Without a Trace (2 page)

‘Oh, no. It won’t be that.’ Brenda patted Molly’s cheeks affectionately. ‘Most likely she was put off coming because they’d have to tramp through mud to the village. Or maybe they went to someone’s house this morning to watch the ceremony on television and decided to stay on there. Stop worrying. There’s enough to do here to keep us all on our toes!’

She was right about that: two six-year-old boys were pushing cakes into each other’s faces, and Brenda rushed off to separate them.

Molly handed round some sausage rolls, astounded at how quickly the huge tray was emptied, but her mind was on her friend. Cassie wasn’t normally too keen on joining in village
activities because, even after two years, she was still treated with suspicion by many people. But she would’ve braved it today for Petal, as the little girl was excited about dressing up as Britannia. Cassie had scoured the shops in Bristol until she found a suitable helmet and had sewn the dress by hand.

Mud would never have put them off; Cassie would just have packed the costume into a bag and changed Petal when they got to the village. As for watching television at someone’s house – who was there? The few people who had televisions – and Molly’s own parents were part of that select group – wouldn’t invite someone like Cassie to watch it with them.

As it was, Molly had only watched the actual crowning in Westminster Abbey, because there was too much to do for the party for her to see anything more.

She caught hold of Brenda’s arm. ‘Look, I must go up to Cassie’s, to satisfy myself that Petal and her are okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll go on my bike, so it won’t take long.’

Brenda pursed her lips. ‘If you feel that strongly, I suppose you must. But you’ll get drenched,’ she said, looking anxiously at Molly’s new blue gingham dress with its full skirt and her white, strappy sandals.

‘I’ve got my raincoat and my wellingtons in the cloakroom,’ Molly assured her. ‘I’ll be back long before we start the party games, and I’ll enjoy them then without worrying.’

Taking one last look around the crowded village hall and satisfying herself that there were enough mothers helping, Molly put a few sandwiches, sausage rolls and cakes in a cardboard cake box, found a spare party hat, flag and hooter, then rushed off to fetch her raincoat and boots.

It was hard to cycle up Platt’s Hill in the driving rain, and her raincoat kept blowing open, so her dress was getting
soaked, but Molly reminded herself it would be easy coming back down. She was always cycling up this hill to deliver groceries for people, but the narrow, rutted lane which led down to Stone Cottage, where Cassie lived, was almost at the top of the hill, well past the last of the village houses. From there on, it was only fields and woodland.

On reaching the little lane and seeing it was too muddy to ride down, she left her bike and, carrying the box of party food, made her way gingerly down to Cassie’s house.

In sunshine, Stone Cottage and the surrounding woodland looked idyllic; a place of utter peace and beauty. More than once Cassie had told Molly that it made her heart glad every single morning she woke here. This suggested to Molly that Cassie had lived in a very bad place before, but Cassie wasn’t one for confidences. Molly wondered if this was because her father was a tyrant, much like her own, and had thrown her out when he discovered she was pregnant. Admitting such a thing would be hard for someone as proud as Cassie.

But whether this was the case or not, Stone Cottage was still lovely even in the rain, albeit with a slightly sinister tinge, because the birdsong halted and the tree trunks took on a fairy-tale menace.

Molly came out into the clearing, Stone Cottage was to her left, built with its rear against a solid rockface. Presumably, when the cottage had been built a hundred or more years ago, it made good sense to utilize this wall of rock, and the roof began where the rock ended. Ivy and other plants had crept up and over the cottage roof, hiding it, so a stranger coming down through the wood above the cottage wouldn’t know it was there until they found themselves stepping on to the roof.
Cassie had often mentioned that she’d heard badgers and other night creatures walking around on it.

It was a simple little place, one room down and one up, the staircase between the two floors little more than a ladder. Four windows to the front, two on each floor, either side of the front door, which was framed by a dilapidated rose-covered porch. On the side of the cottage was a second door, with the pump beside it and a well-worn brick path to the privy, which also leaned against the rockface. This door had clearly always been the preferred way in and out of the cottage. Cassie had been unable to open the front door because the lock had seized up with lack of use.

‘Cassie!’ Molly yelled out as she got close. ‘Where are you?’

There was no reply, but Molly noticed the side door wasn’t shut properly, only pulled to, the way someone might leave a door if they were indoors or had just popped out for a minute.

Molly had been brought up to respect other people’s homes. When she was delivering groceries, she would never walk into someone’s kitchen uninvited. Cassie had often teased her about the way she always hovered on the doorstep, even if the door was wide open, never stepping over the threshold until she was asked in. In this case, though, it was unlikely Cassie was outside in the rain and, furthermore, Molly had a slight feeling of unease, which made her push the door open a little further and call out again, louder this time.

No reply. All Molly could hear was dripping rainwater and the wind in the trees. She couldn’t see much through the partly open door, as there was an old sofa covered in a multi-coloured crocheted blanket with its back to the kitchen area. It struck her that she’d never known Cassie go out before without locking the door, even though nearly everyone in the
village left theirs unlocked. But then Cassie had come from London, and it was said people were very different there.

Putting aside her usual reservations in the interests of leaving the party food in a dry place for Petal, Molly pushed the door open further and went in, placing the box on the uncleared table.

The first thing she noticed was Petal’s Britannia costume on a coat hanger on a hook on the stairs, the silver-coloured helmet gleaming brightly. Judging by the bread, plates with crumbs, teapot and two dirty cups on the table, something or someone had interrupted Cassie before she could clear the table. As Molly walked past the sofa into the main part of the room, she saw Cassie on the floor and screamed involuntarily.

She was sprawled, on her back, one leg slightly twisted. Her head was on the hearth and her blood had spilled out across it on to the floorboards in a shiny, dark-red pool.

Molly clamped her hands over her mouth to stop her scream and stared in absolute horror, not really believing what she was seeing. This was something which happened in films, not in real life. And, although she had never seen a corpse before, she felt absolutely certain Cassie was dead.

She was wearing the old floral print dress she wore most days and she still had a few curlers in her red hair, as if she’d been in the process of taking them out. Her arms were splayed out and her blue eyes were wide open.

‘Cassie, Cassie, what happened?’ said Molly, dropping down to her knees and taking her friend’s wrist to feel for a pulse. Tears ran down her cheeks unchecked when she found no none. Cassie’s skin felt very cold, too, so whatever it was must have happened some time ago. She knew she had to run to get the police, but horror rooted her to the spot.

She’d had so many laughs and in-depth conversations here in this cottage. Through Cassie, she’d learned so much about the world outside this village – about people, books, art and music. So many evenings with Petal sitting on her lap reading to her, or playing board games. Cassie was, without doubt, the best friend Molly had ever had, but more than that, too: she was her teacher, confidante and soulmate.

Then, all at once, it occurred to her that Petal wasn’t here.

Where was she?

Petal was a shy child, nervous of people until she got to know them, and Molly had never known her to stray far from her mother’s side. But, surely, if she’d seen her mother fall and all that blood spurting out, she would have run for help?

‘Petal!’ she called out. ‘It’s me, Auntie Molly. It’s okay, I’m here now, and you’ll be safe.’

But when there was no reply, not even a little whimper of distress, a dreadful thought crossed Molly’s mind.

Was Cassie attacked and Petal so terrified that she ran to hide?

Molly forced herself to act, running up the narrow stairs to look in the bedroom. She was distraught, tears almost blinding her. Her whole being wanted to run away from this scene; she couldn’t deal with it.

There was a double bed at one end of the room and a small single at the other. Both were neatly made, and Cassie’s new red-and-white dress was lying on the double bed ready for her to put on. But Petal wasn’t there. Molly looked under the bed, but there was nowhere else Petal could hide herself.

She went back down the stairs and checked the child wasn’t hiding in the privy or the woodshed, calling loudly, even though her voice was croaking with emotion. But there was
nothing, not a rustle of leaves or a crack of a twig, to break the quiet in the woods.

Molly’s stomach heaved and she vomited again and again into some undergrowth. Nothing in her life so far had prepared her for something as bad as this and, somehow, the fact it had taken place on a day the whole country was celebrating their new queen being crowned made it far, far worse.

‘The police,’ she said aloud, and forced herself to straighten up, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. ‘No time to lose.’ Staggering, and with the heavy rain mingling with the tears streaming down her cheeks, she began to make her way back up the muddy track to her bike.

CHAPTER TWO

Molly fled up the rutted lane to the road. It was hard going through the mud, so she climbed up on to the bank and forced her way through the bushes. On reaching the top, she jumped on her bicycle and freewheeled through the rain all the way down to the village, barely able to see for tears.

The high street was deserted but she could hear children in the village hall singing ‘The Farmer’s in His Den’. When she reached the police station she flung her bike down outside and ran in.

PC George Walsh was on duty behind the counter.

‘What on earth?’ he exclaimed when he saw her. She was soaked through, wild-haired and crying. He lifted the counter top and came through to her, holding out his arms. ‘Has someone attacked you, Molly?’

They had been at school together from the age of five, and George now belonged to the same drama group she did. She liked him a great deal, not just because he was nice-looking, with grey eyes and curly brown hair, but because he could always made her laugh, and he was sensitive.

‘I’ve just found Cassie March dead,’ she blurted out. ‘And Petal is missing! I can’t find her.’

George caught hold of her elbows and moved her away from him so he could see her face. His eyes were wide with shock. ‘Cassandra? Dead? Where did you find her?’

Molly sobbed out what she’d seen, and George put his
arms back around her, holding her to his shoulder. ‘I’ll have to report this to the sergeant, and he’ll have to get on to the DI. We’re a few men down, with the Coronation and all. I’ll be a few minutes. Will you be all right on your own for a bit?’

‘Yes, of course. Thank goodness it was you on duty and not someone I don’t know,’ she said, trying to brush away her tears. ‘You will find Petal? She’s only six.’

‘As soon as I’ve reported it, a search will be started. I’ll get you a cup of tea,’ he said, went back behind the counter and disappeared through a door.

It occurred to Molly as she sat on the bench waiting that most girls of her age and in these circumstances would run across the road to their parents for comfort and support.

Heywoods grocery shop was right opposite the police station, and from the sitting room above the shop her parents might have seen her running in here, or spotted her bicycle outside. But, even if they had seen, they wouldn’t come over. Her mother would want to, but her father would sniff and say, ‘If she’s in trouble, she can get herself out of it.’

There would be precious little sympathy from him when he heard that she’d found Cassie dead. He disapproved of Cassie on every level. Being an unmarried mother with a mixed race child was, in his bigoted view, beyond the pale, and because Cassie didn’t creep around hanging her head, that was evidence she was no good. He often called her ‘that red-headed whore’, angering Molly, because that was such an ugly and untrue label. In fact, he was very likely to relish Cassie’s death and he wouldn’t be concerned about Petal being missing either. Molly often thought that whatever part of the brain it was which gave people compassion and empathy was missing in him. Her mother didn’t share her husband’s views, but she
was afraid of him and wouldn’t dare do or say anything he disapproved of.

Molly put her elbows on her knees, held her head in her hands and began to cry again, this time because of the situation with her father. He was a tyrant, and he sucked all the joy out of everything, growing nastier with each passing year. Yet she couldn’t leave because of her mother.