Cry of the Children (25 page)

‘No. I never saw Lucy on Saturday night.'

Hook went on as if he hadn't spoken. ‘And did you in fact seize Lucy, on the blind side of the roundabout where Matt Boyd could not see you, and whisk her away into the woods?'

‘No! I didn't see Lucy on Saturday. The last time I saw her was a fortnight ago!' Dean strove to make it sound convincing, but the words seemed too simple and too bland for his purpose.

Hook's voice was quiet, understanding, but relentless. ‘Didn't you in fact bundle Lucy into the van and take her away from Matt Boyd, the man you resented being in your bed and in your position as Lucy's parent?'

Dean felt very weary. He'd hardly slept since the weekend and he had given the plastering all his energy and all his concentration this morning. It felt now that it would be so much easier to agree with this sympathetic, persuasive voice and let these older men have their way. It took an effort for him to say jadedly, ‘No. I didn't see Lucy at the fair on Saturday. I keep telling you that.'

‘You do indeed, Dean. But you kept telling us that you'd come to Oldford on your bike that night, until we forced you to admit otherwise. We're deeply sorry about Lucy, but if you know anything about her death, you had much better tell us about it here and now.'

Here and now sounded very persuasive to the man on the other side of the table and the recorder. But he said doggedly, ‘I don't know anything about my poor Lucy. I just want you to get to whoever killed her. Can I go now?'

‘Not just yet, Dean. You were out in your van last night. At least we've agreed on that, this time. Were you in Church Lane in Oldford?'

‘No. I didn't go more than a couple of miles from Ledbury.'

‘Do you know Bartram House?'

‘Yes. It's at the end of Church Lane. It's a home for children who are taken into care. I wish my Lucy had been in care. She'd have been safe then.'

‘Perhaps she would, Dean. But Raymond Barrington was in care, and he wasn't safe, was he? Do you know where Raymond is, Dean?'

‘No. I didn't take him and I don't know where he is.'

‘Did you put him in that little van and take him somewhere secret, Dean? Somewhere you'd taken Lucy, perhaps?'

‘No! I didn't take him and I didn't take Lucy. Why can't you believe me?'

‘It's our job to ask these questions, Dean. Sometimes we believe what people say, sometimes we don't. But we have to go on asking the questions until we are sure about the truth.'

It sounded very convincing in his exhausted ears. He nodded, his eyes shut, his hands clasped together on the table in front of him.

Hook said, ‘Did you come here this afternoon in Mr Lewis's van?'

Dean nodded again, feeling that if his eyes opened they would see only fear in them, that if his mouth opened they would hear only uncertainty in his words.

‘Our forensic team is already on site. I'd like them to have a quick look at that van before you go.'

Dean Gibson nodded hopelessly, giving the consent he was in no position to withhold.

Hook glanced at Lambert, received his nod of consent and said, ‘If you come with me, Dean, I'll get you a large mug of tea and a sandwich from our canteen. You look as if you need them.'

I
t was almost dark when the monster came back. Raymond Barrington woke with a start of fear as he heard the vehicle reversing outside the window.

There was very little light left in the sky. That meant it must be about seven o'clock, he thought. He scrambled hastily off the bed as he heard the key turn in the lock. Seconds later, the room blazed with light and the monster stood in the doorway, looking at him fiercely. Perhaps it was trying to assess what he had been doing during the long hours in which he had been left. Raymond blinked his eyes, dazzled by the sudden light. He could see only nose and eyes between the scarf the monster had wrapped around its face and the cap above it.

That nose was now wrinkled in distaste. Raymond glanced at the bucket with the magazine on top, then fearfully back at the monster. ‘I had to use it. I thought that was what it was for. There's a stink, isn't there? I'm sorry about that, but I couldn't help it.'

He poured the words out rapidly, fearful that he might be punished before he could make his explanation. The monster didn't speak, didn't even look at him again. It marched across to the bucket and threw the magazine on the floor. Then it picked up the bucket without even looking at its contents; Raymond was glad about that. Then it marched to the door with the bucket and disappeared.

Raymond thought for a moment that he might make a dash for it whilst the monster was attending to the contents of the bucket, but even as the thought entered his head he heard the key turn in the lock. There was the sound of a toilet flushing somewhere above his head, then other, more muffled sounds. He tried to follow the directions of the monster's footsteps, but he couldn't do that. Then the key turned again in the door and it was back in the room, setting the bucket down at one side of it, taking something out of a new Tesco's bag and putting it on the square table.

The monster hadn't spoken at all yet. That made Raymond more afraid of what it might do to him if he annoyed it. He said, ‘I ate some of the bread you brought. And the margarine and the jam. It tasted very good. Thank you.'

There was a grunt. The thing didn't look at him. It stood between him and the table, keeping its back to him. Raymond realized now that it didn't want to be seen, that it didn't want him to recognize it. He tried to think of people he had seen before, and whether it might be someone he would know if he saw the complete face. He couldn't. But the fact that it feared him, just a little and just in this one small thing, made him bolder. He nodded towards the now empty and shining bucket. ‘I had to use it. And I couldn't wash my hands, when I'd been. I haven't been able to wash any of me, not since you brought me here. I want to wash myself.'

He could never remember wishing that in his life before. It wasn't what you did, when you were a boy. You approached soap and water reluctantly. Adults drove you to it and then checked that you'd washed the bits you might choose to miss, like behind your ears. It wasn't until he'd been put in the care home that he'd known people washed their hands when they'd been to the lavvies. But he'd got into the habit now, and he remembered all those dire warnings about germs that Mrs Allen had given him. Once he had voiced the thought, he felt an overwhelming need to wash his palms and his fingers, which must surely be teeming with germs.

He thought at first that the monster was going to ignore him. Then it turned suddenly and nodded. It came swiftly across to him and reached out a hand, so that Raymond cringed instinctively towards the floor and prepared himself for a blow. But the thing didn't hit him. It took him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him towards the door. But it handled him quite gently. There wasn't the violence it had used to seize him and fling him into the passenger seat of the van on their first contact. It led him to the door and then out of the room. When he stood uncertainly in the hall, it pushed him up steep, narrow stairs. Raymond saw a small red light, bright in the darkness beside a cupboard.

Then they were at the door of a room and the monster spoke for the first time on this visit. ‘Wash here. Have a bath or a shower, but don't take too long. Shout for me when you finish. You don't try to escape. Deal?'

‘Deal!' Raymond agreed hastily. The monster had asked him for something, rather than giving him orders. Raymond was certain for the first time that he was going to survive this.

Then he was thrust into the room. It was suddenly ablaze with a clear white light as the door shut behind him. It was a bathroom. There was a bath along one wall and a separate shower beside it. They were new and gleaming, much shinier than the ones at Bartram House. They were so clean and shiny that Raymond didn't want to soil them. He looked at the door behind him, then turned to it and drew the small bolt there with elaborate care, trying to make sure that it did not even squeak. He was sure the monster wouldn't like it if it found that he'd drawn the bolt and locked it out.

Raymond breathed a little more easily when the bolt was drawn without any reaction from the landing outside. He tiptoed across to the lavatory in the corner and peed, making sure that it went against the porcelain, not into the water at the bottom of the bowl; he wanted to be as quiet as possible. The cistern seemed to make a great noise in the silent house as he flushed it. But that seemed to help Raymond to think, as if the noise of flushing water was disguising his thoughts and keeping them from the monster.

He wasn't going to have either a bath or a shower, despite what the monster had said. He wasn't going to take all his clothes off with that thing anywhere near him. He went to the washbasin, turned the hot tap, then stripped off the top half of his clothing. He thought it might be filthy, but the collar of the grey shirt he had put on for cubs was still quite clean. It seemed impossible that it was only a day since he had been at cubs. Was it really only twenty-four hours since the monster had snatched him on his way back to Bartram House? It was, but Raymond went over what had happened several times before he could accept it.

The water was hot. He realized that the red light they'd passed must be for an immersion heater. They had one with a similar light at Bartram House, but they weren't allowed to switch it on, except for emergencies. The monster must have switched this one on earlier to warm the water. It seemed to know its way around this cottage pretty well. Perhaps this is where it lived some of the time. He wondered where it went to when it went away, and how far they were from Oldford and Bartram House. Raymond washed himself quickly, dried himself on the softest towel he'd ever used, then put his shirt and his green cub sweatshirt back on.

He was glad he'd promised the monster that he wouldn't try to escape. He wouldn't have fancied making a bolt for it across country he'd never seen in the dark, not with that thing after him. He slid back the bolt, opened the door and called tremulously, ‘I've finished my wash. Thank you.'

The monster was at his side in seconds. It took his hand this time, not the collar of his shirt, and led him back downstairs. It was so gentle with him that he wondered if it might be female. It would need to be a big woman, though, because it was a strong hand that was clutching his. He realized with that thought that he knew the monster was human, not some creature from a book. He wasn't sure how good that was. There were some nasty humans about. He'd met some of them, when he'd lived with his mother. And it was something human that had done those things to Lucy Gibson, the girl from his school.

He was back in the familiar room now, seated obediently at the small square table. The monster brought him cottage pie in a plastic container. It was very hot. Perhaps it had been heated in a microwave. Raymond scarcely remembered his mother now, but he remembered the microwave, which was all they'd had to cook with.

The monster went back to the room next door, which must be a kitchen, because it brought Raymond a dish of sliced peaches from a tin, a chocolate digestive biscuit and a beaker of hot, sweet tea. Raymond didn't take sugar, but he sipped the tea obediently and munched the biscuit with it. The tea was much too sweet, but he didn't dare to leave it. The monster took his dishes away whilst he drank the tea. He heard the sound of them being washed in that other room which he had never seen. It didn't lock the door on him this time, perhaps because he would have had to pass the door of the next room to get out of the house.

The monster came back and stood looking at him for what seemed to Raymond a long time. Then it said, ‘I won't tie you up tonight. And you can sleep in the bed, if you want to.'

‘Thank you.' He'd never in his life slept in a bed as big as that. He was surprised to find that he was almost looking forward to it.

‘I'll have to lock you in here, though. You'll have the chamber pot.'

‘All right.' Raymond wasn't going to argue. The monster had been good to him this time, but he wasn't going to risk upsetting it.

‘And you can't have the light.'

‘I'd like to have the light. I won't switch it on unless I need it. I get frightened when I know I can't put the light on.' Raymond felt very bold saying that, but he'd felt suddenly that he didn't want to face another long, black night locked in this room.

The monster shook its head. It didn't move, but those eyes, deep-set above the nose which was the only other feature he could see, studied Raymond as if he were a dog that had been called to heel. ‘Will you promise me not to use the switch unless you're really frightened?'

‘Yes. I probably won't need it. It'll just be good that I know it's there if I do.' Raymond tried not to sound too eager. He felt that if he showed excitement of any kind, it might annoy the monster and make it hostile again.

The monster looked at him again for a moment, then went and drew the curtains very tightly around the window, pushing the edges of them into the corners of the frame so that not a chink of light would slip past the edges. ‘I'll be back in the morning.' It had spoken more now than at any time before, but still in that strange, gruff voice that was not its own.

As the monster passed Raymond on its way from window to door, it stooped and gave the fair hair on top of the boy's head the briefest of fondles. Raymond wanted to ask what was going to happen to him tomorrow, but he sensed that he should not do that.

The search for the missing boy was proving no more successful than the one for Lucy Gibson.

Because it was Thursday and not Sunday, there were fewer volunteers from the ranks of the public than there had been when the police organized the search for Lucy. It was also a little less of a novelty than the one conducted at the weekend. The disappearance of a second child was sensational, certainly, but the combing of the area around Oldford was not the breathtaking innovation that the weekend search had been for the civilians involved in it.