The Lost Ones

by Ben Cheetham

  A frown troubled Holly’s face. ‘I’m going to fetch the others.’

  ‘I’ll wait here.’

  As she hastened back to the search party, Seth scanned the trees. There was no one to be seen, but that didn’t mean there was no one there. He took out his lock-knife and flipped it open. He used the blade to lift aside the tarp. Inside the shelter was a green sleeping-bag on a thick mattress of marsh grass. Empty cans of Special Brew were piled beside a frayed army rucksack. His nose wrinkled at a smell of old sweat, wood smoke and patchouli oil.

  He glanced up at the sound of Henry Brooks calling out, ‘Remember what Sergeant Dyer said, Tom. Don’t touch anything.’

  Tom was sprinting towards the bivouac as if he’d been told Erin was inside it. His father-in-law and the others trailed behind. Seth quickly pocketed his knife. Tom pulled up abruptly at the sight of the anarchist symbol, the colour draining from his face. With a sudden movement, he tore the tarp down and ducked into the bivouac. He hauled out the rucksack and began unbuckling it.

  Henry was next to reach the lip of the grassy hollow. ‘What are you doing?’ he puffed, his face as red as Tom’s was pale. ‘Put that down.’

  Ignoring him, Tom pulled a rainbow-coloured jumper from the bag and flung it aside. Next he dug out a sheath of flyers. ‘Look at these!’ He thrust the flyers towards Henry. FUCK THE QUARRY was printed across the top of them. ‘It’s those hippies. They’ve taken Erin.’ His fraught eyes moved to Eddie. ‘You remember what Greenie said, they’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect the quarry.’

  Henry snatched away the flyers and stuffed them back into the rucksack. ‘If you’re right, you could be contaminating vital evidence.’

  ‘Oi!’

  The shout came from a hulking figure carrying a bundle of sticks on the far side of the stream. The man was bare-chested, bare-footed and wearing a tatty kilt. He had a long black beard and his hair was shaved into a mohawk with dreadlocks at the back. He dropped all the sticks, except for one, and charged towards the bivouac, yelling in a thick Scottish accent, ‘Get your hands off my stuff.’

  ‘Where’s my daughter?’ demanded Tom as the man splashed through the stream.

  Seth retreated towards where Holly was standing just outside the hollow. He had no intention of getting his skull crushed by some Braveheart wannabe. Eddie came barrelling past him, fists clenched for a fight.

  ‘I dunno what you’re talking about,’ retorted the man, raising the stick threateningly. ‘But if you’ve nicked anything, I’m gonna brae ya.’

  ‘Liar!’ Tom squared up to the taller man. ‘I know who you are. I’ve seen you at the protest camp.’

  The man’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. ‘It’s you! You’re the scumbag who wants to rape our beautiful mother earth.’

  ‘I won’t ask you again. What have you done with my daughter?’

  ‘His daughter went missing this morning,’ put in Eddie, coming up alongside Tom.

  The man looked between them in surprise. ‘First I’ve heard of it.’ His gaze fixed unsympathetically on Tom. ‘Maybe losing something you love will make you think about what you’re taking from us.’

  Tom’s jaw slackened. Briefly, he looked too stunned to react. Then a word exploded from him. ‘Bastard!’

  He hurled himself forwards. His head connected with the man’s chest. The pair of them toppled over and tumbled into the stream. Tom ended up on top. He clamped his hands to the man’s head and thrust it under the water. The back of it struck a stone. The man gave a spluttering roar and lashed out with the stick, grazing Tom’s forehead. Before he could take another swing, Eddie tore it from his grasp. Tom dunked the man again.

  ‘Easy, Tom, he’s had enough,’ said Eddie, grabbing the man’s flailing arms.

  Tom shot his friend a glare that said, Stay out of this! Then, blinking and catching control of himself, he released the man, whose bearded face broke the surface with a choking gasp. Taking an arm and a leg each, Tom and Eddie hauled him up the bank. He wriggled and twisted like a fish trying to escape a net. ‘Give us a hand. will you?’ Eddie called to his fellow searchers.

  Several – Seth not included – started forwards, but Henry held up a hand to stay them. ‘No one else is to come down here.’

  Tom and Eddie flipped the dripping-wet man onto his belly and twisted his arms up behind his back. ‘Stay still or I’ll break it,’ Eddie warned, applying pressure with his thick, powerful fingers.

  ‘Fuck you,’ spat the man. ‘You earth-raping corporate scum.’

  Eddie laughed gruffly. ‘Did you hear that Tom? Corporate scum, us? If only, eh?’

  ‘Where’s Erin?’ Tom breathlessly demanded to know again. ‘Tell me or do you want to go back in the water?’

  ‘No one’s going back in the water,’ Henry said firmly. ‘Sergeant Dyer is on his way.’ Dabbing sweat from his forehead with a hanky, he turned his attention to the restrained man. ‘So you might as well stop trying to escape.’

  ‘I’m nae trying to,’ groaned the man, ‘cos I’ve done nae wrong.’

  ‘We’ll see about that, wee laddie,’ mocked Eddie.

  ‘Arseholes! Let me go, you arseholes!’ The man made one final furious attempt to break free, then lay still, except for his heaving chest.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Piss off,’ muttered the man.

  ‘And what are you doing out here, Mr Piss Off?’ said Eddie.

  ‘You think you’re hilarious, don’t you, pal? You won’t be laughing a few weeks from now when someone puts a match to your quarry and everything in it.’

  Scowling, Eddie leaned heavily on the man. ‘You’ll struggle to light a match with a broken arm, pal.’

  ‘Eddie,’ cautioned Henry as the man gasped with pain.

  Eddie eased off the pressure. ‘Sorry, Mr Brooks. He keeps provoking me.’

  ‘I know, but let’s all try to remain calm. Sergeant Dyer will be here any minute now.’

  At the top of the slope, Seth’s heart was beating pleasurably. Throughout the scuffle, his gaze had remained riveted on Tom. The look on Tom’s face as he hurled himself at the man! Such intensity. Such raw emotion. It was exhilarating to see. ‘Wow,’ he murmured to himself.

  ‘That was really horrible,’ said Holly.

  ‘Yeah, horrible.’

  Henry climbed the slope. ‘Well spotted, Seth.’

  Seth accepted the praise with what he judged to be a suitably grave nod. ‘Thank you, Mr Brooks.’

  ‘Holly here was telling me how you’re giving up your holiday time to help us.’

  ‘It’s nothing. I’m happy to be here.’ Happy, is that the right word? wondered Seth. Henry’s reply seemed to confirm that it was.

  ‘It’s not nothing to me, Seth. I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you’re doing. One thing, though. If you see anything else, please tell me rather than investigating by yourself.’

  ‘Will do, Mr Brooks. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise, Seth. I remember what it was like to be your age. There was no one more impulsive than me when I was in my twenties.’ Henry gave a little shake of his head as if at some memory. He wafted his hat in front of his face and addressed the group in general. ‘Phew, it’s hot. There’s no need for you all to stand here getting sunburnt. Why don’t you wait in the shade?’

  The group headed for the trees. Seth followed slowly, reluctant to let Tom out of his sight. The fight had left him greedy for more. Like an avaricious sponge, he wanted to soak up every emotion on offer. He settled down on the pine-needle-flecked grass. Holly passed him a bottle of water and he swallowed a mouthful. As he returned the bottle, her fingers touched his. A little jolt travelled up his arm and down into his groin. He found himself thinking once again about lying down with her in some hidden place. As if she’d read his thoughts, her usually direct gaze slid shyly away and landed on Sergeant Dyer, who was approaching along the treeline with four constables. Seth’s gaze was dra
wn to the lean, broad-shouldered man following a short distance behind them. Even at that distance the family resemblance to Tom was obvious, but his features were harder edged, grimmer. A border collie trotted at his heels.

  Seth rose and returned to the lip of the grassy hollow – he had no intention of missing a moment of whatever drama was to come. ‘The police are here.’

  Tom and Eddie none too gently pulled the activist upright. The instant Sergeant Dyer arrived, the man jerked his chin at Tom and yelled, ‘He assaulted me.’ He twisted his head to display the proof. ‘Look, I’m bleeding.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Craig Ferguson.’

  ‘I thought you said it was Piss Off,’ taunted Eddie.

  Craig glared at him. ‘Prick.’

  ‘Enough of that,’ warned Sergeant Dyer. ‘Let go of him.’ Tom and Eddie did so and the sergeant continued in his firm, even voice, ‘Now, Mr Ferguson, if you’d like to tell me what happened.’

  ‘I was attacked for no reason. That’s what happened.’

  ‘No reason, my arse,’ scowled Eddie.

  Craig stabbed a finger at Tom then Eddie. ‘He would have killed me, if this comedian hadn’t stopped him.’

  ‘Oh, come now,’ put in Henry, ‘I hardly think that’s likely. The fact is, Sergeant Dyer, this man made a provocative comment about Erin and Tom reacted in a way which, under the circumstances, is entirely understandable.’

  ‘Did you hit Mr Ferguson?’ the sergeant asked Tom.

  ‘I tackled him to the ground.’

  ‘In that case you’re going to have to accompany me to the station.’

  Taken aback, Tom exclaimed, ‘What for?’

  ‘Surely that’s not necessary, Sergeant,’ said Henry.

  ‘I’m afraid it is, Mr Brooks.’

  ‘No way am I leaving the search,’ Tom said heatedly.

  ‘This man is accusing you of assault, Mr Jackson. And you yourself admit you hit him. You’re both going to have to give a statement.’

  ‘The only way you’re going to get me away from here is by dragging me.’

  ‘Then that’s what we’ll do if you force us to.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Henry, laying a firm hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘Will it, Tom?’

  Tom shrugged off his father-in-law. ‘You know something, Henry, I’ve just about had enough of your—’ Catching sight of his brother, his voice faltered. ‘Graham, you came,’ he said, as if he unsure whether to be surprised or pleased.

  ‘Of course.’ Graham’s tone suggested there was no need for him to be either of those things. ‘Go with the sergeant, Tom. I’ll take your place here.’

  The brothers looked at each other for a moment as if exchanging silent words. Tom heaved a sigh. ‘OK. Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  ‘Do you want me to call our solicitor?’ offered Eddie.

  Tom shook his head. Sergeant Dyer made a pushing motion at the other members of the search party, who’d gathered again on the slope behind the bivouac. ‘Could everybody please move back. Scene-of-crime officers are on their way. This area is strictly off-limits until they’ve completed their sweep.’

  ‘What about my gear?’ Craig demanded to know as the sergeant shepherded him away.

  ‘It’ll be returned to you later.’

  Seth watched Sergeant Dyer and his constables escort Tom and Craig away. Tom and Henry exchanged a parting glance. What was that in Tom’s eyes? An apology? Anger? A confused combination of both? Tom obviously wasn’t happy with bowing down to his father-in-law. Seth’s heart had given a leap when, for a split second, it seemed Tom would tear into the old man. He struggled to conceal his disappointment as he lost sight of Tom. He glanced at Graham. It hardly seemed a fair swap – an open book for what, on first impression, appeared to be a closed one.

  ‘It doesn’t seem fair,’ Holly said as if echoing his thoughts. ‘That Ferguson bloke got what he asked for.’

  ‘I know,’ said Seth, consoling himself with the thought, Oh well, at least I’ve still got Henry. It would be interesting to see how he reacted to Tom very publicly slighting his authority.

  Henry signalled for the group to gather round. He pointed at an Ordnance Survey map. ‘This is our new search grid.’ His voice was calm, his features as unruffled as a windless lake.

  He’s a consummate performer, thought Seth, just like me.

  DAY 1

  2.40 P.M.

  The search was building fast. As Tom hurried along, sodden shoes squelching, everywhere he looked lines of searchers were advancing between shadow-laced pines, silent as ghosts. Furious with himself for losing control, Tom avoided their enquiring glances. Further to the south-west now, the helicopter swept low over swaying treetops. Back at the clearing where Erin had seemingly been swallowed by the earth, two cars with red-and-yellow Battenberg markings and SEARCH DOGS on their bonnets had joined the growing assembly of emergency service vehicles. German shepherds and labradors had their noses thrust into the grass, trying to snuffle out Erin’s scent. It gave him a light-headed feeling to see it, to know it was all for his beautiful baby.

  When the grey outline of Newbiggin Farm came into view at the forest fringe, Sergeant Dyer stopped. ‘I have to stay and coordinate the search,’ he explained. ‘Detective Inspector Shields is waiting at the station to take your statement.’

  ‘Who exactly is this Inspector Shields?’

  ‘He’s been brought in from Newcastle. He has a lot of experience with missing children cases. Plus he used to live in this area. So you’re in good hands.’

  The rest of them climbed past placidly grazing sheep to the lane, which was becoming as clogged as a city road at rush hour. As Craig was led towards an ambulance, he shot Tom what seemed to be a triumphant glance. Tom resisted an impulse to charge at him again. Instead, he settled for firing only words back. ‘The quarry’s going to be a success no matter what you people do.’

  He instantly felt even angrier with himself. What did the quarry matter? He’d put a match to it himself if doing so brought Erin back.

  Tom was escorted to a police car. As it accelerated away, he stared back at the forest, overcome by an irrational sense that he was somehow abandoning Erin. A constable moved aside a strip of blue-and-white tape at the end of the lane. Beyond the cordon, a crew from a regional news show had set up alongside their satellite van at the roadside. They aimed their camera at the car as it passed.

  A second cordon was strung across the entrance to Fontburn Reservoir car park. The car park was empty now, except for Amanda’s Golf and a couple of police vehicles. A few fishermen were still dotted along the shoreline. On the way into town, the car passed groups of hikers, council workers digging up the road. Scenes of normality that seemed like a slap in the face.

  The police station was on the edge of the town centre. Next to it was Middlebury Hospital in whose maternity ward Erin had come into the world. A lump formed in Tom’s throat as his mind reeled back to that moment – crumpled grey-blue face slimy with blood, eyes squeezed tight against the unfamiliar glare of the outside world. She’d been a fortnight overdue. They’d joked that she hadn’t wanted to leave her mummy’s tummy. And she’d gone on as she’d begun, a quiet, loving child rarely far from either of her parents’ side.

  The station was a bland brick building whose personnel were more used to dealing with minor domestic incidents, shoplifters and occasional lairy tourists than with missing children. In his youth, Tom had spent the night in its cells on more than one occasion after getting into drunken fights. The station had been as quiet as a graveyard on those nights. Today it buzzed with activity. The car park was overflowing. There were Land Rovers and vans marked with the liveries of search-and-rescue teams from as far afield as Penrith, Tayside and Cleveland. A team was being briefed in the reception area. Tom followed a constable to a blank-walled interview room.

  The constable motioned for him to take a seat at a table. Tom remained
standing. ‘Where’s this Inspector Shields?’

  ‘I’ll find out.’

  As seconds ticked by like minutes, Tom ground his teeth. All he could think was, How could you be so stupid? You shouldn’t be here.

  A tall grey-haired man entered. ‘I’m DI Glenn Shields,’ he said, regarding Tom with keen pale eyes.

  ‘Tom Jackson. Can we do this as fast as possible? I want to get back out there.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Jackson. Take a seat.’

  This time, Tom sat down. His legs jigged restlessly beneath the table as Inspector Shields seated himself opposite and opened a statement pad. ‘I need your date of birth, address, any contact numbers and marital status.’

  Tom fired off the required information.

  ‘Tell me what happened with Mr Ferguson.’

  Once again, Tom rapidly recounted what Inspector Shields wanted to know.

  ‘That seems fairly straightforward,’ said Inspector Shields. ‘You were provoked and reacted violently.’

  ‘I reacted like any father would have done,’ corrected Tom. ‘So are you going to arrest Craig Ferguson?’

  ‘He’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Nothing wrong? He’s one of those eco-activist nutjobs. Have you heard of Carl ‘Greenie’ Wright? He’s their leader. He threatened to do whatever’s necessary to stop us from developing the quarry. And an hour later I find out my daughter’s missing. That’s a pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, I agree it would seem so. And yes, I know of Mr Wright. In fact I was on the phone to him when you arrived here. He tells me Mr Ferguson was expelled from their camp two days ago because his views are considered too extreme.’

  ‘What do you mean, “too extreme”?’

  ‘Apparently he advocates violent protest. But that’s not to say I think he’s got anything to do with your daughter’s disappearance. If he did take Erin, why hang around? Why not run?’

  ‘These people are fanatics, Inspector. Don’t you see? He’s offering himself up as a martyr to his cause.’