by Phil Walden
“Well, better safe than sorry.”
Start watched as the three joined the second policeman as he continued his circuit of the quad, checking doors and windows. They moved to the far side near to the pupil dormitories.
Up in the study Olivia was becoming increasingly anxious. “What do we do?”
“I’m thinking,” answered Start.
“What if they check up here?”
“They will.”
“Then there’s no way out. We’re trapped.”
The four men reached the doorway to the dormitories opposite. Their backs were turned away from the balcony.
Start saw his chance. He eased open the side window and squeezed out onto the roof, dropping low to the floor and out of sight. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”
Olivia appeared in the open window, the bag in her hand. Fearing she would be seen, he reached up and pulled her down to join him. She landed flat on top of him. Her torch fell from the bag and rolled away noisily along the flat roof. They both froze, their bodies conjoined, their faces an inch apart.
Voices echoed up from the quad. “Did you hear that?” one of the policemen asked.
“I heard something,” Faversham replied.
“Look, up there. The window above the entrance. It’s open.”
“That’s your study, sir,” the porter said.
“I shut that window, I’m sure.”
The policemen began to move away. “Stay here. We’ll check it out.”
Footsteps hurried across the quad. Start flipped Olivia off him. He dragged himself to the parapet. The men below were approaching the school entrance. They dropped out of sight. Start snatched the crowbar from the bag, stood up straight and hurled it across the quad. It smashed into the large window of the dining room in the dormitory quarter.
Faversham’s shocked voice came from directly beneath him. “Good God! What on earth was that?”
The footsteps rapidly retreated as all four men dashed to the dormitory. Start watched as the porter urgently shuffled through a set of keys before unlocking the door. All four hastily disappeared inside.
Start picked up the rope ladder and threw it down. He helped Olivia over, her descent a lot less skilled and controlled than before. She held the end taut as Start half climbed, half fell down to join her. He set off immediately, dragging her by the hand.
“What about the ladder!” she asked.
“Leave it!”
Lights around the block began to flicker on. Shadowy figures peered anxiously through gaps in curtained windows. The two galloped away, enveloped, swallowed and hidden by the surrounding gloom.
*
The first yellow rays of dawn flooded the eastern skyline. A ghostly, silver row of trees emerged out of the low lying mist, which clung to the dark and damp soil. The cab was parked up in a lay-by alongside a van serving refreshments to early morning travellers. The dash away had been swift and noisy but frequent glances behind revealed no one in pursuit.
Eventually, Olivia had dropped asleep in the back, the late hour and the tension of the raid having taken its toll. Start had stopped here and let her sleep on. It gave him the opportunity to look over the stolen file. She would wake soon enough and he might be able to surprise her with Angel’s true identity. He was exhausted and felt himself frequently nodding off. He took the best part of an hour to skim through the hundred or so employment records which covered all the teaching staff as well as the ancillary workers. Listed alphabetically he knew what he was looking for: someone young, female and possibly employed up to the September of 1994. With only twenty females in employment, and most of those on the teaching staff, it was easy to narrow the search down. There were only five women on the support staff and just one fitted Angel’s likely age. The girl had been employed on six occasions during the previous year as a temporary worker, waiting on tables at school events. Her last shift had been at Christmas. There was no mention of her returning to work at the school after that date.
Start paused. He got out of the car and stumbled over to the van. Conversation wasn’t expected or particularly welcomed at that time of the morning so after a few words and a short wait he was soon returning with a box containing two coffees and two bacon rolls. He dropped back wearily into the cab. He tapped on the partition window. Olivia jolted awake to find a coffee thrust firmly at her. Her freezing hand wrapped around it before her gaze focussed on the bacon sandwich now being waved in her face.
“You know I’m a vegetarian.”
“I forgot. Looks like two for me then.”
She snatched it from him. “Now and again I make an exception.” Her teeth eagerly bit into the soft roll. “I’m famished!”
“Didn’t your posh school teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”
“I must have been absent that day. How long have I been asleep?”
“Long enough. You’ve missed out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been through the file.”
Her jaws stopped moving. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. Did you find her?”
He nodded. “Her name’s Alice Keeling.”
Start went on to give the details of her employment contained in the file. He got her to flick through herself, in case he had missed any other likely candidate. But there wasn’t one. It had to be her. But knowing her name was one thing, knowing what had happened to her quite another. There remained the question of a long gap between her final appearance at the school and her discovery wandering alone in the Top Fen. There had to be a connection. After all, why else would Faversham lie and go to such lengths to hide the file?
Still, a name was a name. It was good news and Olivia suggested they share it. “We should ring Thorne. Bring him up to speed. Anyway, the people at Woodlands deserve to know.”
Start scrolled down his contacts. He held the mobile to his ear. He flicked onto speaker phone and to her astonishment, passed the device to her.
“Here. You tell him.”
It rang and rang. There was no answer. She shrugged. “Too early do you think?”
Then an irritated voice barked down the other end of the line. “Yes!”
“Sorry to wake you, Doctor. It’s Olivia. We’ve got some good news.”
“You haven’t woken me, young lady. I’m at the hospital.”
“We think we know who Angel is.”
Thorne’s reply reverberated around the cabin. “Well sorry, but right now I’d rather know where Angel is. She’s disappeared!”
Chapter Eleven
The black cab ground to a halt outside the Woodlands main entrance. Olivia could see Thorne in deep conversation with two police officers just the other side of the main doors. By the time she and Start had climbed the steps, the uniformed men were passing them with just a cursory nod of acknowledgement. Thorne came out to meet them.
“Any news?” Olivia asked.
“No. Not a single sighting.”
“She can’t have gone far.”
“They’re widening the search area just in case.”
He ushered them inside.
“When did you find she was missing?” Start asked.
“Around three o’clock. The nurse does an hourly round. Angel was fast asleep at two, nowhere to be seen an hour later.”
“Any CCTV?”
“Just the one. It covers the main entrance.”
“Has it been checked?” Start inquired.
“Yes. Unfortunately it was broken. A loose wire apparently.” They marched across the foyer and along the main corridor which linked the offices and consultancy rooms with the wards at the rear. The door to Angel’s room was open.
A nurse was rifling through the wardrobe. “The poor lamb’s taken nothing. No coat, no skirt or pants. Not even shoes. She’ll freeze.”
Thorne patted her shoulder gently. “Don’t worry. The police will find her.”
Olivia flopped down onto the empty bed. “At least now we can give her a prope
r name.”
“Yes. Alice Keeling, you say. Well forgive me if I still refer to her as Angel. Force of habit I’m afraid.”
“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “It doesn’t seem right to call her anything else. Not until we’ve found out what happened to her.”
“What else do you know?”
“She lived with her grandfather. He’s named as her point of contact,” Olivia explained.
“At a place called Vermuyden Point. Do you know it?” asked Start.
A puzzled Thorne screwed up his face. “Sorry, never heard of it.”
The nurse turned around. “I have. It’s out in the back of beyond.”
“How did you get this information, Start?”
Thorne’s question was deliberately ignored, with Start turning to inspect the French window. Thorne persisted, “Have you told the police?”
“Not yet,” Start replied. He tried the door handle. “Could she have got out through here?”
“Impossible. Everything’s securely locked down at night.”
“Could anyone have got in?”
“Unlikely. No doors or windows have been damaged.”
Olivia looked surprised. ”What are you suggesting? She’s been kidnapped?”
Thorne guffawed, “That’s preposterous. Who would want to take her? And why would they for heaven’s sake? No, the odds are she’s simply walked out, unseen and unheard.” He peered accusingly at them both. “Unless of course you both know something I don’t.”
“We don’t.” Start paced towards the door. He glanced across at Olivia. “Come on. It’s time we went.”
The nurse began to unhook clothes from the wardrobe rail. “I’ll pack a bag. She’ll need something when she’s found.”
Thorne pointed at the radio beside Angel’s bed. “While you’re at it, get rid of that blessed thing. At least we won’t have to put up with Radio Four blaring away day and night.”
The nurse quietly scolded. “The voices soothe her. They help her settle.”
Thorne followed the two journalists towards the door. “More likely they’re the reason she woke up!”
The nurse suddenly stopped. The pair of Angel’s shoes she was holding dropped to the floor. “Vermuyden Point! I knew it rang a bell. Years ago, there was a fire.”
*
The black cab had barely reversed from its parking slot before Olivia was leaning on the partition window. “Do you really think she was kidnapped?” she asked.
Start slammed down hard on the accelerator. The car grumbled forwards. “It’s possible. Let’s say she managed to leave of her own free will. Surely she would have been spotted by someone.”
“And probably found by now.”
“Exactly. After all she can just about walk. If she did escape, how could she have relocked the door or window she used?”
“Unless she simply walked through the front entrance.”
“The faulty CCTV’s a bit of a coincidence.”
“Do you think Faversham’s got anything to do with it?” Olivia asked.
“Don’t get carried away.”
“But he lied to you.”
“That hardly makes him a kidnapper.”
“Still, we’ve got enough to ask him some very serious questions. We should go and see him,” insisted Olivia.
“And why we’re about it, pop in at the police station and own up to breaking and entering.”
“I was just saying.”
They fell silent.
Olivia watched as Start descended into deep thought.
Had she been able to see him better, had she known him for more than the few fractious months they had shared together, she would have recognised what the serious, somewhat purposeful look on his face signified. Forget the dismissive words. He’d been drawn in, more than he had been by any story since his sacking, and he was roused, not least by the prospect of puncturing the pomposity of that smug headmaster. Most of all, he was afraid, not of what he might find or what would eventually be printed, more of what this could do to him and where it might lead.
Their subsequent visit to the offices of the Eastern Mail proved more pivotal to their investigation than either Start or Olivia could have imagined. Of course, there was the need for Angel’s impromptu disappearance to be publicised. The police were planning a news conference later that day and the paper was poised to help. But the nurse’s recollection of a house fire, lodged deep in her memory because of the tragic coach crash on the same day, intrigued them.
Upon their arrival, Olivia was despatched to the archive, where Paula King waited for her. A large thick volume of back copies of the paper lay open on a desk.
“The sooner these are online the better,” Paula complained. She quickly flipped over several pages. “September, you said.”
Two more sheets flew past Olivia’s intense gaze before the headline hit her:
SEVEN DEAD IN HOLIDAY HORROR
The words blazed above a photograph of a wrecked coach lying on its side at the bottom of a ravine.
“This is the one!” Olivia exclaimed. It was the edition immediately after Angel had been found.
“What’s that got to do with your missing woman?”
Olivia was already turning the page, scanning quickly down, turning again and noting that coverage of the tragedy had consumed the bulk of this particular issue.
Paula shook her head. Start’s manners or lack of them were obviously rubbing off on the poor woman. “Well, put it back when you’re finished, will you?”
“Yes, I will. Thanks.” Olivia drew up a chair and continued to read. It was Page Thirteen before she found what she was looking for:
TWO FEARED DEAD IN COTTAGE INFERNO
What would normally have demanded the front page had been pushed deep into the bowels of the edition, buried amongst advertisements and the minutiae of parish council reports. There wasn’t even a photograph.
In the early hours of Saturday morning two fire engines attended a blaze at a remote cottage near Vermuyden Point. The two known occupants of the building are both missing and are believed to have died in the inferno. Their names will be released by police later this week. Early indications suggest the cause of the fire was a gas leak but investigations are ongoing.
And that was it. There were no further details, no published interviews with the fire crew and no indication of any witnesses. Olivia mused on the fickle nature of “news”, the power the press had to select, shape and direct what became the story and what remained unknown. One royal death or one national disaster would inevitably dominate the output if it occurred on any particular day, leaving several dead donkeys to be ditched, never to see the light of a journalistic day again.
But the police statement, promising the names of the dead, must have led to a follow up piece. She flicked through the next few editions and eventually found it, again consigned to the inside pages and presented more as a sad family tragedy. What she read astonished her.
COTTAGE FIRE VICTIMS NAMED
Today, police released the names of the two victims feared dead in the recent fire at Vermuyden Point. They were named as Alfred Keeling aged seventy six and his granddaughter Alice Keeling aged seventeen. A fire brigade report concluded that the blaze started in the kitchen before igniting gas canisters kept at the side of the cottage. Its relative isolation and the fact that there were no other buildings in the vicinity meant an alarm call only went out after the house exploded. Fire crews were met by a scene of utter devastation, the conflagration consuming the entire structure, its ferocity incinerating everything and everyone within it. It is believed that Mr Keeling was being cared for by his granddaughter, the two living alone in the cottage. There are not thought to be any other family members.
Olivia sank back in her chair. Little wonder Angel was never linked to Alice. Alice was thought to have perished in the fire. And no one had come forward to claim Angel because there was no one. She was living alone with her grandfather. She was his carer. Olivia sighed. Ha
d she also lost her parents? If so, what sort of life had she endured, trapped out in a remote part of this already barren landscape with responsibilities way beyond her years?
She quickly photocopied the two articles and slammed the volume shut. She pushed it back into the empty space on the shelf and, feeling pleased with herself, hurried to find Start. She found him buried at one of the work stations in the newsroom, slumped over a computer. She thrust the articles in front of him and eagerly bombarded him with questions and possible answers.
“Explains why nobody recognised her. I mean I know they kept themselves to themselves but why would anyone know her even if they had seen the newspaper at the time. Her injuries made her unrecognisable. Also it’s unlikely because the paper mainly covered the far end of the Fens away from where the cottage was. Everyone just assumed she was dead. What if she got home late that night saw the fire, completely panicked and wandered off in shock. No, that can’t be right. She was found nearly forty miles away. It would have been impossible for her to walk that far in the time.”
There was no response. It wasn’t that he was disinterested. She knew that glazed look of boredom and impatience that frequently overcame his face when she went off on one of her rants. His mind was elsewhere, absorbed, consumed and simply unable to hear her.
“You’re not listening, are you?”
“Sorry.”
“What is it, Start?”
“Something Thorne said.”
“What?”
“About the radio, the one in Angel’s room”
“What about it? The nurse said it was left on all the time. The voices helped her sleep.”
“Thorne thought differently.”
“You mean about it being the reason she came out of her trance. He was joking!”
Start swung around on the swivel chair. “Okay. But what if she heard something which triggered a memory, a flashback to the night she was found, something which drove her to stand for the first time in years?”
