“He’s gone. Teddy’s gone. TEDDY!”
This last cry reverberated off the windows and we all listened for any reply, but the only sound was the low hum of some distant traffic and a group of sparrows, chirruping madly in the dusty road. Mr. Charles staggered forward, and Sue ran down her path and put an arm around him. She talked to him as they slowly made their way to number eleven.
“… give the police a call … best to be on the safe side …”
“… could he have got to? I was just in the lounge …”
I watched them go inside, then looked around at all the houses. Everything was still.
At 3:05 p.m. a police car rolled onto the street and Mr. Charles and Sue rushed to the front gate to meet them. Two uniformed police officers got out of the car as Mr. Charles launched into a trembling speech.
“… grandson is missing … mother is in New York … doesn’t know yet … is it day or nighttime there? Do you think I should call?”
A female officer put a hand on his arm and guided him back to the house while the other, older officer said something into his radio.
I went back to my room and looked out at the backyards to see if I could spot Teddy hiding in a bush or, worse, floating facedown in the pond. But there was no sign of him.
Casey was busy beside the half-deflated wading pool. Her hideous doll was propped against the blue lining, its face leaning toward the water as if it were looking for something on the bottom. She skipped back toward the house, and I stepped to one side in case she spotted me. When she reached the patio she turned and ran full speed up to the doll and, with a dirty, bare foot, kicked it in the back. The doll fell forward and made a small splash as it toppled into the pool. Casey stared at the drowning doll for a moment and then reached out and pulled it from the water, cradling it gently in her arms, stroking its hair. I shivered.
“She is one scary kid,” I said to the Wallpaper Lion. I checked my clock. It had been nearly two hours since I had seen Teddy playing with the petals.
“He’s probably hiding in a cupboard or under the bed or something. They’re bound to find him. But then why is the gate open? He wouldn’t have been able to open the latch, would he?”
I looked up at the Wallpaper Lion, who didn’t seem so sure. The urge to wash my hands overtook me and I quickly rushed to the bathroom.
The thin skin between my fingers was beginning to split and the constant washing was making it worse. I splashed some cold water on my face and then I ran the hot tap until it was scalding and started washing my hands. I lost track of how long I was in there.
Back in my room I let my hands drip onto my carpet. That was fine. The water was clean, and this was a much more hygienic way to let them dry—and less painful—than using a towel. The older policeman was walking around Mr. Charles’s garden looking under shrubs and behind bushes as Casey watched him. Sue appeared on the patio.
“Casey, come on inside now, there’s a good girl.”
She hurried the girl along while the officer studied the pond and poked at the water with the same stick that Teddy had used to prod the dead chick just last week. He opened the shed, and even I could see that all that was in there was a lawn mower, a ladder, a few plant pots, a bucket, and some garden tools. He checked around the outside, then unclipped a flashlight from his belt to peer into the dark space underneath. The female officer appeared on the lawn.
“Anything?”
The officer shook his head.
“Nothing inside either. I’m getting a ladder to check the attic. You never know.”
The woman went to the shed and took the ladder out, walking briskly back to the house as the other officer went around the side, talking into his radio.
Back at the front, things had gotten a lot busier. Another police patrol car, its blue light flashing, was just parking outside our house, and a silver Mondeo was just pulling up behind it. Two uniformed policemen emerged from the first and a man and a woman in plainclothes from the second. They all walked to number eleven and straight in through the open front door. Bumps and creaks were now coming from Mr. Charles’s attic, and I imagined the policewoman was crawling around up there, searching all the dark corners.
As I looked outside, my eyes seemed to go blurry—the glass was rippling and vibrating. My chest rumbled as a police helicopter approached from behind Penny and Gordon’s chimney like a giant black-and-yellow hornet. It thundered over the houses, and I rushed to my bedroom and watched it hovering over the backyards.
“This looks serious, Lion,” I said to the piece of wallpaper. “This looks very serious indeed.”
Our doorbell rang and I froze. Mum wasn’t due back for another hour, and anyway, she’d use her key. Peering down from the top of the stairs, I could see a large, black outline of a figure standing on the other side of our frosted glass door. The doorbell rang again, and then the letterbox opened and someone peered through.
“Hello? Can you open up please, it’s the police.”
The flashing blue light of the patrol car swirled around the hallway like an annoying bluebottle fly. I slowly made my way downstairs and opened the door a couple of inches. The helicopter was so loud now it felt like someone was drumming on my ribs.
“Hello there. He told us you might not answer—you not well?”
A skinny policeman with a face like a tomato was standing on my doorstep holding a pad and pen. He practically had to shout to be heard over the noise of the helicopter. Behind him I could see the man who had searched Mr. Charles’s backyard talking to Claudia, who was holding her dachshund, Frankie, under her arm.
“I’m Officer Campen. There’s been a serious incident next door—a little lad has gone missing. Have you seen him at all? Wandering about?”
I shook my head.
“And have you seen anyone around in the area? Anyone acting suspicious?”
I shook my head again.
“Okay, well I need to have a quick check around your backyard. That all right?”
I blinked in the sunlight at the man and then looked down at his large, black shoes.
“Do you think you could go around the side?”
Officer Campen frowned.
“Look, son, let me come through, would you? This is serious.”
I stood back and he pushed the door wide open and thumped his great feet onto our doormat. After giving his shoes a halfhearted wipe, he walked off toward the kitchen and into the conservatory.
“Through here?”
I nodded.
“I’ll need to take a few details down in a minute,” he said and he opened our back door and went outside.
I watched from the entrance of the kitchen as he looked around our shrubs and behind Dad’s runner bean wigwams. The yards were small on our street, so it wouldn’t take long for them all to be searched. After checking down the side of the house where we keep the trash cans and recycling, he headed for the shed. A rake, two tennis rackets, and an old swing-ball pole fell out as he opened the door. Shaking his head, he climbed in over the mess, pulling things out of the way so that he could have a good look.
I took the chance to wash my hands at the kitchen sink, turning the tap on using my elbow. Germs were more widespread down here what with the doors opening and closing and Nigel skulking around wherever he wanted. I could hear the policeman talking into his radio as he headed back to the kitchen, so I quickly shook my hands dry.
“Wow, that’s better. Lovely and cool in here. Your parents at work?”
I nodded.
The policeman scraped out one of our pine chairs and sat himself down while I stayed in the doorway. He frowned at me, clearly noticing I wasn’t coming into the room.
“This is number nine, isn’t it? What’s your name?”
He waited as I watched him wrap each ankle around a chair leg, his dirty soles now thankfully off the floor.
“Matthew Corbin.”
“And how old are you, Matthew?”
“Twelve.”
He looked up from his pad.
“Did you know that your neighbor, Mr. Charles, has his grandchildren staying with him?”