The Lost Ones Page 7

  ‘So it was about ten to ten when you arrived at the clearing,’ stated Inspector Shields, his voice flat, all business.

  A little of his calmness seemed to seep into Amanda, who took a breath and continued, ‘I suppose it must have been. I wasn’t keeping track of time. Erin went to play by the streams, while I sat down at the side of the road.’

  ‘Roughly how far would you say Erin was from you at this point?’

  ‘Twenty or thirty metres.’

  ‘And what were you doing while Erin was playing?’

  Amanda hesitated a breath’s space. The truth trembled on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak it. This has nothing to do with the phone call, she told herself. All you’ll do by telling him about it is make a bad situation even worse. ‘Nothing, really. I was just looking at the trees and thinking.’

  Inspector Shields looked up from his notepad. ‘Thinking about what?’

  ‘Things . . . Things like whether we were going to get planning for the quarry. Or whether we’d end up losing—’ Despite her earlier words, Amanda broke off with a glance at her mum as if unsure whether to continue in front of her.

  ‘Go on,’ prompted the inspector.

  Amanda heaved a sigh. ‘It’s been a tough few months. We’ve put everything into the quarry. And if planning hadn’t been granted, that’s what we would have lost – everything. We still might if we can’t get the quarry up and running in the next few weeks.’

  ‘Oh, Amanda,’ said Cathy, shocked. ‘I didn’t realise money was that tight. You should have come to us. You know we’d never let that happen.’

  ‘And you know Tom would never take your money.’

  ‘Pride!’ Cathy’s lips curled on the word. ‘What good is pride if you lose your home?’

  Mother and daughter stared at each other, their faces set into a look of old battles no one could win.

  ‘So how long were you sitting there . . . thinking before you realised Erin was gone?’ asked Inspector Shields.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Amanda’s tone was faintly defensive. She didn’t like the suggestive pause in the question. ‘About ten minutes.’

  ‘Ten minutes. She could have put a fair distance between herself and you in that time.’

  Amanda’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘Yes, but why would she want to?’

  ‘That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can you think of any reason Erin might have for running away?’

  ‘No,’ Amanda said with as much conviction as she could summon up. ‘Erin’s a happy little girl.’

  ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

  Amanda looked at the inspector incredulously. ‘She’s nine.’

  ‘It happens. Especially these days with the Internet.’

  ‘Christ, what are you suggesting? That she might have gone off with some sicko she’s met online?’

  ‘It’s too early to suggest anything. I’m simply trying to build up a picture of your daughter. Does Erin have a mobile phone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about access to computers and tablets?’

  ‘She has a laptop and an iPad. But we monitor her usage of them. And before you ask, we don’t allow her on social media.’

  ‘Would it be OK if I took them to the station for the techies to look at?’

  ‘Of course, whatever you think’s necessary.’ Amanda retrieved the laptop and iPad – both in pink cases – from a shelf.

  ‘Depending on how things pan out, we may need to take a look at all devices in the house with online access.’

  ‘You can look at them now if you like.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re quite at that stage yet.’

  Amanda wondered with a queasy feeling when they would be at that stage. The inspector’s gaze returned to his notepad. ‘So, after you realised Erin was gone, what did you do?’

  ‘What do you think I did? I went looking for her. I saw a couple out walking. They helped me.’

  ‘Martin and Rowen Saxton of Rothbury. Mr Saxton found the blood. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Inspector Shields skimmed back through his notes. ‘I think that covers everything for now. I need to speak to your son Jake too.’

  ‘I’ll fetch him,’ offered Cathy, rising.

  Amanda stared at her lap, wringing her hands. ‘You must think I’m a terrible mother.’

  ‘I’m not here to make those kinds of judgements, Mrs Jackson,’ said Inspector Shields.

  Amanda clenched her fist and pounded it into her palm. ‘I should have been watching her! I’ll never forgive myself for—’ She broke off, darting a look at Inspector Shields. For what? the inspector’s eyes seemed to impersonally enquire. She blinked back down to her lap.

  Cathy returned, looking flustered. ‘Jake’s not in his bedroom.’

  Amanda jerked to her feet. ‘Well, where is he then?’ She rushed to the shoe rack by the front door. ‘His boots are gone.’

  ‘He must have snuck out.’

  Amanda stuck her head out of the door, then dashed to the kitchen window. There was no sign of Jake at the front or back of the house. She slapped her palm against the work surface. ‘I bloody well told him to stay put.’ Her voice swayed between anger and upset. She lowered her head briefly, tears threatening to spill over. Then she snatched up a phone and scrolled through the contacts to ‘Jake’s mobile’. Her call went through to voicemail. ‘Get your arse back here right away!’ she barked. ‘Do you hear me, Jake? Right away!’

  ‘Go easy, Amanda,’ said Cathy. ‘He loves his sister and just wants to help.’

  ‘If he wants to help he should do as he’s told.’ She slammed the phone into its cradle. ‘Why can’t he ever do as he’s fucking told?’

  ‘I’ll go look for him. He can’t have got far.’

  ‘And I’ll tell my officers to keep an eye out for him,’ said Inspector Shields. He handed Amanda his card. ‘Please don’t hesitate to call me if you remember anything you think might be relevant. And try not to worry too much. In most cases of this type, the missing person turns up safe within a few hours.’

  Amanda hauled in a shaky breath. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, and one more thing. Now you’ve gone public, you may well get a few journalists sniffing around. Please don’t talk to them without clearing it with me first. From this point on, it’s extremely important that I have control over what information we release to the media. OK?’

  Amanda nodded. She nodded again when her mum asked, ‘Will you be all right on your own?’ But as soon as she was alone, Amanda collapsed once more into a puddle of self-loathing.

  DAY 1

  1.20 P.M.

  Tom tried his brother’s number again, and once again he got through to voicemail. He left a message. ‘I know you’re pissed off at me, Graham, but this isn’t about us. Erin’s missing. She disappeared in the forest. We don’t know if she’s—’ Alive or dead. Those were the words in his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to say them. ‘Please call me. I really need your help, little brother.’

  He hung up and resumed pushing aside fronds of bracken with a stick. To either side of him, evenly spaced figures wearing the red-and-black jackets of the Northumberland National Park Mountain Rescue Team were engaged in the same task. He held back a rising sense of frustration. In the hour or so since Amanda had left, fifteen members of mountain rescue and half a dozen more park rangers had joined the search. But things still seemed to be moving infuriatingly slowly. They were working their way through dense bracken sandwiched between the bubbling Newbiggin Burn and towering pines eight or nine hundred metres west of where Erin had last been seen. It was all he could do to stop himself from running into the trees shouting for her. The thought of her lost in there, possibly injured and certainly frightened, was like a hand twisting his insides. But at the same time he had to believe that she was simply lost. The alternatives were too awful to contemplate.

  Tom’s phone rang and he snatched it out, expecting to
see ‘Graham’, but another name flashed up. He put the phone to his ear. ‘Where are you, Eddie?’

  ‘I’m at the bridge.’ Eddie’s voice was barely audible. The signal was poor to non-existent that deep into the forest. ‘They’re dividing us into search teams. I thought you might want to come along with us.’

  ‘See you in a minute.’

  Shouting where he was going to his fellow searchers, Tom jogged back alongside the meandering stream. When the bridge came into view, his heart lifted. There were at least fifty people clustered to the south side of it. Many of them were friends and acquaintances of his. Others were strangers. Sergeant Dyer was addressing them from the centre of the bridge. ‘Each team will walk their allotted search area in a line. Try to stay within sight of each other. We don’t want anyone getting lost. And take it slowly. Pay particular attention to the forest floor. Erin might have dropped something that could tell us in which direction she went.’

  As Tom moved among the volunteers, he exchanged grateful glances and nods with those he knew. Eddie was with Henry at the front. He’d swapped his suit for his usual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. Henry was leaning on a sturdy wooden walking stick. He had a compass and map around his neck. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his flushed, determined face.

  ‘This is only the first busload,’ said Eddie, gripping Tom’s hand. ‘There are more on the way. Don’t you worry, mate, we’re going to find her in no time.’

  Tom felt tears forming. He blinked them back. ‘Cheers, Eddie.’

  Henry laid a supportive hand on Tom’s shoulder. Tom almost flinched. His father-in-law had never shown him that kind of affection before. For the sake of Amanda and the children, they were generally friendly enough with each other. But there always remained a certain distance between them, an awareness that they were too different ever to be close. It struck him as somehow sad that it should take something like this to move them to see beyond their differences.

  ‘Any questions?’ asked Sergeant Dyer.

  ‘Do you have any clue which way Erin might have gone?’ asked a blond-haired young man.

  ‘A small quantity of blood has been found on the west side of Blanch Burn,’ said the sergeant. ‘We don’t as yet have any confirmation that it belongs to Erin. But if it does, it would seem to suggest she was moving northwards. Which is why we’re concentrating our efforts on areas to the west and north of here. A specialist search team with tracking dogs is en route and should be here within the next hour. So it’s important that you don’t go trampling over the ground adjacent to Blanch Burn and obscuring any potential scent trail. OK, you all know what you need to do. So let’s get to it.’

  A ripple of talk went through the volunteers as they began breaking up into groups of ten and heading off in the direction of their search grids. ‘Right,’ Henry said purposefully. ‘Everyone on my team, follow me.’

  My team. Tom felt a rise of irritation. This was the Henry he knew. The Henry who always had to be in charge. His habit of overriding Tom’s authority, especially where the children were concerned, had been a constant source of simmering tension over the years. Tom bit his tongue. Now was hardly the time for raking over old scores.

  Henry strode along the gravel road, which ran parallel to Blanch Burn for fifty or so metres before veering towards an impenetrable-looking pine plantation. He was followed by Eddie and several local lads who were signed up to work at the quarry. The only members of the team Tom didn’t know were a dark-haired young woman and the man who’d asked Sergeant Dyer a question. They had the look of farmers’ kids, although the man was too pale to have spent much time outdoors.

  Sergeant Dyer accosted Tom. ‘There’s a Detective Inspector Glenn Shields who wants to talk to you. He’d appreciate it if you’d meet him by Newbiggin Farm.’

  ‘I’m done wasting time on talking.’

  ‘It’s your choice, Mr Jackson, but I assure you that you wouldn’t be wasting your time. What you say to Inspector Shields could yield vital clues as to your daughter’s whereabouts.’

  ‘You can tell the inspector that I haven’t got the first clue where Erin might be or why this is happening. Now, unless there’s anything else, Sergeant, I’m going to look for my daughter.’

  Tom hurried after the search team. Eddie was straggling along fiddling with his phone. ‘What are you doing?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Trying to sort out when we’re going to kick those eco-pricks out of the quarry.’

  The knot that seemed to have lodged itself between Tom’s eyebrows tightened. ‘How can you be thinking about that now?’

  ‘Because one of us needs to. I’m sorry, Tom, but if we don’t get the quarry going asap the whole thing will go tits up. And you’re not the only one who stands to lose everything if that happens.’

  Tom sighed. ‘You’re right. You do what needs to be done. But don’t expect any help from me until this is over.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate. I’ve got it all in hand.’ Eddie scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘Talking about those eco-pricks, have you considered that they might have something to do with all this?’

  ‘No way are they that crazy.’

  ‘Well, what about those druids or whatever the hell they are? They’re definitely crazy enough.’

  Tom shook his head dubiously.

  ‘But what about that poem thing they—’

  ‘No,’ Tom broke in sharply enough to draw glances from the people ahead of them. ‘Erin’s lost and that’s all this is.’

  ‘OK, Tom.’ Eddie’s gruff voice was uncharacteristically gentle. ‘She’s lost and we’re going to find her.’

  As the gravel road delved into the trees, a hush fell over the search party that reflected the silence of the forest. After roughly half a mile, the road swung left. Among the trees, police and park rangers could be glimpsed, strung out in a long line. The road curved north-west. They walked briskly for several minutes more, then Henry consulted his map. ‘This is our search area. There needs to be five of us on either side of the road, spaced out at intervals of twenty-five metres. Myself, Tom, Eddie and—’ He pointed at the blond-haired young man. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘Seth.’

  Henry’s gaze moved to Seth’s female companion. ‘And I’m sorry, I don’t know your name either.’

  ‘Holly,’ she replied.

  ‘Us five will take the left-hand side of the road. The rest of you will take the right. We’ll keep going until we reach the moors. You all know what to do if you find anything.’

  They fanned out into the trees, their boots crunching a springy layer of pine needles. The bare lower limbs of each tree bristled like a sea urchin’s spines. The thickly needled upper branches doused the forest floor in cool, pine-scented shadows pierced by occasional shafts of sunlight. A familiar sense of the outside world receding, of entering a place somehow beyond the normal flow of things settled over Tom. It was a feeling that had drawn him to the forest since he was a boy. For the short time he was there his worries would dissolve like the mist that often rolled down from the Simonside Hills. But now it served only to nudge him closer towards the brink of panic.

  DAY 1

  1.21 P.M.

  Hearing an approaching vehicle, Jake ducked behind a bush. He peered through the leaves and saw his grandma at the steering wheel of her Mini. Her face, normally so full of smiles, was lined with worry. Guilt prodded at him as he recalled her earlier words, Your mother’s got enough to worry about without having to worry about you too. He knew his mum would be freaking out, but what else could he do? It just wasn’t fair that they expected him to sit at home twiddling his fingers while Erin was lost or some shit worse. She could be an annoying brat, especially when she was playing up to her daddy’s-little-princess status – which was most of the time. But she was his sister and the thought of anything bad happening to her gave him a horrible cold feeling in his stomach.

  His phone buzzed a text message alert. As expected, the text was from Lauren. It read ‘I
’m at the park.’ He texted back, ‘See you in 2 mins. Just hiding from my gran.’ The Mini loitered at the end of the street, before turning from view. Jake hurried on his way. Shooting glances in the direction his grandmother had taken, he went through a wrought-iron gate and cut across a bowling green towards a play park. A tell-tale thread of smoke was curling out of a little wooden house attached to a slide. He clambered up a ladder into the house. A girl was sitting cross-legged on its floor, smoking a cigarette. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed raven black and cut into a lopsided fringe. Her blue eyes were encircled in thick black eyeliner. Although it was hot, she was wearing a camo jacket and torn skinny jeans tucked into Doc Martens. A silver tongue-stud showed as she said, ‘This is totally messed up, Jake. What are we going to do?’

  He hunkered down beside her, hugging his scrawny legs to his chest. ‘I dunno. But we’ve got to do something.’ She passed him the cigarette. He inhaled, struggling not to cough as the smoke stung his lungs. ‘We could go to the forest.’

  ‘It’s miles away. And that’s where your gran will be expecting you to go. She’ll find you and take you home before we even get there.’

  ‘But what else can we do?’

  Lauren took the cigarette back and puffed on it thoughtfully. ‘Your sister disappeared by the river, right?’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘So she might have followed it back to town.’

  ‘Actually, you could be right. I always told her to follow the river or a stream if she got lost.’

  Lauren brought up a Google map of the area on her phone. ‘Look at where the river meets town. Do you know what one of the first places it passes is?’

  Jake shrugged again.

  ‘It’s the Ingham house. Y’know, where those murders happened way back in the seventies.’

  Jake knew the Ingham house. All the local kids did. It was a big decaying place, the kind where you’d expect the door to be answered by a seven-foot-tall butler. Supposedly it was haunted by Elijah and Joanna Ingham. Local legend had it that on the anniversary of their murders, bloodcurdling screams could be heard coming from the house. Knocking and running from its door was something of a rite of passage for teenagers. Some kids went further. They broke in and took souvenirs – scraps of purportedly blood-stained wood and plaster. And they weren’t the only ones. Over the years, thieves had stripped the house of its lead and copper. An unknown arsonist had attempted to burn it down. And most recently, police had been called there on several occasions to kick out ghost hunters who were spending the night. There’d been a long-standing campaign by neighbours for the council to purchase and tear it down. But its owner, Mary Ingham, the younger surviving daughter, had refused all offers.