There would be people in Hawkshead who never quite forgot the scene of three women and a man chasing madly across the main car park and over the street in pursuit of a flaxen-haired girl. It was a distance of perhaps two hundred yards at the very most, but it made quite an impact.
Bonnie came to a stop in front of the old schoolhouse, now a museum, which William Wordsworth and his brothers had attended. ‘School!’ she panted.
Her elders surrounded her, braced for a renewed chase. ‘For God’s sake,’ panted Corinne. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Helen was holding both hands to a visibly agonising hip. ‘I can’t run,’ she moaned. ‘Don’t make me run again.’
‘The school,’ Bonnie repeated. ‘That’s the clue. The note written on a page from a schoolbook. Ben must have told the person to do that, deliberately.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Corinne again. ‘Why not just say “Go to the school”? Why make things so complicated?’
‘Because he didn’t dare. If the woman heard him, he’d be in deep trouble.’
Simmy interrupted. ‘If she heard him saying anything to a passing schoolboy, it would be just as bad. Don’t you think? I mean – if he could speak to someone, then the sensible thing would be to tell them where he was being kept, and who by. All these clues and games are just ridiculous.’
Bonnie looked hurt. ‘They’re not,’ she said.
Moxon adopted a deeply severe expression. ‘There is a thing called “wasting police time”, you know. If you and young Mr Harkness are simply enacting parts of your game, without any danger to either of you, that would qualify. In that case, you would be in considerable trouble.’
‘A man’s dead,’ Helen reminded him.
‘Yes, he is. And your boy was at the scene. That much is understood. But beyond that is all conjecture. I’m wondering whether Ben took it upon himself to play detective, and has been following the killer or killers ever since. This message, “Ben says he’s okay” would fit that scenario only too well. In so many ways,’ he concluded wearily.
‘He wouldn’t leave his mobile behind,’ Helen objected.
‘He might,’ Bonnie corrected her with a worried glance at Moxon. ‘Having a phone would make everything too easy. And he probably wants us to see the photos on it.’
‘Ah, yes. The photos.’ Moxon nodded to himself. ‘I forgot about the photos.’
‘You’re forgetting rather a lot these days,’ said Simmy, thinking of how she herself had been overlooked the previous day.
‘Simmy!’ Helen gave her a horrified look. Her deference to the police was unexpected, given how bold her son was. Then Simmy realised that not everybody was like her own mother, who showed deference to nobody. Helen might have produced a boy who saw no reason to treat anyone as his superior, but all her other children were of ordinary talent and attitude. The courage and spirit Helen had shown so far that day might well be the result of Ben’s influence on her and not a central element of her character.
Moxon took it better, but was still not happy. ‘I think I might be forgiven,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot to think about.’ He wriggled his shoulders. ‘And I should be at the hotel thinking about it, not here with everyone who knows and loves young Ben. I’ll take this’ – he waved the sheet of paper – ‘and get forensics to look at it. And I’ll send a couple of men up here to have a look round.’ His eye fell on Bonnie. ‘I don’t understand the bit about the school.’
They were standing on a path that led steeply up to the church. To their right was the museum, with its door standing half-open. It was a perfectly preserved eighteenth-century schoolroom, magically enhanced by the ghostly fact of young Wordsworth’s bottom having graced the seats and his elbows the desktops. A simple scrap of history, which a minority of tourists found tempting. Simmy herself had never been inside it.
‘It’s in our game,’ said Bonnie.
‘So … ?’
‘I don’t know. I could have got it wrong.’
‘It seems pretty tenuous to me,’ said Helen.
Simmy became aware that Corinne had drifted back towards the street. ‘My car expires in a couple of minutes,’ she said, to nobody in particular. ‘And I did have something I was meant to do this afternoon.’
‘Go,’ said Bonnie. ‘I can get a ride with Simmy and … Mrs Harkness.’ She looked at Moxon. ‘Can we drop the Kendal thing for now?’
He gave an old-fashioned little bow, while smiling at the adults. ‘I think so,’ he said.
Helen didn’t correct Bonnie or suggest the use of her first name. After all, the girl was only seventeen: still a child in the eyes of the law. And in the eyes of anyone casually encountering her, thought Simmy. A volatile child, passionately in love with Ben Harkness, open to anything he might suggest to her and rendered delirious by his attentions. She would tell lies for him, break every rule, climb every mountain. Either she would find him when nobody else stood a chance, or she would ruin any hope of the police getting a result. Moxon obviously found her at least as baffling as he did Ben. As far as Simmy could ascertain, there were no Moxon offspring, which might suggest an ignorance as well as a failure of imagination when it came to grasping the nature of teenagers.
Then a boy of perhaps fourteen emerged from the museum, followed by a man, woman and small girl. He assessed the group standing obstructively between them and the street, and looked meaningfully at the sheet of paper still in Moxon’s hand.
‘You found it, then,’ he said carelessly.
Nobody reacted. Double and treble takes at his words made every face comical. Moxon looked at the paper, then at the boy, then at Corinne. Simmy looked at Bonnie. Helen was the first to regain her wits. ‘It was you? You saw Ben? Did you?’
‘Early this morning. He was with a woman.’ The words emerged flatly, as if learnt by heart. Which they had been, of course.
‘Who are you?’ Bonnie demanded. ‘Do you know Ben? Where do you go to school? Did he give you the paper to write on? How was he?’
‘Who are these people, Barnaby?’ asked the woman.
‘Dunno,’ he shrugged. But his eyes were on Bonnie, his mind on her questions.
‘We’re looking for my son,’ said Helen. ‘And it seems he spoke to this young man – presumably your son? This man is a police detective.’
‘What?’ The father of the family spoke up. ‘Police?’
Moxon did his best to take charge. ‘Could I ask your lad a few questions, sir? There’s no need to worry, he’s not in any trouble. But he is an important witness. We do need to know just what was said earlier today. Perhaps we could find somewhere …’ He looked around. The group had grown uncomfortably large, and not one of them had any intention of missing what happened next.
‘We’re on holiday,’ said Barnaby’s mother. ‘We don’t know anybody here.’
Moxon focused on the boy. ‘Were you alone when you met Ben? Or with your family?’
‘I was on my own. We’re staying at Ann Tyson’s House, and I went out to get a paper for Dad, and some milk. There was a guy in the shop, bit older than me. He whispered to me what he wanted me to do. There was a woman—’
‘Was she holding onto him?’ Helen interrupted. ‘If not, why didn’t he just run away from her? He’s a fast runner when he tries.’
‘Who was she?’ Corinne said. ‘Was she old or young?’
Moxon cleared his throat. ‘If I might be allowed to ask the questions,’ he said ponderously.
Barnaby stood tall, enjoying the attention. ‘She wasn’t holding onto him, and he didn’t look as if he wanted to run away. She wasn’t very near him, actually. He told me to watch out for an old blue car, and if I saw it, to put a note on it saying he’s okay. W456 OBY. Easy to remember. I got the right one, then?’
‘What were you doing in the car park?’ Moxon wondered.
Barnaby flung out his arms in frustration. ‘No, no. We were in our car when I saw it first. We went to Coniston, but then decided to come back here for a bit. We can never decide what to do.’ He threw an accusing look at his father, who did have an indecisive sort of manner. ‘Anyway, I thought it looked as if it was going to the car park, so when we parked there as well, I had a look and found it.’
‘Ri-i-i-i-ght,’ said Moxon slowly. ‘Lucky for young Ben, then.’ He frowned at Corinne. ‘How could he possibly know you’d be in Hawkshead today?’
‘He’d know I would be,’ said Bonnie. ‘That I’d be searching for him. And it’s the obvious car I’d use to get here.’
Moxon nodded doubtfully. Bonnie turned impatiently to Barnaby. ‘Did he give you the paper to write on?’
‘No, but he said to use something from school, if I had it.’
‘And did you?’ She stared at him in wonderment. ‘What year are you?’
‘Year Ten. I only had an old maths workbook, with a few pages left at the back. Dad was going to help me with some stuff.’
‘Year Ten hasn’t broken up yet. You – and your sister – should still be in school. What year’s she?’
‘Five. We always have holidays in term time. It’s way cheaper, even with the fine.’
‘So this woman in the shop – she didn’t hear what Ben was saying to you?’ Moxon persisted.
Barnaby shook his head.
‘But he could have got away from her without any trouble?’
‘If he’d wanted to, yeah. He was watching her, see. Not the other way around.’
‘Did she know he was? I mean, did she even know he was there in the shop?’
‘Not sure. Might not have done.’ He puzzled over this question a bit more. ‘Could be she didn’t.’
Helen was clearly losing patience. ‘So he wasn’t with her, after all? What you said in the note isn’t definite, is it? He’s just playing some idiotic game and causing us all sorts of worry in the process.’
‘He’s trying to catch a murderer,’ said Bonnie staunchly. She still hadn’t all the answers she wanted. ‘How did he look?’ she demanded of Barnaby.
‘All right. A bit muddy round his feet and the bottom of his trousers.’
‘I still think he was forcibly taken yesterday,’ said Simmy, who was starting to realise that of all the people present, she had the least claim to be there. Moxon was battling a noisy collection of women, struggling to get coherent answers to his questions, and she for one could help by getting out of his way. ‘And that means he almost certainly knows who killed Dan. So he’s in danger, even if he managed to get free this morning.’
Moxon looked unaccountably upset at this contribution. Bonnie spoke for him. ‘You’re not supposed to mention killing in front of his mother – or strangers,’ she said. Then she pulled Simmy away a little and whispered, ‘For all we know these people did it.’
‘No!’ How could a family of holidaymakers possibly be suspected of committing murder and kidnap? ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Moxon suddenly cracked. He made a jerky fretful motion with his arms and uttered a huffing sound. ‘This is a complete waste of time. I’m leaving you all to it.’ Then some core of professionalism asserted itself. ‘Let me have your names and contact numbers,’ he said to the bemused father of Barnaby, ‘and then get on with your day. I very much doubt that we’ll need you again.’
‘No!’ wailed Bonnie. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
He cut her off with a sharp motion and focused on the family man. Stubbornly Bonnie approached the boy and handed him her phone. ‘Put yours in,’ she said. ‘I’ll do the same.’
They exchanged numbers and then the group disintegrated. Helen and Simmy had been on the edge for a while. Corinne had been fruitlessly trying to restrain Bonnie and chivvy her back to the expiring car, in fear of a parking fine.
Moxon literally ran to his vehicle, looking more like a junior office administrator than a police detective. From behind, Simmy observed, he was rounder, with meaty shoulders and buttocks. He ran with short strides, self-conscious and awkward. But when a woman with a baby buggy obstructed him, he dodged her with a neatness Simmy found almost balletic. Poor old Moxo, she thought fondly. Things never went smoothly for him.
Bonnie was still enraged. ‘The fool!’ she snarled. ‘He’s going to be very sorry about this.’
Helen was pale and quiet. ‘If Ben really is just playing a game, he’ll be in serious trouble when we find him.’
‘Not if he catches the killer,’ said Bonnie. ‘Then everybody will be all over him. He’ll be a hero. He must be shadowing that woman because he knows she’s the one.’
‘A woman couldn’t have lifted Dan over that fence and into the lake,’ said Simmy. ‘Not by herself.’
‘Well, half the gang or whatever it is, is very much better than nothing.’ She watched the family drift away, heads close together as they discussed the bizarre goings-on in Hawkshead. ‘They’re staying at Ann Tyson’s House. That’s a coincidence for a start.’
Corinne snorted. ‘It’s one of the best places for a family to do self-catering. There’s a flat at the back where they can come and go as they like.’
‘It’s still a coincidence,’ Bonnie insisted, and Simmy felt inclined to agree with her.
‘So what is this game?’ she asked. ‘Moxon seemed quite impressed by it.’
‘It’s difficult to explain. It’s based on Wordsworth when he was a boy. He lived here – went to this school, and stayed in Ann Tyson’s House. They moved to Colthouse, and I went there for a look today. I found evidence that Ben had been there yesterday.’ She waited for the reaction.
‘What?’ said Helen.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t help. It’ll have been before all the drama kicked off. In fact, I think it might be a big red herring.’ She grimaced. ‘I knew I shouldn’t tell the police about it. They’ll never understand.’
‘Who can blame them?’ said Corinne. ‘Now come on. I’ve got to move the car or I’ll get a fine. There’s the man, look. Quick, Bon. It’s thirty quid or more.’
Simmy watched as Bonnie hesitated and then reluctantly did as instructed. She was left with Helen, at a loss as to what to do next. It had to be well after one o’clock, and her neglected shop was nagging at her. If Ben really was all right and conducting his own maverick investigation, there was much less need to be in Hawkshead. The idea of the boy acting out an episode of Spooks combined with the Famous Five was both annoying and amusing. ‘He’ll be fine,’ she said aloud, more to herself than Helen. ‘He might even get a result.’
‘I’ll kill him,’ said Helen through gritted teeth. ‘He’ll wish he really had been kidnapped when I’ve finished with him.’
‘I ought to get back.’ She was very aware that she depended on Helen for transport. ‘Can you bear to take me?’
‘Gladly. Do you think they’ll take that liaison woman away now? That would be a plus, anyway.’
Simmy shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me.’
They drove back, hardly speaking. ‘We never had lunch,’ Helen remembered. ‘The Elleray’s probably open, if you fancy something.’
Simmy resisted the temptation. ‘I have to open the shop, and see if there are any new orders. If I lose business, that’ll just add insult to injury. And I suppose there’s a chance that Ben could call me there.’
Helen blinked. ‘At the shop? Why?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I didn’t answer the mobile yesterday. Although, after that, I don’t imagine I’m anywhere on his list of useful people.’
‘What was all that with Bonnie and photos on his phone?’
Again Simmy said, ‘Don’t ask me. I’ve completely lost the plot now.’
‘Come on – don’t give me that. You can read his mind better than any of us.’
‘What?’ She was genuinely amazed. ‘Better than Bonnie? Or Melanie? That’s not true at all, Helen.’
‘Think about it. Clear away all the police stuff and those people just now. Get back to yesterday and that phone message. What does your gut tell you happened?’
‘At the time I was convinced he was in trouble. But now I can easily see that he could have decided to play detective. He could have run away from the killers and hidden somewhere, watching them. Then he’d follow them somehow … although, if they had a car, I don’t really see how.’
‘It was all very close to the hotel, right? And there are all sorts of outbuildings and small rooms and cellars where someone could hide. What if he’s been there all along?’
‘Impossible,’ said Simmy firmly. ‘Somebody would see him. The police must have searched the whole property. They’ve got a huge team there, with an incident room and everything. It’s crawling with them.’
Helen sighed. ‘Well, here we are in Windermere again. I’m going home. Corinne’s got to get that exhaust fixed. Bonnie isn’t likely to escape back to Hawkshead for a third time, is she? You should keep her in the shop with you. Give her some work to do.’
Simmy resented the implication, but had to concede that it merited consideration. ‘I’m worried about Melanie,’ she admitted. ‘She didn’t sound like her usual self at all when I phoned her.’
‘That Moxon man is a bit limp, isn’t he? Seems completely out of his depth. If Ben really were in danger, I’d be very unhappy to be relying on him to save him.’
Simmy’s unease was growing. ‘I won’t be satisfied until I’ve got Ben right here in front of me.’
Helen laughed. ‘You sound more like his mother than I do. I’ve decided not to worry about him any more. When the girls get back from school I’ll tell them he’s all right. After all, that’s what his message said, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Simmy agreed. ‘That’s what it said.’ But she had no illusions as to Helen’s true feelings. Her words might have been courageous, but they were far from convincing.