Dark Place to Hide (35 page)

I take a moment to adjust to the difference in décor. It’s as if I’ve stepped into a completely different building – apart from old cogwheels leaning against the wall, the place is like an abandoned playroom. It’s been dusted and painted and there are a handful of toy cars and dolls lying on a rug on the floor, a rocking horse and piles of cushions. I take a step inside and see her curled into a foetal position, her socks rolled down, her hair covering her face.

‘Clara, Clara! Sweetheart – are you okay?’

Tara hears me call out and rushes up the steps to join me, her hand over her mouth. The place reeks of urine. I crouch on the floor next to the inert figure.

‘Oh, God…’ Tara is pressing her hand against her chest. ‘Are we too late?’ she whispers. She kneels down and strokes Clara’s hair tenderly.

‘She’s got a faint pulse,’ I say. ‘She’s been left here for days.’

Clara opens her eyes. She bursts into tears and holds on to me with trembling fingers. Her dress is torn and grubby and she’s no longer wearing her Alice band to hold back her hair.

I pull out the water bottle. ‘Here, sweetheart – have something to drink.’ I hold it for her as she takes small sips and I glance over her body to check whether she’s obviously injured. A few scratches and bruises – nothing more serious than a little girl her age would have – but I know other examinations will have to follow at the hospital. Clara blinks and comes round, staring at her surroundings as if she hasn’t seen them before. ‘If she hasn’t had fluids for a while she might have low blood pressure,’ I whisper to Tara.

‘Are you hurt, Clara?’ I turn her face so she’s looking at me. ‘Clara?’

She shakes her head. ‘Hungry,’ she croaks, rubbing her belly.

I know that in cases of dehydration and starvation, small sips of water mixed with glucose are all that should be given, at regular intervals. I give her more water, holding her heavy head. ‘When the ambulance gets here – they’ll have something nice for you,’ I assure her. ‘It won’t be long.’

Tara calls emergency services while I phone Marion.

It rings and rings until finally she answers. My words are bursting to come out – how much I’ve longed to utter them: ‘I’ve got her! We’ve found Clara!’

There’s nothing comprehensible in response, simply a whimpering at the other end. I pass the phone to Clara. She’s brightening up remarkably since seeing a friendly face and drinking a few sips of water. I marvel at her resilience.

‘It would have been better if Frank found me,’ Clara tells Marion, ‘but Harper will do.’

I turn to Tara. ‘I wanted to find her so much. It’s like I’ve found my own flesh and blood.’

Tara informs me that the ambulance will pick up Marion on the way, so when Clara hands back the phone, I tell her we’ll see her in a few minutes. I lift Clara’s slight and
defenceless little body, carrying her as though she might break into pieces in my arms. Nothing appears to be broken on the outside, but inside? I dread to think what he might have done to her. I manage to get her as far as the car before I break down. I set her down on the back seat and weep silently in great body-surges, as she reaches out and holds onto my legs. I try not to let her see me – but she does, of course.

‘It’s okay, Harper,’ she remarks. ‘I didn’t mean it about Frank. I’m glad it was
you
– really – who came to get me.’ She climbs back out of the car and is unsteady on her feet, holding on to the passenger door. I pick her up and she puts her arms around me. I’m deeply touched by her faith in me given what another man has done to her. She pulls something out of her pocket.

‘Look – I didn’t lose it.’ It’s the butterfly key-ring I gave her. It makes me weep even more. ‘You mustn’t cry,’ she says, ‘or you’ll run out of tears and there won’t be any left for next time.’

Her words make me laugh and I put her down. She sits on the edge of the back seat, her thumb in her mouth. I’m still in the throes of my meltdown, leaning against the car, my arms outstretched as if I’m being sick. ‘You okay?’ Tara asks, softly.

‘I’m sorry…it’s just…’ She puts her arms around me. ‘I know. You’ve got an amazing result. But there’s still someone missing.’

‘I don’t care if Dee is with someone else. I just want her to be alive.’

As I coax Clara under the blanket while we wait for the ambulance, I catch sight of a sparkling object sliding down her arm. My heart is in my mouth. ‘Where did you get this, Clara? Who gave you this?’

She twirls the bracelet around distastefully. ‘The wolf gave me it. I don’t want it, but I can’t get it off.’

I kneel down to her level on the wet grass. ‘Do you remember the lady you saw in the bell tower – the one smiling in all the posters around the village?’

She nods warily.

‘Do you know where she is? Have you seen her?’

‘No.’ She scratches her leg. ‘She was crying. She looked sad. But that was a long time ago.’

‘Have you seen her since then?’

‘No.’

‘Can you remember where you’ve been – in the last few days, before the wolf brought you to play here, in the windmill?’

‘I was in a shed for the horses on a farm – then the wolf put me into a dark place with no windows and lots of wooden triangles.’

‘Triangles?’

‘Over my head,’ she adds.

‘With wooden floors?’

‘Yes – and a tin box in the corner that sounded like a toilet.’

‘A water tank.’ I turn to Tara. ‘She was in an attic.’

‘I don’t agree with your tactics mate – you should have kept me informed – but, bloody good result.’ DI Neil Fry pats me on the shoulder as soon as he steps out of the unmarked police car into the mud. PC Rose Felton, who was involved in Clara’s rescue from the oubliette, is with him. An ambulance pulls up behind. I’m poised to give Neil a man-hug, but given the circumstances, stop and shake his hand instead.

‘Has Clara told you anything?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘I think he left her there to die,’ I say out of earshot of Tara’s car.

Marion is being trundled over the thick grass in a wheelchair and Clara gets up to greet her. She’s weak and wobbly and flops against her mother’s legs. I pick her up so she can sit on her lap. ‘I’m all right, Mummy. Some of it was fun.’

Marion clutches her daughter and looks up at me. ‘Harper – I don’t know what to say.’ She squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’ She kisses her daughter’s matted hair with a loud moan of relief and reaches her bony hand out towards me. I grasp it.

‘The police will want to get her checked over.’ I squeeze her hand hard and she knows what I mean. Bruises and scratches are most likely not the whole picture.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ PC Felton says, holding a notebook and pen, but we will need to ask you and Ms Nørgaard some questions.’ I see the bracelet on Clara’s wrist again. I’m eager to get going. My job isn’t finished yet – not by a long way.

Tara and I give a brief statement to police – I know there’s no choice – and Neil radios in for a CSI team to go over the place. He’ll speak to Clara, too, once she’s feeling stronger and they’ve given her a full examination at the hospital.

I take Neil to one side and tell him where I think we need to go next.

‘Fair enough,’ he says. ‘But, we’re going to have to take the reins from now on, mate. No more maverick efforts.’

Neil and PC Felton pull up in their unmarked car and Tara and I park about ten metres behind. There’s a car in the drive. Someone is at home. A ‘For Sale’ sign is strapped to the gate.

Neil instructs me to stay in the car, but as soon as they’re out of sight, I get out and follow them. I hover behind a cherry tree, halfway along the drive, while they wait for response at the front door. They go round the back and when they don’t return, I take it they’ve made a forced entry. I take the same path around the side and creep in through the open back door. There’s glass on the back mat. Felton is checking downstairs while Neil takes the stairs.

I overhear Felton whispering into her radio, ‘Five suitcases in the hall, sir, someone is taking a lot of stuff with them.’

The radio crackles and Neil is requesting another ambulance.

On hearing his request, I can’t stand back any longer and I take the stairs two at a time. Neil is angry. ‘I told you to wait in the car. You shouldn’t be in here.’

‘Arrest me,’ I say defiantly, pushing past him on the landing. The ladders to the attic are pulled down and the hatch is half open; a leg is splayed across the gap, inert. Neil puts his hand out firmly to tell me to wait and goes up himself. I wait a couple of seconds and climb up, right
behind him. Neil pulls himself inside and finds a light switch. The leg is covered in light grey wool – it belongs to a man.

‘She’s here,’ Neil announces sounding grave.

Nothing can stop me now and he knows it.

I burst up through the hatch and see you, Dee, pale, still, lying next to Dr Swann, blood coming from your nose. Neither of you are moving.

I cradle your head, remembering Tara’s earlier words when we found Clara:
Are we too late?

Please, God, no.

I carefully cut your hands and feet lose with my Swiss Army Knife, grabbing your free wrist for a pulse. I’m so nervous – my fingers fluttering with electrical energy – that I can’t tell if you’re alive or not. I peel open your eyes, say your name, feel for a pulse in your neck. This can’t be how it ends – in some dusty attic, lying side by side with a paedophile.

Dr Swann comes round.

Before Neil can stop me I punch Swann hard in the solar plexus, pushing him down through the hole.

‘Leave it!’ Neil shouts. Swann is left half clinging, half hanging against the ladders. He’s not going anywhere of his own accord. Neil goes down after him and I hear PC Felton cuff him and read him his rights. He moans, but it doesn’t sound like he is putting up any resistance.

I roll you onto your back and position my hands on your chest ready to perform CPR. As I straighten my arms and take a breath, there’s a tiny sound from your throat. Did I imagine it? Your eyelids flutter and your head rolls to one side.

‘Dee – it’s me – Harper. I’m right here, darling. You’re going to be fine. You’re safe. He’s gone.’

You open your eyes and try to sit up, disoriented, squinting with the light. I hold out a fresh water bottle and you snatch it greedily, but start coughing and spluttering almost immediately. Then you see me and everything stops and simultaneously everything in my life starts again – after three weeks of pure torture and misery. You let me fold your limp body into mine and I hear you gently moan in my ear. It’s the sweetest sound in the world.

‘Have you got any broken bones?’ I ask.

‘Ribs maybe, I don’t know…’ Your voice is dry and papery. ‘Oh, Dibs, it’s so good to see you. I thought…’

‘I know. It’s over. You’re safe.’ I stroke your face, your hair. I want to wrap all of you against me and never let you go.

Neil has been watching silently from the hole in the hatch. ‘Let’s get her down,’ he says.

You wince as I put my arm under your shoulder. I know this is going to hurt. I can see from the look of you that you’re injured; not just your bloody nose, there are fiery red bruises on your bare arms.

‘We’ll be as careful as we can.’

We get you down the ladders and I carry you in my arms to the front door. Swann has already been taken away in a police car. Tara is waiting outside beside the ambulance; she rushes forward with more water.

In daylight I barely recognise you. Emaciated, unwashed, your lips crusty and brown, your skin grey with dust. Yet, you are the most beautiful creature in the world.

You jerk suddenly as if you’ve been kicked. ‘The little girl, Clara,’ you cry out, ‘we must hurry…’

‘We’ve got her – just found her. She’s safe.’

‘Thank God.’ Your relief turns into distress instantly as you press your palm into your hairline. ‘There’s something you should know…’

I nod. ‘They’ll check Clara over…at the hospital.’ I can’t bring myself to think about what depraved games Swann made her play. I slide you onto the stretcher and the paramedics cover you with a blanket.

‘How did you know where to come?’ Tara asks me.

‘Once Clara mentioned a place that sounded like an attic, I knew Swann’s own home had to be worth a try. I managed to persuade Clive to get me the addresses of hospital staff that day he let us see the CCTV footage. In fact, in my mind Clive was a suspect himself at the time, but I moved him down the list, because he was so helpful.’

As the paramedics wheel you inside the ambulance, you call out, tossing your head from side to side. ‘I saw him with her in the woods near the cottage…’ Your voice is trembling with fever.

I climb in after you and grab your hand. ‘It’s okay. You can tell us everything later when you’re feeling stronger.’

Two weeks later

Tara arrives exactly on time, as usual. She swings past me into the kitchen with two carrier bags and drops them in front of the fridge. Leeks, parsley leaves and two bottles of wine are poking out of the top. She’s going to a lot of trouble again and I tell her I think she’s amazing.

‘You’ve done so much,’ I say, squeezing her shoulder.

Tara has been vacuuming, doing the laundry, ironing, bringing books for you to read and shopping for us, while you have been recuperating.

‘I didn’t want you to have to leave Dee’s side,’ Tara told me, as she appeared with another boot-load of provisions, the day before yesterday.

‘You don’t have to come and cook for us, as well,’ I protested.

‘I insist. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re like in the kitchen, Harper, but Dee is terrible and you both need a decent meal inside you.’

‘Amen to that,’ you called from the sofa.

‘Actually, I’m very good,’ I retorted. ‘I’ll have to show you one day.’

The phone hasn’t stopped ringing with friends, neighbours, colleagues, delighted to know you’re safe and Alexa has been over several times, of course. She’s made a point of saying as little to me as possible. I realise now that it was jealousy that made her say the things she said after you disappeared. She made me believe she knew more than she actually did, though, and I’ll never forgive her for that.