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

by Faith Mortimer

  Chapter 23

  Philip Bolton wasted no time taking Hannah from the cellar and into the house. He picked her slight figure up into his arms and hoisted her over shoulder. The boy stared at him from under his fringe but made no attempt to hinder him as he walked towards the concrete steps. Before Philip placed his foot onto the first step, he turned and spoke to the boy.

  “Wait here until I return. If you promise to behave, I’ll leave you a light. But don’t play with it. Leave the lamp where it is. I’ll come back for you later. Do you understand?”

  Without a word, Charlie nodded. His face was a picture of misery, and Philip’s lip curled in delight at his distress. Serve the little snot right. Once he had his fun with Hannah, he would sort him out. Perhaps he would dispose of him earlier than he originally planned. It was the girl he was particularly interested in. But the boy did have tender white flesh…and it had been a while.

  He turned away and stomped up the stairs, ignoring the fresh sobs coming from below. He lifted the trapdoor, grimacing when he misjudged the gap, and it fell to the floor with a thud. He placed his lamp on the floor and climbed from the hole. Taking a quick look round the garage, he was satisfied everything looked as it did before. Without wasting any time, he replaced the trapdoor over the gap, picked up his lamp and shoved a few hessian sacks back in place. He grunted as he shifted the girl’s weight from his shoulder into his arms and left the garage. It was still snowing, and the wind had picked up again. What a soulless place this island is, he thought. After he had achieved his objective, he would be glad to leave.

  He tried the light switch in the hall, but there was still nothing. The storm had obliterated any natural light hours ago, and it was dark. The storm must have pulled down some of the electric wires, and the wind wailed against the house. It didn’t matter. Philip didn’t need much light for what he was about to do. In fact, he thought candle and lamplight would set the scene better.

  He laid Hannah down on the settee in the living room and threw a couple of logs onto the glowing fire. The room instantly brightened from the flickering flames. The girl stirred, and he rushed to her side. He wanted to take her upstairs and play with her. Maybe give her that bath he had been promising himself. It had been some time since the last one. He had bought a bottle of bubble bath in Limassol and a nice squidgy toy for the tub. He would wash her and then bundle her up in the new soft towel he had bought just for the occasion. She would smell so good: all baby and soapy and so sweet.

  First, though, she might like him to read her a fairy tale. He had picked up a nice copy of Hansel and Gretel, one of his favourites; very apt, he thought.

  “Hello, baby girl. Come to Daddy. Shall I read you a nice story?” he cooed, while leaning over her. Her eyelids fluttered before she opened her big beautiful eyes. Instantly, they clouded with terror, and she opened her mouth to scream.

  *****

  While Roger was studying the coin, he became aware of a soft murmuring. He paused and realised it seemed to be coming from below where he was standing. Surprised, he guessed there was a room, a cellar, beneath the floor of the outhouse, and there must have been a flight of steps or a ladder leading down to it. But where did it start? Was there a trapdoor somewhere? He had noticed nothing so far. Instantly, he was on his guard. Why the devil would someone be down in a freezing cellar in the middle of a snowstorm? And who were they talking to? As he strained to listen, he realised the person below was moving, and it sounded as if they were climbing up steps. Moving as softly as he could, Roger immediately crept to the far side of the car away from the doorway and hid behind it. The palms of his hands were unbelievably wet with perspiration, and he felt afraid. He didn’t have to wait long before there was a sudden crash. Roger guessed he was right. The noise sounded like it came from something crashing onto the floor. It could well have been a trapdoor as it was opened and thrown back. Roger watched the wall and saw by the grotesque shadow thrown upon it that whoever had climbed up into the outhouse was carrying a bundle over his shoulder. As soon as the trapdoor was back in place and the shadow began to move towards the doorway, Roger risked a peek from the side of the car. He almost cried out in shock. He saw a figure carrying a lamp, and in the soft light, he recognised Philip and the unmistakeable little bundle he held across his arms. Hannah.

  But what should he do? Philip Bolton, although overweight, looked a lot stronger and fitter than Roger. Damn his illness! If he tackled him, he was likely to come off worse and poor Hannah could be injured. Roger was assuming she was alive…and what about the boy? Hannah’s brother, Charlie. Was that whom he had heard Bolton talking to down in the cellar?

  Roger stayed hidden while he pondered about what he should do first. With the snow, it would have taken him twenty minutes or so to get back to William and Debbie’s house, where there were plenty of people to help him. But he also realised that time was of the essence. There was no legitimate reason why the children should be there, and he had no doubt they had been abducted. He considered his mobile and was on the point of removing it from his pocket when he thought he heard a noise from the cellar. He strained to listen and recognised it was someone sobbing: a child crying. It had to be Charlie. Resolve flooded through him, and he made a snap decision.

  He would rescue the little boy first; he would get him safely out of the cellar and tell him that his parents and everybody else were looking for him. He knew he could do that at least and then try and make that call. He reckoned on Charlie remembering him, and if he could gain his confidence, he could put him somewhere safe while he made a plan to help Hannah.

  Telephone! There had to be one in Bolton’s house. And then his heart sank as he remembered the power failure. The main lines were out, and he had no way of knowing whether Bolton had a mobile, even if he could find it. Once he got Charlie out from the cellar, Roger thought he could hide him in the car. The vehicle was unlocked, and there was an old blanket or coat on the back seat. He would tuck him up while he found a way of getting into the house for Hannah. He needed something to divert Bolton’s attention from the girl, and with a sixth sense, he knew there wasn’t much time. He shivered when he thought of the tiny little mite in that man’s arms. Whatever Bolton’s plans for the children were, Roger knew they wouldn’t be nice. Child abductors were monsters. But what the hell could he do to stop him?

  He was pretty sure that the downstairs floor of the house would comprise one big room, like thousands of other Cypriot houses on the island. Getting in by one window or door would therefore be of little use. Bolton would see him before he could do anything.

  Okay, keep calm, he thought as he reconsidered his options…which were few. There was no point in panicking. Okay, so he was an elderly man, but he could still rescue Charlie, wrap him up warm and hide him down by the gates. Then he would make a racket outside to attract Bolton, and when he emerged from the house, he would thump him with one of the logs lying in the garage. He reckoned if he hit him hard enough, he could knock him out.

  First, he had to get the boy’s attention. Roger eased himself out from behind the car. His limbs felt cramped and stiff from where he had stooped down, and he rubbed his thighs to get his circulation going. Where Bolton had left the garage door open, reflection from the snow outside shed a thin pale light over the floor. Roger considered closing the door and using his torch, but decided he would lift the trapdoor first and just shine his torchlight down into the space below. He didn’t want to freak the boy out by moving hastily. If he took it slowly, he reckoned he would have a better chance of gaining his trust.

  The wooden trapdoor was covered by a couple of sacks Bolton had hastily kicked into place before taking Hannah off with him. Roger moved them to one side and felt for a ring on the door with which to lift it. The metal was cold, but as he pulled, he found it lifted easily. Before him, Roger saw a flight of crude concrete steps leading down into a cellar. Bolton must have left a light on below because, when Roger lifted the door, he noticed shadows moving
across the floor in the draught. He could hear nothing but silence.

  “Charlie? Are you there? Charlie, don’t be afraid, it’s Roger.”

  He waited and then tried again. “Charlie, you know me, it’s Uncle Roger. I bring eggs and a newspaper to your house on a Saturday. I’ve come to help you.”

  He paused again and waited for an answer. “Charlie, I’ve come to take you home. Your mummy and daddy are very worried about you. They’ve been looking for you all day. We all have.”

  He strained to hear and thought he heard a thump on the ground. Holding his breath, he waited, and sure enough he saw a faint shadow taking uncertain steps towards the stairs. The shadow changed, and Roger was rewarded by the sight of a tear-stained and bedraggled small boy peering up at him.

  Roger smiled and held a hand down to him. “It’s all right, little fellow. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ve come to take you home to Mummy.” He could just make out the boy’s features from the weak light coming from below. He felt for his torch and switched it on, making sure his face was visible to Charlie. “See, you know me now, don’t you?”

  The boy nodded and gave a shudder, then whispered, “Mummy?”

  “Yes, she’s very worried.”

  “But…but the man said she’d gone to heaven,” his voice sobbed. “He told me I had to be good or…or—” He stopped and looked terrified at what he had said.

  Roger’s heart contracted as he realised what Charlie was saying. Philip Bolton must have told the children that Debbie had died. What else had he threatened Charlie with? Roger recoiled mentally; he didn’t want to dwell on the thought.

  “Charlie, I promise you, your mummy is at home and waiting for you and Hannah. Come on, let’s get you out of here, and I’ll take you to her.”

  He held his breath as he watched the boy weigh up his situation. “Do you promise that Hannah can come too?” Charlie asked. “He said I wasn’t to run away. I had to be very good.”

  Roger nodded his head while holding out his hand. “yes, I promise that Hannah can come too. If you come with me, we’ll go and hide you by the gate, then I’ll go back for her.” He paused then continued after taking a gamble that he now had Charlie’s confidence. “Come on, quickly now. We want to go in case he comes back.”

  Something must have instilled the urgency in his voice to Charlie, because the boy ran with a surprising agility up the stairs and flung himself into his arms. As Roger held the shaking boy against his chest, he thought how fragile and helpless this five-year-old must have been in Bolton’s grip. If he had done anything to him…then he would pay.

  “Come.”

  Roger gently pushed the boy away from him. “Can you walk, or would you like me to carry you,” he asked in a soft voice.

  Charlie regarded him with a grave expression. “I can walk. I’m a big boy, not like Hannah, she’s only three.”

  “I know. But your socks will get wet. Well then, if you’re sure, let’s go. Quiet now, because we have to go past the house, and we mustn’t let him find out I’m here.”

  Roger stood up and held his hand out for Charlie. The boy looked at him, and Roger saw the first ghost of a smile on his pale features. “Just a minute. I’d better shut the trapdoor,” he said, turning away, and saw the instant change on Charlie’s face as he looked back towards the garage door.

  Roger whipped round, just as a large figure loomed over him. The last thing he remembered was the sickly, sour smell of an unwashed body. In that moment, he recognised the person with the upraised arm that held the axe. The air whistled around his ear as he felt the heavy weapon smash down into his skull. Too late, he recalled his skull had all the fragility of an egg shell before bits of soft gelatinous brain and blood sprayed in a grey and pink froth over the open-mouthed, terrified boy.

  Chapter 24

  Clare allowed Debbie some respite from questioning after her outburst when she shouted at William. Everyone looked shocked and wondered what Debbie meant by her words, “I am not your darling little girl! Don’t you dare call me your little girl!” she had screamed.

  Clare calmed Debbie and told her to rest for a while. Placing a finger to her lips, she indicated that everyone else present should keep their voices down while the poor troubled woman sank into a dreamless doze.

  Noticing the fire needed some more fuel, Diana got up and replenished it from the wood basket. Because the electricity was still off, the central heating wasn’t working, and it was important to keep the stove going. She decided to risk going outside in the cold and bring in some more supplies. As she walked towards the door, basket under her arm, Steve said he would go and fetch some for her.

  “It’s fine, Steve. I need to move anyway—I’m so stiff from sitting. I can manage.”

  The freezing cold air hit her as soon as she opened the kitchen door. Swirling snow was still coming down, and all the footprints and car tracks from the police were completely obliterated. She hadn’t seen snow like that since skiing in Switzerland. She looked towards the direction of Agios Mamas and couldn’t make out a thing. Neither could she see any of the few isolated houses that were nearer to where she stood. She took a deep breath of cold air into her lungs and, as she expelled, noticed the snow had stopped. The silence all around her was complete as she turned to look further along the valley and up the hill. The wind had dropped, and as she peered into the black night, she imagined she caught a faint glimmer of light coming from the house rented by Philip Bolton.

  Diana stayed where she was for a minute, enjoying the fresh air and peace. The day had been terrible, and the next few hours were vital. Everyone knew in their hearts that the longer the children were missing, the worse the prognosis. Her eyes misted over when she thought about the two little ones. Once again, she was thankful that her Poppy was safe in the village at her friend’s house. The two girls were inseparable and loved sleeping in each other’s beds.

  Diana yawned, her mind relaxing while she tried to unwind. Philip Bolton’s house became clearer when there was a break in the clouds, and she realised what a superb spot the house occupied. It had a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view around it, and the Frosts’ house was directly in line with it. The tenant, Philip Bolton, was a strange character. Although polite if she chanced to meet him in the supermarket—which was rare—he kept himself to himself. At other times, he never got involved in anything more than the shortest of exchanges. He was an odd man in more ways than one. His hair was unkempt, and on more than one occasion, she noticed his clothing smelt. Personal hygiene didn’t seem to bother him much. Diana wrinkled her nose at the memory. In some ways, he looked little more than a vagrant, and thinking about it, she hadn’t liked the way he stared after her and Poppy.

  There was stiffening in the breeze, which blew the snow around at her feet. Diana shivered. Now why was she thinking about some scruffy old man? Why on earth had her mind wandered off at such a tangent? Moving as quickly as she could, she filled the basket and shot indoors, shaking the fresh snow from her long russet-coloured hair.

  She met Clare in the kitchen and guessed something was wrong when she saw her worried look. Not wanting to alarm the others, she moved towards her friend. “What’s up?” she asked in a low whisper. “You look troubled.”

  Clare looked over her shoulder towards the snug before nodding and moved closer to Diana. “I don’t want to alarm the others, but I think something’s happened…or is about to.”

  Diana felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and began to tremble. “What? Not to the children? Oh my God, what?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s an uneasy feeling I got a few minutes ago. All I can say for certain is that it has something to do with water.” She closed her eyes for a moment as she concentrated. Diana saw how pale she had become and thought she might pass out, but after a few seconds, Clare opened her eyes and grabbed her arm in panic. “Yes, definitely water. I…I think both kids are still alive, but something dreadful has happened where they are. I’m sorr
y, I can’t see any more. It’s gone all cloudy and confused,” she said, tears running down her face. “I hate it. I’ve never wanted to do this because I’ve been frightened before. Usually I have been able to suppress it, only this time I can’t, and I know it’s not over.”

  Diana hugged her and tried to calm her down. “Hush. You’re doing so well.”

  “One more thing…” Clare clutched frantically at Diana’s arm. “I said before I believed they’re being held near us, and now I’m positive. And the…the boy, he’s especially terrified. And cold and wet. Something awful has happened, I’m certain,” she said, while blowing her nose.

  “Then they must be in the village. Who on earth would have taken them?”

  Clare slumped for a second and looked exhausted. “I must get back to Debbie and ask her some more questions. She has more to tell us, she just doesn’t realise it.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it? You look all in. Do you need a rest? A cup of tea?”

  “I’m okay, really. I can rest once this is over. Right now I have to carry on. I just wanted to let you know how I feel.”

  Clare returned to the snug with Diana on her heels. The men present hadn’t moved except for Adam, who was busy sending a text message. They all looked expectantly at Clare as she took her seat next to Debbie once more.

  *****

  Debbie fidgeted in her hypnotic state, sensing Clare had returned. She didn’t want to remember and stir old memories, memories she had suppressed for years.

  In her cloudy mind, she couldn’t decide whether she was talking or just remembering…she recalled when she was small; she was probably only about six at the time. Her father had a garden potting shed where he kept all his seedlings. Under the shelving, there was all manner of junk, which he was saving for another day. Debbie loved to play in the shed. She breathed deeply…she could still remember the dusty, earthy smell of the plants and piles of newspapers lying on the floor. Back then, she had a special friend, Christopher, and they would spend hours pretending they were making ‘house’. It had all been completely innocent: two small children who liked each other’s company. One day, Christopher took a box of matches with him and a packet of his mother’s cigarettes. Debbie had been transfixed watching her seven-year-old friend light a cigarette and taking puffs from it.