Threats at Three (32 page)

“It was. And that’s all?” Lois said. “No reason why he didn’t contact his mum?”

“He forgot, he said. Just forgot.”

“The name of his friend in Tresham—did he tell you that, or where they live?”

“No. Said it was sudden decision, and he was with a group of boys from another class. Didn’t know any of them. Went along and stayed playing on the computer until it was too late to get home. Slept on the floor. In the morning, he didn’t notice where he was in the town, but just got to the ring road and thumbed a lift.”

“Oh, my God, what a pack of lies!” Lois said. “What did you say?”

“It was Chris. She left it there, sensibly, and said she’d go back later. His mother was with him all the time of course. There are rules and regs in these cases. But don’t worry, Lois. He’s not stupid, and I hope we can make him see the wisdom of telling the truth.”

“But in the meantime, surely he’s still in danger? Even more so now, if there’s some man somewhere in hiding, expecting him to blow the whistle? Perhaps his father?”

“We’ve arranged for him to stay at home for a couple of weeks, and there’ll be police protection. But not obvious, Lois. We have to find whoever it was. I have never been surer that this boy was abducted, but he’s decided to keep quiet. Maybe he’s scared, or, if it
was
his father, perhaps he has some mistaken idea about shielding him.”

“So there’s more work to do,” said Lois, cheering up. “You’re still looking for his father, and or some other sod who snatched the boy.”

Cowgill smiled and got to his feet. “You don’t think I’d let you off so lightly, do you, Lois? I’ll be in touch. Oh, and by the way, there’ll be no objection to your calling to see Paula.”

 

 

TWO OTHER PEOPLE HAD BEEN SEARCHING ANXIOUSLY FOR NEWS of young Jack Hickson, but with very different motives. His father, once more a hunted man, had found a temporary home in a deserted warehouse in the backstreets of Tresham. People said the best place to hide was in a crowd. Well, he would try out that theory. He had spent the night on a pile of plastic sacks which littered the floors. He was not the first. There were the usual traces of needles and empty bottles, but none looked recent. With luck, he would be the only occupant. He intended to find his quarry, and was convinced he would still be somewhere around in the town. So he would stay hidden in the crowded streets until he found him.

Now, standing in a nearby newsagent’s with a baseball cap pulled well down over his eyes, he looked at the headlines again to make sure his son was safe. He bought the paper and walked swiftly to the nearby scrubby park, where he sat down next to an old alky so dozy that he would be no threat.

The story had no details. Young Jack had returned home and was safely with his mother. Mother and father were separated, and the police were anxious to contact Jack’s father. There was a photograph and description, which was handy. He could make sure he looked nothing like the senior Jack Hickson casual shoppers would be looking out for.

The second person who peered anxiously at a newspaper headline had spent the night in a terraced house in the area of Tresham known as Far Bottom. It was down by the canal, once a hive of waterborne industry, but now dank and full of the usual detritus of an uncaring population. This suited the man who had returned to town overnight in his battered white van to ask for sanctuary with his widowed sister. She had the
Sun
delivered every morning, and now her brother sat staring at the front page story, his lips moving as he read.

“What’ve you done now, then?” his sister asked, as she set a mug of strong tea in front of him. “I don’t want no trouble here,” she added. “There’s enough of it round here as it is. Don’t you involve me in any of your goings-on!”

“You’ve got a nasty suspicious mind,” her brother said. “I’m as innocent as the driven snow. Ah, well, perhaps not snow. Bad choice of word! As the day is long, then. Innocent as the day is long.”

“I never did know what you were talking about, and nothing’s changed. You’d better sort yourself out and find another place to live. God knows what went on in Barcelona Street, but it’s crawling with police, so the paperboy said.”

“Nothing to do with me,” he said. He had convinced himself that the stupid bitch who had overdosed was not his responsibility. “Anyway, I just need a few nights here, and then I’ll be off. I’m thinking of moving to the country. Maybe get a job on a farm. I rather fancy the fresh air life.”

His sister burst out into raucous laughter. “You? Fresh air? A likely story! The only fresh air you’re likely to get is in a high-walled exercise yard. You had a good job gardening in the fresh air, anyway, and you made a mess o’ that. Now, what d’you want to eat? I got bacon and eggs. Black pudden? Then I’m off out. It’s my morning in the Oxfam shop. Me and Mrs. Wilson do Friday mornings.”

She brought in a fragrant plateful, and turned to go. Then she said, “Oh, have they found that missing kid? Here, let’s have a look at the paper before I go.”

“Yeah, he’s back home. No details. I bet he just went absent without leave for fun. Kids these days don’t think of nothing but themselves.”

After his sister had gone, he looked again to make sure there were no hints of abduction or foul play. The kid was home again, and should be left in peace with his mother in Long Farnden.

So the little sod had said nothing, or made up some story to satisfy the police. Not such a bad kid after all, then. But then, he’d been told what would happen if he blabbed, and even though his father had deserted him, he must have
some
feeling for the man who’d sired him. He wouldn’t want him hurt, would he? It was a blinding nuisance that everything had gone wrong, but the outcome could have been worse. All right, so he hadn’t been able to find Hickson and demand what he supposed would have been called a ransom. More of a deal, he reckoned. You pay up, and you can have your son back. If not . . . Well, it hadn’t worked out. He hadn’t reckoned on the kid being such a slippery little bastard. And Hickson would have been witless with worry. That would have to be enough, for the moment.

The fry-up was good, and he licked the plate clean. Nobody would be looking for him, luckily, and he had work to do, people to see, connections to make.

F
ARNDEN HAD QUIETENED DOWN, ALTHOUGH THERE WERE still one or two unfamiliar cars parked near the Hickson house. Josie came out of the shop to bring in the buckets of flowers that had not been sold. Only two bunches left. That was good. Maybe Mum would like a bunch, and one for Gran. She had still made a profit.

“Evening, Josie!” A fresh-faced policeman approached, and Josie grinned.

“Hi, Matthew!” she said. “You’re still on duty I see. Busy day in Farnden for your lot. Still, it’s good news, isn’t it. Young Jack home safe again. We’ll all sleep easier tonight.”

“What are you doing later? I’m finished here now, and just have to go home and change. Fancy a meal at the pub in Waltonby? New management, apparently, and the food is really good. What do you say?”

Josie beamed. “Wonderful idea,” she said. “I think we all need a bit of a treat, after the last forty-eight hours. I hope Paula Hickson is able to relax, poor soul.”

“Your mother’s just gone in to see her. We had instructions from Hunter . . . special permission . . .” His smile was knowing, and Josie looked crossly at him. “That’s quite enough of that, PC Vickers,” she said. “Go away and forget you’re a policeman, and I’ll be ready in an hour. Oh, and love you, as the kids say.”

 

 

LOIS HAD FELT CONSPICUOUS AS SHE MADE HER WAY UP PAULA’S garden path. Those unfamiliar cars were not casual callers. They were on the watch. She supposed Cowgill was expecting Jack’s father to show up sooner or later, though she did not agree. Surely he would stay well out of the way? Unless, of course, it had not been him who’d taken Jack.

“Mrs. M! Come on in. Am I glad to see you! It’s been such a day, and we’re all at sixes and sevens. I apologise for the mess and muddle. . . .”

“Don’t be silly, Paula. Here, let me give you a hand. Two New Brooms should make quick work of this lot!”

Frankie was duly tucked up into his cot, and the twins were bathed and sat like angels in their pajamas drinking hot milk. Jack Jr. was nowhere to be seen, and Lois did not ask. She would find out soon enough.

“He’s asleep again,” Paula said, without being asked. “After talking to that nice policewoman, he was really tired. Not eating anything yet. So I thought the best thing was to let him sleep.”

“Quite right,” said Lois. “He’ll get his appetite back soon enough. Did he talk to you at all, after the policewoman had gone?”

Paula shook her head. “No, not really. But . . .” She hesitated, frowning.

“But what?”

“Well, I’m not sure, Mrs. M, that what he told the policewoman was the truth. I know I shouldn’t doubt my own son, but you know what he’s like. It all came out smooth and pat, like he’d rehearsed it. I’ve got to know over the years when he’s lying.”

“And you think he was lying this time?”

Paula nodded, her lips clamped together. Lois saw that she was again on the verge of tears, and changed the subject.

“Oh, by the way, Gran sends her love,” she said. “Wants to know if there’s anything she can do. She can be a nice old thing, sympathetic and not too nosy. That is, if she really tries!” She chuckled, and Paula’s pale face broke into a smile. “It feels like the first time I’ve laughed for months,” she said. The sound of footsteps coming downstairs caused her expression to change. She turned to the door, where Jack Jr. stood yawning. “Ah, here he is,” she said. “I hope we didn’t wake you, luvvie. Would you like something to eat now?”

He didn’t answer for a few seconds, but stared at Lois. Then he said perhaps he’d try a sandwich.

“Ham?” said Paula. Jack shook his head.

“Chocolate spread?” said Lois, and there was a glimmer of a smile.

“Cor, yeah. We got any, Mum?” he said.

Paula went into the kitchen to prepare the sandwich, and Lois suggested Jack should sit down and chat for a minute or two. He looked at her suspiciously, but perched on the edge of the sofa.

“I got a rocket from Derek,” Lois said casually. “For not locking my van. Still, it was a good job I didn’t. You were completely knackered.”

“I could’ve managed,” he answered. “Plenty of traffic along that road.”

“Glad you feel so grateful,” said Lois with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Jack, give a little.”

The chocolate sandwich arrived, and Jack began to eat, nibbling at first, but then wolfing it down. “Can I have another, Mum,” he said.

“Please,” said Lois, automatically.

Jack stood up, upsetting his plate. “Shut up!” he shouted. “You’re not my mum, nor anything to do with me. You got no right to come in here asking me questions about what happened!”

Lois gazed at him calmly. “I haven’t asked you a single question about that,” she said. “Anyway, I haven’t time to waste. I must be going, Paula. Let me know if you need anything. Shall I tell Gran you’ll be in touch?”

Paula frowned. “Sorry about—well—you know . . . Thanks a lot for coming round, and for everything. I’ll be back at work very soon, I hope.”

 

 

ON HER WAY HOME, LOIS SAW THE ADSTONE CAR GO BY AT SPEED, and realised there were meetings happening all round the village, organising last minute details for the soap box grand prix. It was going ahead now, with only one week to go, and there was great relief that it would not be overshadowed by a missing child from the village. Should she be at one of these meetings? Ah, well, if there was a WI one, they could do without her. The soap box was finished, and now parked up at the hall being test driven by Mrs. T-J. She hoped the old girl wouldn’t crash too many times. After all, a jar of jam is vulnerable.

“How were they?” Gran said, as she came into the kitchen.

“Much better,” Lois said. She had decided to keep to herself Paula’s confidences and the possibility that Jack was lying.

“That child needs a father,” Gran said. “Where is he? You’d have thought he would come forwards now Jack’s back. After all, they’ll catch him sooner or later, and if he gives himself up of his own accord, it’s bound to go easier for him.”

“We don’t know why he’s disappeared, if Jack’s story about a sleepover in Tresham is true.”

Gran pounced. “You mean it may not be true? Lois, what do you know?”

“Nothing more than you,” Lois said honestly. “It could be that Hickson vanished because he knew he’d be suspected, once the news broke.”

“Well, let’s hope he comes back. That poor woman needs a man about the place. Maybe they should get some counselling, see if they could get back together.”

“Maybe,” Lois said. “But shall we talk about something else now? What’s new with the soap box arrangements?”