Everything She Forgot (34 page)

CHAPTER 33

H
E APPROACHED HER, HIS HANDS TIGHT FISTS
AT HIS SIDE,
the wind lifting the scant hair from his head. He knew he would only have a few moments to save the child. He worried his lip as he formulated his plan. The child's safety had to be his priority. But first, he needed to confirm her identity once and for all. He had to look her in the eye.

The wind was deafening—a rush in his ears—and he felt it push against his chest as he walked toward her. She was standing still, her fingers touching, hair messy across the nape of her neck.

“Molly?” he said, louder than he might have, because of the wind.

She turned immediately. Her hair had been roughly cut but it was her: blue eyes and a pronounced squint and her front teeth missing.

“It's nice to see you,” he said, licking his lips, knowing that he did not have much time before George came out.

She said nothing, her head cocked to one side.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded.

“I've come to save you.”

He held out his hand to her, but she didn't take it. She clasped her hands and pressed them into her chest, looking toward the cottage.

“I know you're afraid, but it's all right now. Come with me. I'll take you home.”

The wind was at her back, so that she wavered like a flower in the wind. She squinted at him, wrinkling her nose, as if to see him clearly.

Angus's breath was in his throat.

“There's no time for this. You have to come with me now.”

“I don't want to,” she said, looking again toward the cottage.

“There's no time for this,” he repeated, taking her by the elbow and tugging her.

Her scream was high-pitched and sudden. It shocked Angus so much that he jolted backward. He glanced at the cottage. They had only seconds. He knew how to deal with disobedient children, so he took her by the wrist and began to drag her to his car, knowing that she would thank him in time.

Angus had always known that the Lord would lead him to George McLaughlin. When he reached Penzance he had taken the coastal route, making his way to the area that May Driscoll had told him about. He saw a camper van up ahead and had tailed it. He had imagined himself arriving in Penzance in similar style, and so he followed the van for fun around the snaking coastal roads. He imagined a family of believers inside, singing hymns.

The van pulled over and Angus had no choice but to pass. He glanced at the driver, out of interest. It was only seconds, but one look was sufficient. Angus had been certain. Big
George McLaughlin was driving that van. Angus had finally found him.

It made sense that George would have taken another car, after the news reports indicated that the police were searching for a particular vehicle.

Angus's mouth was suddenly dry with the excitement of it all. He would save Molly and return to Thurso not only a hero, but a soon-to-be prizewinning journalist.

He held up his map to disguise his face as he overtook the camper van. It was a straight road ahead and he was forced to keep driving until he was out of sight. He took a right off the coastal road and drove back toward town, before doubling back on himself and returning to the coast down the Sennen road. There were few cars on the country roads, and as Angus doubled back, he noticed a black sedan in his side mirror. He was traveling fast, over fifty miles an hour, in an attempt to find George again, and so he slowed down, taking his foot off the accelerator until he was only doing forty. Instead of drawing closer, or overtaking, the car behind also slowed and maintained its distance. Angus began to feel a flicker of apprehension.

There were several bends in the road, which was flanked by fields. After the third bend, Angus looked in the mirror and found that the black car was no longer there. He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that it must have been visiting one of the farms, and continued on his way.

It was just after three when he saw the camper van ahead, parked by a cottage near the cliffside. He pulled into the roadside, parked with his tires on the edge of a field of rape and proceeded on foot.

Once again, the Lord was guiding him. The child was kneel
ing in the grass picking flowers. He only needed to get close enough to see the eyes and then he would know for sure that it was Molly Henderson.

S
HE WAS A
wildcat and though she was tall for her age, Angus had not known a seven-year-old girl could possess such strength. She screamed as he tried to drag her back to his car. She was hitting his arm and pulling against him when George McLaughlin came out of the cottage.

Angus looked down at the child, whose face was streaked with tears. She was screaming up at his face, shouting, “
No, no
,” as if
he
was the monster; as if
he
was the depraved animal who had taken her from her home.

He glanced behind and saw that the black sedan had parked next to his Ford. Instinctively, Angus let go of the child's hand, but she had been pulling against him so hard that they both fell over onto the grass. Angus rolled onto his knees and when he sat up the child was in George's arms. Angus was unsure whether to stand or to stay on his knees. He knew what George was capable of, although he doubted if he would do it before witnesses. Angus was now grateful for the black sedan's presence.

“Who are you?” said George.

Angus stayed on his knees. George seemed like a colossus, his large hairy arms wrapped around the child.

“You don't know me, but I know you. I know who you both are,” said Angus. He was shouting to be heard against the wind, but his voice sounded higher than normal. He swallowed, feeling his heart flail like a fist in his chest. “You are George McLaughlin and you have abducted this child, Molly Henderson, and I am here to take her home.”

“Who
are you
?” George shouted again, backing away with the long-legged Molly in his arms.

“I'm a reporter from the
John O'Groat Journal
,” Angus said, dusting the dampness and dirt from his knees and then smoothing down his hair. “I'm here to take Molly home.”

George frowned, and Angus thought that his assertive stance had made him weaken, but then he heard a car door slam and turned to see a tall dark man standing beside the black sedan. Angus stared at him. He knew him. It was the man from the McLaughlin garage who had written him a receipt. Angus had suspected he was Richard McLaughlin.

George had seen the tall man too. He ran back to the van carrying Molly and drove off with sufficient acceleration to leave rubber marks on the road.

Angus had twisted something when he fell but he also ran back to his car. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled away and gave chase, and, as he expected, the black sedan also set off in pursuit. The car continued to tail Angus, but from a distance.

The camper van, which had been keeping to a leisurely pace until now, roared along the cliffside road. Angus had to put his foot down to catch up and guessed that the van was doing sixty miles an hour or more. The exhaust was noisy but it also began to belch black smoke from the rear as the van snaked its way along the hillside. Angus was not very familiar with the Volkswagen camper, but he knew that the engine was at the rear and it looked as if it was on fire.

Above the sound of the exhaust and the crash of the waves, Angus heard a distant wail of sirens. The fire had come and now the police. He assumed that the police were here for
George; that they had continued to track him even though he had changed vehicles. The Lord was showing his presence.

“Your time is up,” Angus proclaimed out loud as he drove. “
For the wages of sin is death—
Romans chapter six, verse twenty-three.” Angus felt his face flush in anger, and the throb of the vein on his forehead that ran from one eyebrow over his pale, freckled scalp. George McLaughlin was going to pay for his sin and Angus relished the thought of witnessing it.

The sirens were still audible but Angus could not yet see a police car, so he kept up the chase. The black sedan was small as a beetle in his mirror. Angus was focused on the camper van, as it skidded and belched black smoke four hundred yards ahead. It felt as if everything in Angus's life had been leading to this point where he, the righteous man, would root out the sinner.

Up ahead, he watched the camper van pull over next to a field. Angus drove forward one hundred yards, then also pulled over to watch. The dazzle of the yellow rape field hurt Angus's eyes and he strained to see what was happening up ahead. The van's engine was still running—spewing black fumes. He wondered if he should overtake, try to slow George down; or if he should now approach McLaughlin and attempt a citizen's arrest. The police were sure to be closing in and Angus calculated whether a citizen's arrest would be possible, considering George's great size. He sat clenching his hands on the steering wheel, wondering what was going on inside the parked camper van.

Finally, Angus got out of the car and walked carefully toward the vehicle. The smoke was heavy in the air and Angus had to put a hand over his face. He looked over his shoulder and saw
that the dark sedan had also stopped in the distance. As he approached the smoking vehicle, he saw that the van was shaking a little, back and forth. The wind was still high but the shaking seemed to be coming from
inside
. It occurred to Angus that George could be murdering Molly right now. He began to walk faster.

The passenger door of the van next to the field of rape flew open. Above the sound of the wind, Angus could hear Molly crying. As he drew closer, he saw she was standing on the edge of the field. “No, no, I don't want to,” she was crying.

Just then, the van door slammed and the camper drove off, leaving the child behind. Angus ran up to Molly, only wanting to save her, but she screamed as soon as she saw him, and began to run at full pelt after the camper. There wasn't much traffic, but the child could surely come to harm. She was hysterical and running down the middle of the road. Angus was surprised how fast she ran. He got into his car and followed.

As he drew near to the child, Angus noticed that the camper started to veer off the road toward the cliffside and then back toward the field, as if George was losing control of it. The girl was still running after it and Angus could not understand why.

At first Angus thought he saw a piece of material flapping between the back wheels of the van: something that George had run over—an orange flicker of fabric between belches of smoke. It was only when George veered again toward the cliff that Angus realized the van was
on fire
. Angus pressed on his brake and watched, mouth open, wondering if the camper van was going to head straight off the cliff, but instead it stopped only a foot from the edge. Now, side on, Angus could see that the engine had caught fire and this had spread to the inside.
The child was now dangerously close to the burning vehicle and Angus realized that it might explode.

When he got out of the car he looked behind him. The black sedan was still parked half a mile up the road, and Angus listened against the wind, but thought he could no longer hear the sirens. He ran toward Molly, who was trying without success to open the van doors. Angus ran up to her and lifted her off her feet.

“You're all right now,” he told her. “You're safe, but you have to come with me.” She was heavier than he had expected.

“No,” she screamed, kicking him in the shins so hard that the pain took the breath from Angus. He let her go and had to clench his fist to curtail his urge to hit her in retaliation. There was rebellion in her that should have been crushed early. Did she not realize that Angus was here to save her?

He took a handful of her sweater in his fist, and pulled her back as she again tried to lunge at the van. “It's on fire. It's not safe. Don't you understand, child? You need to stay back.”

The child covered her face with her hands, and she seemed to be screaming “
Daddy
,” although Angus could not be sure.

There was a sudden explosion from inside the van, and Angus covered his face with his arm and instinctively pulled the child into him to protect her. He opened his eyes to the heat of fire and the taste of smoke. Angus peered through his fingers at the van. The explosion had not come from the fuel tank. The fire raged, burning from the inside out.

As he drew closer, Angus saw that George McLaughlin was engulfed in flames and trying to get out: his large white palm pressed against the glass of the side window.

Angus moved closer still, so that he was able to stand on
tiptoe and peer into the rear windows of the van. He could hear George screaming.

He walked closer, his hands heavy at his sides, immobile. It reminded him of the Sabbath day when he had watched Maisie in labor; listened to her long, low moans as she tried to push out the calf inside her.

Perhaps the locks had jammed in the heat or perhaps the door was also on fire, but George could not get out. Angus drew closer, watching the urgency in his face—teeth and staring eyes as the fire covered his body. He was shouting something, but Angus could not hear what.

“Help him!” Molly screamed.

Angus turned to glance at her, behind him, elfin, shorn, indignant.

“
Help him
.”

The smell of burning combined with the brine of the sea was intoxicating. Angus felt a rare exhilaration. He was watching justice, he realized. God's hand had reached down and delivered judgment. He moved closer, unblinking.

He watched George flailing, twisting and turning, as if the fire was an animal on his back, rampant, possessed, hungry. The fire was roaring, and above its cackle and spit was the sound of George screaming. So quick that Angus could almost not believe it, the fire consumed him, so that even the hand which now pawed at the glass was engulfed in flames.