean continued a friendship. A platonic friendship. This might have been because the “friend” suspected Dean was HIV positive. The person may have been a woman, a homosexual man – or even a heterosexual man.
‘I want you to bear in mind Cathy Parker’s opinion, he might have been killed accidentally. However, the attempted destruction of the body was a deliberate act and we must view the case from that angle. The courts will hold judgement when we have gathered all of the facts.’ There was a muttering in the room and she held up her hand. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Our top priority must now be to find the two missing children.’ She paused. ‘And obviously I am worried that Dean confided something to Jason and Kirsty. My one big fear is that for God knows what reason they not only know the identity of Dean’s killer but have made some contact with him.’ She stopped. ‘That does frighten me.’ And from the silence in the room she knew she was not alone.
She turned back to the board. ‘So for now we will run over the possible suspects. Keith Latos. He owns the sportswear shop at the top of the high street. We believe that the shoes Dean was wearing when he died came from there. He is the only stockist in Leek and they were nearly new shoes. It does not seem, that Dean left Leek in the few days before he died. Remember they were the wrong size, cross-laced. We are working on the assumption that they were shoplifted possibly some time on Saturday from the basket outside the shop.’
She frowned. There was something not quite right here. She let it go. She would have to ponder it later – after the briefing.
‘We’ve been through Latos’s books and it does seem that a pair of Reebok Reformers the same size as the pair Dean was wearing are missing from his shop. The shoes were almost new so we are keeping the option open that Latos is implicated in Dean’s last twenty-four hours. On the other hand, he could have stolen them. We know Dean was in the habit of shoplifting. He’s been charged on more than one occasion. Alternatively, he could have been given them and you can all draw your own conclusions from that particular scenario. We are still looking for Dean’s old trainers, black and red and very well worn. Size fives. I don’t need to remind you they are vital evidence. Latos is a known homosexual. He’s been brought in a few times for soliciting near the men’s public toilets, trying to invite young boys back to his flat, etc. He says he was at the opera on Sunday night with a friend called Martin Shane who he claims spent the night with him.’ She broke off to consult DC Greg Stanway. ‘Over to you, Greg.’
He stood up and shook his head. ‘Not much joy here, I’m afraid, ma’am. Shane claims he was at the opera with Latos until late Sunday night.’ He made an expression of disgust. ‘Started singing some of the bloody songs.’
‘And later?’
‘Says they had a skinful and he decided to stay the night at Latos’s flat.’ He pulled a notebook from his pocket. ‘I’ve got two statements to verify it,’ he said. ‘Man opposite couldn’t sleep. Got up at three and saw Shane’s car.’
Mike interrupted. ‘What sort of car?’
‘White Lada estate.’
Joanna and Mike looked at one another.
‘What was the other statement?’
She turned back to the board, to the second name on the list. ‘Next is Mark Riversdale. In charge of the children’s home, The Nest. No known homosexual connection. But we know he has an alcohol problem and has been under psychiatric care. A bit of a dark horse. Says he was out of the country before taking up this post. He could easily have taken Dean’s body to the moors – has no alibi for Sunday night. Kids heard his television on all night but didn’t see him. He can’t remember the programmes – says he fell asleep. I think he probably drinks all evening. We found a number of cans of Carlsberg Special Brew in his room. Did Dean disturb him? Did he threaten him with exposure about his drinking? Did Riversdale lose his rag – throttle the child?’ She looked around the room. ‘It’s possible. I certainly think we should speak to him again. He also drives a white Vauxhall Cavalier estate which fits in with the witness’s sighting of a long, pale car.’
A few police officers nodded.
‘I think we know where Dean used to go on his disappearances. He used to go to Leech’s place – probably to the stable flat. But the real question is – where did he go after Leech’s death? Where was his bolthole?’
‘Excuse me, ma’am?’ Roger Farthing spoke. ‘Couldn’t he have thieved all the things – the new clothes ... the shoes ...’
‘It was possible,’ she said, ‘but Maree and the other kids at the home all say he arrived back clean, washed, fed. Someone was looking after him. You know as well as I do, Roger, kids who have slept rough look rough.’
‘His mother?’
She frowned, tugged at a piece of stray hair, nibbled at her fingernail. ‘So where is she?’
No one had any answer to that.
‘We have absolutely no evidence that there was any contact between Dean and his mother from the age of two. If there had been I’m sure she would have come forward by now. Unless ...’ She paused, released the lock of hair. ‘Unless she’s a woman so paranoid about the police she’s frightened to come forward.’
Mike cleared his throat. ‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘That’s going a bit far. Her kid’s dead. No one’s blaming her.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘I wonder,’ she said. ‘If she had been the one who had been looking after him periodically ...’ She looked around the room. ‘She might have thought the social services would have pressured her to look after him.’
Mike agreed. ‘We could do with talking to her. Any luck with the papers?’
She shook her head. ‘Not so far, but I’ll try and get hold of Caro later on today. You see,’ she added, ‘she might even think we’d charge her with neglect or something similar.’
‘I doubt it.’ he said.
‘But you have to admit, Mike, people like her, who have abandoned their children, are naturally mistrustful of the police.’
‘True.’ He nodded.
‘Next in line is our “boy soldier”. We are sure that he was cruel to Dean – from an early age. He burned him with cigarettes. And yes ...’ she smiled, ‘our psychologist does make a connection with the attempted destruction of Dean’s body. He also, we believe, forcibly injected him with some drugs. He certainly displays psychopathic but not homosexual tendencies. However, again according to the criminal psychologist ...’ Someone spoke in the back and she glared. ‘Listen to me, laddie,’ she said. ‘Catching criminals is a serious business. Forensics and psychologists are the way forward. They are the smart way to know your criminal. It isn’t all physical – car chases up the high street at ninety miles an hour, scattering old ladies and prams like chickens before a tractor. Understand?’
The muttering softened and she carried on. ‘The psychologist is of the opinion that Dean’s murder was not psychopathic but homosexual. I know he had not been abused immediately prior to his murder – possibly not for some time before his death, maybe months according to the pathologist.’ She stopped. ‘The forensic psychologist had the idea the killing might even have been born out of Dean’s HIV status ... sexual frustration.’
Mike looked at her. ‘Why does he think he was a gay,’ he asked, ‘rather than a psychopath?’
‘Because there was no mutilation. No damage. I don’t like the phrase myself but it was a gentle murder – not done in hatred or temper. Again we have the pathologist’s opinion,’ she said. ‘It could have been an accident.’
There was another mutter at the back and she knew what they were saying – that a woman pathologist was being soft on a gay. A man would not have been so benevolent. She tightened her lips.
Mike was speaking. ‘A gentle murder ...’ He spoke in disgust. ‘Of a ten-year-old? Then burn the body?’
Again the team were muttering and in a way she shared their abhorrence of the particular phrase Cathy Parker had used. But the experts who analysed the victims of homicide knew what hatred and temper could do to the human body. And Dean’s had been unmarked – apart from the livid hand marks around his neck.
She continued. ‘The psychologist’s profile of the killer is a man who killed, then in horror at what he had done tried to eradicate it from his mind and from the earth destroying by fire. Purging it if you want to be fanciful. It fits in with a homosexual but not – I repeat not – with a psychopath. It was, if you like, more of an execution. So Gary, the boy soldier, is in the clear. He didn’t do it. Don’t waste your energies there. He doesn’t even fit in–’
‘With the psychological profile,’ Mike chimed in. ‘Aren’t we taking too much notice of this psychological profile?’
‘I believe in them,’ she said defiantly. ‘I do. And remember the evidence of the officer on duty at the gate on Sunday night He was alert and guarding the entrance. The rest, as you know, is a high electric fence. Swinton was in the camp all night from three a.m. So ...’ She gazed around the room, ending at Mike’s taut features. ‘I know how you all feel. We’d love to get Swinton. But he didn’t do it.’
‘Sure?’ It was Mike.
She nodded. ‘Sure. He didn’t do it.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Swinton’s sort – we’ll get him in the end for something or other. He won’t stay clear of the law.’
‘Bash an old lady over the head?’
Again she sighed. ‘He’ll do something. Now let’s get on. We’re supposed to be going over this case together – swapping ideas.’
‘Lastly is Robin Leech.’ She frowned. ‘My opinion is it was either Leech or Latos. One or the other – although I really don’t know what their motive was.’ She sighed then grinned. ‘Too deep for me, just an ordinary copper. There’s more here too than meets the eye. A lot of cloud and questions. Unfortunately, he’s one of those people who arm themselves to the teeth with a solicitor who advises them of their right to silence. There are a number of lies being put across our path by this entire family, who are blessed with the comfortable illusion that they are above the common law of the land. Thank goodness the daughter’s abroad. At least one of them is safely out of it. Mother and son have admitted lying about the supposed burglary and Ashford Leech’s HIV. I think it is more than likely that he caught it through homosexuality although there’s nothing on record – no convictions or cautions. But I’m curious. If Leech gave him the ring what about the other things? Did Dean steal the photograph album to peep at and further the illusion of a family? Let’s just think.’ She sat down to talk to Mike for a moment.
‘We know Dean went to Rock House on a number of occasions. Robin Leech said he lived at Chester over those years and they never actually met. Quite honestly, I’m sceptical, Mike. I think we might consider driving there and speaking to Mrs Leech Junior about her husband. I’m curious about the breakdown of their marriage.’
Mike looked at her. ‘I can’t really see what that might have to do with it.’
She shrugged her shoulder. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But unless you follow up all the leads you never quite know where one might have led.’ She touched his arm. ‘I’m sure we will eventually find out which one of them did it. But that isn’t enough for me, Mike. I want to know why. What drove someone to kill this boy?’
He grinned at her. ‘Sort of police analyst.’
She laughed and he joined her, the warmth of their shared humour reached the rest of the room.
King nudged Cheryl Smith. ‘They’re getting on all right these days ...’ He grinned. ‘Bit different from a couple of months ago.’
She nodded. ‘Better make sure Mrs Korpanski doesn’t get wind of it.’ She laughed and drew her finger across her throat. ‘She suffers with the green-eyed monsters.’
Joanna cleared her throat. ‘And remember,’ she said, ‘Robin Leech drives a cream Range Rover. Also he lives alone and has no alibi.’
She paused to think for a moment. ‘Then there is Gilly, Mrs Leech. I think she has some more answers for us.’ She scanned the roomful of faces. ‘How much was she a party to Dean’s abduction and abuse?’ She met Cheryl Smith’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘unpleasant, isn’t it? But she wouldn’t be the first woman to be party to such exploitation, would she? Was the burglary story concocted for just such an occasion?
‘The last point I want to impress on you is the two children missing from the home. Jason and Kirsty.’ She gave a brief description of the two children and handed round copies of their photographs. ‘Obviously it’s vital we find them – the sooner the better.’ Heads nodded in agreement.
‘Now then – before we go out there I want to remind you all what we’re looking for. Clothes with petrol splashed on them – maybe scorch marks, boxes of matches, lighters ... Hair ... Remember Dean’s was quite close cut – and recently. It was golden in colour. She smiled. ‘Then there was the coat ... Wilderness Collection, expensive, green oilskin with a scarlet, tartan lining. A black, woollen glove – twin to the one we found scorched on the moor. Also Dean’s old shoes, the ones he was wearing when he left The Nest, cheap trainers, well-worn, size fives, black and red with the word Bronx written on the side.’
When the police officers had filed out Joanna spoke to Mike. ‘What do you think, Mike?’ she asked. ‘Should I apply for a warrant to search Rock House, and Robin Leech’s stable flat?’
‘He’ll make it very difficult, he said. ‘Why not wait a day or two – see what crops up?’
‘I don’t like it,’ she said. ‘We’re only holding back because of who he is and because he’s articulate enough to make a fuss – write to the papers, make a formal complaint.’ She sighed and stared out of the window. ‘What if the two children are there?’
This time it was PC Roger Farthing who struck gold at the traditional gent’s outfitters halfway along the high street. Sitting in the centre of the shop window, artistically draped with its scarlet, tartan lining displayed bright as a beacon, was an olive green, wax jacket and even before he stepped closer to the window PC Farthing could see the logo – the three mountain peaks and the name, Wilderness. Smiling he pushed open the glass door.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
The owner was a small man with pale eyes and a tape measure draped around his neck. He looked warily at the six-and-a-half-foot tall policeman.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘The coat in the window?’ Roger Farthing asked casually. ‘Sell many, do you?’
‘Not so many of those,’ the owner replied carefully. ‘They’re a bit expensive. And they can get one for half the price at the market. Not as good quality,’ he added quickly, ‘but most people don’t recognize quality.’
‘How many have you sold in the past year?’
The man thought for a minute then crossed to the rack, counted the coats swinging on the rail, scratched his head. ‘Five,’ he said. ‘I ordered eight – two of each size. I’ve three left.’
‘Do you remember who you sold the five to?’ Farthing asked.
The man met his eyes. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t say exactly at the moment,’ Farthing explained. ‘But all I can tell you is it’s part of a serious investigation.’
‘Not to do with that kid, is it?’
‘It might be.’
The man leafed through his book, pulled a notepad towards him, wrote five names. ‘I’ve a good memory,’ he said. ‘Leek is a small town. It’s an expensive coat and I don’t hold with murdering kids...’
Farthing glanced down at the list of names. Top of the list was Robin Leech.
Alice Rutter walked into the police station at five o’clock in the afternoon, ignored the officer at the entrance and demanded to see ‘the lady officer in charge.’ She flatly refused to speak to anyone else.
She seemed even more out of place here in the small, tidy office with its brick-wall view than she did up on the moors with a background of storms and weather, light and shade, dawn, dusk and the rocks. There she looked a wild woman, a troglodyte woman of nature, a throw-back to the man who surely must have been half-ape, half-human. Here, in the small modern office, she looked merely dirty, scruffy and unhygienic. And as she walked in through the door Joanna felt a wave of nausea at the unwashed scent.
‘I’ve come because I know I must help you,’ Alice said slowly. ‘ ’E didna want me to come. Said I would not be able to ’elp you. I dunna know. But the child is dead.’
Joanna waited and Alice sat down stiffly in one of the armchairs, fingering the imitation plastic.
Joanna faced her. ‘We want you to help us identify the car,’ she said clearly. ‘Do you remember? You recalled it was a long, white car.’
Alice shook her head slowly. ‘Light, I said. I did not remember it as bein’ white.’ She looked at Joanna. ‘If I ’elp, you must promise me. No tryin’ to get us out of the Rock.’
‘It isn’t up to me,’ Joanna said. ‘We won’t evict you. It would be social workers who worried you might not be safe up there.’
‘Pah.’ For a short moment Joanna thought Alice might spit. Instead she sat silent, chewing her lips. Then she sighed and stared out of the window at the wall. ‘Why do they put a window where there is nothing to see?’
‘There was something to see once,’ Joanna replied, looking in the same direction. ‘They had to build some more cells. There was nowhere else to put people. I’ve lost my view,’ she said ruefully, ‘but I still have ventilation.’
Alice shook her head slowly. ‘That isn’t ventilation. Ventilation’s air. Clean air. Not dust and filth from cars.’ She looked again at Joanna. ‘I can’t breathe down here,’ she said. ‘It would be cruel to take us away from the moor. We belong there.’
Joanna nodded. ‘I know, Alice.’
There was a moment of empathy between them then Alice licked her lips. ‘It might come again,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘The car.’
‘How would you know if it was the same car?’
Alice Rutter blinked. ‘I know sounds,’ she said. ‘The lapwing pretending to have a broken wing to protect its young, fox cubs lonely and frightened for their mother. Kestrel hungry for food. Sounds tell me all. And the car is loud and broken.’
Joanna stood up, the embryo of an idea taking shape. ‘Would you let me drive you around Leek?’ she asked. ‘Tell me if you see a car like the one ... or hear something similar?’
Alice stood up heavily then lumbered out of the door. They drove around Leek, then five miles towards Macclesfield, looking at cars, the windows open to listen to engine noises. Alice gave each vehicle slow consideration.
Long, Joanna soon found out, was any car at all – except possibly a Mini. Alice picked out hatchbacks and estates, saloons and fastbacks. Similarly, a light colour covered fifty per cent of cars on the road, pale, metallic greens and greys, whites and creams, yellows and pale blues. So they stood on a street corner and Joanna asked her to close her eyes and identify a car that sounded right. But when Alice was convinced she had ‘heard the car’, it turned out to be a motor bike.
Alice looked close to tears. ‘Jonathan was right,’ she said. ‘I’m a silly old fool. I aren’t familiar with cars. I never ’ad one.’ Then she stopped. ‘I don’t know nothin’. I can’t ’elp. And I was near. I saw. I didn’t do nothin’. I was scared. But I could ’ave saved the burnin’.’
Joanna tried to comfort the old woman and offered to drive her back to her home.
Alice looked at her. ‘You have a car?’
Joanna grinned. ‘I usually use my bike,’ she said. ‘But I have had to use the car lately.’ She smiled ruefully.
‘There’s been so much haring around.’
It was a fine evening but September was turning cool. Joanna slipped her coat on and walked slowly up the grey slope of the moor, towards the Winking Man, outlined in black against the grey sky.
At the top Alice called out, ‘Jonathan ... Jonathan. I ’ave the police lady with me.’
His head appeared through the gloom from behind the rock, hostile and suspicious. He glared at Joanna. ‘What are you ’ere for?’ he demanded.
‘She brought me home.’
He looked from one to the other. ‘You find the car then,’ he mocked.
Alice shook her head, iron-grey dreadlocks bouncing off her cheeks.
‘I knew she wouldn’t.’ It was Joanna he addressed.
‘Sit down a minute.’
Joanna sat on the rock and gazed across the wide view, lake and town, mountains and valleys.
Alice watched her face like a hawk. ‘That is a view,’ she said proudly. ‘Not bricks. Not dirty air. Not even people at all. Just the hills and the land and God.’ She glanced at Joanna. ‘You married then?’
Joanna shook her head.
‘You want to be married?’
And suddenly the anguish of Matthew flooded back – the old confusion and uncertainty. She shrugged her shoulders while Alice watched her – puzzled.
She touched her with a gnarled, wrinkled hand. ‘ ’Ard world, isn’t it?’
Joanna laughed. ‘But our worlds are different, Alice.’
Alice Rutter gave a slow chuckle. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘It’s the same world. We all has different ways of livin’ in it but it’s the same world all right.’
Joanna stared down at the hollow where the town sat. ‘How do you live up here, Alice?’
The old woman blinked. ‘The animals does. Why shouldn’t we? We can survive too. It’s just that people like you have bred too fine. You forgets you has legs for walkin’. Because you use cars. You never learn how to catch food and store it through the winter. There’s things you knows, I dare say,’ she said, winking at Jonathan ‘but there’s an awful lot of things you don’t know.’
Joanna looked at the woman’s face and read something there – something wise, a hidden, superior knowledge – something she didn’t understand but could respect. ‘Two children are missing,’ she said, ‘from the same house that the boy was from.’
Alice was watching her steadily.
‘I’m worried about them.’
Alice stood up, Jonathan too, towering over her, bulky in their layers of clothes.
‘You’ll find them,’ Alice said. ‘Soon enough and ...’ she wagged her finger at Joanna, ‘when they wants to be found. You’ll find them when they lets you.’ There was a stern hostility in her face and Joanna felt unnerved, lonely. She was standing on alien territory.
‘I have to go now,’ she said, ‘but I’ll come back.’ Joanna ran down the side of the blackening mountain, conscious all the way of the woman’s powerful presence behind her. When she reached the car the phone was crackling. She answered it and heard Mike’s voice. They had found another body.