Moon (22 page)

    The word disappeared. Then reappeared.

    'I don't want to lose your program,' Childes told Kelly, his voice more even than the turmoil inside his head should have allowed, 'but I'm afraid I'll have to.'

    This time he tapped HOME.

    The screen went blank, became a dark void. He rested back in the chair.

    And sat rigid when the word shone from the blackness yet again.

    He stared transfixed at the screen, his eyes wide, the green glowing word reflected in his contact lenses. The small, computer-typed word said:

    
MOON

    Some of the other girls had gathered round, but sudden cries came from those who had remained at their machines. Childes pushed his chair back and went to each one. The same single word was impossibly displayed on every monitor.

    In a desperation that alarmed the girls, he reached underneath the benches and yanked out all the plugs, cutting off the power supply to each computer so that the screens blinked to a lifeless grey. He waited in the centre of the classroom, his chest heaving, the girls beginning to huddle together as if he were mad.

    Cautiously he approached the computer which Kelly had been operating. He knelt, picking up the power plug once again, and slid it into the socket.

    The computer screen came to life, but now the word that had frightened him so much was missing.

    

    

    He found Amy after the lesson had finished, having barely managed to show his pupils a calm face throughout the rest of the period, explaining that what had occurred was due to some peculiar malfunction or the intrusion of another computer. The explanation was hardly feasible, but the girls appeared to accept his word.

    Childes drove Amy away from the school, grateful that the lesson had preceded the lunch break, giving them the opportunity to be alone. He did not stop until they had found a remote point on the clifftops.

    He switched off the engine and looked out at the sea. Only after a few more moments when his breathing had steadied did he turn to her and say: 'It's here, Amy. It's here on the island.'

    

    

    The day was perfect. Only a few small clouds clung to the sky like glued cotton-wool buds, seemingly stuck fast to a vividly blue board, unable to drift, with no breeze even in the upper reaches. The sun, a brilliant fireball, gloried in its dominance. A faint low mist spread over the sea, and other islands were merely hazy smudges in the distance.

    Scores of small motor-powered boats left short white plumes in their wakes, while yachts searched in vain for the slightest wind that would allow use of canvas. Further in, closer to the shore, wind-surfers drifted astride their boards, colourful sails resting flatly beside them in the water. Sandy beaches were full, only the less accessible coves and inlets still quiet and uncrowded, refuges for those who valued their peace enough to undertake arduous climbs.

    On the clifftop overlooking one such secluded bay, stood La Roche Ladies College, its white main structure a beacon lit by the sun.

    A perfect Saturday for Open Day, when staff and girls and classrooms preened themselves under inspection. An important day for the school: prize-giving, awards and certificates for excellence (or even plain usefulness), and general school or house achievements throughout the year; speeches by the principal, Miss Estelle Piprelly, and a member of the governing board,
Conseiller
Victor Platnauer; a recitation by La Roche's head girl of the year's events within the school related in obligatory (by tradition) rhyming verse, a test of nerve and ingenuity (and often of perseverance by the assembled guests); the luring of more fee-paying parents. A fun day for the school: various raffles, a lottery, games, a second-hand uniform sale; a strawberry-and-cream stall, a jam, sweets and cake stall, a hot-dog stall and barbecue, a wine and orange-squash stall, a gymnastic display, light choral singing, country dancing; and all to be enjoyed on the lawns.

    A day for things
not
to go wrong.

    

    

    Milling parents, arriving vehicles jostling for space in the overcrowded carpark and driveway, schoolgirls excited and pretending not to be, giggling though under threat to be on best behaviour. Childes had left the computer classroom when the mandatory parent/teacher discussion period was over. Now he watched the activity with restless attention. He tried not to let his close scrutiny of each passing face appear too obvious, but more than one parent was made to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

    And after a while he, too, had the feeling of being studied. He turned quickly and found Miss Piprelly, only yards away and supposedly in conversation with a group of parents and staff, staring intently a*t him. Their eyes met and a curious recognition passed between them, a
knowing
that had never been present before. An anxiety shadowed the principal's features and Childes watched as she said something to those around her, then broke away from them, striding in her stiff-backed manner towards him.

    She acknowledged greetings from other visitors she passed with a brief smile that was polite yet rebuffed conversation, and then she was before him, looking up into his face. He blinked, for he had seen the energy glowing from her, an aura of vitality that was of many subtle colours. The phenomenon was extraordinary and something he had witnessed more than once just recently, the radiance like a gentle many-hued flame that flared briefly to fade when concentrated upon, leaving him perplexed and slightly spellbound. The unusual effect vanished when Miss Piprelly spoke and his attention was diverted.

    'I'd rather you didn't stand there inspecting everybody with quite such intensity, Mr Childes. Perhaps you could tell me if there is something wrong?'

    That uncanny
awareness
in her eyes. He was slowly beginning to view the school's principal in a different light, catching glimpses of deeper sensitivities beneath the somewhat brittle exterior. Yet their relationship had not changed. He wondered if these fresh insights into the woman were due to the confusing developments within himself.

    'Mr Childes?' She was waiting for an answer.

    The urge to tell her everything was almost overwhelming, but how could she believe him? Estelle Piprelly was a rational, no-nonsense headmistress, energetic and diligent in her pursuit of educational excellence. Yet what was it in her that puzzled him so, what elusive - or camouflaged - quality did she possess that belied her image?

    She sighed impatiently. 'Mr Childes?'

    'I'm sorry, I was miles away.'

    'Yes, I could see that. If you'll forgive me for saying so, you seem unwell. You've looked haggard for a while now, since your few days absence, in fact.'

    A minor illness, a summer cold, had been how he had accounted for his time spent on the mainland after Annabel's disappearance. 'Oh.' He shrugged. 'Well, summer term's nearly over, so I'll have plenty of time to rest up.'

    'I wouldn't have thought your curriculum is exactly full, Mr Childes.'

    'Perhaps not.'

    
'Is
there something on your mind?'

    He faltered, but it was neither the time nor the place to be frank with her. She would have probably ordered him off the premises if he had, anyway.

    'No, I was, uh, interested in the parents, trying to associate them with their offspring. Just a little game I like to play. Have you ever noticed how like their mothers or fathers some of the girls are, while others are total opposites? Incredible, really.'

    She was not satisfied, but she was far too busy to indulge him. 'No, I don't find it incredible at all. Now I suggest you forget your "game" and mingle a little more with our guests.' Miss Piprelly began to turn away, but paused. 'You know, Mr Childes, if there is some kind of problem, my door is always open to you.'

    He avoided her stare, feeling uncomfortable, for there was more in her remark than a casual invitation. Just how much did she really know about him?

    'I'll remember,' he told her, then watched her walk away.

    

    

    Amy spotted Overoy endeavouring to resemble a visiting parent but succeeding only in looking like a plain-clothes policeman on the lookout for pickpockets, his intent look and alert stance the giveaway. She could not help smiling: maybe he only looked like that to her because she knew who he was and why he was there. She resisted the mischievous urge to wave and call out, 'Inspector!' Instead, she said to the two thirteen-year-old girls helping her on the strawberries-and-cream stall, 'Take over for a while and make sure you give the correct change. And only
four
strawberries to a basket otherwise we'll run out too fast and without even showing a profit.'

    'Yes, Miss Sebire,' they replied in unison, delighted to be in charge.

    Amy made her way from behind the stall, exchanging hellos with any parent she recognised. Overoy was standing beneath a tree, sipping wine from a plastic cup, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and jacket hanging over an arm.

    'You look hot, Inspector,' Amy said when she drew near.

    He turned in her direction, surprised for a moment. 'Hello, Miss Sebire. You seemed busy on your stall.'

    'Strawberries and cream are in great demand on a day like today. Would you like me to bring you some?'

    'That's very kind, but no, thank you.'

    'They would add to your disguise.'

    He grinned at the mild leg-pulling. 'I stick out that much, do I?'

    'Probably only because I know who you are and what you're doing here. At least your numbers are discreet.'

    He gave a wry shake of his head. 'Yes, I know. I'm sorry about that, but as it is, I'm on my own time. Difficult to convince my governors that an undercover team was needed for this little exercise - not that we have any jurisdiction on the island anyway. Fortunately Inspector Robillard is an old friend, so I'm here on a weekend social as his guest.'

    'I thought I'd seen him wandering around with his wife.'

    'Like me, he's on unofficial duty, keeping an eye on things.'

    'Looking for our monster?'

    'Yeah, bit difficult when you don't know what he looks like, though.'

    ' "It", you mean: Jon refuses to accept the killer as human.'

    'I'd noticed.' Uncomfortable, Overoy scratched his cheek with a nicotine-stained finger, careful not to spill the wine. 'Mr Childes is, er, a strange man in some ways, Miss Sebire,' he said.

    Amy smiled sweetly. 'Wouldn't you be if you'd been through what he has, Inspector?'

    'No, I'd be worse: I'd be out of my brain by now.'

    A quick frown replaced the smile. 'You can be sure he's not.'

    He held up the plastic cup between them as if a shield. 'I'm not suggesting anything, Miss Sebire. In fact, I find him a remarkably down-to-earth character, considering. I just mean this ESP business is a bit odd, that's all.'

    'I thought you'd be used to it by now.'

    'He isn't, nor am I.'

    'Jon is beginning to accept the ability.'

    'I accepted that in him a long time ago, but that doesn't mean I'm used to it.'

    A passing group of parents waved to Amy and she called out a hello in return. She faced the policeman again. 'Do you really think this person could have come here to the island?'

    Overoy sipped the wine before answering. 'He knows Childes is here, so it's possible. I'm afraid this business may have turned into a personal vendetta against Childes.'

    'But you really think he could read Jon's mind in that way?'

    'To find his location, you mean? Oh, no, he didn't need to. Childes' daughter, Gabriel, took a funny phone call a day or two before her friend was abducted - she couldn't remember exactly when - and we're assuming it was from the kidnapper.'

    'Jon mentioned that to me.'

    'We didn't find out for some time after, when we questioned Gabriel again and specifically asked if she or Annabel had spoken to any strangers in the days or weeks before Annabel was taken. She remembered the call then.' His eyes ranged over the crowds, but he was recalling something unpleasant. 'Gabriel couldn't describe the voice, so she did an impression for us. It made my flesh creep just to listen.' He finished off the wine and looked around for somewhere to dispose of the plastic cup. Amy took it from him. 'Please go on,' she said.

    'The voice was weird, a kind of low growling. Rough, but with no particular accent, nothing for us to latch on to. Of course, she's just a kid and anyway the caller could have been deliberately assuming a different voice to normal, so even that doesn't help us much. Unfortunately, when he asked to speak to her father, Gabriel said he didn't live there any more, that he was here, on the island.'

    'Then when he went to the house…'

    'He specifically went there for Gabriel, or at least to do some mischief. We haven't mentioned our notion to Annabel's parents -it would be heartless and at this stage, there'd be no point - but we believe he mistook Annabel for Childes' daughter. She'd told her mother that she was off to play with Gabriel, so we reckon she was in the Childes' garden when she was abducted.'

    'You still haven't found her body?'

    Overoy shook his head. 'Not a trace,' he said dismally. 'But then the killer doesn't need her body to be found: he's already presented us with the moonstone, along with the little girl's fingers.'

    Despite the heat of the day, Amy shuddered. 'Why should he do such a thing?'