CHILDHUNT: A Mystery & Suspense Thriller in the Bestselling Diana Rivers Series (The Diana Rivers Mysteries Book 5)

by Faith Mortimer

  *****

  Clare bounced up and down as she tested the mattress on the bed in their rented house. The accommodation wasn’t bad at all, and even if they didn’t have a sea view, the surrounding village houses and countryside were attractive. Besides, as Clare found out once they arrived, she doubted whether she and Adam would be spending much time on the beach.

  When Adam confessed his other reason for visiting Cyprus, Clare didn’t know whether she should have hit him or admire him for his cheek.

  “Let me get this straight. Apart from a week of unbridled lust, you’ve coerced me here because an old friend thinks you ought to check out one of your old crime suspects. Now I don’t mind the lust part at all, but I don’t take too kindly to knowing you’re going to be working. In fact, it’s not even legit work…you said the case was thrown out of court, and you’re here off your own bat. As if you don’t get enough Mr Plod work, you want to talk to this woman who might or might not have murdered her two children. Excuse me?”

  Adam repressed a sigh before he smiled and turned on all the charm. “Sweetie, it won’t take long. Besides, I don’t even know whether she’ll agree to see me. Look, I’ve already told you my reasons, but it’s still difficult to explain. The woman was treated very badly. I know she got off, but I hold myself responsible because it was my man who tried to blame the murder on her. He placed false evidence and scuppered the case. She suffered then, and I’m sure, if what my friend, Roger tells me is true, she’s still suffering. Although she’s remarried, she never goes anywhere. She’s a virtual recluse, and she’s only in her thirties. One interview with her is all I want. Perhaps it’s to clear my conscience as much as anything. You see, she acted strangely throughout the whole trial, almost as if she was living in a different world. Then she disappeared. Maybe after all these years she remembers something she forgot at the time, I just don’t know.”

  Lying on the bed, Clare stared at Adam. He was quite an enigma. Hard as nails and tough as granite one minute, tender and loving the next. She sighed. Adam really got to her, but she would never let him know. He was already arrogant enough. Clare also realised Adam did exactly what he wanted to. It was surely another reason why he was still a bachelor. The job came first. Perhaps she should help him out, although knowing his views, she doubted whether he would agree. It had been some time since Clare had called on her special gift. Because she hated people calling her a ‘crackpot’, she rarely disclosed her clairvoyant powers. Anyway it was all academic. So far, she had felt nothing unusual: no odd vibes since arriving on the island, so her secret was safe. Why risk Adam’s mirth and ridicule?

  She suddenly had a better idea. “We don’t have to go anywhere yet, do we? If you like you can come and try to make it up to me.”

  Adam paused while hanging his clean shirts up in the wardrobe. Clare sat up, cross-legged, her red hair hanging over her shoulders. Her skirt was rucked up around her thighs, and he glimpsed a flash of pale flesh against the black lace of her stocking tops. With one fluid movement, she pulled her sweater over her head, and he saw she was naked from the waist up. Her breasts were deliciously full, creamy white and luscious; as his mouth dried, he knew in that instant it would be some time before he and Clare surfaced.

  Chapter 8

  He thought about what he had to do. The whole essence was in the timing. It was Chaos Theory in practice: a small force happening on one side of the world which could create repercussions on the lives of many people worldwide. It was his side of the world, and he knew he would be doing more good than others might have thought.

  He closed the door to his house and got into his four-by-four. Most people drove rugged vehicles in this area because the roads were often unrepaired and full of holes and broken tarmacadam. It started first time, and without hurrying, he drove it down the drive to the road. Glancing out of the car windows, he saw that the weather hadn’t improved. The sun had shone fleetingly for a few minutes off and on, but it had mostly remained heavy and overcast.

  He knew the children were in the garden because he saw her open the door for them. They ran round to the side where they had a slide and swing. They played there every day, and it usually kept them occupied for at least half an hour. Before he turned onto the road, he checked his pockets once again. The wad of lint material and bottle of chloroform was there. He grinned as he thought how clever he had been. Chloroform was an old-fashioned drug and quite dangerous. Although it wasn’t used much in practice and largely a banned substance in the west, he knew exactly how to make it. At first, he considered using syringes and needles, with a sleep-inducing drug. But how would I go about procuring such things? he had wondered. A doctor would ask too many questions, no doubt, and he could hardly rob a pharmacy. Besides, he was no chemist and wouldn’t know what to look for.

  The internet was a useful tool, and after some time scouring through the rubbish on the search engine, he found five companies which supplied chloroform. All five were situated in India, Bulgaria and Pakistan. Even so, would they send it to him? Wouldn’t Customs ask what it was and why he needed it? Okay, so he could say he collected butterflies, and there was a logical need when it came to pinning the insects, but it could have been traced back to him.

  He did some more research, and there it was: the method for making chloroform. All he needed was half a litre of household bleach, some ice and a small quantity of industrial acetone. He added the ice to the bleach to lower the temperature and then added about ten millilitres of acetone, making a ratio of one to fifty. The fumes emitted were pure and simple chloroform. All he needed now were some victims to induce into unconsciousness, a dreamless sleep. He glanced behind him onto the back seat; he had already placed the blanket there the night before.

  It was cold inside the car, so he turned up the heater. The warmth took the chill off the screen, and the window quickly demisted. Although cold, he felt the sweat in his armpits and groin. Beads formed on his forehead, and he shook his head to prevent them falling into his eyes. He needed to stay calm. Only a short while and it would all be over.

  Thinking of the two small children made him laugh: a laugh which sounded more like a high-pitched giggle. He knew just where the two sweet and innocent little children lived. He tested the gears and turned out of his drive. It was a circuitous route of about six minutes, made difficult because of the terrain. It would have taken only a bit longer to walk the distance. As he drove, he thought about what he would do if she came out into the garden. He had only ever seen her from a distance in Cyprus—never in the village or even in the supermarket, where he knew she shopped from the grocery bags she carried indoors from the car. He doubted whether she would recognise him. Why would she? The last time he had seen her up close had been in court, and besides, he had gone to great lengths to disguise his normal appearance since then.

  He was careful to make sure he was accepted locally. Although he never visited the village pub socially, apart from buying some eggs or the occasional cake, he waved if the landlord passed him in the car, and he had spoken a few times to his nearest neighbour, who seemed to enjoy taking long walks. The last occasion he had been spying out the immediate land, he bumped into him, and he was thankful his binoculars were slung round his neck. Birdwatching was a good cover. His energetic neighbour—Roger, his name was—pointed out where he could study a family of young Scops owls learning to fly. He had carefully studied the Scops owl (Otus Scops Cyprius) before arriving in Cyprus, making sure he could converse about the species, Strigidae. He didn’t want to be revealed as a fraud. Everyone probably considers me nothing more than an eccentric, he thought, and that suited him fine. The local Cypriots knew him by sight, and occasionally, he used their small shops for groceries in an emergency. He preferred to use a big supermarket in Limassol where he could remain anonymous.

  He glanced nervously at his watch. He had plenty of time. The children had only been outside a few minutes. He would be there right on schedule. He looked ahead; there wasn’t anyon
e about. Traffic had been light that day, and he hadn’t seen any walkers. The sudden drop in temperature was obviously keeping everyone indoors. He turned off the main road and drew into a small lane. The surface was uneven and pitted, and he slowed down so as not to alert anyone. It seemed like seconds before he was just outside the gates belonging to the Frost household. The lane dipped, and he found himself in a fold of land, hidden from either the main road or the house. In fact, looking in all directions, in addition to the dip, he was screened by trees all around him. He ran the car up a small siding and did a quick turn before switching the engine off. His strategy was simple, and it was to be executed right under her nose. It took real genius and spunk to do this in the open and in broad daylight, but no one would ever suspect the meek and mild birdwatcher. All he had to do was follow his plan.

  He briefly thought about the others. Every occasion had been premeditated and timed with precision. His favourites were always young girls—the younger the better—but occasionally, a pretty young boy attracted his attention. His mouth drooled as he recalled the last time…another plaything was long overdue. Come to me, my pretty-pretty.

  The children had been in the garden for about seven minutes. He knew things might go wrong. They might find it too cold outside and go back indoors, one of them might want to fetch a toy…but it was unlikely. He had watched them for such a long time now, and they loved playing outdoors. She usually left them for at least fifteen minutes while she got on with her housework. He knew exactly which job she did first and on which day too. He had recorded her schedule over the weeks, and she was a creature of habit.

  He wondered if her husband had opened his emails in the office yet. Had he found the one he sent with the photographs? Had she actually told William about her shocking past? He was certain she would have. He had considered putting something in the paper, but maybe he would do that later. When everything shattered in Yvonne’s life, he would broadcast it to the community here, anonymously, of course. What a bomb waiting to explode! By then everyone would be shocked, and they would all turn and point the finger at her…once again.

  It was time to move. He had about seven minutes before she came to the door and checked they were okay. He got out of the car, checked he had the bottle of chloroform and wad of cloth in his packet, and hurried towards the children’s play area. As he drew near, he could hear them.

  “Stay there, Hannah, while I go back inside for something, won’t be a minute.”

  He heard the back door bang shut and guessed that the boy had gone into the kitchen. Alarm ran through him as he stood poised behind the nearest thick yucca tree. What if she came out with the boy and saw him standing there! Everything would be wasted. He couldn’t snatch the little girl on her own; he needed both of them for his plans. Sweat ran down into his eyes as he dithered. When he heard the door bang shut once again, he breathed a sigh of relief. Keep calm—everything is going to be okay. He paused while he got himself under control and listened.

  He could hear the boy counting, and he soon spied him with his hands over eyes. Four, five, six…perfect! They were playing hide and seek. He heard a giggle to his left and realised the little girl was hiding behind the play-house. She would certainly stay where she was until the boy called out he was ‘Coming, ready or not.’ It would be the best and easiest strategy to grab him first.

  He crept up to the boy who was standing with his back to him. At the last second, a stone crunched under his foot, and the boy spun round. He caught an impression of startled brown eyes and a complaint on his lips, which rapidly turned to a muted squeak of terror as the chloroform-soaked cloth was clamped over his mouth. The boy struggled for a few seconds before relaxing in his grip and crumpling to the ground. He left the rag in place and moved noiselessly towards where the little girl lay waiting for her brother. Seeing his bulk loom round the corner of the play-house, she looked up in surprise, which quickly turned to fright when he pressed another piece of wadding against her face. She wriggled for only a moment before she sighed and slumped against him. He lifted her easily into his arms, not noticing the top half of Hannah’s gingerbread man had fallen from her coat pocket. Hoisting her under one arm, he turned, and his boot ground down on the biscuit, trampling it into the softened ground. He picked up the boy with his other arm and ran with them to his car.

  He threw them onto the backseat and covered them with a blanket placed there for the purpose. In less than a minute he was through the olive and fruit-tree orchard, off the dirt lane and onto the main road. He would be home in less than six minutes, the car parked away in the garage, and the children ensconced in the cellar.

  He forced himself to drive at a sedate speed; he didn’t want to attract attention. Within a minute, it began to sleet, and he used the wipers to clear the windscreen. The sky was darkening, and he needed to turn his sidelights on. As he slowed round a bend, he saw a walker in the distance coming towards him. He cursed, but by the time he drew level, the walker had turned off the road onto another dirt track. He turned his head and briefly glanced at the pedestrian, recognising him at once. Damn! But with a bit of luck his neighbour hadn’t noticed him as they passed. He hoped Roger wasn’t aware he had come from the direction of the Frost property. He began to sweat again. Hopefully, he hadn’t been recognised; most people weren’t that observant, and with luck, Roger was more intent on wrapping his scarf more snuggly around his ears than noticing him. He might have to do something about him later, but at that moment, he needed to get back home as soon as possible.

  Feeling more confident, he looked in the back of his car at the blanket bundled on the seat. There was no movement and no sound. Perfect.

  Chapter 9

  Debbie coiled the electric cable back into the vacuum cleaner slot after finishing downstairs. That’s one job out of the way, she thought, shutting the cupboard door behind her. She glanced at her watch. The children had been outside for over twenty minutes, and she really should have called them back indoors. She had lots to do that day. It wasn’t worth putting the final load of washing on, though, as it was bound to rain within the hour. The clouds were, if anything, looking even darker and more menacing. The earlier sporadically appearing sun had disappeared for good now, and it looked like they were in for a terrific storm.

  Winter in Cyprus had definitely arrived. Summer and autumn had been glorious, so they couldn’t complain. Besides, Debbie welcomed the seasonal changes, as it reminded her of home. She still thought of England as her home, despite all the heartache she suffered there. She wondered if they would ever return. She knew William wanted the best education for Charlie and Hannah and had already said he was prepared to put them through private school if they could afford it. The schools in Cyprus were okay, but she knew his preference, and although he never said so, he loved England.

  Debbie thought back to an England she once loved: to when she was a child and the happy loving Christmases she and her parents enjoyed together. She closed her eyes, recalling the woody smell of the Douglas fir tree her father brought home from the market two weeks before the joyous day; how she loved to help her mother make the Christmas plum pudding and cake, stirring all the spices and other ingredients together and wondering how the silver coins got inside the pudding. She spent hours covering the tree with all the aged and much-loved red, green and gold decorations. Then there was a glittering array of twinkling lights, scented candles, bowls of pot pourri, and cranberries. It had been such fun: glorious, fabulous and happy days.

  She suddenly jerked to attention and, remembering her own children, turned towards the kitchen. She stopped. She was being foolish; surely the children were fine. It had only been half an hour, and she really needed to stop worrying. She didn’t want to make them feel insecure with her over-protection. Children often sensed something was wrong. But…she couldn’t hear them in the garden. Debbie felt her heart leap in her chest as she moved towards the back door.

  “Charlie? Hannah? Where are you?” Hearing nothing
, she rushed outside and ran round the corner of the house. There was no sign of them. Where were they? If anything happened…

  “Boo!” cried Hannah and giggled. “That wath a good joke, wathn’t it?” Both children appeared from inside the play-house, hands over their mouths and laughing with glee.

  Debbie pressed her fingers to her lips to stop them trembling. “Yes, sweetheart, it was.” She fought her impulse to shepherd them indoors. She had to overcome her nerves, or she would go round the bend. “Five more minutes, then it’s time for school work.”

  Both children made faces and then skipped away. Debbie smiled at their innocence and walked back indoors.

  Passing the den, she noticed she had left her computer on. She had bookmarked some children’s books she thought Charlie and Hannah would like and wanted to read the descriptions of them in greater depth before she bought them. Both she and William were pleased they showed a love of books, even at their tender young age.

  She hadn’t looked at her emails that day…it wouldn’t take a second to download them, and then she would get the children in. She made a cup of instant coffee and took it back with her to the den. She clicked on ‘send/receive’ and waited. Only two emails: one title seemed strange, and she focused on the headline…‘A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year for Debbie—or is it Yvonne Brookes?’ The text was short and straight to the point. Clearly apportioning blame to her, it mentioned Sally and Stuart, finishing with the line ‘Will your present two children end the same way, strangled with their scarves and lying in a grave?’ And then there were photographs, three of them. There was one of her, one of Charlie and Hannah on the beach…and one of Sally and Stuart.

  Debbie felt her face draw tight as the blood left it. She gave a strangled gasp and shivered, as she remembered that photo so distinctly. It had been a windy day in the park, and Sally had whined about the cold when Claude made them pose for it. He said if she didn’t behave she wouldn’t get an ice cream later. Sally looked as if she was about to cry, and she leant against her mother’s legs for reassurance, looking up at her with her trusting tiny smile. Stuart’s hand sought hers, as if he too might not get their weekend treat…Debbie felt giddy and sick. No! It couldn’t be! Who had found out where she lived? Who had discovered her true identity? She moaned as if in pain and shuddered. She reached for the mouse to delete the offending email and sent her coffee cup flying. As if in a trance, she looked at the hot liquid pooling on the desktop and splattered across the screen and keyboard. She had to get rid of it. Who else had received this email? She knew William had a huge mailing list. What if they all received this email? It wouldn’t take long for a few people to put two and two together, and it would be all over the island and throughout the community within hours. They would all know. Who knew she had cut her hair and bleached it? Who knew she lived here with William and Hannah and Charlie?