by Ben Cheetham
‘You can think what you like, but that’s the way it is. And I’ll tell you this ’n’ all, Craig’s got nothing to do with your daughter going missing. He’s an out-there dude with some pretty heavy beliefs, I’ll admit that. But snatching a kid . . . Nah, no way.’
‘We won’t go ahead with the quarry.’ Amanda’s words rushed out like a breath that had been held too long.
Greenie blinked, seemingly stunned.
‘Tell him, Tom,’ she continued. When Tom didn’t speak at once, she added in a voice both sharp and pleading, ‘Go on, tell him.’
‘You win,’ Tom said tightly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. ‘All we want is Erin. All we want is our daughter back where she belongs.’
Greenie spread his palms. ‘Whoa, you’ve got it wrong. Very, very wrong.’
‘Look, we don’t expect you to admit to what’s going on here. How about you just say, I win, you lose.’
‘No, I don’t want to.’
‘Please say it,’ said Amanda, half demanding, half begging. ‘Then we can all go home and get on with our lives.’
‘No.’
Amanda’s eyes suddenly blazed. ‘Say it!’
Greenie retreated towards the centre of the stone circle. ‘I’ve got nothing else to say to you.’
‘We’re not wearing wires.’ To prove her point, Amanda pulled down her vest top. ‘Nothing you say here will ever be repeated. And if you don’t believe us about the quarry, we’ll make it official. We’ll have a solicitor draw up a document stating we’ll never reopen it.’
‘Piss off out of here.’
Amanda eyeballed Greenie, unmoving. Tom took hold of her arm and tried to draw her out of the stone circle, but she elbowed him away. She faced Greenie for several tense breaths. He shrugged as if to say, Fine, I’ll go then. Giving Amanda and Tom a wide berth, he headed for the earthwork’s entrance.
‘Don’t you walk away from me!’ The words tore from Amanda’s throat. She lashed out at Greenie, her fingers hooked like claws. Tom caught hold of her arms, pinning them to her sides. ‘Let go,’ she spat, driving her heel into his shin. He grimaced, but didn’t loosen his grip. Directing her fury back at Greenie, she yelled, ‘Give us back our daughter or you’ll regret it! Do you hear me?’
Darting her a nervous glance, Greenie quickened his pace and disappeared down the slope. She struggled for another moment like a restrained wild animal, then went limp. ‘Christ, Amanda,’ Tom breathed. ‘You’re the one supposed to be keeping me out of trouble. If I let go, do you promise you won’t go after him?’
She gave a resigned nod. ‘Why did you stop me?’ she demanded as he released her. ‘We could have made him tell us where Erin is.’
‘Oh, believe me, I’m going to make him tell us,’ Tom said darkly. ‘But not when he can cry out for help.’
Something like hunger twisted Amanda’s beauty into ugliness. ‘What are you going to do?’
Tom echoed Greenie’s earlier words to him. ‘Whatever’s necessary. First I need to speak to Eddie.’
They headed back down the hill. The activists were gathered around Greenie, talking in lowered voices. Amanda scowled at the sight. ‘Shame on us?’ she burst out. ‘More like shame on you!’
‘Ignore the earth rapists,’ said Greenie.
Amanda’s eyes flared so bright that Tom thought he was going to have to grab her again. But she jerked her gaze away from the camp and stormed to the car, muttering, ‘Whatever’s necessary.’
DAY 1
4.41 P.M.
Sitting astride his window ledge, Jake lit a cigarette. He wrinkled his nose. He’d tried to force himself to like smoking for the same reason he’d spent the past few months reading up on black magic – Lauren. He would have pretended he enjoyed eating shit if he thought it impressed her. But he was past that now – or at least he told himself he was. He stubbed out the cigarette and deposited it in a mound of others that dammed the gutter above his window.
Erin was only nine, but she’d seen through his bullshit. She’d pinched her nose at his unwashed long hair, saying, ‘Yuck, you smell like sweaty old socks. I liked you better before you started hanging around with Lauren.’
‘Get lost, you little turd,’ he’d retorted, instantly regretting it as a wounded look flashed over her face. He’d added more softly, ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘What it’s like to be a teenager.’
Erin had made the scrunched-up hamster face she pulled when something perplexed her. ‘If being a teenager means smelling like you, I never ever want to be one.’
A sharp pang rose from Jake’s stomach as he found himself wondering whether her words would come true. Pushing the feeling back down with a hard swallow, he lowered himself to the carpet and looked at the chicks. He’d collected dead flies from a spider web in the corner of the ceiling and placed them by their beaks. But the chicks hadn’t eaten them. They lay deathly still, eyes closed. Resting his hands lightly on their fluffy feathers, he was relieved to feel the pitter-patter of their hearts. They’re just sleeping, he told himself. When they wake up, they’ll eat the flies.
He looked out the window in the direction of the forest. Maybe Erin’s just sleeping too, he thought. Maybe she’s curled up beneath the trees, dreaming of finding her way back to Mum. His forehead rippled. This wasn’t a fucking fairy tale. Wherever Erin was, she wasn’t asleep.
His gaze moved from the horizon back to the Ingham house. He couldn’t see it. But he could feel it somehow, away beyond the slate rooftops and the tree-lined river. He imagined it watching him back, like an invisible, malevolent presence. He thought about the red rectangular object beneath the floorboards. Surely it was a book. What’s more, a book with a lock on it. He could think of only one type of book that had a lock – a diary. And if, as he suspected, the bedroom had been Rachel Ingham’s, then surely it was her diary. He itched with curiosity to find out if he was right. He shook his head. What did it matter what the object was? It couldn’t help find Erin.
He flopped onto his bed and closed his eyes. But he opened them again quickly, disturbed by what he saw in the confines of his mind – Erin crying, Erin in pain. His thoughts inexorably drifted back to the Ingham house. This time he didn’t stop them from doing so. It was strangely soothing to think of the object beneath the floor, to lose himself in wondering what answers it might contain, what mysteries it might reveal.
At the shrill ring of FaceTime, he reached for his iPad. It was Lauren. He accepted the call and her anaemic face appeared on the screen. She was lying amid an incongruously pink duvet, smoking a cigarette. On the wall behind her was a poster of a beautiful red-haired woman in a black hooded robe, holding a staff topped with some sort of animal skull.
‘I’ve been trying to call your moby,’ said Lauren.
‘My mum took it away.’
‘Fuck. Did she go mad?’
‘Big time. I’m grounded too.’
‘How long for?’ When Jake shrugged, Lauren went on, ‘This is such bullshit. You were only trying to help. What are you going to do?’
Jake shrugged again. ‘What can I do? I’m basically a prisoner.’
‘I know what I’d do. I’d tell my mum to go screw herself.’
Jake opened his mouth to say, Maybe that’s what I’ll do. But he shut it again without speaking, sharply reminding himself that he was done with trying to impress Lauren.
‘Any news about Erin?’ she asked.
‘No.’
Lauren took a frowning drag on her cigarette and tapped ash into a mug. ‘We’ve got to do something.’
Irritation edged Jake’s voice. ‘Like what?’
‘I dunno.’ Lauren flicked up her middle finger at him. ‘What you getting shitty with me for?’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Sorry. I just feel so helpless.’
‘Aww.’ Lauren brushed her fingers suggestively down the screen. ‘I wish I was there with you. I bet I could make you f
eel better.’
Jake felt himself turning red. Did she mean what he thought she meant? For a mad second, he teetered on the brink of doing what he’d been working up the nerve to do for months – telling her how he felt about her. But then Erin’s face came into his mind again, bringing a sting of self-reproach with it. How could he care about crap like that at a time like this? ‘I’ve got to go.’
Lauren looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘I just have to. I’ll talk to you later.’
Before Lauren could say anything else, Jake disconnected the call. He stared at the ceiling, his face puckered with uncertainty. As if he’d come to a decision, he sprang up and approached his desk. He rifled through the drawers until he found what he was looking for – a pair of scissors. He moved to a mirror, put the scissors to his hair and hesitated. Yuck, you smell like sweaty old socks. Erin’s words echoed from his memory again. He started cutting.
DAY 1
5.45 P.M.
Amanda scanned the lines of emergency service vehicles, her eyes wide and dazed as if she couldn’t process what she was seeing. Tom knew what she was thinking, because it was the same thing he’d thought: All this for Erin! It was both terrifying and reassuring to see the scale of the search.
A constable met them in front of Newbiggin Farm and escorted them to the forest clearing. Sergeant Dyer was waiting, grave-faced, on the little bridge that spanned the River Font. ‘There’s been a development,’ he said ominously.
Tom felt Amanda’s hand seek out his as the sergeant went on, ‘The dogs have picked up your daughter’s scent to the west of here.’
‘West,’ Tom echoed. That meant Erin had headed – or been taken – into the heart of the forest.
‘Show us,’ said Amanda, a breathless edge to her voice.
They crossed Blanch Burn and followed a trail of flattened bracken to the treeline. An avenue of scrubby grass wound its way through lofty conifers. They walked silently, Tom and Amanda tensely holding hands. In among the trees, the afternoon air was stiflingly warm. But the sweat on Tom’s back was cold. Somewhere off in the distance he caught the barking of dogs. He exchanged an anxious glance with Amanda. What did it mean? Had they found something?
After five or six hundred metres, they emerged into another huge clearing fringed with orderly rows of sapling pines. To the north-west the ground climbed gently through patchy heather towards a solitary stone house maybe five hundred metres away. The house’s front windows overlooked a well-tended lawn with a lonely oak at its centre. A gravel track followed the western edge of the clearing, forming a T-junction with another road that disappeared westwards behind trees before curving back north-east past the house. Tom knew the house was owned by the forest authority, but he had no idea who currently lived there.
‘Who lives there?’ Amanda beat him to the question.
‘A forest ranger, his wife and two kids,’ answered Sergeant Dyer. ‘They’ve not seen Erin or anything out of the ordinary.’
The sergeant led them a short distance along the gravel track, then they plunged back into the pines. Constables were meticulously sifting through the undergrowth to the north. The barking echoed among the trees again, much closer now. Amanda’s fingers flinched against Tom’s, her nails digging into the back of his hand. He glanced at her. Her eyes were bright and moist, her lips pale and trembling. It was strange to see her so overwhelmed by emotion. He was the emotional one in their relationship. She was usually so calm and collected.
After several minutes, they emerged into yet another clearing. This one was roughly oval in shape with a circumference of two hundred or so metres. It was dotted with clumps of marsh grass. A drainage ditch ran along its nearside, emptying into Newbiggin Burn at its lower end. At the upper end of the clearing was a pool of peat-coloured water fringed with rushes. The pool was about twenty metres in diameter and at its centre was a little grassy island. Constables were prodding the water with long sticks that struggled to find the bottom even at arm’s length from the pool’s edge. Two tracking dogs were sniffing about on the pool’s far side. More dogs were pulling their handlers around the clearing.
A man wearing a jacket with a National Search and Rescue Dog Association badge on it approached Sergeant Dyer and informed him, ‘The dogs lost the scent at the near edge of the pool.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Amanda, staring at the pool as if it frightened her.
‘The ground here’s boggy. It’s difficult for the dogs to keep the scent. We’re hoping they’ll pick the trail up again on the far side of the clearing.’
‘What if Erin didn’t make it to the far side?’ Withdrawing her hand from Tom’s, Amanda took several faltering steps towards the black water.
‘Please, Mrs Jackson, stay back from the pool,’ said Sergeant Dyer. ‘Can I ask, have you ever been to this spot before, either by yourselves or with Erin?’
‘No,’ said Amanda.
‘I’m not sure,’ mumbled Tom, his eyes fixed on the pool as if trying to penetrate its murk. An image of Erin’s lifeless body floating in its cold depths clawed at his mind. ‘I may have been. I went all over the forest when I was boy. I’ve definitely not brought Erin here, though.’
Amanda’s tears spilled over again. ‘What if she fell in? What if she was thrown?’
‘I know it’s difficult, Mrs Jackson, but try not to assume the worst,’ said the sergeant.
Amanda flashed from fear to anger. ‘How the hell am I supposed to assume anything else?’
Sergeant Dyer took the retort calmly. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you join your father in the search.’
‘He’s right,’ said Tom. ‘There’s no point us standing around here.’
Amanda stabbed a finger at the pool. ‘Nothing’s shifting me from this spot until I know my baby’s not in there.’
‘Then I’m staying put too.’
‘No, you go.’
‘But what if . . .’ Tom shuddered. ‘What if they find something?’
Amanda fought to steady her voice. ‘Go. Let my dad know what’s going on.’ She paused a breath, before adding meaningfully, ‘And Eddie.’
Tom looked at Amanda a moment longer, drawing strength from her eyes. He turned to Sergeant Dyer. ‘Where can I find them?’
The sergeant unfolded an OS map. He pointed at a densely forested area about half a mile south-west of Craig Ferguson’s campsite and a mile north of their location. ‘They should be somewhere around here. I’ll have someone take you to them.’
‘No need, I know the way.’
‘If you don’t mind, Mr Jackson, I’d rather one of my officers went with you.’
Tom frowned. It was phrased as if he had a choice in the matter, but Sergeant Dyer’s expression made it clear he didn’t. His gaze returned to Amanda and he briefly took her hand again. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
With a constable shadowing him, Tom returned to the gravel track. He followed it past the ranger’s house, all the while thinking and trying not to think about the pool. There were numerous such small but deep tarns dotted around the forest and moors. Local myth had it that some were inhabited by water spirits. A story his father had once told him rose into his mind. A fellow farmer had been swimming in one of the pools when he felt something grip his ankle. At first the farmer thought he was entangled in reeds, but then he found himself being pulled underwater. He fought desperately to break free. Just when his strength was about to give out, he succeeded in doing so. He clambered out of the pool and collapsed. To his horror, a slimy hand emerged from the dark water. It pointed a finger at him, before disappearing back beneath the surface. The story had scared Tom so much that he’d never dared swim in the pools. Years later it had occurred to him that this was perhaps precisely the desired effect. After all, every few years someone – usually a teenage boy – drowned swimming in them.
The track curved north-west, rising towards the moors. A cool breeze blew down from the hills, bringing ribbons of cloud with it. Tom spotted hi
s search group fanned out like a skirmish line among the trees.
‘Tom!’ Eddie broke rank and hurried towards him. Henry instructed the other searchers to hold up before following.
‘How did it go at the station?’ Eddie asked.
‘They don’t seem to think the guy’s involved.’
A scowl split Eddie’s beard. ‘Bollocks, he isn’t.’
‘Are they going to charge you?’ asked Henry.
‘Probably. Listen, forget about that, something else has happened.’ Tom told them about the dogs tracking Erin’s scent to the pool.
The ever-optimistic light in Henry’s eyes faltered. Deep furrows scored his forehead. He shook his head and, with the same fierceness Amanda had inherited from him, said, ‘They won’t find anything. Not a bloody chance of it. Erin knows better than to go near those tarns.’
She knows better than to wander off in the forest alone too, Tom thought grimly.
They rejoined the other searchers. Graham nodded a silent hello, po-faced as ever. Irritation flickered in Tom that his brother hadn’t thought it necessary to accompany Eddie and Henry for an update. But the feeling was gone almost as soon as it came, extinguished by a deluge of other concerns.
‘Back to it everybody!’ called out Henry.
Tom took up a position near the centre of the line with the constable on his right. They continued their laborious advance, prodding the undergrowth, peering into hollows, pushing aside low-hanging branches. They came to a clearing with mossy boulders strung along its edge. Tom passed to the left of the boulders, the constable to the right. The instant the constable was out of view, Tom motioned Eddie over and in a lowered voice told him about the encounter with Greenie.
Eddie’s eyes widened. ‘How could you offer to give up the quarry without talking to me first?’
‘There was no time. Besides, you can relax, he told us to piss off.’
Eddie’s surprise gave way to an expression that made him look like a wounded bear. ‘I’d make the same offer in a heartbeat if I thought it would work, but there’s only one language lunatics like him respond to.’ He raised his fist.
