Blood Harvest

81

AGRIM DETERMINATION SEEMED TO HAVE GRIPPED THE people of the moor. ‘We’ll find him,’ Harry had heard muttered more than once. ‘We’re not losing another one.’
He certainly couldn’t fault the efficiency of the police. DC Andy Jeffries had taken thirty of the more able-bodied men and older boys to the highest point above the town. Once on the top road, they’d spread out and begun making their way down the moor. They were looking for anything unusual, they’d been told: clothes, toys, a shoe, anything that might suggest Joe Fletcher had passed this way. When they reached the bottom of the field they turned west and did the same thing again, heading upwards this time.
The sky had been thick with cloud. Harry didn’t want to think it could be holding snow, but every time he looked up the lump in his chest seemed to harden. Just before eight o’clock a yellow glow in the east told him the sun was trying to make an impact on the day. He couldn’t even give it points for effort. The wind, mercifully, was light, but the day seemed to be getting colder with every half-hour that passed.
So far the search had been fruitless. Thirty heartbeats had gone into overdrive when one of the Pickup collies had started barking at a clump of rocks. The decomposing hind-quarters of a sheep had been pulled out.
*
When they’d been on the moor for nearly two hours and the cold was creeping in through even the thickest coat, they heard the steady, insistent humming of a helicopter. None of the searchers could see it above the cloud, but the rise and fall of the engine volume told them when it was coming close, when it was circling away again. After five minutes, Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to cope with the steady assault on his ears. After ten, it felt as if he’d always had the noise in his head. Fifteen minutes after the helicopter arrived, DC Jeffries blew his whistle.
‘The boss is calling us all down.’ He had to shout to be heard above the drone of the chopper. ‘There’s too many people on the moor.’ He pointed upwards to demonstrate his point. ‘The thermal-imaging equipment hasn’t got a hope,’ he went on. ‘We have to evacuate.’
The party turned and headed down to the town.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Alice was saying. ‘I can’t think of a single thing to say.’
‘Just say whatever’s on your mind,’ said the press officer, a woman in civilian clothing who had been looking after the family since they’d arrived at the constabulary’s headquarters. ‘People will know what you’re going through. This is about letting as many people as possible know that Joe is missing. We want everyone out there looking for him. How are you doing, Tom?’
Tom looked back at her. ‘Fine,’ he said automatically.
She was bending down to him. She smelled of oranges and toothpaste and her green suit was too tight. ‘If anything occurs to you, Tom, feel free to say it,’ she went on. ‘If you have a message for Joe, for example. He may be watching.’
‘Will he?’ Tom turned to his mother. ‘Will he, Mum?’
His mother nodded and Tom felt his throat start to ache.
‘Is it time yet?’ asked Gareth as Tom began taking deep breaths. He couldn’t cry, not on television, not when Jake Knowles might be watching. Except Jake was on the moor, wasn’t he, with his dad and his brothers? Tom had seen them in the church, he’d watched them set off up the road. Jake Knowles was out there right now, looking for his brother.
‘There’s Evi,’ said Alice.
Tom turned round to see Evi wheeling her chair towards them. Funny, he’d always thought of Evi as being pretty. Nearly as pretty as his mum. She didn’t look pretty any more.
‘Vee vee,’ said Millie, from her father’s arms.
‘Evi, thank you for coming,’ said Alice. ‘Do you think you could have Millie? She’ll probably stay with you.’
Evi held up her arms and Gareth put his daughter down gently on to Evi’s lap. Millie grabbed Evi’s hair and started bouncing.
‘It’s time,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton. Where had he come from? He’d been on the moor with the other police. Tom watched him put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready, lass?’
Tom’s parents followed the detective through a door and into a large room. There were lots of people sitting on chairs, facing a long table at the front. Lights began to flash as the family took their seats.
The vestry had become a cafeteria. Minnie Hawthorn and her gang of cron— –sweet, good ladies who were desperate to do anything they could to help – had transformed it. Half a dozen kettles were permanently on the boil. Sandwiches were being made and consumed constantly. They were too old to trawl the moors, the women had told him, as though embarrassed by their own frailty, but they could feed those who did; and they could pray for the little lad.
If Harry stayed near them any longer, he’d scream.
In front of the altar, DI Neasden was explaining why they’d had to temporarily abandon the search. When Neasden finished speaking, he’d be expected to lead more prayers. Harry knew he couldn’t stay in the building.
Outside, the helicopter was still circling. Towards the front of the church, standing a little apart, DCS Rushton was talking to Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw. Since Rushton was back, the press conference must have finished. Spotting Harry, Rushton left the Renshaws and made his way over. Suddenly exhausted, Harry sank on to the stone-table grave behind him. Rushton approached and sat beside him. He had a lit cigarette in one hand.
Harry turned to look at Rushton properly. The police officer wore a thick overcoat over his suit, heavy gloves and a green wool scarf. He’d possibly had even less sleep than Harry.
‘Anything?’ asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be but unable to stop himself asking.
Rushton inhaled deeply on his cigarette. ‘Not so far,’ he said, as smoke billowed around his face. ‘Press conference went well. Young Tom was a bit of a star, had the whole room in tears telling his brother he’d tidied his box of soldiers for him.’
Harry dropped his head into his hands.
‘It was exactly what we needed,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got the whole of Lancashire talking about Joe Fletcher.’
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Dr Warrington. ‘Saturday-morning surgery’s always busy.’
Evi forced her lips into a half-smile. She’d raced to get here after the press conference and had sat in the waiting room, watching squirrels run up and down trees in the garden outside, getting angrier as each patient with a cough or an in-growing toenail, not one of them a genuine emergency, was shown through before her.
‘I’ll have to rush you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We tee off at noon.’ There was a book open on his desk. He closed it and reached to put it on the windowsill behind him. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds.
‘There is a woman in this area who suffers from congenital hypothyroidism,’ said Evi. ‘I need to find her. I think it could be relevant to Joe Fletcher’s abduction.’
Dr Warrington reached over and switched off his computer. ‘Sorry, Dr Oliver,’ he said. ‘You know the rules.’
‘What about up here?’ asked Harry, feeling the smoke of Rushton’s cigarette fill his lungs.
‘Well, the dog handlers went through the church like a dose of salts,’ replied Rushton. ‘Twice. They’ve done the cellars and the churchyard. A couple of times we thought they might have picked something up, but it didn’t lead anywhere.’
‘The boys come into the church quite often,’ said Harry. ‘They were here last Sunday for the service.’
‘Yes, well, that could explain it. We had a bit more luck with the CCTV footage in Blackburn. I’ve just had a call through.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye. I haven’t had chance to tell his parents yet, so keep it to yourself, but the couple we picked up at King George’s were spotted again, getting on a bus in the direction of Witton Park. We spoke to the driver just over an hour ago.’
‘Does he remember them?’
‘Vaguely. He thinks they must have got off somewhere along King Street because they definitely weren’t on board when he approached the park. The bus was just about empty by then.’
‘Any trace of them after that?’
‘Nope. And not likely to be. They could have had a car parked anywhere along that road. The important thing is, this couple haven’t come forward. In spite of their picture being on the news last night and this morning and in today’s Telegraph, nothing.’
‘So you haven’t been able to rule them out?’
‘Quite the contrary. We managed to enhance the image until we could see some sort of sticker on the heel of the child’s shoe. Tom tells us Joe had Spiderman stickers on his trainers. We’ve also been able to pin down the clothes the two of them were wearing. Remember, both were in baseball caps, both wearing oversized coats?’
‘I remember,’ said Harry.
‘Clothes exactly like them can be found in British Home Stores, not half a mile from King George’s. We’ve been through the till receipts and found a transaction of just those four items, almost exactly an hour before Joe was last seen.’
‘Clothes bought specially for the abduction,’ said Harry.
‘It was a cash transaction, sadly, so we’ve no hope of tracing the credit card, but we’re pretty certain now that the couple on camera are Joe and his abductor,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got people working on the image, to see if it can be enhanced any more, but we’re not hopeful. Small man, tall woman, could be either.’
‘The footprint you found in the Fletchers’ house on the night of Millie’s abduction could have come from a small man or a tall woman,’ said Harry.
‘Aye, it could. And given that the film footage showed no sign of Joe struggling, it’s likely he went with someone he knew.’
‘So he could be here after all?’
‘Aye, he could. And I’m happy to be proved wrong as long as we find him in time. I’ve got a team doing a house-to-house search. We’re asking people for permission to take the dogs round their homes. We can’t force anyone, obviously, but so far everyone we’ve asked is cooperating.’
‘How long will it take to get round every house in Heptonclough?’
Rushton sighed. He stubbed out his cigarette on the gravestone and then dropped it on the grass. ‘We won’t manage it today,’ he said. ‘But I’ve put a couple of cars on both roads out of town. Everyone leaving is being stopped and questioned. We’re asking permission to search the boots.’
‘Are people agreeing to that?’
‘If they don’t, we want to know why.’
No, it was not going to end like this. ‘Yes, I know the rules,’ Evi said, trying not to snap. ‘I’ve read them three times in the last twenty-four hours, Dr Warrington, so don’t try quoting them at me. It seems to me that in situations where serious harm may occur to a third party, the doctor isn’t just able to pass on information, he’s obliged to.’
Warrington leaned towards her, locking his fingers together in front of his chin. ‘That refers to passing information to the police,’ he said. ‘Get the officer in charge of the case to come and see me and I’ll see what I can do.’ He was bending down, picking up his bag.
‘There isn’t time for that,’ said Evi. ‘Look, I know I’ve sprung this on you and I’m sorry, but I’ve been up half the night working on this.’
He opened his mouth. She wasn’t giving him a chance.
‘I have neither the time nor the energy to be polite, so here’s the bottom line,’ she hurried on. ‘If you don’t help me and Joe Fletcher dies, I will make certain everyone – the police, the General Medical Council, the media, absolutely everyone – knows about this conversation and that you put rules, not to mention golf, before a little boy’s life.’
Silence in the room. Evi was trembling. For a second, she thought it wasn’t going to work, that he would order her out of the room and make an official complaint to the GMC even before twelve noon tee-off. Then he reached out and switched the computer back on.
‘Right,’ he said, not meeting her eyes. ‘What exactly are we looking for?’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I need to find a patient, most likely under thirty years old, suffering from congenital hypothyroidism.’
Rushton’s phone was ringing. He’d stood up, walking quickly away from Harry, his phone pressed against his right ear. Then he turned back, switching it off as he came back. ‘We’ve had a sighting in Great Harwood,’ he said. ‘Walk with me to the car, Harry.’
They set off, drawing curious glances as they made their way along the churchyard path. ‘A lad answering Joe’s description has been seen going into a house,’ continued Rushton. ‘No children are known to live there and the owner is someone we’ve had our eye on for a while. We’re sure he’s a nonce but we can’t prove it. He’s clever.’
‘And you think he’s got Joe?’ asked Harry, in dismay.
‘I hope so, lad. I bloody well hope so. Because this call came within the hour. If it’s Joe, he’s still alive.’
‘Will you tell Gareth and Alice?’
‘Not till we know anything for certain. We should have a car there in ten minutes. They won’t wait for me.’
They’d reached Rushton’s car. The waiting journalists, spotting the detective chief superintendent and sensing the urgency in his manner, came striding towards them. Rushton jumped into his car before turning back to Harry. ‘If I were you, lad,’ he said, ‘I’d get back into that church and do what you do best.’ The car set off, disappearing from sight as it turned the corner.
Knowing he couldn’t cope with journalists, Harry turned and walked quickly back up the hill. People were starting to leave the church and he realized he hadn’t heard the helicopter for several minutes.
Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw, both dressed for the outdoors, had followed Harry and Rushton out of the church grounds. Standing a little behind them, her eyes flicking up to Harry and then back down again, was Gillian.
‘Any news, Vicar?’ asked Sinclair, as Harry drew close.
Harry shook his head. ‘Nothing yet,’ he said. Had Joe spent the night with a known paedophile? What state would he be in, even if he was alive? No, he simply couldn’t start thinking like that.
Alice and Millie had appeared directly in front of him. Hovering at their side was Jenny Pickup.
‘How are you holding up, Alice?’ asked Sinclair, in a voice that surprised Harry with its gentleness. Alice looked up at the tall man as though he’d spoken to her in a foreign language.
‘Has anyone seen Gareth and Tom?’ she asked.
‘They were on Lower Bank Road about half an hour ago,’ said Gillian, stepping closer. ‘They went on to the old railway line with me and a few others. We wanted to check the Collingway tunnel.’
‘They would have come back when the helicopter began its search, though,’ said Tobias. ‘Alice, I wish you’d come back to our house and rest. It’s too cold for the little one to be out.’
‘You should, Alice,’ said Jenny, taking a step closer to her grandfather. ‘Or at least leave Millie there. Dad’s housekeeper will keep an eye on her. You can’t carry her round on your back all day.’
Alice’s eyes were drifting. ‘Thank you,’ she said, to the nearby lamppost. ‘I need to keep her with me. I have to find Gareth now.’
She turned away. More and more people were coming out of the church now. The search was back on.
‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s nothing else to try.’
Wondering how she was going to find the energy to get out of her chair, Evi nodded her head. ‘I know,’ she admitted.
An hour after John Warrington had agreed to help her search for the mysterious Ebba, they’d been forced to give up. They’d run every search through patient records that they’d been able to think of. Only the records of the last thirty years had been computerized, but Warrington had gone into the practice basement and found several boxes of older records. They’d gone back forty years, knowing the chances of Ebba being older than that were almost non-existent, but although they’d found several people suffering from the condition, all had died. In thirty-four years, no one with congenital hypothyroidism, not even anyone with a goitre, had been registered as a patient. They’d racked their brains trying to think of similar conditions and had run several other searches. At last, they’d been compelled to give up.
‘How sure are you that she lives in this area?’ asked Warrington.
‘She must do,’ said Evi. ‘Someone with that condition couldn’t drive.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ agreed the GP.
‘How can someone like that slip so completely off the grid?’ asked Evi, almost trembling with frustration. ‘Why wasn’t she diagnosed as a baby? Why wasn’t she treated? And why, given all her medical needs, do the local doctors know nothing about her?’
Warrington didn’t reply and Evi pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you missed your game.’
‘I’ll phone our receptionists at home,’ the doctor offered. ‘And a couple who’ve since retired. It’s possible they can remember something, think of something. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.’
‘I’m sinking, Harry,’ said Alice. They’d got as far as the corner of the churchyard and then Alice stumbled. He’d had to reach out to catch her, to stop her and Millie from tumbling to the ground.
‘You’re doing incredibly well,’ said Harry. He put an arm round her shoulders and led her to the wall. Her breathing was too fast. ‘You’re calm, you’re functioning and you’re taking care of your other two children,’ he went on. ‘I can’t imagine what strength that takes.’
‘It’s the worst feeling in the world,’ said Alice. ‘Not knowing where your child is. Nobody can feel like this and stay sane.’
‘You can,’ said Harry, although the truth was he wasn’t sure. He really didn’t like the way Alice seemed unable to focus on anything.
‘I’ll tell you what it’s like,’ she went on, leaning so close to him it felt uncomfortable. ‘It’s like Joe never really existed, that I just imagined him. And now, I really need to see Tom and Gareth because I’ve got this feeling that they’ve gone too. Then I’ll look round and Millie will have disappeared. It’s like someone’s rubbing us out, bit by bit.’
‘Millie is asleep on your shoulder,’ Harry said quickly, realizing that if he stopped talking he might start sobbing. ‘Tom and Gareth are close by, looking for Joe. Alice, look at me.’
She raised her head. He thought perhaps he could have fallen in love with those pale turquoise eyes, had he not already …‘We will find Joe,’ he said. ‘Some time very soon, we’ll find him. I wish I could promise you we’ll find him safe and well, but you know I can’t do that. But one way or another, we will find him. You’ll be able to see clearly again, you’ll be able to grieve, if you have to, and you’ll be able to move on. You’ll never be alone.’
‘Harry, I…’ Turquoise eyes filling with tears. A second pair was staring at him. Millie had woken and was looking at Harry as though she understood every word.
‘You have incredible strength,’ he said. ‘Your family will survive because they have you. You’re its heart. You’re its soul.’
‘I can see why you became a priest,’ said Alice, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘But it isn’t real, is it?’
He thought perhaps the tears were in his eyes, after all. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, although he knew.
‘There’s no faith shoring you up right now,’ said Alice. ‘No direct line to the man upstairs. It’s just you, isn’t it?’
‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s get you both inside.’