There had been a moment, on Saturday, when Kincaid had caught a glimpse of the girl laughing as she played with the dogs. It had transformed her, and it was that image that he recalled now. He’d skimmed Doug’s research on Fergus O’Reilly, with the accompanying photographs, and he could see it now—the ghost of a resemblance.
“When was that text sent?” he asked Booth.
Booth scanned the messages again. “Last Wednesday.”
Leaning up from the backseat, Doug said, “Check the call log.”
Booth tapped the phone icon. “O’Reilly made calls to that number on Thursday afternoon, and again on Friday morning. Hang on a moment.” Frowning, he scrolled further back. “The first call to that number was just shy of three weeks ago. The Wednesday—”
“After the Monday O’Reilly first came to the village,” Kincaid finished. “He intended to see Viv—he told Roz Dunning as much—but then he changed his mind. I think it was because he met Grace Holland.”
They took both cars down the hill to the pub, Booth having now agreed that speaking to Viv took priority over keeping an eye on Roz Dunning. Melody had been oddly quiet and seemed to be avoiding speaking to Doug.
The four of them walked into the pub courtyard together, the crunching of their feet on the pea gravel sounding like the arrival of the cavalry. The noise brought Viv to the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. Gemma appeared behind her, carrying a mug of tea. “Where have you been?” she said, hurrying down the steps towards him. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine. We got caught up with something.” He gave her a reassuring smile before turning to Viv. “Viv, does your daughter have a mobile phone?”
She looked puzzled, but said, “Yes, but it’s just calls and texts. I wouldn’t buy her a smartphone, even though she says everyone in her year has them.”
“Is this the number?” Booth read it out to her from O’Reilly’s mobile.
Viv blanched. “Yes, that’s it. What’s happened? Is Grace all right?”
At a nod from Booth, Kincaid said, trying to break it gently, “We think Fergus O’Reilly was in contact with your daughter in the weeks before he died.”
“What? But how—” She glanced at Gemma. “That’s why she said those things to Kit. Oh, my God. When you said he’d been here before, staying at the manor house, it never occurred to me that he’d— He had to have met her then, hadn’t he, to get her number?”
“That would be my guess, yes,” said Gemma. “Viv, shall I tell them?”
“I can guess,” Kincaid told her. “Fergus was Grace’s father, wasn’t he?”
“There’s more.” Gemma put a supportive hand on Viv’s back. “I heard from Kerry Boatman. Viv didn’t know this, but Fergus getting the job in Colm Finlay’s restaurant depended on Viv accepting the offer as well. When she refused, Fergus threatened her with a paternity suit.
“Finlay also told Kerry that he was certain Fergus was not taking heart medication. Fergus was living in his flat and Finlay kept a close eye on him. He wanted to be sure Fergus was clean before he finalized a job offer.”
Booth fixed a hawkish gaze on Viv. “If we can rule out self-administered, we have to look at where the digitalis came from. And when he might have ingested it.”
Looking more startled than frightened, Viv said, “You can’t think—surely you don’t think I gave it to him.”
“It seems to me that you had very good reason to want Mr. O’Reilly out of the way, Ms. Holland. It’s highly unlikely that any court would have granted him complete custody, but a suit on his part would certainly have disrupted your and your daughter’s lives—and caused your daughter untold emotional distress.”
“But”—Viv threw Gemma a helpless look—“but I would never— I wouldn’t even have any idea how to go about something like that!”
“Nevertheless, Ms. Holland, I’ll need to ask you some ques—”
Booth broke off as tires squealed on the car park tarmac, then a vehicle flashed by, visible for only an instant through the courtyard archway. A car door slammed, and Ibby came charging through the arch. Without the cheerful bandanna tied over his hair, he looked older, and far more menacing. Kincaid tensed, but Ibby came to a stop a few feet from them, his hands on his hips.
“Who the hell has been messing with my truck?” he said, glaring at them.
“What are you talking about?” Booth asked. “What truck?”
“My four-by-four. I was going to run into town to buy some”—Ibby broke off, shooting a guilty glance at Viv— “I mean I had an errand to do. But my seat and my mirrors are off. I hate anyone—”
“You never said you had a four-by-four,” broke in Booth.
“You never asked. I said I didn’t drink-drive, not that I didn’t drive.”
That much was true, Kincaid remembered. And he knew Booth had checked Ibby’s and Angelica’s alibis for Saturday night—they were both confirmed to have been at a pub lock-in from eleven o’clock until two in Moreton-on-Marsh. “When did you last drive?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Last week. I rode with Angie on the Saturday and yesterday morning—as you bloody well know. And I hadn’t needed to go anywhere until just now.”
With a scowl, Booth strode across the courtyard and through the arch, the rest of them following. A battered and muddy red Toyota RAV4 stood alone and slightly askew in the car park. “This is it?”
“I didn’t come in a bloody pumpkin.”
Booth walked round it and, squatting, examined the front fender. The others followed and peered over his shoulder. “It’s about the right height. And it’s pretty dinged up, but I can’t tell if the damage is old or new.”
“What do you mean, dinged up?” Sounding even more incensed, Ibby pushed through the group to stand beside him.
“Look, here, just left of center. There’s a crack in the grill.”
“That wasn’t there. I’m sure that wasn’t there. What the hell is going—”
Booth stood. “Who else has access to your car?”
“What?” Ibby stared at him. “Well, Bea, of course, but I thought—”
“What do you mean, of course?”
Ibby seemed just as baffled. “Because I lodge in her house. Just at the top of the village. You took our details. You must know—”
“Wait. Just wait a minute.” Viv slipped past Ibby to stand in front of Booth. “Are you saying that it might have been Ibby’s car that hit Jack? Is that what you’re talking about? Ibby wasn’t even here when Jack was run down!”
“We know that, Miss Holland.” Booth sounded as if his patience was strained. “But Mr. Azoulay here seems to think that someone else has driven his car. And his car fits the profile of the vehicle involved in Jack Doyle’s death.”
“But that’s ridiculous. That means Bea— You can’t think Bea had anything to do with— Someone must have stolen Ibby’s keys—”
“They were right where I normally keep them,” protested Ibby. “But someone drove my car. I’m not imagining it. Everything is just a bit off-kilter. Not to mention, the seat lever is jammed, and when I went to take a look at it, my bloody torch was missing.”
Kincaid heard a quick indrawn breath from Gemma. The blow to Jack Doyle’s head was knowledge the detectives had kept to themselves. A torch would have made a handy and effective blunt instrument.
“You kept it in your car?” asked Booth.
“Well, yeah, in the glove compartment. Where else would I keep it? Look, this is bonkers. Bea’s never driven my car—why would she do that?”
“Because,” Kincaid said slowly, thinking it through, “if you had the idea to run someone down, it would be wise not to do it in your own vehicle. Especially in a smaller car that might be less effective and sustain more damage. And just say it was a last-minute decision, and there was another vehicle, readily available, but not likely to be associated with you.”
They all stared at him. “But why?” whispered Viv. “I don’t believe it. Why would Bea do such a thing?”
“Because Jack Doyle knew something about what happened to Fergus O’Reilly—something that would have proved dangerous for him to share,” Gemma said with sudden certainty. “Jack was not himself that night—you told me that, Viv. He was upset. He was drinking, which was unusual. You thought it was because he was grieving for Nell. But what if it was more than that? What if he’d seen something, something that only had significance when he learned that Fergus might have been poisoned? Who besides Jack would have served Fergus in the bar that night?”
Frowning, Gemma fished in her jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled note and smoothing it with her fingers. “I needed to write something down yesterday. I grabbed an order pad from the bar, but first I tore off the top page.” She held it up. Scrawled across the sheet was the word COFFEE followed by a question mark.
“That’s Jack’s writing,” said Viv, with obvious reluctance.
“Wasn’t Fergus drinking coffee?”
“Yes, but—” Viv bit at her fingernail, then said, “Okay. Bea was helping Jack in the bar. You think Jack saw her put something in Fergus’s coffee?”
Glancing at Booth, Kincaid guessed they were thinking the same thing. Bea Abbott’s father was a doctor with a reputation for being a bit free with his prescription pad. What might Bea have had access to?
“But even if she did,” Viv went on, “why? Why would she do something like that?”
“You told her about the job offer. Who had the most to lose if you changed your mind and accepted Fergus’s offer?” asked Gemma.
“But I wouldn’t have. And she didn’t know he was Grace’s—”
“Viv,” broke in Ibby, her name a plea. “I told her about Fergus and Grace. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so pissed off when he showed up that afternoon. He was chatting Grace up in the courtyard, making her laugh, wearing that stupid hat like he was freaking Gandalf or something. Bea saw them together, too.”
A sudden gust of wind swirled round the car park, raising little eddies of fallen leaves. Just as Kincaid looked up and realized that heavy clouds were massing in the western sky, Gemma said, alarm in her voice, “Where is Bea? She said she was going to the bank ages ago.”
“Oh my God.” Viv gripped Gemma’s arm. “Grace. Grace should be home from school by now. Where the hell is she?”
“Right here is fine, Mrs. Johnson.” Grace bared her teeth in a big fake smile as she got out of the car in front of St. Mary’s Church. “I can walk across the road,” she said, adding under her breath as Mrs. Johnson waved and drove off, “I’m not two, you know.” She could even walk home from school if her mum would let her, along the river path. It was only a couple of miles. She knew the way, but of course her mum said she was too young and what if it was muddy or something stupid like that.
Usually Bea alternated picking her and Alesha up from school with Mrs. Johnson, because her mum, of course, was always too busy. Grace wished it had been Bea today, but then Bea had been short with her that morning, so maybe it was just as well.
Just thinking about going home gave Grace a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Everybody was whispering round her, like she didn’t know there was something weird about Jack being hit by the car. She couldn’t bear to go in the bar because it made her think about him.
And she really couldn’t bear to think about Fergus. She didn’t want to believe he was dead. Maybe he’d just gone away and her mum was only telling her that because she didn’t want them to be together. He’d been fine on Friday—he’d whispered to her that he was going to make her mum see sense and that they would all go to London to live.
Maybe her mum had made him go away. Maybe Fergus would come back and take her to London and it would be just the two of them.
But that thought made her feel funny, too. As much as she hated her mum, she didn’t want to think that something bad might happen to her, like what had happened to Kit’s mum. Or to Nell.
She shivered. Alesha said that meant someone was walking over your grave, but that was stupid. She was just cold, that was all. The sky had gone a weird sort of muddy purple and the rising wind tugged at her hair and rustled in the leaves of the trees in the churchyard. A storm was coming.
She wondered if Mark had left Bella out in the farmyard. Bella didn’t like storms. Would she be scared if it thundered? Coming to a sudden decision, Grace slipped her backpack over the churchyard wall. Nobody would steal it from out of the churchyard, and she wouldn’t be gone long. And it wasn’t like her mum would notice if she didn’t come home right on time.
It occurred to her too late that Mark might tell her mum that she’d come without permission. They were always talking and sometimes she thought that Mark actually liked her mum in that way, which was gross. But Bea said not to be silly, that her mum couldn’t manage things as it was and she certainly had no business having a relationship. Besides, her mum had to have loved Fergus, hadn’t she, if Fergus was her dad?
Well, she would just check on the dogs, in case Mark wasn’t at home. The farmhouse door was always left off the latch, and she could just put the dogs inside. Carefully, she opened and closed the gate, aware of the too-loud sound of her trainers crunching on the leaves that lay like a gold blanket over the drive. But there was no sound from the dogs.
She walked on. When she came out into the open field, she saw that the sky to the west was almost black and it had grown twilight dark. There was still no sign of the dogs. But there was Mark’s Land Rover, in the yard, so he must be inside with them. The back was down on the trailer and all the hay was gone.
Grace was about to turn back to the gate when she saw there was another car pulled behind Mark’s, invisible until she’d turned the curve in the drive. It was Bea’s little Fiat. What was she doing here? Bea didn’t even like Mark.
Curious, Grace crept closer, afraid that the dogs would sense her, even from inside the house. When the wind dropped, she heard voices coming from the barn. Tiptoeing now, she crossed the farmyard, keeping out of sight of the door. She knew there was a crack where the frame of the door didn’t quite fit the old wall of the barn, and she thought she could peek through it.
One voice grew louder. Mark’s. “I’m sick and tired of you interfering in Viv’s business, Bea.”
Grace edged closer until she could put her eye to the gap. Mark and Bea were facing each other. Mark had been stacking hay bales and his face was red.
“I’m only saying what’s best for Viv and for the child,” Bea said, sounding bossy and just as cross. “I saw you today with Viv, carrying on. What do you think that would do to—”
“For Christ’s sake. We were not carrying on. And the child is nearly twelve and needs to grow up.”
Grace felt a little flush of pleasure at the nearly twelve. But then Mark said, “And it’s about time she had a man in her life. You’re warping that child, Bea. Viv is the only one who can’t see it. Even Jack thought so, and he had a soft spot for you.”
“Jack? What did Jack tell you?” There was something in Bea’s voice that Grace didn’t like. She almost bolted, but she was afraid if she moved they would hear her and then Bea would be really, really cross.
Mark shoved the hay fork into a bale and left it sticking there. “He saw you with Grace’s mobile on Friday afternoon. She’d left her backpack in the bar. You were spying on the kid.”
“So what if I was?” Bea said, and Grace frowned in surprise, wondering if she’d heard wrong. “It was for her own good,” Bea went on. “She should learn not to put in her pass code where people can see it. She was texting O’Reilly— Did you know that? He told her he was her father.”
Mark’s face went blank. “What?”
“Oh, Viv didn’t tell you that either, did she?” Bea said, in a nasty, baiting voice.
But Mark shook his head. “Don’t try that shit on with me, Bea. You’re not turning me against Viv. She did tell me. But she didn’t know that Grace knew.”
“O’Reilly told Grace her mum was going to take the job in London and they would all play happy families together.” Bea snorted. “And Grace believed him, the little ninny. He needed Viv for his restaurant, and Grace was a way of getting to her.”
Grace clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out. It couldn’t be true. Fergus had wanted to be her dad, she knew he had. Now she just wanted to go home, but the stunned look on Mark’s face kept her rooted to the spot.
“You believed it, didn’t you?” he told Bea. “You thought Viv would really take the job. And where would that have left you? Out in the cold?” Mark took a step towards Bea and Grace shrank back.
Bea laughed but there was nothing funny about the sound. “Don’t be stupid.”
“You were there, in the bar that night,” Mark said slowly. “You must have been panicked after you saw those texts on Grace’s mobile. Maybe you decided to take matters into your own hands. Did you give him something, Bea?” He must have seen an answer in Bea’s face because his eyes went wide. “You did, didn’t you?” He sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t quite believed it until then. “What about Jack? Did he see you do it?”
“Nobody will believe you, you know.” Bea’s quiet voice was somehow scarier than her shouty one.
But Mark just shrugged, and Grace suddenly wanted to call out to him, but she didn’t. “I’m going to tell the police what I think, regardless. And I’m going to tell Viv. You can deal with the consequences.” Turning his back, he reached for his hay fork.
Quick as lightning, Bea grabbed the manure shovel that was propped against one of the sheep pens. She swung it high with both hands, like a cartoon warrior, cracking it against the back of Mark’s head with a sound like a ripe melon hitting the tarmac.
Grace doubled over, stifling a moan of terror.
When she could bring herself to look again, Mark was in a heap on the ground, and Bea was stooping over the emergency lantern Mark used when there was a power outage. Bea tipped it over, spilling the white petrol into the loose straw on the floor of the barn. Her back was to Grace now, but when Grace heard the flicking sound she knew instantly what it was—the little butane lighter Bea used to light the table candles in the pub. A wisp of smoke rose from the floor.
Grace could just make out Mark’s body slumped against the hay bale. He wasn’t moving.
She had to get help.
Hardly daring to breathe, she backed up a step, then another one. Dark clouds now blotted out the sky, leaving the farmyard in a weird gray-green twilight. Grace turned, but she’d misjudged her step and she bumped against the empty trailer, making the tow bar clank. Inside the house, the dogs began to bark.
“Who’s there?” called Bea.
Grace froze, praying that Bea wouldn’t come to see. But a moment later, Bea appeared in the barn door, peering out.
“Who’s there?” she said again, a little uncertainly. Then she caught sight of Grace on the far side of the trailer. Taking a step farther into the yard, she called, “Grace! What are you doing here?”
Grace turned and ran.
Gemma and the others followed Viv as she looked in the cottage, then in the restaurant. As they were searching, Angelica arrived with the two evening servers, and then a couple of early customers came into the bar. Ibby quickly began making drinks while the rest of them crowded into the kitchen after Viv, who grabbed the mobile she’d left on the work top.
“I think she’s overreacting,” Gemma heard Doug mutter to Melody as Viv dialed Grace’s mobile number. But Gemma knew that if it were any of her children, she’d be panicked, too.
“She’s not answering,” said Viv, turning a stricken face to them. “She keeps her phone switched off at school, but she’s supposed to turn it on again as soon as school’s out.”
“Have you tried the friend who was giving her a lift home?” asked Gemma. “Maybe she was delayed.”
Scrolling through her contacts, Viv rang another number, while Angelica, filling orders, tried to maneuver round all the bodies taking up the kitchen work space. After a moment’s murmured conversation, Viv rang off, shaking her head. “She dropped her off an hour ago,” she said, her voice rising.
Gemma glanced out the kitchen door. Dusk had come early with the heavy clouds, and out in the courtyard she’d felt the prickle that presaged a thunderstorm.
“Where exactly did your friend drop her off?” asked Booth. “There are enough of us to organize a search. Where else do you think she might go?”
“Lizzy Johnson says she dropped her right in front of the pub, on the churchyard side of the road. I don’t know where she might go. She doesn’t have any friends in the village. Before, she might have gone to Nell’s, but now . . .”
“We’ll start at the last-seen point and work outwards, then. Ms. Holland, you had better stay here in case she comes back. Keep trying to ring her.”
“But what about Bea? What if she comes back?”
“I’ll stay here with Viv,” Kincaid said.
Gemma didn’t like that idea at all. “I don’t think you ought—” she’d begun, when Viv’s mobile rang.
“It’s Grace!”
“Put her on speaker,” Gemma said hurriedly as Viv swiped the screen.
Then Grace’s terrified whisper filled the kitchen. “Mummy, she hurt Mark. You have to do something. She set the barn on fire!”
“Grace, where are you? Who hurt Mark?”
“Mummy, I’m scared. She saw me. I have to—” There was a gasp, then a thud, then silence.
“Grace!” Viv shouted, but the call had failed. When she tried to ring back, the mobile went unanswered. Turning to them, Viv said, “She has to be at Mark’s farm. I’m going—”
Booth interrupted her. “You and Gemma take the van. Duncan and I will come in my car.” He turned to Doug and Melody. “You two, call it in, all services. Then stay here. Deal with Bea Abbott if she shows up.”
Booth got his Volvo out of the pub car park before Viv could back her van round in the courtyard. This time, Kincaid didn’t mind Booth’s driving. They tore up King’s Well Lane, a bloody storm-tossed sunset filling the sky ahead. Lowering the window as they reached Nell Greene’s cottage, he could smell smoke. “Just ahead,” he directed as Booth drove on. “The farm entrance is where the trees are thickest. I’ll get the gate.”
But there was no need—the gate stood open. Booth drove over the rill and down the farm drive. As the yard came into view, Kincaid could just make out Mark’s Land Rover and the unattached trailer in the gathering gloom. There was no sign of Bea, or of Grace, but smoke was snaking from under the bottom of the barn door. Booth slammed the Volvo to a stop and they scrambled out just as Viv’s van rolled up behind them. Inside the house, the dogs barked frantically.
“Christ,” Booth shouted as they reached the barn. “The door’s been blocked.” A piece of timber had been pulled across the bottom of the barn door, but the two men managed to shift it quickly enough.
“Stand back,” Booth directed as Gemma and Viv came up behind them. He moved to one side as he pulled open the door, but still the cloud of smoke set them all coughing.
Blinking, Kincaid peered inside. Flames flickered, fanned by the inrush of air, but as the smoke cleared he could see a huddled shape against the hay bales on the barn’s far side. He recognized the denim jacket Mark had worn when he’d visited yesterday. “It’s Mark. We’ve got to get him out.”
“You can’t lift him,” Gemma said. “Stay back. Viv and I can help.”
As much as he hated it, Kincaid knew she was right. He’d only been able to grip the timber blocking the door with one hand. “Be careful.”
As the three of them ran crouching into the barn, Mark began to cough and try to push himself up. Kincaid breathed a prayer of relief. “Wait, wait, we’ve got you,” said Viv as they reached him and lifted him up. With Booth on one side and Viv on the other, they supported him across the barn and out the door. Gemma trailed behind, looking round, then ran after them as she began to cough, too.
“I don’t think Grace is in there,” she gasped as she reached Kincaid and the open air. Booth pushed the door to behind her, stopping the wind from feeding the flames.
“My head,” moaned Mark. “I don’t remember—she must have bloody hit me.” He put a hand to the back of his head, wincing, and when he pulled it away his fingers were dark with blood.
Kincaid grasped his shoulder. “Mark, take it easy. Who hit you?”
“Bea. It must have been Bea. She was saying crazy things about O’Reilly—” Realization seemed to hit him. “My barn! Christ! Get some water!”
“I know where the hosepipe is,” said Viv. “But, Mark, where’s Grace?”
“Grace? What are you talking about?”
“She saw Bea hit you.”
Mark shook his head, then grimaced. “Bloody hell. No, she can’t have—Viv, get the damned hose.”
But Booth loomed out of the dimness, dragging a coil. “Viv, go turn the tap.” The sound of sirens came faintly on the wind as Booth eased the barn door open and shouted, “Now!” The jet of water hit the smoldering straw with a hiss and a billow of dark smoke.
Viv reappeared beside Kincaid and Gemma, her face smudged with soot. “I’ve got the torch from the van,” she said. “We’ve got to find Grace.”
Gemma and Kincaid followed Viv down the lane toward Nell Greene’s cottage. Their eyes had grown accustomed to the twilight and they made their way without using the torch, which Viv gripped more like a weapon than an implement. Looking back, Gemma saw the strobe of blue lights coming from the opposite direction.
“We know Grace was here,” Viv had insisted back in the farmyard. “And that she was on foot. She’s terrified, and she could be hurt. I don’t think she will have gone far. We should try Nell’s—she’d feel safe there.”
“Viv’s right,” Gemma had said, although she knew the thud they’d heard over Grace’s mobile might have been a blow, and that Bea might have bundled the injured girl into her car and taken her God knew where. But Booth had already put out an alert for the Fiat, and they had to cover every other possibility. “We should go on foot. If Bea is searching for Grace as well, we don’t want to warn her that we’re coming.”
Reluctantly, Booth had agreed, but he’d stayed behind to direct the emergency operations and to make sure the farm was searched thoroughly. “Be careful in the lane,” he told them. “Don’t forget what happened to Jack Doyle.”
Not having seen the accident scene, Gemma could only imagine, but she was doing that all too well as they crept along the very edge of the narrow lane, listening for the sound of an oncoming car, a crackle of movement in the hedgerows—or the cry of a distressed child.
The thunderstorm seemed to have collapsed with the dusk, thank God, with only a brief spatter of droplets on their cheeks as they set off. The air had gone dead still. She could hear Kincaid breathing right behind her. A heavy, green scent rose from the grass on the verge as their feet crushed it.
With a clap, a bird exploded from the hedge right in front of Viv, who swore and almost dropped the torch. When their hearts had stopped thudding, they moved even more carefully, until Viv brushed Gemma’s arm with her fingers and tilted her head to the left. They must have reached the drive to Nell’s cottage, and so far had seen no sign of either Grace or Bea.
But when Gemma looked, she realized that they would have to move out into the open to reach the cottage itself. She tapped Viv, who was still wearing her kitchen whites, and mimed taking off the jacket. Viv slid out of it and tucked it into the bottom of the hedge.
They kept to the grass, avoiding the crunch of the gravel in the drive. As they drew closer, there was no sign of light or movement in the cottage. Kincaid had just whispered that they should split up when Gemma saw it, a crouched shape moving around the corner of the cottage, then rising to try the door—a shape too large to be a child, the movement too furtive to be Grace. She clutched at her companions, but they’d seen it, too.
Viv wrenched herself out of Gemma’s grasp and took off at a dead run, her trainer-shod feet only whispering on the springy grass. Too late, the shape rose and turned, and Gemma saw the pale moon of Bea Abbott’s face beneath her dark hair.
Then Viv was on her in a rugby tackle. The impact took them both to the ground, then Viv was on top of Bea, punching and pummeling, while Bea twisted and kicked at her, grunting with the effort.
Gemma reached them first, and between them she and Viv managed to get Bea facedown. Gemma slipped off her light anorak and, with Viv’s help, managed to tie Bea’s wrists together while Kincaid pinned her feet.
Once secured, Bea twisted away from them until her back was against the cottage wall. “What is wrong with you?” she shouted at Viv. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Where is she?” spat Viv, shining the torch in her face. “Where’s Grace?”
Bea flinched away from the light. “I have no idea. Viv, listen to me—”
“You killed them. You poisoned Fergus, didn’t you? I loved him,” Viv cried. “You knew I loved him and you—”
“Don’t be stupid, Viv. Of course I didn’t—”
“We found Mark Cain,” put in Kincaid, still panting. “He’s okay, no thanks to you, and he remembers what you did.”
Bea went still. Her expression turned calculating. “So? It’s his word against mine.”
“Grace saw you.” Dropping the torch, Viv grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake her. “What have you done with Grace?”
“Let me go!” Bea tried to scoot away from her grasp. “I’m telling you, I haven’t hurt Grace! Everything I did was for Grace! O’Reilly was going to ruin everything, don’t you know that? I only meant to make him sick.”
“What did you give him, Bea?” Gemma asked quietly. “Did you put something in his coffee?”
For a moment, Gemma thought Bea wasn’t going to answer. But then she shrugged and said, “Diet pills. It was just a few of my mum’s old diet pills. I took too many once and they made me ill—that’s all I thought they would do to him. And then he’d go away—”
Headlamps suddenly illuminated them as a car bumped down the drive, then another one behind it. Booth’s Volvo, Gemma realized, as he climbed out, and a panda car. Booth left the lights trained on them as he and two uniformed officers walked over. “Well, well, what have we here?” he said. “Miss Abbott. Where’s the child?”
Bea glanced right and left, then blinked up at him, looking cornered. “I don’t know.”
With a nod to the uniformed officers, Booth sent them to search round the cottage, but they came back shaking their heads. “No sign of the girl, sir,” said the female officer. “And both the cottage doors are locked. But we did find a Fiat pulled round behind the garage. The keys were in it. We checked the boot. Nothing there.”
Gemma felt a wash of relief. That had been her worst fear, that they would find Grace stuffed in the boot of Bea’s car. But Bea had been searching, too, which meant that she might be telling the truth about not knowing where Grace was.
But they still had a missing child.
Kit had been uneasy ever since he’d told Gemma about the things Grace had said. He felt like he’d betrayed a confidence and he wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing, or what the consequences of it might be for Grace. To make matters worse, Gemma and his dad had now been gone for hours. Melody and Doug hadn’t come back, either.
When he and Addie and the kids got back to the house after dropping Gemma at the pub, Joe had been waiting for Addie. They were closeted in her study for a long time. From Addie’s tight-lipped expression when Joe left, Kit gathered the meeting had not been a pleasant one.
When dusk came on early and still no one had returned, he found Addie in the kitchen making the little ones their tea. “Is it okay if I walk down to the village?” he asked. “I need to talk to Gemma about something.”
“I’ll run you down,” said Ivan, who had come in behind him. “I want to see what’s going on.”
“Oh, cool,” Kit breathed as he climbed into the restored Land Rover, and he and Ivan talked cars on the short drive down the lane to Lower Slaughter. When they reached the pub, Kit saw immediately that Viv’s van was gone, which seemed odd. Why would she go somewhere during dinner service? Melody’s little blue Clio was in the car park, however, so he hoped that someone was there.
Glancing in the kitchen as they went in, Kit saw Angelica, but not Viv. Ibby, however, was behind the bar, and Melody and Doug were huddled on the other side, all three of their heads together in what looked like a heated discussion. When they looked up, he saw a flare of hope in their expressions, then disappointment.
“I’ve got to give Angie a hand,” Ibby said, and went into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” Kit asked, the feeling of dread growing. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s Grace,” said Melody. Although there were punters in the dining rooms, there was no one else in the bar at the moment. Still, Melody lowered her voice. “Bea Abbott attacked Mark Cain and set his barn on fire. Apparently, Grace was there. She rang her mum but the call was cut off. They’ve caught Bea, but they still can’t find Grace.”
“My mum and dad—are they okay?”
Melody gave him a surprised look but said, “Yes, Gemma and your dad are fine. They’re with DI Booth and the police. So is Viv. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“There’s rain coming,” put in Ivan. “Storms are building up again. What can we do to help?”
“Did they check Nell’s cottage?” Kit asked before Melody could reply. “Grace might have gone there, if she was scared.”
“That’s where they are now. And they’ve searched the farm. There’s no sign of her.”
“The village?” Ivan asked.
“We’ve looked,” said Doug. “Booth is organizing a search party. The girl just seems to have vanished into bloody thin air.”
Kit’s mind raced. “Do they know exactly where she was when she rang Viv?”
“No. She just said that Bea had hurt Mark, and that the barn was on fire. Then the call dropped. She—”
“Wait,” broke in Melody. “There were dogs barking. I could hear them in the background. But they weren’t too close. So—”
“I think I know.” Kit realized he was butting in, but he couldn’t help it. He was remembering the lane, and the bolt-hole under the gate into the pasture. And then the footpath that ran, dark and slippery, along the river. “Let me look.”
“Can’t you just tell us?” asked Doug. “We can let the search party know—”
“No. I need to do it,” Kit said, his urgency mounting.
“We should check with your parents first,” said Melody. She and Doug exchanged a look Kit recognized. It didn’t mean that they thought he couldn’t find Grace—it meant they were afraid he’d find something bad if he did.
Kit swallowed and used his most reasonable voice. “She could be hurt. And Ivan says there’s more rain coming.”
“The lad’s right,” said Ivan. “I’ll go with him. I’ve got an emergency torch and supplies in the Land Rover. Tell me where we’re going, lad.”
“Behind the inn. The footpath.”
“Ah.” Ivan nodded. “That’ll be nasty enough in the dark, never mind the rain. Let’s get on with it, then.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Doug, but Kit could tell he wasn’t thrilled.
Melody nodded, however. “I’ll hold the fort here. Check in with me right away if you find her. Or any sign of her,” she added quietly to her dad.
They went single file, Kit leading the way, Ivan bringing up the rear. They each had a torch, and Ivan carried an emergency pack. “Always good to be prepared when you live in the country, lad,” Ivan had said. He’d talked steadily to Kit as he prepared. Kit thought it was Ivan’s way of trying to keep him from worrying.
The lights had been blazing in the manor house across the road as they entered the footpath, but after the first twist of the path they were plunged into a darkness that seemed absolute. The torches were necessary but disorienting. Kit found that if he didn’t hold his steady he felt woozy. The surface under their feet was slick with a coating of mud. And worse than mud.
“Horse shit,” Doug muttered, and he wasn’t swearing. The pungent smell caught in Kit’s throat.
“It’s a bridle path along this bit.” Ivan seemed unperturbed. “Grace!” he called out. His voice seemed to boom back and forth between the trees pressing in on either side. They all stopped, listening, but there was no answer.
“The river goes under just here,” Kit said when they reached the little crossing. He was beginning to think he’d been wrong. But they had to go the whole way, in case Grace was somewhere between here and the pasture.
Then, as they neared the spot where he and Grace had scrambled under the last fence and slid down the steep bank onto the path, he thought he saw something. “Grace!” He ran ahead, barely managing to keep his footing. “It’s her!”
She might have been a bundle of rags, caught in the glare of the torch, and for a moment Kit’s heart nearly stopped. “Please,” he whispered. “Please be okay.”
Then the bundle moved, resolving itself into Grace’s white T-shirt and dark jeans, with a flicker of safety yellow from the reflective bits on one of her trainers. The other shoe lay to the side of the path. She was huddled into the bank, but her sock-clad foot stuck out at a funny angle.
“Mum?” she said groggily, squinting into the light.
“No, it’s Kit, Grace.” He sank to his knees beside her. “We came to find you.” He swallowed hard, afraid he was going to cry like a bloody baby.
Ivan knelt beside him. “Looks like you’ve hurt your ankle, love,” he said gently. “Can you stand?”
Grace shook her head. “No. I slipped. My ankle—I was running. After I dropped my mobile in the pasture, Bea—she was looking for me—” She pushed herself back into the bank, the whites of her eyes glinting in the torchlight.
“Bea can’t hurt you, Grace. The police have her.”
“But—” Grace seemed to have trouble taking it in. “But Mark—”
“He’s fine, too. Don’t you worry. I reckon that you ringing your mum saved his life.”
“Oh. I was so scared— I thought he was— I’m so cold . . .” Grace sighed, her eyelids drooping closed. Kit was afraid she’d fainted, but then he saw the tears on her cheeks. Kit’s face was damp, too, he realized, but not with tears this time. The rain had begun.
“Let’s get you out of here, lass,” said Ivan, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than Charlotte.
“I want to go home,” whispered Grace. “I want my mum.”