They did not hear the baying of dogs.
Mountain rescue passed within half a mile, but its leaders were convinced the children would be closer to the footpath. The dogs couldn’t pick up any scent because of the storm. A second group had found the two bicycles, and was successful in following tracks for an hour or so – but then they suddenly disappeared, and Chief Inspector Mantz halted them until dawn.
He had arrived just after midnight, and commandeered the Clifden Adventure Centre as a damp headquarters. The rest of the Green Cross children were bussed back home, and a rumour went round that Captain Colin had been arrested – a policeman had recognized him and he’d been packed off to see the Fraud Squad, who’d been hoping to interview him for a number of years. A hotline was now established between the new HQ and the commando base: the red tape had been successfully cut, and a hard-faced soldier – Lieutenant Kirby – arrived by jeep, ready and willing to deploy his sixty-five professionals. The key players considered their strategy as the thunder rolled in.
‘Tell us again,’ said Mantz. ‘Why are these kids running?’
‘Well,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Rikki is a pretty desperate character. You know he’d been certified?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, he’s criminally psychotic,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘We had him in our secure unit, for his own good. His parents insisted.’
‘And the two heads are fighting each other?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘That’s bad.’
‘What frightened us,’ said Dr Warren, ‘was how Rikki simply couldn’t restrain himself. He was injuring Richard. He was lighting fires, threatening suicide. I would say he’s potentially homicidal.’
‘Homicidal?’ said Lieutenant Kirby, looking up from his map. ‘You think he’s a killer, do you?’
‘He threw Richard off a school roof.’
‘So he’s unpredictable.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The soldier removed his spectacles. ‘This changes everything, Mantz. I didn’t realize this was a combat mission. You said recovery.’
Chief Inspector Mantz leaned forward. ‘Looks like he fooled us all, Lieutenant. How confident can you be about finding him?’
‘Oh, we’ll flush him out,’ said the soldier.
‘When?’ said Dr Summersby.
‘We’ll have him before nightfall. What we have to do is agree the objective.’
‘It’s to isolate Rikki,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Always has been.’
‘Then what?’
‘We’ll need to shut him down, sir. I can do that, with Doctor Summersby—’
‘My men need specifics,’ said Lieutenant Kirby. ‘Define “shut him down”.’
‘Very well,’ said Dr Warren. He looked at the two men, and swallowed. ‘I’m fond of the boy, and I’ve tried to help him. But I think we need to use maximum force now – for the protection of the others. I think we should surround them, and seal off the area. Tranquillize if possible – and then Summersby and I can move in to administer proper sedation.’
Lieutenant Kirby stroked his chin. ‘Tranquillizers, eh? There’s a lot of ifs and buts with these tranquillizer guns. Do we know the dosage?’
‘I’ve got all his records with me,’ said Dr Summersby.
‘Then I want you in the front line, standing by. The snipers go forward, and we bring you in by chopper, soon as he’s down.’
‘I like that,’ said Mantz.
‘Parents?’
‘They followed us here,’ said Dr Summersby. ‘But we’re keeping them back.’
‘Loved ones can be tricky,’ said the lieutenant. ‘You don’t want family in a war zone.’
The inspector nodded. ‘The Westlake parents insisted on joining us, that’s the problem. Let’s keep them at arm’s length.’
The lieutenant stood up. ‘I say do it,’ he said. ‘Fast. Call off the mountain rescue boys, Inspector – we don’t need civilians. I want Two-heads flushed out into the open. I’ll divvy up the battalion and lead a pincer movement. Have a corkscrew assault faction standing by – this is just the kind of action they’d been hoping for. Doctor Warren, you’d better get your toolkit ready with this good lady, and sort your ballistics.’
‘Will the snipers feel comfortable?’ said Dr Warren. ‘I mean – he’s only a youngster.’
‘Comfortable about what?’
‘Shooting a child.’
The lieutenant stared at him. ‘My men do what they’re told,’ he said.
Mr and Mrs Westlake were waiting in a small, bleak hotel room. They had no information. All they’d heard was that ‘preparations were being made’, and that the police were ‘closing in’. They sat listening to the wind and rain, wondering where their son could possibly be. Nobody was available to speak to them, so their calls went unanswered. ‘The matter is in hand,’ was the only response they could get.
The press had got hold of the story somehow, and they watched news bulletins in which their own anxious faces appeared. They heard experts speculating about the chances of a child surviving more than twenty-four hours in the worsening weather, and there was film of the Green Cross children returning from the disastrous residential.
It was the lead story on every bulletin: six eleven-year-olds missing, plus an elderly teacher. As dawn broke, thin and grey, Mrs Westlake said to her husband, ‘We can’t sit here any more.’
‘I know, love.’
‘I had a dream.’
‘Did you sleep? I thought you were awake.’
‘I don’t remember sleeping, but I had a dream and I can’t make head nor tail of it. I want to be moving, Frank.’
‘Where do we go? Everyone we’ve spoken to says sit tight.’
‘Why would he jump off the roof like that? I keep turning it over and over. There’s something going on – we can’t just sit here.’
Mr Westlake stood up. ‘Where do you want to go? We’ll go anywhere you say.’
‘Why did we even consider it?’
Mr Westlake was silent. ‘We had to,’ he said at last.
‘I’ll never forgive myself. If we don’t get him home, Frank, just as he was, I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘They’re together, still. They’ll keep each other safe.’
Mrs Westlake turned to the window. ‘He’s going to the sea,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, but I can feel it in my bones. There’s a lighthouse – he’s going to that, I’m sure of it. It’s where Dad was, years ago.’
‘Let’s get a map. I’ll call us a cab – we can go into the town and get the things we need. Is that what’s best?’
‘Yes.’ The rain lashed the glass, but the grey surf was visible, just beyond the beach. Mrs Westlake gazed into space. ‘He’ll make for the sea,’ she said again. ‘I can feel it, stronger than ever.’ She felt the tears in her eyes again. ‘We’re going to need a boat, Frank – or we’re going to need to find someone with a boat . . . When he jumped off the roof, he wasn’t trying to kill himself. I know he wasn’t.’
She stopped.
‘What was he doing, love?’ said her husband. He put his arms round her. ‘Say it. Say what you feel.’
‘This is going to sound so stupid. But we haven’t dealt with it! He didn’t want to die. When I had that boy, he wanted life, and he thought he had wings. He wanted to just . . . fly away. Is that so stupid?’
‘No. I know what you mean.’
‘He wants his grandad.’
‘We should never have moved things. We should have waited.’
‘We had to make changes. Richard understood that—’
‘I’m not so sure. What does talking do? We should have waited much, much longer. He’s still in there, isn’t he? It’s his house, still, and he loved that boy more than . . . Oh, Lord, if I feel it, then Richard must be . . . he must have been in torment.’
Mrs Westlake wiped her eyes. Her husband could feel her heart beating. ‘Frank,’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘It was a year ago that he died. A year ago today.’
Mr Westlake felt his throat tighten, and a chill rose up through his body. For a moment he felt the old man watching, and though he knew that was ridiculous, he caught a whiff of pipe smoke. There was a flicker in the wardrobe mirror, and he found himself turning to look. It was gone at once, but the smell lingered. He held his wife harder.
A year ago, they had rushed to the hospital. His wife had got there just before him and was with Richard by the time he arrived. The old man had passed, and he heard the whole horrible story while holding Richard in his arms. His brave son, who’d tried so hard and was now carrying something too awful to bear, and so heavy it was crushing the life out of him.
Mr Westlake blinked, and kissed his wife. Then he turned and picked up the telephone. ‘I’ll call a cab,’ he said. His voice was shaking. ‘He needs us more than ever, doesn’t he? I don’t trust them. I trust my son – that’s who I trust.’
‘We’re going to need a boat,’ said his wife. ‘But I don’t know why.’