Blood Harvest

80

HARRY TURNED FROM EVI TO SEE MINNIE HAWTHORN AND one of her friends at the entrance to the churchyard. Their eyes seemed to peel him like a vegetable as he walked towards them, taking in his creased clothes, his unshaven face.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, wondering where he was going to find the energy to be polite to small-minded, nosy old crones, who were probably only here because they were enjoying the drama unfolding on their doorstep.
‘Vigil, was it, Vicar?’ asked Minnie, her eyes travelling to his feet and then up again.
‘Something like that,’ agreed Harry.
‘Church open?’ asked her friend.
Behind him, Harry heard Evi’s car engine start. He nodded.
‘We’ll help ourselves then,’ said Minnie. ‘Sort you out with breakfast in a minute, Vicar.’
Harry turned just as Evi drove past without even glancing his way. Stanley Hargreaves, another of his parishioners, was walking down towards them with two other men. Then a Land Rover appeared from the moor road and pulled up outside the butcher’s shop. Jenny and Mike Pickup sat in the front. Lights flickered on inside the shop. Dick Grimes and his son appeared from a rear door and came out into the street.
‘They won’t wait for the police,’ said Minnie’s companion. ‘They’ll start just as soon as you’ve finished prayers.’
‘Prayers?’ said Harry.
‘Prayers for the little lad,’ said Minnie, taking his arm and leading him towards the church. ‘For his safe return. Come on, Vicar, you seem a bit dopey, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you need a cup o’ summat hot inside you.’
Evi wiped her eyes as she drove round the corner and could no longer see the church in her rear-view mirror. They filled again in seconds. Gillian was standing outside the front door of her flat. As their eyes met, Evi took her foot off the accelerator and the car slowed down. But she couldn’t stop – what on earth would she say? She put her foot down again and the car shot forward.
Was Gillian planning to join the search? I’ve spent years walking over the moors, I know all the best hiding places. She certainly wasn’t dressed for it, in a thin denim jacket and high-heeled boots.
A sudden vision filled her mind of a small boy’s body, lying under a hedge. The collies would sniff it out, probably even before the police dogs arrived, and it would all be over.
Stop it. Stop it. It’s not over.
She looked at the clock. Saturday-morning surgery ran from ten a.m. to twelve noon. John Warrington was the GP on duty today. The press conference started at ten and would probably run for around forty minutes. It would be tight, but do-able. There was time. It wasn’t over.
So why couldn’t she bloody well stop crying?
The church hadn’t been empty since before dawn. Within half an hour of Evi’s departure, Harry had been fed bacon sandwiches and strong coffee and was holding an impromptu service for the search party. Someone had cleared away his makeshift bed of the night before. Someone else had told him not to bother with robes; in the circumstances, jeans and a sweater would do just fine.
Five minutes after he started, the building was nearly full. Most people had just remained standing at the back and down the sides, as though they could spare the time to pray, but not the time it would take them to sit down. After eight minutes, the police arrived, filing in silently at the back.
Sinclair and Christiana Renshaw entered through the vestry door and took their usual pew. Gillian slipped in behind the police and stood, shivering, at the back. He could see people starting to get fidgety. A movement in the gallery caught his eye. Gareth and Tom Fletcher were standing there. A second later, Alice joined them, with Millie in a rucksack on her back. The family was due to make a television appeal for Joe’s safe return later in the morning. Until then, they weren’t wasting any time. Harry closed his book.
‘Let’s go and find Joe,’ he said. He was the first to leave the building.