by Ann Cleeves
Occasionally Perez walked ahead so that Daniel wasn’t with him, and then the parents’ response was sometimes rather different, a little dismissive: ‘Isn’t Christopher the daft one that sets fires?’ one man said. ‘I heard he was always running off.’
Before the end of class, Perez left Daniel in the playground and went into the school. The head teacher was waiting for him just inside the door. He held out his hand to her, but for a moment the smell of bleach and floor polish took him back to his own school days. On the walls of the corridor leading to the classrooms were children’s paintings. Splashes of colour against the grey-painted walls, lit by the sunshine that still streamed through the glass door that led to the yard.
‘I haven’t told them anything’s wrong yet,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to make them anxious.’
Perez thought she didn’t want to believe that a child in her care had vanished. If she told the children, she’d be forced to believe it, but she was still hoping for a miracle.
‘Was anyone on playground duty?’
‘One of the classroom assistants, but she’s new, only started last week. I have spoken to her, but she didn’t see anything.’ Now she was sounding defensive. ‘Christopher’s a very bright boy. He could run rings round most of the adults I know. If he was determined to slip out of the yard without anyone noticing, he’d do it.’
‘How many classes are there in the school?’
‘Three.’ The head teacher took a breath, seemed to realize it was time to accept the inevitable. ‘Shall we start with the youngest? I’ve told my colleagues to keep the kids in until we’ve had a chance to talk to them.’
The early-years classroom had been tidied for home-time. There was a lid on the sandpit and the picture books had been replaced in their box. A dozen children sat cross-legged on a mat in front of a motherly woman, perched on a chair that seemed far too small for her. She’d just been reading a story. She looked up when Perez and the head teacher came in. ‘Now, everyone, this gentleman would like to ask you some questions. Listen carefully because it’s very important.’
Perez sat on the corner of a table, so he was nearer their level. ‘Does everyone here know who Christopher Fleming is?’
Hands shot into the air. Eyes were bright. In a school of this size, this was a question nobody could fail to answer.
‘Good.’ The hands went down. The cocky kids were disappointed that they hadn’t been given the chance to show off their knowledge. ‘Now Christopher’s gone missing. Did anyone see him at break time?’
But it seemed the younger children had their own yard so they wouldn’t be intimidated by the rowdy eleven-year-olds. Nobody here had seen Christopher since the start of the school day.
Ellie Fleming sat at a round table close to the front of the next class, beside Kate Moncrieff. Again Perez was introduced, and again he asked if anyone had seen Christopher at break. ‘What about you, Ellie? Did Christopher tell you where he might be going?’
He crouched next to her, so she could answer without the rest of the class hearing. But she shook her head. ‘Christopher likes secrets. He doesn’t tell me anything.’
‘Does he have a secret at the moment?’
‘He said he did.’ Now she seemed unsure or unwilling to commit herself. Scared, perhaps, to look foolish in front of her friends.
‘When did he tell you that he had a secret?’
‘When we were in the car on the way home from the beach.’ She looked up at Perez. ‘But I don’t know what it was. I was very sleepy. Even if he told me, I don’t remember.’
Perez stood up. ‘Anyone else see Christopher at break today?’
The kids looked at each other, but no hands went up here. It seemed that the head teacher was right and, once Christopher had made up his mind about something, he could run rings round them all. He could even make himself invisible.
Christopher’s class teacher was a newly qualified male teacher. He wore a little black beard, a striped shirt and jeans. He called the children ‘guys’. Becky, Christopher’s support teacher, was in the room too and she seemed to be the person keeping order. Christopher’s disappearance was common knowledge here and was causing excitement and chatter. Perez heard one boy talking earnestly about alien abduction.
‘Quiet!’ Becky banged on a table. ‘This is important. The inspector has some questions for you.’
Like a warped echo behind her, the class teacher mumbled, ‘Come on now, guys.’
There was an expectant silence that made Perez feel suddenly nervous, a performer just about to take centre-stage. ‘Did anyone see Christopher Fleming at morning break?’
A hand went up. Perez had never seen the boy, but his likeness to Robert Moncrieff was so obvious that he knew him at once. ‘You’re Sam, right? And you saw Christopher this morning at playtime?’
‘Kind of. He followed me out into the yard. Then I went off to play footie and I didn’t notice him after that.’ A pause. ‘He wasn’t really into games.’ A couple of boys in the back row sniggered. This, it seemed, was an understatement.
‘Did Christopher say anything to you as he followed you out of class?’
‘No, we weren’t close mates or anything.’ Sam seemed anxious to emphasize this. Perez thought Christopher must have a lonely time at school, if everyone made an effort to distance themselves from him. ‘But he had his bag with him and his lunch box, and that seemed kind of strange. I mean, it wasn’t lunchtime and we were just going out to play. Why would you need all that stuff?’
‘Did you ask him what he was doing with it?’
Sam Moncrieff shook his head. ‘No, Christopher did weird things all the time.’
There were more sniggers in the back row. Becky glared at the culprits. ‘You know what I think about people in this class who are deliberately unkind. And it’s unkind to laugh at Christopher, even when he’s not here. I won’t stand for it.’
Her disapproval was echoed by another mumbled offering from the class teacher. The boys fell silent and Perez turned back to Sam Moncrieff.
‘Did Christopher say anything to you about a secret?’
The boy shook his head. The children were getting restless now and Perez could see that he’d get nothing more useful from them.
‘Off you go then. If you remember anything, or if you’d like to talk to me in private, ask your parents or your teacher to give me a call.’ There was a sudden outburst of sound: chair legs being scraped against the floor, shouts and laughter, and they chased outside. Christopher’s disappearance didn’t seem to have disturbed them at all. Perez wondered why that was. If the boy had run away before, then perhaps, like the father who’d been so dismissive in the yard, they’d become used to it. Or perhaps it was because Christopher was so different that they struggled to feel empathy; they couldn’t imagine him scared and alone.
Daniel was waiting for Perez outside. The yard was almost empty; the last straggling carers led their children away.
‘Anything?’ The man had been leaning against the wall as if he was exhausted. His eyes were fixed on Ellie, who was playing on a climbing frame in the far corner.
‘I don’t think Christopher was snatched,’ Perez said. ‘It sounds as if he planned to run away.’ He explained about the lunch box and the bag. ‘And he must have made an effort to slip away unseen. I think he most probably hid indoors somewhere, when the bell was rung for the end of break, and left when the youngest children were making their way inside. This isn’t a huge space. Otherwise someone would have seen him go.’ He paused. ‘Can you think where he might be? Are there any special places where he might go? Somewhere safe, if the murders and finding the shoes on the beach had disturbed him?’
‘Really his safe place was always his bedroom,’ Daniel said. ‘With his computer. Watching the same cartoons, playing the same games.’
‘Has anything happened at home? Anything that might make it not seem so comfortable?’
‘No! Things haven’t been brilliant between H
elena and me, but the situation’s getting better. If anything, we’re all more relaxed and the kids seem more settled.’ Daniel called to Ellie and she ran towards him and took his hand. He lifted her into his arms and held her very tight.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Willow sat with Helena in her sunny kitchen and thought that losing a child – certainly to have a child disappear in this way – must be one of the worst things that could happen to a mother. It would be the not knowing and the guilt. You would run scenarios round in your head, wilder and wilder scenarios if you had any imagination at all, and that would drive you mad. Helena was sitting quite still, but Willow believed that her mind was racing. This was a woman who was creative; she had a lot of imagination.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ Willow said. At least if Helena was making drinks for them she might be distracted for a moment. ‘Would you mind?’
Helena got to her feet, switched on the kettle, pulled out mugs and spoons. ‘Shouldn’t we be doing something? I mean something useful.’
‘Someone needs to be here in case Christopher comes back. You wouldn’t want him turning up to an empty house.’
Helena seemed satisfied with that, at least for a while. She made the tea and passed a mug to Willow.
‘Are you up to answering a few questions?’
‘Of course. Anything!’
‘How was Christopher this morning? He’d been upset by finding Emma’s shoes on the beach at Burra on Saturday night, but he’d had a day at home to get over that. Or was he still upset?’ Willow set down her mug.
‘He seemed OK on Sunday. We had a lazy day, because Saturday had been pretty active and the kids were late to bed. But last night he was unsettled again. He was still awake past midnight. I heard him pacing and I went into him. This morning he was already up when I went in to wake him and he said he hadn’t been asleep at all.’
‘Was that unusual?’ Willow asked.
‘Kids on the autistic spectrum often have problems sleeping, but if it was true he’d been up all night, that was extreme even for Christopher.’ Helena twisted her own mug in her hands. ‘I should have asked him what was worrying him. I just gave him a hug and told him to go back to bed.’
‘And he didn’t give you any idea what was troubling him?’
‘No.’ Helena paused. ‘I think he’d been on Facebook looking at old photos. There was one that Daniel had posted. I hadn’t even seen it when it first went up. Too busy. Probably away pitching for work. Anyway, Christopher had printed it out.’
‘Christopher has a printer in his room?’
‘Yeah, an old one of Daniel’s that wasn’t working properly. Christopher sorted out the glitches. He’s very tech-savvy.’ Helena looked up and gave a grin that disappeared immediately. ‘Not so savvy when he comes to reading people. He takes them on trust. If someone invites him to get into their car for a lift, he’ll accept. Even though we’ve told him it would be a mistake.’
Willow touched her hand. ‘Here, you know it probably wouldn’t be a mistake. It would be someone being kind.’
‘So, where is he? Who’s taken him?’
Willow didn’t answer. ‘Tell me about the photo that seems to have caught his attention.’
‘Daniel must have taken it. I remember the occasion. We had a barbecue. It wasn’t very long ago. The whole Moncrieff family came along and I invited Emma too. Being selfish, I thought another adult would be a good idea to help out with all those kids. I didn’t realize then that Daniel had become obsessed with her. She’s there with Robert and Belle, along with the children. The thing is, she was wearing that dress. The yellow one she was wearing when she died. And she was wearing the yellow shoes.’ Helena paused. ‘Perhaps that was why Christopher felt the need to print it out.’
‘Have you still got the photo?’
‘Yeah, it was in his room. I found it when the school first phoned to say he was missing. I went upstairs to check that he hadn’t come back here.’ Helena was already running out of the room to fetch it.
As soon as she had gone, Willow was on her feet too, looking at the notices pinned to the fridge with puffin-shaped magnets, leafing through a pile of paper on the work bench. She came up with nothing interesting and felt shabby when Helena returned.
Helena put the picture on the table between them. The quality wasn’t terrific, but good enough to make out all the individuals. Martha and Charlie, super-cool, lounging on one elbow, turned slightly towards each other. Teenage-moody. Martha in her usual black – leggings, tunic, Converse sneakers. Charlie was all in white, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbow. He looked as if he’d come straight from cricket practice. Did they play cricket in Shetland? Willow made a mental note to ask Perez. In any event, the contrast between the siblings was striking and Willow wondered if the teenagers were aware of the look they’d created, or even if they’d planned it. Behind them stood Robert and Belle; Belle had her head turned slightly to one side, as if something going on in the garden had caught her attention.
Then there was Emma, with her heavily made-up cat-like eyes. She was sitting on a rug with her legs to one side. Wearing the yellow dress that made her look like a Fifties film star. And the patent-leather yellow shoes that were already in the Hutton Institute in Aberdeen, waiting for analysis. She was smiling towards the person who was taking the picture.
‘Did you take this?’ Willow asked
‘No, like I said, it must have been Daniel.’
Of course it was, Willow thought, because the smile was seductive and who else could the photographer have been?
She stared again at the photo, this time giving all her attention to the teenagers, who could have been models in some arty ad, and to the younger children gathered around them. Christopher’s face was unusually full of expression. Clearly, he didn’t mind being there. He looked not just happy but rapt, totally engaged.
‘This is a lovely picture of Christopher.’ Willow slid it back across the table towards Helena.
‘Isn’t it?’ She seemed less tense now.
‘It looks as if he was in a particularly good mood that day.’
Helena looked at it again, more closely. ‘That would have been the barbecue. I explained before, he loves fire. It was the same when we lit the bonfire in Burra. He becomes almost entranced.’
‘Why do you think this photograph kept him awake all night?’
‘I’m not sure that it did. He could have been worrying about something altogether different and gone onto the computer for a distraction. That’s what we all do when we’re anxious, don’t we? We try to distract ourselves.’ Helena put her head in her hands.
‘What else might he do?’
‘He reads. Crime fiction mostly. Books that are probably far too old for him. He started with Agatha Christie when he was about nine, but now he loves the forensics stuff. He watches endless reruns of CSI on TV.’
Willow didn’t think this was the time to talk about the CSI effect, or the fact that juries were failing to convict because real-life forensic science was nothing at all like television. She looked again at the picture and a possible explanation for Christopher’s disappearance began to form in her mind. She was about to suggest more tea when her phone went. A number she didn’t recognize. She hit the reply button.
‘Is that Inspector Reeves?’
She knew the voice. ‘Magnie. How can I help you?’
‘I heard Christopher Fleming’s gone missing.’
‘Yes.’ A flutter of hope. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that, and it probably won’t make any difference. But I wanted to talk to you. About that night when we had the beach party. When I was there with Emma. I didn’t tell you everything.’
‘Are you at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be there. Five minutes.’
She ended the call and was aware of Helena staring at her. ‘Was that news? Have they found Christopher?’
‘Not yet. But it
might be something that could help. I’m going to leave you with Sandy. You know Sandy, the young officer from Whalsay. And I’ll be back soon.’
Driving down the track towards Deltaness felt like an act of desertion.
Lottie was standing at her window and watched as Willow approached her nephew’s house. She gave a little wave, but didn’t seem at all curious to know why the detective was there. Magnie was waiting for her and answered the door before she had time to knock.
‘This is probably a waste of your time.’ He led her into the overfilled living room. Signs of Margaret’s absence were already showing, in the stained coffee mug on the windowsill, the empty beer cans in the wicker bin.
‘It’s obviously been troubling you.’ Willow thought he’d been holding something back since the first time she’d met him. She paused for a beat. ‘Is it something to do with where you were on the night your mother died?’
He shook his head. ‘No! That was just like I told you.’ His voice impatient, but defensive too.
‘So what is it, Magnie?’
‘It was when I heard the boy was missing, I thought it might help. That I’d feel like shit if it turned out to be important and I hadn’t spoken about it.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘It’s about the night the boy from Hesti wandered into the middle of the beach party.’
‘I remember,’ Willow said. ‘He got very upset and you kindly took him home.’
‘Things got ugly that night. I don’t know, it was the drink maybe. But the kids were all jeering and calling him names. Chanting.’
‘What did they call him?’
Magnie shook his head and for a moment she thought he would refuse to answer. ‘Retard,’ he said at last. ‘Ignorant stuff like that. It was a kind of madness. The crowd thing. Then they started shouting something else.’
This time Willow knew she didn’t need to prompt him. He would tell her in the end.
‘Hangman,’ he said. ‘They called him “hangman”.’
‘I can see why he’d be upset. His father had found Dennis Gear hanging in their property not long before, but I’m not sure what this might have to do with two murders, or Christopher running away.’
