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

by Faith Mortimer

  She had nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Perhaps it would have been better if she were dead, then William wouldn’t suffer any more agonies over her. He could bring up the children in England, if that was what he truly wanted. William…he needed to forget her and look to the children. The children! She had to make sure they were okay. Whoever knew her identity knew about Hannah and Charlie as the picture taken on the beach indicated. Debbie had to get the children in…Sally and Stuart. No! She was wrong, she had to focus. Charlie and Hannah were her children now.

  She screamed as she stumbled from the room and ran through to the kitchen door, pulling it open. “Charlie! Hannah! Come here. Quickly, come in now!’ she shrieked. She waited for only a second before rushing outside. She didn’t feel the biting cold wind or the flurries of sleet driving against her face. She darted round to the rear garden as she had done earlier that morning. She saw neither child on the slide or swing, and the play-house looked empty. Would they have left the garden and gone off to play in the olive grove? Surely not! They knew they had to stay inside the garden area.

  “Charlie! Hannah! Charlie! Hannah! Where are you? Please don’t hide. Don’t do this to me. Come here at once!” She backed away from the swing; it was swaying in the breeze, and she bumped into the play-house. She bent down and peered inside. “Charlie? Hannah? Are you there?” Something caught her eye. She noticed the remains of Hannah’s gingerbread man squashed down in the squishy soil.

  “Hannah,” she sobbed. “Where are you?”

  She thought she heard a noise in the drive, towards the trees. She staggered down the lane, calling their names over and over again but heard nothing except a crowd of rooks as they moved noisily away. The children! Where were they? She left the lane and tore into the orchard. The trees stretched in rows all around her, bent, boughs drooping like an army of twisted ghouls. The ground was soft beneath her feet, and in desperation, she darted from tree to tree looking for a clue. Anything. She couldn’t see her children or their footprints in the soil. She looked down at the base of a tree trunk, where the soil was loose and crumbly, and plunged her hands beneath the surface. There was nothing. She dug deeper, her hands desperate as she tore into the earth. She clambered to her feet, tears running down her face, and lifted her hands before her. Her nails were torn and blackened from filth, blood mingling with the dirt. Where were they buried?

  She fell down and screamed as she saw his face. Whose face was it? As the sleet fell faster, a mist seemed to settle over her, and she lost consciousness.

  Later, William found her lying on the ground. She was shivering with cold and shock. Her hair and clothes were wet through from the snow and plastered to her body. As William uttered a cry and ran to lift her up, he saw that her eyes were blank and vacant.

  Chapter 10

  Roger sat beside his wood-burning stove while finishing his tea. So much for his plans that day. He should have paid more heed to the weather forecast: snow was expected to fall on the Troodos Mountains that day. He laid down his mug and wandered over to the window. It was still falling, and by the looks of the sky, they could expect a lot more. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled deeply. As he had some unexpected free time, he thought it would be a good idea to get some more wood in and feed the chickens at the same time.

  He fetched a warm jacket and pulled his boots on. Opening the back door a crack, he was surprised at how cold it had become since he had been home. Although it usually snowed sometime during the Cyprus winters, most fell on the highest mountains. Agios Mamas usually escaped the severest weather, but Roger had a sneaky feeling that year might be different. Maybe there is something to global warming after all, he thought, but he couldn’t remember why warming might have anything to do with more wet and cold other than changing weather patterns. Roger walked round to his wood store and moved the tarpaulin he kept over the logs he needed for his wood-burner. He transferred them one by one into a basket; hauling the wood around made his back ache, and for a moment of relief, he stood up and stretched his spine. Soon there was a full basket to add to the one already indoors. As he rested and recovered his breath, his gaze fell upon the valley before him. He could see lots of lights shining dimly through the murk in the direction of Agios Mamas and one from the bird fancier’s house. The Frost family home, however, was in darkness. Debbie must have gone out, he thought. Perhaps she had taken the kids shopping, although it wasn’t her usual day for the supermarket. His back feeling better, Roger hoisted the basket of wood in his arms and staggered with it indoors.

  He refreshed the fire and went through to the kitchen. While humming an old tune to himself, he put away his breakfast things and swept up some wood shavings which had fallen from the basket. Since he was living a bachelor life and well aware nobody was there to do it for him, he always ensured he kept a tidy home. In fact, if there had been any other woman after his long-departed wife, she would have been hard-pressed to live up to his expectations. He was, he knew, fussy.

  Roger sighed, wishing his wife, Christine, could have spent longer in this world with him. They were childhood sweethearts and married as soon as Christine reached her majority. The following ten years were perfect as far as Roger was concerned: just he and Christine living their dream. Neither was worried about having children too soon, and when the time was ripe to begin planning their family, Christine was cruelly snatched from him. At the time, Roger couldn’t believe how a common cold could turn so quickly into a life-threatening situation. Christine never stood a chance when the viral pneumonia hit her and died in less than a week. Roger was devastated and after a short time mourning, threw himself into his work, body and soul.

  Glancing round his cosy little house, he knew Christine would have been pleased. Sometimes he fancied he felt her presence. It would be something small, like when he heard their favourite piece of classical music or picked up a book and knew she had read it years before, when her head was full of dreams. She would have been proud of him. Proud with how he coped once she had gone and how he conducted his life. He always tried to be upstanding, honest and kind. If only they had shared a few more years together. Roger felt an ache in his throat as he made another hot drink. For some reason he felt depressed and had done so since before setting out on his aborted trek. Perhaps it was hearing Debbie Frost’s children playing in the garden or the thought of a cold winter and the hardship it would cause many people. Whatever it was, he was twitchy and uneasy, as if sensing there was something malignant in the air. It reminded him of when he was working on a particularly nasty case back in chambers. He shivered.

  Maybe he could spend time looking through his old case notes. Adam was due there, and he would no doubt be interested in what he may have discovered. His thoughts wandered as he ruffled through his papers. Would he write a book? Diana was egging him on, saying he had fascinating material to use. It could have been an absorbing experience and taken his mind off his own illness. He had already spent many long days putting together a file of all the data he had gathered over the years. Five cases in particular interested him. Debbie Frost’s—or Yvonne Brookes’—case was one of them. The file was thick and contained newspaper articles, court depositions, photographs and just plain old gossip: whatever he felt was relevant. Old cases, cold cases, had always interested him, and Yvonne’s was no exception.

  A pulse beat in his temple as he skimmed through his neat notes. Yvonne Brookes had been an easy person to accuse. He remembered her as a small, pretty young woman. In fact, at first glance, from her slightness and youthful appearance, she could have been mistaken for a young teenager. She was so quiet during the trial; the judge had to ask her repeatedly to speak up. Her manner hadn’t done her favours, as she was not only quiet and subdued; at times it seemed as if her mind wandered and she was half asleep. Roger recalled that her testimony left him with the impression that she never told the court everything she knew about what happened to her children. He was in two minds about her. The Debbie he ‘knew’ appeared as a lovi
ng, caring wife and mother. Yvonne Brookes was a shallow, shadowy figure, who couldn’t keep her mind on what was important.

  Roger picked up a photograph of Yvonne. According to his papers, she was twenty-eight when the murders were committed. He studied her face and hair. She wore it long and curly back then. It was dark brown and hung down below her shoulders. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress with a large collar. Goodness, she looked no more than a child herself! As he spent some time peering at the grainy photograph, he was positive he was staring at the woman who now called herself Debbie Frost, and he was pleased he had insisted Adam came out to see for himself.

  As a little congratulatory pat on the back, he lit his pipe. It was the one vice he had taken up after Christine passed away. He knew if she were alive, she would have hated it, but somehow he always got the feeling that whenever she was with him in spirit she approved. She wanted him to be happy.

  He turned the pages in his file and time passed. A log shifted in the stove, breaking his concentration. Feeling stiff, he got up, stretched his legs, and gave the wood a poke. Seeing the sparks fly up the chimney made him realise the wind outside had increased in strength. Laying down the poker, he wandered over to the window and looked out. All around there saw a thin carpet of snow. The outside lamplight showed it had eased a little, but as Olympus Mountain was shrouded in thick cloud, he reckoned more was still to come. Peering through the gloom, he saw that the Frost house was still in darkness, and he hoped Debbie wouldn’t find the road too icy on her climb back up the mountain. He turned away from the window and shook his head. What on earth had made her go out anyway?

  Chapter 11

  Diana decided it was time to call it a day. She was on the last couple of chapters of her latest crime novel and needed a quiet period before committing them to her computer. She was confident she had covered everything; all the loose ends just needed tying in but…she needed to absolutely sure. There just weren’t enough hours in a day, with Christmas looming and all the extra work that entailed. Diana was sure that if she put the manuscript on hold and looked at it with fresh eyes after the festivities, she would feel much happier. Christmas was a magical time, especially for children, and Poppy was already getting excited.

  Standing up and stretching, Diana realised she was cold. Her hands were frozen, so she decided to put the central heating on. Normally in Cyprus, it was warm enough during the day to wear no more than a sweater. Heating was only needed during the night-time hours. Moving away from her desk, she looked out of the window and across the valley. She had an almost unbroken clear view right across to the Troodos Mountains. The only houses interrupting her view were a handful dotted here and there: Roger’s, the Frosts’, Jenny and Bernard’s, and that fellow’s—Philip’s—who was renting old Costas’ place. Although it was only afternoon, she had a light on over her desk, and she could see lights in some of the other houses too. What a dreadful, gloomy day. It was so bad it made her feel disheartened. She wondered if Adam and Clare had arrived. Their plane was due soon, and they said that, as they had a hire car organised, not to worry about picking them up from Paphos airport. That left Steve’s mother. Bad weather and Gwen Rivers…could it get any worse?

  Diana giggled to herself as she recalled bickering with Steve about his mother. She knew she had been hard on him, but sometimes he deserved it. She was sure there were times when he deliberately played her up to see what he could get away with. Men! They were nothing more than overgrown schoolboys. She vowed to be nice and gentle with her mother-in-law and not rise to the bait even though she could be an old bat at times.

  She tidied away her files and notebooks, pausing when she heard a siren in the distance. She hoped it wasn’t anything serious like a house on fire or a road accident. She never understood why every police, fire engine or ambulance out there used their flashing lights and sirens as a matter of course, even when there was no emergency on the island. Perhaps it was a show of power, people saying ‘look at me’, she mused.

  Making her way downstairs, she met Steve coming from the direction of the utility room. “It’s suddenly got very cold. I thought I’d turn the central heating on early,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  “I’ve just done it, and I’ve lit the wood-burning stove. Would you like another cup of tea?”

  “Great, the place will soon warm up. Yes please, that sounds good. Have you heard from Clare and Adam yet?” She followed him into the kitchen and leant against the radiator which was beginning to warm up.

  “No, should I have? I thought they’d ring you.”

  She shrugged. “Clare said she’d ring as soon as they were in their accommodation. I hope it’s all right. There’s no central heating, just a hot air blower in the bedroom. One gas fire might not be enough.”

  “Well, we can always lend them one. I shouldn’t worry. I doubt this snow will last…it never has before.”

  Diana looked doubtful as she walked over to the window and looked out over their snowy landscape. “You’re probably right. What time are we to pick Poppy up from Lydia’s?”

  Steve looked at his watch. “In about half an hour, I said.”

  “I’ll go as soon as I’ve finished my tea, then. I don’t want to leave it too late, just in case.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind going.”

  Diana smiled as she confirmed her statement. “Yes. I’ve finished for the day, and I need some air. Actually, I’ve decided to have a few days’ rest from writing and plan to do nothing except enjoy Christmas…even with your mother here.” She laughed to show Steve she was joking. “As soon as I get home, we’ll finish wrapping up the last of the presents and enjoy a glass or two of wine. In fact, have we any bubbly in the fridge? It’ll get us in the festive mood. I’m looking forward to seeing Clare and Adam.”

  Steve passed her a cup of tea and joined her at the window. “So am I, and yes, there’s a couple of bottles already chilled.” He paused, and then continued. “Will you feel a bit odd? Seeing them together as a couple I mean?”

  She gave Steve a cheeky grin. “Not really. Clare’s welcome to him. Adam is jolly hard work, and if anyone can keep him under control she can.”

  *****

  Diana drove her car at a sedate pace along the snowy road up towards the village. She passed Roger’s house; it looked snug and welcoming with a couple of lamps glowing in his sitting room. As she neared Debbie and William’s home, she noticed tyre tracks in the thin snow and nearer the house, flashing lights, which filled the gloomy skies. Curious and ignoring her own designated route, she turned off onto their lane.

  She drove through the fruit trees, and as she turned the bend, she was puzzled to see a police car parked outside the Frosts’ house.

  “Oh no,” she whispered as she sat in the car watching. “I wonder what’s happened.” A curious feeling stole over her as she sat there. It was as if she was being observed. She turned her head and peered through the trees. There was nothing moving but falling snow and branches waving in the wind.

  *****

  Clare and Adam were lying entwined in each other’s arms with the bedclothes heaped over them. Clare knew Adam was fast asleep because every now and then she heard a faint snore from his direction. She wondered why she had suddenly awoken with a jerk. She had been in a deep sleep herself, no doubt due to their early morning flight that day, and she had succumbed to the soft bed and Adam’s advances without any fuss two hours before. Without waking Adam, she gently moved his arm from across her chest, pushed the covers from her shoulders and sat up. The room was freezing, despite the hot air blower chugging away in the corner. Clare picked her towelling robe up from the floor, thrust her feet into slippers and walked to the window. The glass was wet with condensation, which she wiped away with her sleeve. It was still light, but the dark grey clouds made it feel like it was much later in the day. Across the valley from the village, she could see some houses already had lights on. The twinkling lights and falling snow shou
ld have added to the Christmassy feelings she felt back in England.

  While watching from the window, she noticed a car making its way along one of the roads which snaked along the valley. She saw the car’s lights dip and bounce around and guessed the road was an unmade lane. As her gaze shifted, Clare suddenly realised there was some activity around one of the houses; white lights and a blue strobe flashed into the sky.

  Clare felt a sudden heat fill her body. It hit her like a tongue of fire leaping from a flame-thrower, searing into her heart and brain. She shook and gasped as the pain went through her. She could sense vague voices in her mind…a feeling of two people being involved. She sensed dirt and cold and a feeling of being lost and puzzlement…but it was a fleeting sense…all too soon it left her. She found she was slumped forward, leaning over the windowsill, her forehead pressed against the cold glass.