It took one phone call to establish that Reg Webster drove the number 12 bus on a route that went all the way from Queen’s Park to the Devil’s Dyke. It was a Southdown bus and the depot was at the bottom of Freshfield Road.
Edgar asked for a squad car to meet them at the garage but he thought that they’d be quicker on foot. It had started snowing again and the roads were becoming icy and dangerous. They jogged across the Old Steine, heading towards Edward Street and the road up to Queen’s Park. The fountain was frozen, the water held in mid-air as if it was part of one of Max’s illusions. As they ran, Edgar explained his theory.
‘You know everyone said that Annie and Mark were like brother and sister? Well, I think they were brother and sister. I don’t think that Mark was Reg’s son. I was thinking of the photograph in Daphne Young’s book. Annie, Mark and Betty. Two sisters and a brother. I think that’s what she had discovered. I think she realised when she read the lesson at the funeral. Martha, Mary and Lazarus. Two sisters and a brother.’
‘Betty had that picture too,’ said Emma. ‘It was in a box under her bed.’
‘So you think that Mark is Jim Francis’s son,’ said Bob. ‘Why didn’t he have red hair then?’
‘The red hair comes from Sandra’s side,’ said Edgar. ‘Her mother has it.’
‘And that was the significance of The Stolen Children,’ said Emma. She was less out of breath than either of the men. Edgar was quite impressed at how fit she was. ‘It was about finding a long-lost brother. “Brothers and sisters, friends for ever.” That’s what Betty wrote. I think she knew. I think that’s why she wanted me to see the play.’
‘And you think that’s why Webster abducted her,’ said Bob.
They stopped at the bottom of the hill to catch their breath. Bob and Edgar bent double, Emma pawing at the snow like a reindeer, a shaggy reindeer in her big fur coat. Edgar was relieved that Bob used the word ‘abducted’ and not ‘murdered’. Please, God, make Betty still be alive.
They started up the hill. ‘We’ve got no evidence,’ muttered Bob from the back.
‘No,’ agreed Edgar. ‘Do you want to go back?’
No one spoke as they continued the climb, heads bent against the snow.
Ruby came to see Max in the interval.
‘You were good,’ she said. ‘I was quite scared of you.’
‘Not too sinister?’
‘No, just right, I’d say.’
Max looked at her, neat and perfect as ever in a tightly fitting green dress. The theatre manager had bowed almost to the floor when he’d shown her into Max’s dressing room. He was surprised that Roger Dunkley hadn’t popped round to see the visitor. He was usually everywhere in the interval, telling people how well they were doing, urging everyone to get through the business quickly ‘so that we’ll be in good time for the bar afterwards’.
‘I called on Edgar,’ said Ruby, ‘but a very stuck-up policewoman told me that he was in the middle of a murder case and couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like pantomimes.’
‘He is a bit busy,’ said Max, marvelling slightly at Ruby’s self-absorption. Mind you, it was probably a necessary trait in an actress. ‘Another child has gone missing. His sister and nephews are here tonight though.’
‘I didn’t know he had a sister.’
Would you have remembered if he had told you? thought Max. Aloud he said, ‘Why have you got the evening off?’
‘Oh, the director lets all the chorus have the odd night off,’ said Ruby. ‘There are all these stage-school children from Chichester just dying to step into our shoes.’
‘Our director never lets anyone have time off,’ said Max. ‘Even if you were dead, you’d probably have to go on.’ Surreptitiously he searched for some wood to touch.
‘But you’re the star,’ said Ruby. ‘People come because of you. You should hear them talking about you in the audience. I wanted to tell everyone that I’m your daughter.’
‘You’ll be a bigger star than me one day,’ said Max.
‘I do hope so,’ said Ruby. ‘I’d better be going back to my seat now. Break a leg.’
The Southdown garage was at the bottom of Freshfield Road. They must have walked past it hundreds of times in the past few weeks. Through the high windows they could see the big green buses inside, off the road because of the snow. How many times had they seen those buses lumbering about Brighton? What had Max said about the waiter? They’re always there and yet you never see them. Wasn’t the same true of buses, the permanent backdrop to a city scene? Could one of these buses have held the dead bodies of Annie and Mark? Was Betty even now imprisoned here, amongst the double-deckers?
‘The doors are locked,’ said Bob, stating the obvious as ever.
‘Then we’ll have to break in.’ Edgar started searching in the snow for a rock but it was Emma who found an old wheel hub leaning up against the wall. Edgar climbed onto the wall.
‘Pass it up to me. I’ll see if I can smash this window.’
‘Let me do it,’ said Bob.
‘No.’ Edgar knew that Bob was reminding him that he was younger and fitter but he wasn’t going to let anyone else do this thing. He’d always known that he would have to be the one to find Betty. He just prayed that he’d find her alive.
Using all his strength, he threw the wheel hub against the glass. It shattered immediately and he could hear the crash inside as the metal hub hit more metal. If Betty was there, she would be terrified.
He hauled himself up onto the window ledge.
‘Be careful, sir.’ That was Emma.
‘Let me do it.’ Bob. Faint but persistent.
He was higher than he had thought, on a level with the top deck of the buses. ‘Betty!’ he called. ‘Betty!’ His voice echoed against the vaulted roof. Outside he could hear more voices. The squad car must have arrived. But whatever was hidden in this garage, he had to be the one to find it. He jumped down from the windowsill.
He fell awkwardly, twisting his ankle. He scrambled to his feet. ‘Betty!’ Silence, voices outside, then . . . a small scrabbling sound, like a mouse or a trapped animal. He limped towards it.
She was in the number 12 bus. He saw her sitting on the bench seat at the back, huddled in a blanket and sucking her thumb. When she saw him, she whipped out the thumb as if embarrassed to be caught doing something so childish. He climbed onto the running board. ‘It’s OK, Betty. I’m a policeman.’
She nodded. ‘I’ve seen you before. Is the lady policeman here?’
‘She’s just outside.’ He could hear bodies battering the doors. They would be inside in a minute.
‘I’m cold,’ said Betty, and he could see that she was shivering, despite the blanket.
‘It’s all right,’ said Edgar. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’
Maybe it was the magic word but Betty suddenly launched herself at him, almost knocking him backwards. He scooped her up and she clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
‘Uncle Reg,’ she whispered. ‘He brought me here.’
‘I know,’ said Edgar. ‘Everything’s all right now. I’m going to take you back to your mum and dad.’
The doors caved in as he approached. Bob, Emma and the other officers crowded round. ‘Is it her? Is she all right?’ Edgar didn’t answer any of them. With Betty in his arms, he started up Freshfield Road. Though small for her age, she was no lightweight but he didn’t, for a minute, consider putting her down.
‘Bob,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘Take Sergeant McGuire and go to the Websters.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Arrest Reg Webster and keep him there until I come.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Emma, you come with me.’
‘Try and stop me,’ said Emma.
The steep hill was nothing to him, even with his injured ankle and Betty clinging round his neck. The falling snow was soft beneath his feet. The light was on in the Francises’ house. As Edgar was encumbered by Betty, Emma hammered on the door. Jim answered, with Sandra close behind.
‘I’ve brought Betty home to you,’ said Edgar.
It felt like the best moment of his life.