by Ann Cleeves
‘Have you got a description of him?’
‘Nothing different from what I told you last time.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Black jeans, white shirt, newish black leather jacket.’
‘Right. I’ll see you, then.’ He fought his way through the crowd and into the street.
He checked Idols, Forty Second Street and The Big Apple. Occasionally he glimpsed a leather-coated back, dark hair. But when he got a closer view the man was too fat or too young. He only accosted one suspect and he turned out to be a Scot with a Glaswegian accent and a wife called Gillian who’d been hiding in the ladies. Then he went outside and looked in the side streets and the car parks for a red Mazda, thinking he must look dead dodgy. If some woodentop saw him he’d be pulled in on suspicion of nicking cars. Eventually he gave up.
It occurred to him that he should get someone round to the Headland in case Paul turned up there looking for Kim, and even that he should go himself to warn her. She might invite him in. In the end he didn’t do anything. He was supposed to be off duty. He was tired and he was, he realized now, still pissed. All he wanted was to get home without bother and go to bed.
When his mam heard his key in the lock she got up to make him cocoa. He took it to bed with him and swore out loud because she’d forgotten to turn on his electric blanket.
Kim Houghton started on the vodka as soon as she’d put Kirsty to bed. It was a present from a security alarm salesman who travelled abroad a lot with his work. She didn’t usually like drinking alone but tonight she was so fed up that she thought she deserved a treat. She wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. The music from the club would keep her awake. And the thought of all those people having a good time.
Kim watched the late film on the television and then went upstairs. She was standing at the window, about to draw the curtains when she saw a car she didn’t recognize parked on the other side of the street, outside Bella Charlton’s house. Bella’s nephew and his family must have come to visit her at last. It annoyed Kim to imagine the old witch still up, having a party, while she was on her way to bed. Alone.
Chapter Thirty-One
Emma woke with a start to the sound of Brian’s alarm. She’d taken a pill the night before and hadn’t even heard Brian come in. Probably just as well, she thought, looking at him. He scarcely stirred when the alarm went off and the smell of beer and stale cigarette smoke still clung to the clothes he’d folded up on the chair.
She got up to make tea and found that the boys were already out of their rooms. They were sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by string and brown paper. They’d unearthed the kites which Brian had bought and hoped to keep for a surprise until the following day. Owen was looking at the picture on the box.
‘Can we fly them?’
‘Not today. You’ll have to make them first and Dad’s going to work.’
‘He’s not gone to work yet?’
‘No. He’s still in bed.’
When she took a cup of tea to Brian, with the usual couple of paracetamol, they were sitting on the bed. Owen was fixing together lengths of bamboo cane and Brian was propped on one elbow, bleary-eyed, supervising the construction.
‘Dad says we can fly them.’ Owen was triumphant. He’d already got the hang of playing one off against the other.
‘Did you?’ she asked.
Brian shrugged. She could tell he was disappointed but he hadn’t been able to refuse.
‘Do you have to go to work?’ At weekends he didn’t make appointments. It was just a matter of catching up. She held her breath, wondering what she’d do about Mark if he decided to stay.
He hesitated.
‘Yeah, I do. Something important. You know.’
She went downstairs without answering.
After days of gloomy drizzle it was perfect weather for kite flying. The sun was shining and there was a blustery wind. Emma put out a line of washing and the sheets flapped and swooped, so bright in the morning sunshine that they hurt her eyes.
Brian came down. He was wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt and she wondered if he’d changed his mind and decided to stay. It seemed, though, that the pull of business was too great in the end. She watched him drive off with mixed feelings. As the time to meet Mark got nearer she realized she would have been glad of an excuse not to go.
She told the boys firmly that they would have to wait until after lunch to play outside. Claire would be looking after them then. It would be something for them to do. She thought it would be good for Claire too, to wrap up warm and get some fresh air. Constructive play was important and recently the nanny seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for the job. It was almost as if she resented the time she spent with the children.
Emma was already planning how to give Claire the sack. She knew now wouldn’t be a good time. It would be insensitive, to say the least, so close to Kath’s death. But for all sorts of reasons she’d made up her mind that the girl would have to leave.
Claire was predictably grumpy when Emma told her about the plans for flying kites.
‘What about Helen?’ she asked.
‘It’s not cold outside. She’ll be fine in her pushchair.’
‘I’m not sure I can cope with them all. You know what David’s like if he gets in a strop.’
‘Nonsense!’ Emma, who was already irritated by the demands being placed on her by Mark, felt like giving the girl a shake.
‘Where are you off to, then?’ Claire demanded. She watched Emma button her smart coat and take her car keys from the hook on the kitchen wall.
‘I’m meeting a friend for lunch,’ Emma said snootily, implying, Not that it’s any business of yours, anyway.
‘You won’t be back late, then?’
‘No,’ Emma said. ‘I won’t be back late.’
But then, just as she was on her way through the door, the misgivings which had been troubling her all morning made her reconsider. Why did she have to meet Mark? When they were together he was too persuasive. She could say all she wanted on the phone. Ignoring Claire’s curiosity, she turned back into the house.
She took the phone into, her bedroom and pushed the buttons impatiently. The line was engaged. She waited for a couple of minutes and tried again. This time she got through. It rang three times then switched on to his answering machine. She didn’t bother leaving a message. He’d be on his way to the pub. She called goodbye to the children and went out to her car. Whatever Mark had done she couldn’t leave him sitting there, waiting for her.
She drove slowly down Cotter’s Row. At the weekends there were lots of parked cars. Some of them were pulled on to the narrow pavement but still there was only just enough room to get through. As she approached the club she saw Marilyn Howe walking back up the Headland towards her home. She was striding purposefully as she always had done when she walked with her mother, her eyes fixed ahead of her.
Emma arrived at the pub in Puddywell exactly on time. She had expected Mark to be there already. He should have been if he had set off from Otterbridge when she had phoned and he had seemed so insistent when he had arranged the meeting that she had not contemplated that he might be late. But his car was not parked in the road outside and there was no sign of him in either of the bars.
She bought a bottle of mineral water and took it to a table with a view of the road. Sunlight filtered through the dusty window and showed up the grime on the floor. She had dressed carefully for the meeting. Smart clothes always gave her confidence. Now she wished she had worn something more suitable, less conspicuous. The pub was almost empty and the barmaid, a large, jolly girl who seemed scarcely old enough to serve, was inclined to chat.
‘Are you waiting for someone?’
Emma pretended she had not heard and the girl disappeared into a room at the back to make a toasted sandwich for a big man in overalls and wellingtons.
The door opened and Emma turned, her recriminations already prepared, expecting apologies and excuses. But
Mark did not come in. She watched a young couple in black leather, crash helmets under their arms, go to the bar and order drinks. They switched on the juke box and the room was filled with the same repetitive electronic music which had been coming from the club the night before.
Emma stood up and went to the phone. The barmaid had returned to her post and watched her with sympathy. Emma dropped her purse, scattering change all over the floor, retrieved ten pence and dialled. The phone rang. The answering machine switched on. She spoke as much for the watching barmaid as in the hope that Mark would respond.
‘If you’re there, Mark, please pickup the phone.’
The barmaid who had seen her speak, but had been unable to hear the words over the music, smiled.
‘A mix up over times, was it?’ she asked, as Emma returned her glass to the bar.
‘That’s right,’ Emma said.
‘Men! What are they like?’
She sat in her car deciding she would give him ten more minutes. When the time was over she considered driving to his house. Despite everything, she felt concerned for him, responsible even. Then she thought that with three kids, not to mention Brian, she did enough of the mothering thing. She didn’t need Mark as well. She switched on the engine and drove back to the Headland and her children, thinking that perhaps she’d had a lucky escape.
The level crossing was down. The train moved so slowly that Marilyn Howe on full power would have been able to overtake it. At last the lights stopped flashing and she pulled away. In Cotter’s Row an old man was washing his car and she had to sound her horn to make him move his bucket from the middle of the road. He seemed oblivious to everything except the shine of the chrome on his Escort.
She had expected Claire and the children still to be inside. Claire was stubborn and Emma wouldn’t have put it past her to find an excuse not to fly the kites. But as she approached the Coastguard House she saw Owen racing across the grass. The kite was in the air behind him, its tails twisting crazily in the wind. She stopped the car and got out to watch.
‘Having a good time?’ she shouted.
He noticed her for the first time, lost his concentration and stumbled. The kite plummeted to the ground. ‘ Brill,’ he said. She pulled him to his feet.
‘Where’s Claire?’
‘She took Helen into the house. She needed changing.’
‘Is David with her?’
‘I suppose so.’
He began to wind the string clumsily round his fist.
‘We’d better go into find them.’ She didn’t really like Owen being beyond the safety of the Coastguard House wall. ‘Did Claire play with you?’
‘Yeah. She’s not as fit as you, though. She got all red and hot and she only had one go.’
‘Perhaps she needs more exercise.’ Emma felt a superior amusement. She did step aerobics twice a week in Otterbridge Church Hall. ‘Hop in and I’ll drive you the last little way.’
Claire was in the kitchen. She was still flushed and slightly out of breath. She was fastening Helen’s dungarees.
‘You’re back early,’ she said, more peeved than grateful for Emma’s arrival.
‘I said I wouldn’t be late.’
Claire looked at Owen. ‘Where’s David?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I asked you to keep an eye on him while I changed Helen.’
Owen was unconcerned. ‘I know, but he came up with you. For a wee.’
‘Get Owen some juice,’ Emma said to Claire. ‘I’ll see to him.’
They had built a downstairs bathroom next to the utility room so the boys could come in from the garden without carrying mud to the rest of the house.
‘David,’ Emma called. ‘What are you doing?’
There was no lock on the door and she pushed it open. The plastic step which David used to reach the toilet was in its place but there was no sign of the boy.
She told herself to stay calm. She shouldn’t overreact. She went back to the kitchen, then shouted his name up the stairs. There was no reply.
‘When did you last see him?’ she demanded of Claire.
‘About ten minutes ago. Helen was grizzling. I could tell she needed changing. I asked the boys to come in with me but they wouldn’t. I warned you I wouldn’t be able to cope with them all outside.’
Emma knelt down. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke to her son.
‘Are you sure David came into the house?’
‘Not really.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I was flying the kite. I was the only one who could really make it work. It went really high. All the string was unwound. I thought David might like to hold it. He could, if I helped him. But when I turned round he wasn’t there so I thought he must have gone in with Claire.’
Emma stood up and took the baby from Claire. She held Helen tight, trying to control her temper. She didn’t want a scene in front of Owen.
‘Go and look for him outside,’ she said tightly. ‘There’s an old man washing his car in Cotter’s Row. He might have seen something. I’ll search in here.’
For a moment Claire didn’t respond. She went to the fridge and poured Owen a glass of juice. She handed it to him.
‘I expect he’s in the house somewhere, hiding,’ she said. ‘I was in the bathroom, changing the baby. I wouldn’t have heard.’
‘All the same. I’d like you to look outside. Now.’ She couldn’t believe that Claire was being so obstructive. ‘ Please.’
‘All right. I’m going.’ Claire stamped out sulkily.
Emma began her search of the house. There was no immediate sign that David had returned there. His coat had not been thrown on the floor. He had not been rooting through the kitchen cupboards for crisps or chocolate. She moved methodically from room to room, praying for an explosion of sound, an upturned chair, a cry of boo. Owen followed her. They walked in silence. Emma opened cupboard doors and looked under beds. When she was convinced David wasn’t in the house she returned to the kitchen. She sat Owen on her lap.
‘Can you remember anything which might help?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice normal, unflurried.
He shook his head and began to cry.
Until now Emma had been able to believe that this was one of the regular scares she inflicted on herself. If she lost sight of Owen for a moment in a supermarket or he was the last to come out of playgroup she convinced herself that some harm had come to him. It had become an automatic anxiety, a superstitious way of warding off danger. Now she knew that the danger was real. When Claire appeared back at the kitchen door Emma looked up at her without hope.
‘You didn’t see him?’
‘No,’ Claire said. ‘No one’s seen him.’
‘I’ll phone the police, then.’ It was a relief to have something to do. She dialled 999. Later she phoned Brian at the office but there was no reply.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The police set up a roadblock just beyond the level crossing. Brian Coulthard saw it on his way home but nobody stopped him. The two officers standing in the sun weren’t interested in cars coming on to the Headland, only those on their way off.
Ramsay sent Sally Wedderburn to wait with Emma Coulthard at the Coastguard House. At first she’d objected.
‘I’ve had nothing to do with the child abductions since I joined the murder team.’
‘Don’t you think this is connected with the murder?’ he asked, as if he were surprised she’d not worked it out for herself. She hadn’t liked to ask what he meant.
Still she’d been reluctant to go. She and Emma Coulthard hadn’t exactly hit it off when they first met and this support role wasn’t really her thing. She wasn’t much good at comforting conversation and endless cups of tea, letting the kids play with her radio and climb all over her lap. All the same she supposed it was an opportunity of a sort.
When she got there Emma Coulthard hardly seemed to recognize her. The woman was sitting on a stool in the kitchen. She
was very upright and her face had a hard, sculpted look caused by all the muscles tensing through an effort of will. Sally realized she was afraid that if she relaxed for a minute she’d break down. She had the other children to think of. Sally admired that.
‘Is there any news?’ Her voice was controlled too.
Sally shook her head. ‘Not yet. They’ve put a road block down by the level crossing. They’re stopping all the cars.’
‘It’s too late. He’d been gone twenty minutes when I phoned you.’
‘Not necessarily. There’s been a convoy of trains to the power station this afternoon. The crossing’s been down for a lot of that time. Besides, it’s not certain yet that David’s been abducted, is it? You said he was the sort to run away. We’ve a team searching the shore. There are plenty of places he could be playing. And the roadblock’s there as much to ask for witnesses as anything else. People visiting the Headland might have seen him.’
‘Yes.’ The logic of the reply seemed to reassure her. ‘Yes, I see.’
‘Where’s your nanny? We’ll need to talk to her.’
‘I sent her home. I know it’s not really her fault but I was afraid I’d have a go at her. Say something I might regret later. We need someone to blame, don’t we, at a time like this? Besides ourselves, of course.’
Then she did seem about to break down, but the door opened and Brian Coulthard came in. He ran across the floor towards his wife. His black shoes were very shiny and Sally thought he moved like one of the ballroom dancers who take part in Latin American competitions on the television late at night. He took Emma up in his arms, and held her while she sobbed out the story.
Sally mumbled something about having to call the office and wandered through to the living room where a small body sat forlornly on the floor. She let him press the buttons on her radio and talk for a moment to Inspector Ramsay, who was waiting for news at the police station.
