by Rebecca Tope
‘The police will have worked it all out. They might have found some footprints.’
‘Ben will have tried to leave clues. He’ll have dragged his feet, or dropped a tissue or something.’
Helen smiled wanly. ‘You’re right. But how will they ever find it, if he did? I saw cows down there, for a start. They’ll have trampled everything.’
‘Yeah.’ She was still forcing her thoughts to stay with Ben and how he might have reacted. ‘It’s possible, I guess, that they didn’t drive from there. They might have somehow got to the other side of the lake. What if they had a boat? What if they walked through the trees and up a track or something well away from the hotel, coming out in Hawkshead?’
‘It’s hopeless,’ moaned Helen. ‘We’ll go mad if we keep on like this. Will the police ask everybody in Hawkshead if they saw anything?’
‘They’ll ask a lot, I assume. I don’t know what they’ll do, to be honest.’
They sagged helplessly, having no way of answering their own questions. ‘We’ll have to go and find out,’ said Simmy. ‘We can’t just hang about here sending ourselves insane.’
‘There’s a family liaison woman at the house. But she hasn’t got anybody to liaise with because we’re all out. I feel bad about leaving her on her own. Isn’t that stupid.’ Helen gave a short laugh. ‘Imagine what our grandmothers would say to such mollycoddling. All terribly well intentioned, of course, and hopelessly irritating in practice.’
‘Scary, too,’ said Simmy. ‘I mean – doesn’t that imply that they think something awful has happened to him?’
‘Precisely. She’s there to mop me up when the bad news comes.’
‘My mother would send her packing. Or else behave so fantastically inappropriately that she’d be appalled.’
‘Ben’s very impressed by your mother,’ said Helen absently. ‘And you too, of course. He talks about you a lot.’
‘Don’t,’ said Simmy, suddenly on the brink of tears.
‘You’re right. We can’t stand here getting mawkish. That’s not doing anybody any good at all. So why don’t we get in my car – which is right outside on double yellow lines – and go and find that boy of mine?’
Simmy waved Helen towards the door, still fighting back her emotion. Sure enough, the big Freelander was right outside the shop. Quickly locking the shop door, Simmy climbed into the passenger seat. She felt instantly superior to the other motorists passing by. The fact that such a vehicle would be awkward in some of the narrow country lanes on the way to Hawkshead was beside the point. It conferred an additional status on her and Helen, both of them already high on the list of importance in the police hunt for Ben. They could do anything they liked, she realised, including parking illegally and abandoning the well-intentioned FLO.
‘But where will we start?’ she asked, half-speaking to herself. ‘We already decided it was hopeless.’
‘We’re going to the camping site. I’ve got a feeling. An intuition, even. There are caravans coming and going all the time, nobody asking questions. What a great way of keeping somebody out of sight.’
‘He’d break a window or shout for help or kick a hole in the side. Caravans are quite flimsy.’
‘Not if he was tied up. And gagged.’
Distressing as such images were, they were at least based on the assumption that Ben was alive and essentially unhurt. Helen started the engine before Simmy had fastened her seatbelt, and went charging much too quickly through Windermere’s upper reaches towards Ambleside. She had lived in the area all her life, Simmy remembered, and must know what she was doing. Lake Windermere lay firmly in their way, necessitating a nine-mile drive up to its northern tip and then down the other side to Hawkshead, which was barely four miles away as the crow flew. Nothing could be managed quickly.
‘There isn’t actually a huge hurry, is there?’ she asked. ‘I mean, not enough to risk killing us both, or getting stopped by traffic cops.’
‘I should have done this last night. I feel as if I’ve only now come to my senses. Why did I let that detective bloke talk me into going home? I was only at the hotel for an hour, and then they took me back. What a stupid thing.’
‘I don’t know. He could be right.’ Their expedition was already seeming rather foolish to Simmy. ‘But I can see it feels better to be doing something. And nothing’s happening down in Windermere or Bowness, is it?’
‘Right.’
Around the southern edge of Ambleside and into the tiny twisting lanes they sped. As a passenger, Simmy noticed details she had not observed before. Stone walls that they missed by millimetres when passing oncoming traffic; great moss-covered trees that seemed to belong to an earlier age. Even on a sunny summer’s day, it was gloomy. She found herself looking out for places in which a hostage might be hidden. Hillocks and ancient ditches, tangles of undergrowth and even one or two stone-built huts all offered potential prisons. Who knew what caves and holes had been tunnelled under the hillocks? Anything was possible. ‘It’s absolutely hopeless,’ she muttered aloud.
‘Stop it. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut. He’s my son, flesh of my flesh. If I have to tear up every tree in Cumbria with my bare hands to find him, that might well be what I’ll do.’
Hawkshead felt almost familiar to Simmy this time. Sure enough there were tents and caravans scattered around a field on their left, with Esthwaite invisibly to the south of them. Helen pulled onto the side of the road and looked all around. ‘Can’t see any footpaths,’ she observed.
‘Have you got a map?’
‘Not with me. There’s a tarn over there, I remember. It’s called Priest Pot and was once part of the actual lake. We took the kids there for a picnic, years ago. We had to trespass across a field and climb over a wall to get there. We went into the Quaker burial ground, as well. My kids always did like graves.’
Simmy waited patiently for a point to all this. When none came, she said, ‘So Ben knows the area?’
‘If he remembers us coming here. He must have been about ten.’
‘He’s been hiking all round here for the past three days. He’ll have worked out the tracks and things.’
‘That was Furness and Satterthwaite, I think. It’s all much too tame down here by the water. But he’s no fool when it comes to finding his way around. He loves all that sort of thing.’
‘I keep thinking he’s clever enough to outwit the average criminal. And then I remember his talents are mostly theoretical. I mean – he’s only seventeen.’
‘He did go to tae kwon do for a while when he was about fourteen. He might remember some of that.’ Helen sounded very dubious. ‘The fact is, I have no idea what the average criminal might be capable of. And who’s to say this one’s average, anyway?’
They had begun walking down the side of the camping ground, eyeing the apparently deserted tents and caravans. ‘We can’t just bang on all the doors,’ said Simmy.
‘We could, actually. There are only a dozen or so. I still have my hunch that this’d be a good place to keep him.’
‘Mrs Brown?’ came a man’s voice from behind them. ‘And Mrs Harkness? What on earth—?’
Both women turned to face DI Moxon, who was flanked by two uniformed officers.
‘Oh, hello,’ said Simmy.
His expression was a complicated mixture of compassion, reproach and irritation. ‘You decided to join the search, I suppose.’
‘That’s right. We thought the caravan park—’
‘We’re ahead of you. Every single one was searched before eight this morning. If you’d gone any further down here, you’d have seen ten of Cumbria’s constabulary working their way right across the fields and woods between here and the lake. A diver has gone into Priest Pot, for good measure.’
‘Oh, God!’ said Helen. ‘You don’t think … ?’
‘We have no reason at all to think anything. We’re simply looking for evidence.’
‘A murder weapon?’ said Simmy, feeling herself chan
nelling Ben Harkness. That was exactly the question he would ask. ‘You must know for sure how Dan was killed by now.’
‘Blunt instrument to the side of the head,’ came the reply, delivered with a surprising readiness. ‘Likely to be a hammer – or something with a handle.’
‘And it killed him there and then?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Have you found the exact place where Ben saw the body? Melanie found some flattened bracken, by that dead tree. I suppose it’s all churned up now by cows and everything.’
He gave a boyish grin of pride, which Simmy found endearing. This man had in some ways never quite grown up. His responsibilities and areas of social uncertainty both made him quite earnest. He could also be a lot more forthcoming than she imagined he was supposed to be, at times. This was evidently one of them. ‘Actually, we have found it. It’s all gratifyingly clear, given the circumstances. And it was on the woodland side of the fence, where the cows can’t reach. We even found some fibres on the fence.’
Simmy felt a burst of hope. ‘From the killer’s clothes?’
‘Afraid not. Only Mr Yates’s. We’re thinking there definitely had to be at least two people involved. It seems they carried him along the inside of the fence to the water, then retraced their steps to the dead tree and climbed back over.’
‘But how does Ben fit in?’
Moxon grimaced. ‘That’s the bit we can’t explain. If there were more than two attackers, one of them might have held him while the others moved the body. Or he might have stayed of his own accord, trying to stop them. Or …’ he glanced unhappily at Helen.
‘Or they knocked him out, to keep him quiet,’ the woman supplied calmly. ‘But if they’d killed him, they would have just left his body there with the first one. They’d have no reason to take one without the other, would they?’
‘That’s right,’ said Simmy admiringly.
‘Or he might have run away from them,’ Helen went on. ‘And still be hiding in those woods. It could take days to search them properly.’
‘Not so,’ said Moxon. ‘We’ve searched them thoroughly, and can say with certainty that nobody at all is hiding in them.’
‘You’ve done a lot, haven’t you?’ said Simmy. ‘In the time, I mean.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, with not a hint of a twinkle. ‘We’re all extremely anxious to locate young Mr Harkness as soon as humanly possible.’
‘And the best way to do that is to track down the people who killed Dan and abducted Ben,’ Simmy summarised.
He nodded and then looked at Helen. ‘We would really prefer you to be at home, you know,’ he said gently. ‘There’s a chance that your son will somehow make his way there, and to find an empty house … well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?’
‘A small chance,’ said Helen. ‘Let’s face it. In fact, it’s so small as to be unworthy of consideration.’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘He’d go to the police station before he went home,’ said Simmy with certainty. ‘If he did somehow escape, he would want you to know all about it. He’d want to make sure you caught these people. He’d want you to praise him for being so resourceful and brave.’
Helen smiled. ‘That’s all true. Thank you, Simmy.’
‘What for?’ Hadn’t they already been through this bit?
‘For reminding me just who Ben is. For helping me to believe that he’s very likely enjoying himself, wherever he is, and certainly not worrying about me.’
Detective Inspector Moxon blew out his cheeks in amazed admiration. ‘You women!’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’ve read the book that says you should be helpless with anxiety, or hysterical. That sort of thing, anyway.’
‘I was awake all night, and I spent at least half of it in tears, if that makes you feel better,’ said Helen.
‘I’m ashamed to say I slept quite well,’ Simmy admitted. ‘There’s only so much worry a person can handle, and I’ve got Bonnie, Melanie and my father on my mind as well as Ben. I think I must have used sleep as an escape from it all.’
‘Why are you out here wandering about, instead of … doing whatever it is you usually do?’ asked Simmy of Moxon. ‘Interviews, background searches – all that stuff.’
He gave her a stern look. ‘I know what I’m doing. I need to be within reach of the hotel for most of today. That’s where we’ve set up the incident room. It has to be close to the scene of the crime, you see.’
‘Oh, yes. I suppose that makes sense.’
His sternness deepened and he made a sound of protest.
‘Sorry. That sounded awful. So, you want us to go away, right?’
‘You must be losing business,’ he said, with unaccustomed obliqueness. ‘I know for a fact you’ll be getting at least one order today.’
She waited, with a little smile. ‘Oh yes?’
‘My wife’s mother will be eighty tomorrow. Sue wants to send a spectacular bouquet as a surprise.’
‘All done and dusted already,’ she told him. ‘I spoke to her this morning. The flowers are coming later today.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Well … thanks. I appreciate your custom.’
‘You’re the best in town.’ They savoured the little moment. ‘So, you’ll be needing to get back, then. Can’t neglect the business, you know. And there really isn’t anything you can do here.’
The moment was spoilt. What concern was it of his if she chose to abandon her duties for a morning? ‘How do you know Bonnie isn’t manning the shop?’
He cast his eyes upwards. ‘Because little Miss Lawson has been bothering us here since before nine o’clock. Apparently she’s another one who decided the caravan park was worthy of investigation.’
‘So where is she now?’
‘Back at home, I hope. I popped her into one of our cars that was going back to the station.’
‘And where’s Melanie? Just so I have the complete set.’
‘She’s not at the hotel. I’m assuming she’s at home, getting over her experiences of yesterday. She was very shocked.’
‘Yes, I know. It was her first sight of a dead body.’
‘So she’s not helping with enquiries?’ asked Helen Harkness.
They both stared at her, reading a host of sinister and outrageous implications into her words. ‘Not at all,’ snapped Moxon. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Oh, no – I didn’t mean … Just that she knew the man who died, and is so fond of Ben. I didn’t mean …’ She stumbled to a halt.
‘No, I’m sorry I snapped. You struck a nerve, that’s all. Not everybody gets Miss Todd, after all.’
Simmy thought she could see what he meant. ‘Some people think she should be helping you with enquiries? Is that it?’
‘Some people being my superintendent, for a start,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘Now then, we can’t stand here all day, can we? I suggest you go and find a coffee in the village, and then get back to Windermere. I should be in at least five places at once.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Simmy to Helen. ‘We’re not doing any good here.’
Unresistingly, Helen followed her back to the car. ‘Maybe we should leave it here, rather than pay for parking.’
‘Up to you. I don’t imagine anyone’s going to object, once they know who you are.’
‘Hawkshead hates cars, you know. They’ve been very brave about it, considering.’
It took them about four minutes to reach the heart of the little old village, where they opted for a cafe set below the church. They could see the high-class souvenir shop and the chemist and a lot of other buildings.
‘I can still feel him here somewhere,’ said Helen. ‘It sounds mad, but I really can.’
Chapter Eleven
Bonnie Lawson sat quietly in the back of the police car, as she was taken home to Windermere. She had hitched a ride to Hawkshead at seven that morning with a man in a white van who was very vaguely known to her by sight. He had o
vertaken her just before she reached the bus stop, and made her a better offer than public transport could supply. She had no fear that there would be any misbehaviour on his part. Men had never been much of a bother to her, despite most people’s assumptions. Suffering from anorexia in her early teens, the counsellors and therapists and teachers had all started from the premise that one of her mother’s boyfriends must have abused her in some way. She had almost come to believe it herself, but the truth was much more complicated and bizarre. One of the many things she adored about Ben Harkness was his easy acceptance and extraordinary understanding when she told him the story.
They had to find Ben. She was consumed with a passionate urgency that made her heart race and her fists clench. It was completely beyond acceptability that he should be gone for ever. If that happened, then she would starve herself to death in a month. There would be no sense or purpose in the universe, and she did not want to be part of it. Her need for him frightened her so much that she found herself turning it around, into his need for her. She was going to be the person who found him. The moment these dozy policemen dropped her at home, she’d be off again, back to the search. She’d hang about until they’d gone, hoping Corinne was still in bed, and then get right back to Hawkshead.
But the police turned out to be less dozy than she’d thought. ‘We need to speak to your mother,’ one said.
‘She’s not my mother. Even if she was, I’m seventeen. You’re treating me like I was ten.’
‘You’re behaving like someone who’s ten. You’re still a minor, and you’re putting yourself in harm’s way.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered. The words were irritatingly familiar. People had been trying to show her what was in her best interests, and what she was doing to harm herself, for years now. Since getting to know Ben, she was even more certain than before that she knew better than any of them.
‘I didn’t hear that,’ said the man. He was about thirty, plain-looking and trying hard to follow the rules. But he was also human and sympathetic. Like most people in Windermere and Bowness, he was faintly familiar to her. Bonnie had known countless foster brothers and sisters, had been in and out of school, accompanied Corinne to all kinds of meetings and clubs, mostly associated with folk music or dogs. Once you removed all the faceless tourists, the core population was close-knit. They mostly knew each other.
