S. J. Bolton

by Blood Harvest

  ‘Ebba,’ he called. ‘Is that your name? Ebba, I only want to talk. I need you to help me find Joe.’

  No answer. He was passing the third alcove, drawing closer.

  ‘All I want is Joe, Ebba. Can you tell me where he is?’

  Past the fourth alcove, approaching the fifth. The gate was still open on the sixth.

  He slowed his pace as he drew closer. He remembered four sarcophagi in the sixth alcove, a narrow passageway and a small wooden door in the far wall.

  Bracing himself for a sudden attack, he stepped inside the gate. The alcove was empty. Ebba must have left through the door at the rear. Harry stepped towards it. It was hardly more than eighteen inches wide and it opened outwards.

  The room beyond was a narrow, tall chamber with an arched brick ceiling. Brick-built shelving lay on either side, each shelf carrying stone coffins. The air was dry and earthy, and a cold breeze was coming through another door at the far end. Ebba had left in a hurry, and through the smallest of gaps he could see the night sky.

  He glanced at his watch as he strode past the coffins. Six forty a.m. He pushed the door and stepped out into a tiny courtyard, surrounded by high iron railings. He recognized them at once, although he’d never been on this side of them before. He’d left the church through the Renshaw family mausoleum.

  Well, now he knew how Ebba was getting in and out of the church without being seen. But where was she? He crossed the courtyard, his feet crunching on gravel, and pushed the iron gate.

  It might be six forty and the world might be waking up, but the sky above him was as black as it had been the entire night. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest. No sound, not even wind.

  Then the grasses were being rustled and the bushes shaken. Someone was coming towards him. Harry stepped into the shadow of a tall laurel bush. He could see her, a slight figure, creeping towards him, looking all around, as if scared that something would spring out. Harry stepped forward, grabbed the figure by the shoulders and spun it round to face him.

  ‘Tom!’ he said, as all the breath went out of his body. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’

  Tom looked back at him, wide-eyed and slightly sullen, the way kids did when they didn’t want to answer a question. Especially a stupid one. He was looking for his brother, of course, what else would he be doing?

  ‘Do your mum and dad know you’re here?’ Harry asked.

  Tom shook his head. ‘They were both asleep. I didn’t want to wake them up.’

  ‘OK, but we need to get back.’ He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder and urged him up the hill. If Alice and Gareth woke to find another child missing they might just lose any remaining sanity they were clinging to.

  They found the path and Harry finally felt relaxed enough to speak. ‘Tom,’ he said, ‘I think I just saw that girl you talk about. The one Millie calls Ebba.’

  Tom stopped walking and looked up at him. ‘You saw her?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t stop moving.’ Harry pushed Tom gently and they both carried on up the hill. ‘She was in the church just now.’

  ‘She’s scary, isn’t she?’ said Tom in a low voice.

  ‘Well, I didn’t get a proper look.’ They were close to the churchyard wall now. ‘Tom, do you have any idea who she is, where she lives?’ Harry asked. ‘She can’t live out in the hills, she must belong somewhere.’ She had a key to the Renshaw tomb. Could she possibly …?

  ‘She usually runs away when I see her,’ said Tom. ‘I’m pretty certain she talks to Joe, though.’

  ‘Do you think Joe’s with her now? Do you think she took him?’

  Tom gave a small nod. ‘I said that to the police,’ he said, ‘but they said anyone who looks as strange as she does would have been spotted in Blackburn, especially in King George’s Hall. They think Joe was taken by a grown-up.’

  ‘All the same, I wish we could find her. Tom, did you ever—’

  ‘Tom! Tom!’

  Tom started to trot forward. Harry took a deep breath. ‘He’s here!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘He’s with me!’

  A second later Gareth’s head and shoulders appeared over the boundary wall. Pushing himself up, he strode towards his son.

  ‘Do you have any bloody idea …?’ he began.

  Harry stepped forward. ‘Tom couldn’t sleep,’ he said quickly. ‘He came out to look for Joe. He met me just down the hill.’

  ‘Your mother nearly had heart failure. Now get inside.’

  ‘Take it easy, buddy,’ said Harry.

  Gareth lifted his hands to his face and breathed heavily. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Come on, matey.’ He reached out and pulled his son to him. Tom wrapped an arm round his father’s waist and they walked together to the churchyard entrance. Harry followed behind, spotting Alice at their front door, watching them. Her thin body seemed to be jerking; he wondered if she were struggling not to cry – or scream. Across the street, lights were being switched on, curtains drawn back. He and Gareth had woken half Heptonclough with their yelling.

  Harry fell back as Gareth and Tom left the church grounds and headed back to their house. It was almost seven. He reached the churchyard entrance and stopped. He should go home and change, eat breakfast. In another hour it would be completely light and Rushton and his team would arrive. They’d have eight, maybe nine hours of daylight.

  Someone was watching him. He turned to face uphill. The silver Audi was tucked up tightly against the church wall. Evi had just climbed out, using a stick to steady herself. She waited for him to go to her.

  79

  ‘WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? DO YOU have any idea how worried I was about you?’

  He was holding her by the upper arms; it was too angry to be a hug, too intimate to be anything else. He smelled of sweat and dust and candle smoke. His eyes were bloodshot. She reached up, stroked the stubble on his chin.

  ‘Where did you spend the night?’ she asked, feeling her jaw trembling and thinking that if he didn’t let her go soon, she’d start to cry and that really would be the end of her ability to function.

  Harry took one hand off her arm to rub it across his face. ‘You really don’t want to know,’ he replied, releasing her and pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘Come and get some breakfast with me.’

  There was nothing she’d like more. Have breakfast at his house, run a bath for him, watch him shave. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t time,’ she said. ‘I have to put calls out to all the local hospitals and talk to the district GP when Saturday-morning surgery opens. If a child was born with congenital hypothyroidism in the last thirty years, there must be a record somewhere. And I said I’d go to the press conference with the family.’

  ‘What happened to you yesterday?’ Harry asked her.

  Evi sighed. ‘I went to see my supervisor,’ she said. ‘He’s had some forensic experience so I thought his take on things would be useful. I can fill you in later. Finding Ebba is the key thing.’

  ‘Did you see Gillian?’ asked Harry, not quite meeting her eyes.

  ‘Late last night. It didn’t go well.’ Over his shoulder she could see people heading for the church. ‘The other thing I need to do is find another doctor to take over her case,’ she went on. ‘I’m going to try and get her seen today. I’m really quite worried.’

  Two elderly women were waiting just a few yards away, obviously wanting to speak to him. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She turned to her car and stopped. ‘Could use some of that faith of yours right now,’ she said. ‘Any going spare?’

  If he replied, she didn’t hear him.

  80

  HARRY TURNED FROM EVI TO SEE MINNIE HAWTHORN AND one of her friends at the entrance to the churchyard. Their eyes seemed to peel him like a vegetable as he walked towards them, taking in his creased clothes, his unshaven face.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, wondering where he was going to find the energy to be polite to small-minded, no
sy old crones, who were probably only here because they were enjoying the drama unfolding on their doorstep.

  ‘Vigil, was it, Vicar?’ asked Minnie, her eyes travelling to his feet and then up again.

  ‘Something like that,’ agreed Harry.

  ‘Church open?’ asked her friend.

  Behind him, Harry heard Evi’s car engine start. He nodded.

  ‘We’ll help ourselves then,’ said Minnie. ‘Sort you out with breakfast in a minute, Vicar.’

  Harry turned just as Evi drove past without even glancing his way. Stanley Hargreaves, another of his parishioners, was walking down towards them with two other men. Then a Land Rover appeared from the moor road and pulled up outside the butcher’s shop. Jenny and Mike Pickup sat in the front. Lights flickered on inside the shop. Dick Grimes and his son appeared from a rear door and came out into the street.

  ‘They won’t wait for the police,’ said Minnie’s companion. ‘They’ll start just as soon as you’ve finished prayers.’

  ‘Prayers?’ said Harry.

  ‘Prayers for the little lad,’ said Minnie, taking his arm and leading him towards the church. ‘For his safe return. Come on, Vicar, you seem a bit dopey, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you need a cup o’ summat hot inside you.’

  Evi wiped her eyes as she drove round the corner and could no longer see the church in her rear-view mirror. They filled again in seconds. Gillian was standing outside the front door of her flat. As their eyes met, Evi took her foot off the accelerator and the car slowed down. But she couldn’t stop – what on earth would she say? She put her foot down again and the car shot forward.

  Was Gillian planning to join the search? I’ve spent years walking over the moors, I know all the best hiding places. She certainly wasn’t dressed for it, in a thin denim jacket and high-heeled boots.

  A sudden vision filled her mind of a small boy’s body, lying under a hedge. The collies would sniff it out, probably even before the police dogs arrived, and it would all be over.

  Stop it. Stop it. It’s not over.

  She looked at the clock. Saturday-morning surgery ran from ten a.m. to twelve noon. John Warrington was the GP on duty today. The press conference started at ten and would probably run for around forty minutes. It would be tight, but do-able. There was time. It wasn’t over.

  So why couldn’t she bloody well stop crying?

  The church hadn’t been empty since before dawn. Within half an hour of Evi’s departure, Harry had been fed bacon sandwiches and strong coffee and was holding an impromptu service for the search party. Someone had cleared away his makeshift bed of the night before. Someone else had told him not to bother with robes; in the circumstances, jeans and a sweater would do just fine.

  Five minutes after he started, the building was nearly full. Most people had just remained standing at the back and down the sides, as though they could spare the time to pray, but not the time it would take them to sit down. After eight minutes, the police arrived, filing in silently at the back.

  Sinclair and Christiana Renshaw entered through the vestry door and took their usual pew. Gillian slipped in behind the police and stood, shivering, at the back. He could see people starting to get fidgety. A movement in the gallery caught his eye. Gareth and Tom Fletcher were standing there. A second later, Alice joined them, with Millie in a rucksack on her back. The family was due to make a television appeal for Joe’s safe return later in the morning. Until then, they weren’t wasting any time. Harry closed his book.

  ‘Let’s go and find Joe,’ he said. He was the first to leave the building.

  81

  AGRIM DETERMINATION SEEMED TO HAVE GRIPPED THE people of the moor. ‘We’ll find him,’ Harry had heard muttered more than once. ‘We’re not losing another one.’

  He certainly couldn’t fault the efficiency of the police. DC Andy Jeffries had taken thirty of the more able-bodied men and older boys to the highest point above the town. Once on the top road, they’d spread out and begun making their way down the moor. They were looking for anything unusual, they’d been told: clothes, toys, a shoe, anything that might suggest Joe Fletcher had passed this way. When they reached the bottom of the field they turned west and did the same thing again, heading upwards this time.

  The sky had been thick with cloud. Harry didn’t want to think it could be holding snow, but every time he looked up the lump in his chest seemed to harden. Just before eight o’clock a yellow glow in the east told him the sun was trying to make an impact on the day. He couldn’t even give it points for effort. The wind, mercifully, was light, but the day seemed to be getting colder with every half-hour that passed.

  So far the search had been fruitless. Thirty heartbeats had gone into overdrive when one of the Pickup collies had started barking at a clump of rocks. The decomposing hind-quarters of a sheep had been pulled out.

  *

  When they’d been on the moor for nearly two hours and the cold was creeping in through even the thickest coat, they heard the steady, insistent humming of a helicopter. None of the searchers could see it above the cloud, but the rise and fall of the engine volume told them when it was coming close, when it was circling away again. After five minutes, Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to cope with the steady assault on his ears. After ten, it felt as if he’d always had the noise in his head. Fifteen minutes after the helicopter arrived, DC Jeffries blew his whistle.

  ‘The boss is calling us all down.’ He had to shout to be heard above the drone of the chopper. ‘There’s too many people on the moor.’ He pointed upwards to demonstrate his point. ‘The thermal-imaging equipment hasn’t got a hope,’ he went on. ‘We have to evacuate.’

  The party turned and headed down to the town.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Alice was saying. ‘I can’t think of a single thing to say.’

  ‘Just say whatever’s on your mind,’ said the press officer, a woman in civilian clothing who had been looking after the family since they’d arrived at the constabulary’s headquarters. ‘People will know what you’re going through. This is about letting as many people as possible know that Joe is missing. We want everyone out there looking for him. How are you doing, Tom?’

  Tom looked back at her. ‘Fine,’ he said automatically.

  She was bending down to him. She smelled of oranges and toothpaste and her green suit was too tight. ‘If anything occurs to you, Tom, feel free to say it,’ she went on. ‘If you have a message for Joe, for example. He may be watching.’

  ‘Will he?’ Tom turned to his mother. ‘Will he, Mum?’

  His mother nodded and Tom felt his throat start to ache.

  ‘Is it time yet?’ asked Gareth as Tom began taking deep breaths. He couldn’t cry, not on television, not when Jake Knowles might be watching. Except Jake was on the moor, wasn’t he, with his dad and his brothers? Tom had seen them in the church, he’d watched them set off up the road. Jake Knowles was out there right now, looking for his brother.

  ‘There’s Evi,’ said Alice.

  Tom turned round to see Evi wheeling her chair towards them. Funny, he’d always thought of Evi as being pretty. Nearly as pretty as his mum. She didn’t look pretty any more.

  ‘Vee vee,’ said Millie, from her father’s arms.

  ‘Evi, thank you for coming,’ said Alice. ‘Do you think you could have Millie? She’ll probably stay with you.’

  Evi held up her arms and Gareth put his daughter down gently on to Evi’s lap. Millie grabbed Evi’s hair and started bouncing.

  ‘It’s time,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton. Where had he come from? He’d been on the moor with the other police. Tom watched him put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready, lass?’

  Tom’s parents followed the detective through a door and into a large room. There were lots of people sitting on chairs, facing a long table at the front. Lights began to flash as the family took their seats.

  The vestry had become a cafeteria. Minnie H
awthorn and her gang of cron— –sweet, good ladies who were desperate to do anything they could to help – had transformed it. Half a dozen kettles were permanently on the boil. Sandwiches were being made and consumed constantly. They were too old to trawl the moors, the women had told him, as though embarrassed by their own frailty, but they could feed those who did; and they could pray for the little lad.

  If Harry stayed near them any longer, he’d scream.

  In front of the altar, DI Neasden was explaining why they’d had to temporarily abandon the search. When Neasden finished speaking, he’d be expected to lead more prayers. Harry knew he couldn’t stay in the building.

  Outside, the helicopter was still circling. Towards the front of the church, standing a little apart, DCS Rushton was talking to Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw. Since Rushton was back, the press conference must have finished. Spotting Harry, Rushton left the Renshaws and made his way over. Suddenly exhausted, Harry sank on to the stone-table grave behind him. Rushton approached and sat beside him. He had a lit cigarette in one hand.

  Harry turned to look at Rushton properly. The police officer wore a thick overcoat over his suit, heavy gloves and a green wool scarf. He’d possibly had even less sleep than Harry.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be but unable to stop himself asking.

  Rushton inhaled deeply on his cigarette. ‘Not so far,’ he said, as smoke billowed around his face. ‘Press conference went well. Young Tom was a bit of a star, had the whole room in tears telling his brother he’d tidied his box of soldiers for him.’

  Harry dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘It was exactly what we needed,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got the whole of Lancashire talking about Joe Fletcher.’

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Dr Warrington. ‘Saturday-morning surgery’s always busy.’

  Evi forced her lips into a half-smile. She’d raced to get here after the press conference and had sat in the waiting room, watching squirrels run up and down trees in the garden outside, getting angrier as each patient with a cough or an in-growing toenail, not one of them a genuine emergency, was shown through before her.