Blood Harvest

57

‘SO WHERE DO YOU THINK THE CHILDREN WERE PLANNING to go last night, Mrs Fletcher?’
‘That’s assuming they were planning to go anywhere,’ Harry jumped in, before Alice could open her mouth. ‘According to Tom, he was trying to rescue his sister.’
Evi watched the blonde social worker look down at the notepad on the kitchen table, gathering her thoughts. ‘Yes,’ the woman said, after a second. ‘From this mythical little girl of his.’ She looked up again at Alice. Her lips were a bright, glossy pink. ‘Have they ever tried to run away before?’ she asked.
‘Again, assuming they were running away,’ said Harry. ‘In my experience, children don’t run away in the middle of the night, especially when it’s pissing it down with rain. They go in the day, usually when they’ve been told they can’t have any sweets or have to tidy their bedrooms, and they rarely get further than the corner of the street.’
‘Exactly how much experience do you have of children running away, Mr Laycock?’ asked the social worker. Evi raised her mug to her lips to hide a smile. This was as far from a laughing matter as it was possible to get, and yet there was something about Harry in pugilistic mode that tickled her.
‘Does anyone want more coffee?’ asked Alice. Nobody answered her. Four mugs sat on the table in front of them. With the exception of Evi’s, which was occasionally being used as a screen, none appeared to have been touched.
The kitchen door opened and Joe appeared. Everyone turned to him.
‘Mummy, I need a wee,’ he said, glancing curiously from one grown-up to the next. His lips twitched in a faint smile when he saw Harry. Alice stood up. ‘Stay downstairs, poppet,’ she said, indicating the door to the rear of the room. ‘Can you squeeze behind Harry?’
‘I want to get my remote-control Dalek,’ answered Joe, not moving from the doorway. His mother shook her head.
‘Not till the policemen have finished, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Is Millie OK?’
‘She’s building a tower with Tom,’ answered Joe. ‘With firewood.’
‘Oh good,’ muttered Alice, as Joe turned and left the room.
‘The upstairs of our house is still officially a crime scene,’ said Alice, to no one in particular. ‘I haven’t been allowed in Millie’s room today. I’ve had to dress her in Joe’s clothes.’
‘They haven’t found any evidence of this so-called break-in then,’ said the social worker. Hannah Wilson, she’d introduced herself as, arriving just seconds after Harry and Evi had knocked on the door of the Fletchers’ house. She was in her early thirties, on the plump side and with generous breasts squeezed inside a low-cut, tight-fitting sweater. A long, single chain of stones lay against her breast bone, emphasizing the depth of her cleavage. For nearly twenty minutes now, Evi had been waiting to see Harry’s eyes fall to it. So far, he’d managed to resist.
‘Alice’s husband’s keys were missing,’ Harry pointed out.
‘Keys go missing all the time,’ answered Hannah. ‘You’ll need a bit more than that if you’re going to prove attempted child abduction.’
‘How about two unidentified bodies in the mortuary at Burnley General?’ said Harry. ‘Both pulled out of the Fletchers’ back garden last night. Sorry to be so blunt, Alice.’
Alice shrugged her shoulders and glanced over at Evi. Evi half smiled back, knowing she ought to try and rein Harry in a little. A visit from Social Services was standard procedure following any incident when police were called out and children deemed at risk. If Harry pissed this woman off, it could turn personal. Hannah Wilson might start flexing her own muscles and the Fletcher family would find themselves caught in the middle.
‘Well, we don’t know at this stage whether what the police are investigating outside had anything to do with the family here,’ said Hannah. ‘In the meantime, my sole concern is for the welfare of the children.’
‘So is mine, actually,’ interrupted Alice.
‘And you have to admit Tom’s story doesn’t quite stack up.’ The social worker looked from Harry to Alice to Evi, as if daring one of them to challenge her. ‘Tom’s face is quite badly bruised. If I understood you properly, Mrs Fletcher, he says he got it when the little girl, who was running away with his sister, kicked him.’
‘That’s what he told me,’ said Alice.
‘But from what I understand from his earlier descriptions of the girl, she doesn’t wear shoes.’
Nobody spoke. Evi dropped her eyes to the table, mentally kicking herself for not spotting that first. The kitchen door opened again. It was Tom this time, the purple bruise vivid against the pale skin over his cheekbone.
‘Mum, Millie’s spilled her juice on the sofa,’ he said. Alice sighed and started to get up.
‘I’ll do it,’ offered Evi, rising and picking up a dishcloth. ‘You finish up here, Alice. I’m sure Mrs Wilson must be nearly done by now.’
Evi followed Tom into the living room. She could hear heavy footsteps moving around upstairs and people talking in low voices. Joe was at the far end of the room, peering around the drawn curtains to see what was happening in the garden outside. Millie, looking impossibly cute in a pair of denim dungarees that had been rolled up at the ankles, waved a stick of kindling wood at her and nearly tumbled backwards into the empty fireplace. Tom rushed forwards and caught her before her head could bang against the hearth.
‘Hi, cutie pie,’ said Evi, when the toddler was safely on her feet again. The little girl appeared to have been crying. The skin around her eyes looked red and sore. ‘Where’s this sticky mess?’ Evi asked.
‘Der,’ said Millie, indicating the middle sofa. Evi found the juice and ran the damp cloth over the seat. She could feel Tom’s eyes on her.
‘How are you feeling now, Tom?’ she asked. ‘Still tired?’
Tom shrugged. ‘Who’s that woman?’ he asked. ‘Is she a doctor, like you?’
Evi shook her head. ‘No, she’s a social worker. She’s here to find out what happened last night and make sure you and Joe and Millie are OK.’
‘Do I have to talk to her?’
Evi perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Do you want to talk to her?’ she asked.
Tom thought for a moment, then shook his head.
‘Why not?’ asked Evi, noticing that Millie was watching the conversation, her gaze going from one speaker to the next as though she understood every word. Over at the window, Joe had gone quite still.
Tom shrugged again and dropped his eyes to the pile of firewood on the carpet.
Evi stared at him for several seconds, then made a decision. ‘Why have you never told me about the little girl, Tom?’ she asked. Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I know you showed me her photograph last night, but you didn’t tell me who she was.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Evi could see Joe at the window. He wasn’t peering through the gap in the curtains any more, he’d turned to look at them. ‘Is it because you think I wouldn’t believe you?’ she continued in a soft voice.
‘Would you?’ asked Tom.
‘I spend a lot of time talking to people,’ said Evi. ‘And I can usually tell when they’re lying. They give themselves away in all sorts of little ways. I’ve watched you closely when we’ve been talking, Tom, and I don’t think you’re a liar.’ She let herself smile, which really wasn’t difficult when you looked at Tom. ‘I think you’ve told me the odd little fib now and then, but most of the time you don’t lie.’ Tom was holding eye contact. ‘So if you tell me all about this little girl, and if you tell me the truth, I’ll know.’
Tom looked over at Joe, then down at Millie. Both stared back, as though waiting for him to begin. Then he started to talk.
‘She’s been watching us for a while now,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, it’s like she’s always there …’