Ripped (107 page)

After
thirty
years?

'The
village
knew
that
the
mother
had
been
murdered?'

'I
don't
know
how
much
difference
it
made.
Perhaps
the
damage
was
there
already.
But,
of
course,
people
did
know.
And
then
Sandy
Fletcher
had
his
accident – not
on
the
boat,
but
in
his
car
coming
back
from
the
Harbour
Inn.
Drunk
naturally
–
but
before
that
he
wasn't
a
heavy
drinker.
Just
normal
for
a
fisherman,
there
are
no
drinkers
like
fishermen.
But
after
his
accident
he
couldn't
work,
they
left
the
house
in
the
village
–
for
a
while
they
lived
over
there,'
she
pointed
between
the
bare
hills
across
the
loch,
'in
a
miserable
place.
Afterwards
they
went
to
Braefoot
–
that's
about
twelve
miles
up
the
coast.
By
that
time,
Sandy
was
a
different
man
altogether,
pathetic
really.
It's
one
thing
to
want
to
be
good
and
another
to
be
good
.
And
I
always
suspected
it
was
Sandy
who
dropped
the
first
hint
of
where
the
girls
had
come
from.
One
night
in
the
Harbour
Inn
just
before
he
fetched
them.
So
maybe,
as
well
as
the
accident,
it
was
guilt.
He
wanted
to
be
a
good
man,
but
he
could
never
be
a
wise
one.'

'When
I
mentioned
them,
why
did
you
ask
ifAlice
had
done
something?
What
were
you
expecting
me
to
say?'

'You
didn't
say
anything
though,
did
you?'
They
had
come
almost
to
the
end
of
the
trees.
'I
didn't
miss
that.'

'I'm
a
private
enquiry
agent.
I've
been
hired
by
a
relative
to
try to
trace
them.'

'After
all
this
time?'
She
looked
at
him
sceptically.

'An
uncle
–
in
Belgium.
There
were
reasons
for
the
delay.
He
had
troubles
of
his
own.
He
was
too
friendly
with
the
Germans
during
the
Occupation.'

'Why
would
he
want
to
find
them
now?'

Murray
shrugged.
'He
doesn't
seem
to
be
short
of
money
.
He
may
want
to
help
them.'
It
was
a
reasonable
cover
story;
on
the way
down,
he
had
worked
out
a
different
one
on
the
assumption
no
one
would
know
their
background.

'It
might
be
better
for
him
if
you
don't
find
them,'
Miss Sturrock
said
abruptly.
As
Murray
glanced
at
her,
she
turned
her
face
away
from
him.
'I
never
met
another
child
like
her.
She
would
say
to
the
others,
"When
I
go
outside,
you
will
all
hit
me
and
I
shall
cry –
but
you
will
get
into
trouble."
A
child
of
six.
It
was
like
an
invitation
to
them
to
hit
her.
She
was
so
strange.
Sometimes
I
think
of
her
and
wonder
if
one
day
I'll
open
a
paper
and
read
that
she's
been
murdered.
Unless,
of
course,
by
this
time
she's
learned
some
protective
coloration.
Learned
to
pretend
to
be
like
other
people.'

'You
said
she
was
only
a
child
.
'
Murray's
voice
was
tight
with suppressed
anger.
It
took
him
by
surprise;
but
he
did
not
want
to
think
about
why
he
felt
it.

'I
don't
understand
why
Alex
Sinclair
isn't
here,'
Miss
Sturrock said.
In
every
direction
they
were
alone.
'I
think
I'll
go
back.
There
isn't
any
point
in
looking.'
After
a
step
or
two,
however,
she
swung
about
and
faced
him.
'There
isn't
anything
I
could
tell
you
that
would
help
you
to
find
them.
They
were
glad
to
get
away
and
that
was
the
last
we
heard
of
them.
Alice
went
first
although
she
was
the
younger
,
only
sixteen.
The
man
left
a
wife
and
child
behind.
Frances
went
too,
but
that
was
later.
I
always
thought
Frances
was
fond
of
Grace
Fletcher.'

'It
was
–
Alice
you
found
strange.'
He
remarked
on
it
casually, spoke
quietly,
trying
to
undo
the
harm
he
had
done;
yet
he
saw
her
hesitate.
The
wind
came
up,
rattling
the
branches,
so
that
he
had
to
raise
his
voice,
'You
must
be
curious
about
what
happened
to
her.
And
that's
what
I'm
trying
to
find
out.'

'She
was
.
..clumsy,'
Miss
Sturrock
said.
'Such
a
little
girl
and she
kept
bumping
into
people.
The
boys
would
kick
her
with
their
heavy
boots.
Spat
,
she
spat
when
she
was
talking.
She
sprayed
them
and
they
got
angry.
Yet
she
was
pretty,
like
a
doll
–
and
intelligent.
More
intelligent
than
they
were
which
didn't
help.
She
would
say,
"You
are
only
the
son
of
a
common
fisherman."
Stupid
was
a
favourite
word
of
hers.
I've
never
met
another
child
like
her
before
or
since.
She
seemed
to
know
what
the
weak
spot
would be.'
The
old
woman
gave
a
laugh
that
after
so
many
years
had
not
lost
its
edge
of
irritation.
'Don't
imagine
I
was
exempt.
"You
don't
speak
like
the
lady
on
the
radio
–
you
speak
like
the
village
children.” She
had
no
sense
of
self
preservation.'
Again
she
fell
into
the
precise,
oddly
assured
child's
voice
she
reproduced
for
each
of
the
girl's
utterances.
'
"You
know
Princess
Andrea
in
the
story?
She
is
me."
Not
"I
am
she"–
it's
the
ordinary
boastful
childish
statement
gone
wrong.
"
She
is
me
".
She
lived
in
a
fantasy
world
and
none
of
us
mattered.'