The Lost Ones

by Ben Cheetham

  As Amanda and Tom got back on their phones, Sergeant Dyer reeled off instructions to Constables Foster and Hutton. With a shuddering exhalation, Amanda suddenly slumped over and braced her hands against her thighs. Tom darted out a hand to support her. Although the sun was beating down, she was shivering as if it was December.

  ‘You should go home and change into dry clothes,’ he said.

  She shook her head fervently. ‘Erin needs me here.’

  ‘And Jake needs you at home.’

  Amanda’s face contracted at the mention of her son. ‘Does he know what’s happened?’

  ‘Yes and he’s scared.’

  She gave a reluctant nod. ‘OK, I’ll go. But I’m coming back once I’m sure Jake’s all right.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  They silently held each other’s gaze, Tom trying not to show the turmoil churning inside him, Amanda’s eyes glassy with tears and fear.

  ‘Constable Hutton will take you to your house,’ said Sergeant Dyer. ‘I think it’s best if we leave your car at the reservoir for now in case Erin shows up there.’

  Hanging her head, Amanda started up the slope towards the treeline. As he watched her trudge away, Tom felt something else he knew he shouldn’t – a stirring of relief that it wasn’t him who’d lost Erin. If anything bad happened to her he couldn’t have lived with himself for letting her out of his sight. Once again, he discarded the thought, telling himself with as much conviction as he could muster, But nothing bad has happened to her. There’ll be some perfectly simple innocent explanation for all this.

  He turned his attention to the seemingly endless trees. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, ‘Erin! Erin!’ Her name echoed back at him. Then silence.

  DAY 1

  12.28 P.M.

  Seth was drifting on the edge of sleep to the sound of Radio Northumberland. Occasionally his face twitched as an acid tongue spat insults at him from his unconscious: You’re an idiot, a retard, a moron.

  The suddenly serious DJ’s voice pried its way into his sleep. ‘And now I have an urgent message for the residents of Middlebury and the surrounding area. Earlier this morning nine-year-old Erin Jackson went missing in Harwood Forest. Her granddad, Councillor Henry Brooks, is appealing for volunteers to search for her. Anyone who can help should go to Middlebury Town Hall right away. This is a terrible situation and all our prayers are with Erin and her family.’

  Seth sat up, rubbing his unshaven chin thoughtfully. He went into the bathroom, lathered his face, shaved and styled his floppy-fringed blond hair into a neat side-parting. He dressed in brown cords, a short-sleeved green-and-blue chequered shirt and sturdy boots – all brand new. He scrutinised himself in a mirror. He looked like just another one of the area’s farmer boys – that is if you ignored the paleness of his complexion and the slightness of his build.

  The acidic voice stabbed at him again: Surely even you can’t be stupid enough to do what you’re thinking about.

  Ignoring it, he returned to the bedroom.

  Don’t you dare leave this room!

  Seth’s hand hesitated on the door handle. He pushed the voice away with a shake of his head. ‘You can’t tell me what to do any more.’ He left the room, making sure to hang the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. He didn’t want any cleaners poking their noses through his belongings.

  The voice echoed after him along the hallway: Idiot, retard, moron!

  In the hushed hotel bar, the staff were gathered at a window overlooking the square. As Seth stepped outside he saw what they were gawping at – a line of people was filing into the Town Hall. Many were those young or old enough to have spare time on their hands. Others had clearly dropped whatever work they were doing to help. How very heart-warming, he thought sarcastically. It was almost enough to give you faith in humanity. Almost. He joined the queue. The faces ahead of him were grave, but there was an undercurrent of excitement, an infectious sense of normal duty being suspended. He carefully adjusted his own expression to match theirs.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The voice was female and had a soft Northumbrian accent. Seth turned to a young woman of maybe twenty whose rosy cheeks and bright eyes were characteristic of the local girls. He awarded her a snap rating of five out of ten on the sliding scale of attractiveness he applied to all girls around his age. In other words, she wasn’t bad. A tad on the plain side, but a bit of make-up could easily bump her score up.

  ‘Has there been any more information?’ she asked.

  ‘All I know is what was said on the radio. Do you know the Jacksons?’

  ‘I know of them. What about you?’

  ‘No.’

  The girl gave Seth an open appraising look. ‘You’re not from around here,’ she stated.

  Faintly irritated that she’d seen through his camouflage so easily, he asked, ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Your accent. Where are you from?’

  ‘London.’ The answer was specific enough to be accepted without question, but vague enough to pose no threat.

  ‘What are you doing up here?’

  ‘I’m on holiday.’

  The girl’s eyebrows lifted. ‘My dad’s obviously got it wrong.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘He says Londoners don’t give a stuff about anyone but themselves.’

  Why should Londoners be any different from anyone else? Seth resisted the urge to shoot back. ‘No, he’s not wrong. Most only care about number one.’

  ‘But not you.’

  Seth gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘I just thought about how I’d feel if it was my daughter.’

  ‘You don’t look old enough to have kids.’

  ‘I don’t have any, but . . . You know what I mean.’

  The girl nodded, looking at Seth in that same direct way. He shifted a little uncertainly. He was used to passing unnoticed, as anonymous as a commuter on the tube. The sensation of being seen threw him off balance. At the same time, he liked the feel of her eyes on him. ‘I’m Holly,’ she said, extending her hand.

  ‘Seth.’ The reply popped out before he had time to consider whether it would have been wiser to give a false name. He took her hand. It was pleasantly warm and there was a roughness to it that hinted at manual labour.

  ‘I’m from Netherwitton.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘It’s a village about three miles away. We’ve got a farm—’ Holly broke off as they entered the Town Hall and a respectful hush settled over the line. They edged into a room jam-packed with serious, eager faces. Two constables and a sixty-something man with a vigorously ruddy face topped by swept-back silver hair occupied a small stage. The man was pacing back and forth as if looking for something he’d lost. An OS map of Harwood Forest was pinned to a board behind him along with a blown-up photo of a pretty young girl beaming a gap-toothed smile.

  The man stopped pacing and began urgently, ‘Thank you, everybody, for coming. I can’t tell you what it means to see so many familiar faces. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Henry Brooks. Erin Jackson’s grandfather. Time is of the essence, so I’m going to hand you over now to Constable Mike Foster.’

  Constable Foster addressed the gathering. ‘As you know, Erin went missing in Harwood Forest this morning. Erin is nine years old, approximately four foot two and of slim build. She has shoulder-length reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with a pink butterfly design on it, denim shorts and brown walking boots. She also has a silver heart bracelet on her left wrist.’

  Constable Foster pointed to a small island of white surrounded by a sea of green on the map. ‘Erin was last seen by her mother in this area of the forest at roughly 10 a.m. There’s no indication of abduction, but we do have reason to believe Erin may be injured. Right now we’re working on the theory that she’s lost in the forest. As you can see, Harwood Forest is huge and to complicate matters there are the Simonside Hills to the north. It’s a dauntingly large area. So we’ve d
ivided it into grids of two hundred and fifty square metres. And we will divide you into teams of ten. Each team will be assigned a grid to search. If you find anything – and this point is extremely important – you will not touch it. You will immediately alert a police officer. My colleague and I will now take your names. After that, please make your way around the back of the Town Hall where buses are waiting to take you to the search area.’

  As the crowd milled forward, Holly said, ‘I wonder how she got injured.’

  ‘They didn’t say she was injured,’ corrected Seth. ‘They said may be.’

  ‘It’s odd though, don’t you think? How does a nine-year-old girl go missing like that out in the middle of nowhere?’

  Seth’s voice dropped. ‘Are you suggesting the mum might be in on it?’

  Holly looked at him in horror. ‘No, I’m not! And you wouldn’t either if you were from around here. You’d know that the Jacksons are a well-respected family.’

  Seth held in a disdainful breath. Well-respected. Respect was like love, something people used to hide their dirty secrets. The difference was, respect gave you control over people. Love gave people control over you.

  Seth saw a reassessing look in Holly’s eyes. She took a step away from him. It was only a small step but he felt as if a big gap had opened up between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ he found himself saying. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘No need to apologise to me.’ Holly’s tone wasn’t unfriendly, but neither was it quite so warm as before. ‘It’s not my mum you’re bad-mouthing.’

  ‘It was a horrible thing to suggest. It’s just you hear about that kind of thing happening, don’t you?’

  ‘Not around here.’

  Not around here. There were those idiotic words again. The girl was clearly not worth his time. And yet the way she’d looked at him outside. Like . . . well, like he was something worth looking at. He couldn’t shake the thought of it. He inwardly scowled at himself for letting out a glimpse of his mind. From now on he would identify the signals and play his role accordingly.

  When they reached the stage, Seth provided Constable Foster with a false surname and home address. Henry Brooks was handing out gratitude and copies of the photo of Erin. Seth extended his hand to him, saying resolutely, ‘I’m going to do everything I can to find your granddaughter, Mr Brooks.’

  ‘Thank you . . .’ Henry looked askance at him.

  ‘Seth.’

  ‘Thank you, Seth.’

  Seth headed for the door, noting that Holly was looking at him in that way again. He basked in the warm glow of her gaze as the flow of the crowd carried them outside to a bus. ‘Do you mind if I sit by you?’ asked Holly.

  ‘Not at all.’

  As Holly sat down, her thigh brushed Seth’s. She didn’t seem to notice. But he did. The sun slanting through the window accentuated her cheekbones and softened her golden-brown eyes. He gave her a sly reassessing look of his own. No not a five, he thought. A six or maybe even a seven.

  ‘So who are you on holiday with?’ she asked.

  ‘No one.’

  Holly treated Seth to a curious glance.

  ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You’re a bit . . . odd.’

  Seth suppressed a frown. Odd. He hated that word. He didn’t want to be odd. He wanted to be – or at least, appear to be – as normal as possible.

  ‘I don’t mean that as an insult,’ Holly added. ‘I like odd. Some people say we’re all a bit odd around here.’

  The engine grumbled into life and the bus chugged away from the Town Hall. Seth’s gaze fell to the photo of Erin. He traced the outline of her face with his finger. ‘Such a pretty thing.’

  ‘She is,’ agreed Holly. ‘Surely no one could hurt her.’

  Seth looked into her eyes. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he said, knowing she wasn’t.

  DAY 1

  12.47 P.M.

  When the police car pulled up at the house, Amanda sprang out and ran to open the front door. ‘Erin,’ she shouted into the heart-rendingly empty hallway. The replying silence weighed down her features.

  There was a thudding of feet on the stairs. Jake descended into view. Amanda looked at him, then quickly glanced away from the apprehension in his eyes ‘What happened, Mum?’ he asked. ‘How did you lose her?’

  She winced as if he’d raked his nails across her cheek. ‘I wasn’t . . .’ Her voice was tiny, crushed. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she ran upstairs and threw herself onto her bed.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door. She sucked in her tears. It wasn’t fair, falling apart like this in front of Jake. He was already going through enough. In as steady a voice as she could muster, she said, ‘I’m getting changed. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘It’s me, darling,’ replied the soft, well-spoken voice of her mum. ‘Can I come in?’

  Amanda’s lips quivered in hesitation. She wanted to cry out yes, but she could no more bear to look into her mum’s eyes than into Jake’s. The door opened and a well-preserved sixty-something woman swept into the room. Cathy Brooks had the same strong features and exotic green eyes as Amanda, but her hair was shorter and dyed a stately platinum blond. Light linen trousers and a pale-blue blouse fluttered around her still slim and shapely figure as she hurried to her daughter’s side.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ sobbed Amanda, losing control again. ‘It’s my fault!’

  ‘Hush now.’ Cathy wrapped her arms around her daughter. ‘You’re not to blame.’

  ‘But I am. I should have been watching her.’

  ‘We can’t keep our eyes on them all the time.’

  Amanda looked at her mum, her eyes swimming. ‘Something awful has happened to her. I know it. I just know—’

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ Cathy broke in. ‘In a few hours at most they’ll find Erin safe and we’ll be laughing off this whole awful episode.’

  ‘I won’t be laughing,’ Amanda said vehemently. ‘And I’ll never let her out of my sight again.’

  Jake entered the room, looking at his mum sheepishly from under his long hair. ‘Sorry for what I said downstairs. I wasn’t thinking.’

  Amanda wiped her eyes and motioned him to her. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for, sweetheart.’ She dredged up a small smile, brushing Jake’s hair back from his cheek with a tear-dampened hand.

  ‘I want to go to the forest and help search.’

  ‘No.’ The word was out before Jake had even finished speaking.

  Jake threw his hands wide. ‘Why not? What use am I here?’

  ‘Your mother’s got enough to worry about without having to worry about you too,’ put in Cathy.

  ‘She doesn’t have to worry about me, Grandma. I’m old enough to look after myself.’

  Amanda’s voice was suddenly weary. ‘Please, Jake, just do as I say.’

  His face scrunching unhappily, Jake sloped from the room. His feet thudded up the attic stairs. He closed his bedroom door just hard enough to convey his frustration. ‘Maybe you should let him go,’ suggested Cathy. ‘After all, he’ll be with his dad and granddad. What harm could possibly come to him?’

  ‘He’s staying put and I don’t want to hear another word about it,’ snapped Amanda.

  Cathy held up a placating hand. ‘OK, darling. Not another word, I promise.’

  Amanda dragged off her wet clothes as if they were made of lead and pulled on dry ones.

  ‘Mrs Jackson,’ a voice called from downstairs.

  Amanda hurried to the landing. A man in a drab grey suit with matching crew-cut hair and a long lean face was at the front door. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Glenn Shields,’ he informed her. ‘Would it be possible for us to have a chat?’

  Anxiety crackled in Amanda’s voice. ‘Why? Has something else happened?’

  ‘No. I just need to ask some questions.’

  Amanda descended the stairs, closely followed by Cathy. She motioned Inspector Shields to an armchair in th
e living room, and sat down beside her mother on the sofa. ‘It might be best if we talk alone,’ said the inspector.

  ‘Why?’ Amanda replied a little more quickly than she’d meant to. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting you have, Mrs Jackson. I simply find it’s easier to talk openly that way.’

  ‘My mum can hear whatever I have to say.’

  Inspector Shields made a have it your own way gesture. He flipped open a notepad. ‘Can you begin by telling me exactly what happened this morning?’

  ‘I’ve already been through that with another officer.’

  ‘And the longer this goes on the more times you’ll have to go through it. I understand it must be uncomfortable, but we have to be thorough. It’s easy to miss small details that can make a big difference. Please try to be as specific as possible about times.’

  ‘We left the house at about ten past nine.’

  ‘By “we” you mean you and Erin?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And what time did your husband leave?’

  ‘Ten or fifteen minutes earlier. But why is that important?’

  ‘As I said, it’s all about nailing down the details. And it had been a normal morning, no arguments or anything like that?’

  Amanda shook her head. ‘No, nothing. Tom was a bit tense because of this business with the quarry.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve read about that. I understand there’s quite a lot of opposition to his plans. Can I ask you, Mrs Jackson, have there been any threats made against you by environmental activists or anyone else?’

  ‘The activists have threatened to sabotage our business. But they’ve not made any threats of personal harm.’ A fresh wave of anxiety rolled through Amanda. ‘You don’t think they might have something to do with this, do you?’

  ‘We have no reason at all to think that, Mrs Jackson. Now, getting back to the events of this morning, you left the house at about ten past nine . . .’ Inspector Shields tailed off to let Amanda continue.

  ‘It’s about ten minutes’ drive to the reservoir car park, so I suppose we arrived there at twenty past nine. From there we walked along the road towards Newbiggin Farm. It took us maybe half an hour to get to the forest clearing where . . . where Erin—’ Amanda’s voice caught on the thought of what had happened next. Cathy gave her hand a steadying squeeze.