He glanced up at Ruth, whose face had imperceptibly softened at the sight of her daughters face. Now he could see what had attracted Hawkins eye to the farmers widow. Without the strain that had stripped gentleness from Ruths face, her beauty was as obvious as her daughters. With the ghost of a smile touching her lips, it was hard to imagine hed believed her plain.
Shes a lovely girl, George murmured. He got to his feet, picking up the photographs. Id like to hang on to these for the time being. Hawkin nodded. Sergeant, if I could have a word outside?
The two men stepped from the warm kitchen into the icy night air. As he closed the door behind them, George heard Ruth say in a defeated voice, Ill make tea now.
What do you think? George asked. He didnt need Lucass confirmation to know that this was serious, but if he assumed authority now over the uniformed man, it was tantamount to saying he thought the girl had been murdered or seriously assaulted. And in spite of his growing conviction that that was what had happened, he had a superstitious dread that acting as if it were so might just make it so.
I think we should get the dog handler out fast as you like, sir. She could have had a fall. She could be lying injured. If shes been hit in a rock fall, the dog could have been killed. He looked at his watch. Weve got four extra uniformed officers on duty at the Kennedy memorial service. If were quick, we can catch them before they go off duty and get them out here as well as every man we can spare. Lucas reached past him to open the door. Ill need to use their phone. No point in trying the radio here. Youd get better reception down the bottom of Markham Main pit shaft.
OK, Sergeant. You organize what you can by way of a search party. Im going to call in DS Clough and DC Cragg. They can make a start on a door-to-door in the village, see if we can narrow down who saw her last and where. George felt a faint fluttering in his stomach, like first-night nerves. Of course, thats exactly what it was. If his fears were right, he was standing on the threshold of the first major case hed been entirely responsible for. Hed be judged by this for the rest of his career. If he didnt uncover what had happened to Alison Carter, it would be an albatross round his neck for ever.
3
Wednesday, 11th December 1963. 9.07 p.m.
The dogs breath swirled and hung in the night air as if it had a life of its own. The Alsatian sat calmly on its haunches, ears pricked, alert eyes scanning Scardale village green. PC Dusty Miller, the dog handler, stood by his charge, one hand absently fingering the short tan and brindle hair between its ears. Princell need some clothes and shoes belonging to the lass, he told Sergeant Lucas. The more shes worn them, the better. We can manage without, but itd help the dog.
Ill have a word with Mrs Hawkin, George interjected before Lucas could assign anyone to the task. It wasnt that he thought a uniformed officer would be deficient in tact; he simply wanted another chance to observe Alison Carters mother and her husband.
He walked into the warm fug of the kitchen, where Hawkin was still sitting at the table, still smoking. Now he had a cup of tea in front of him, as did the WPC who sat at the other end of the table. They both looked up as he entered. Hawkin raised his eyebrows in a question. George shook his head. Hawkin pursed his lips and rubbed a hand over his eyes. George was pleased to see the man finally showing some signs of concern for his stepdaughters fate. That Alison might be in real danger seemed finally to have penetrated his self-absorption.
Ruth Hawkin was at the sink, her hands among the suds in the washing-up bowl. But she wasnt doing the dishes. She was motionless, staring intently into the unbroken dark of the night. The moonlight barely penetrated the area behind the house; this far down the valley, the tall limestone reefs were close enough to cut off most of it. There was nothing beyond the window but a faint, dark outline against the grey-white of the cliffs. An outbuilding of some sort, George guessed. He wondered if it had been searched yet. He cleared his throat. Mrs Hawkin
Slowly, she turned. Even in the brief time theyd been in Scardale, she seemed to have aged, the skin tightening across her cheekbones and her eyes sinking back into her head. Yes?
We need some of Alisons clothes. To help the tracker dog.
She nodded. Ill fetch something.
The dog handler suggested some shoes, and something shes worn a few times. A jumper or a coat, I suppose.
Ruth walked out of the room with the automatic step of the sleepwalker. I wonder if I could use your phone again, George asked.
Be my guest, Hawkin said, waving his hand towards the hallway.
George followed Ruth through the door and made for the table where the old-fashioned black Bakelite phone squatted on a piecrust table next to a wedding photograph of a radiant Ruth with her new husband. If Hawkin hadnt been so handsomely unmistakable, George doubted he would have identified the bride.
As soon as he closed the door behind him, he felt icy coldness grip him. If the girl was used to living in temperatures like this, shed stand a better chance outside, he thought. He could see Ruth Hawkin disappear round the turn in the stairs as he lifted the receiver and began to dial. Four rings, then it was picked up. Buxton four-two-two, the familiar voice said, instantly soothing his anxieties.
Anne, its me. Ive had to go out to Scardale on a case. A missing girl.
The poor parents, Anne said instantly. And poor you, having that to deal with on a night like this.
Its the girl Im worried about. Obviously, Im going to be late. In fact, depending on what happens, I might not be back at all tonight.
You push yourself too hard, George. Its bad for you, you know. If youre not back by bedtime, Ill make up some sandwiches and leave them in the fridge so theres something for you to eat. Theyd better be gone by the time I get up, she added, her scolding only half teasing.
If Ruth Hawkin hadnt reappeared on the stairs, hed have told Anne how much he loved the way she cared about him. Instead, he simply said, Thanks. Ill be in touch when I can, and replaced the receiver. He moved to the foot of the stairs to meet Ruth, who was clutching a small bundle to her chest. Were doing all we can, he said, knowing it was inadequate.
I know, she said. She opened her arms to reveal a pair of slippers and a crumpled flannelette pyjama jacket. Will you give these to the dog man?
George took the clothes, noting with a stab of nameless emotion how pathetic the circumstances had rendered the blue velveteen slippers and the pink sprigged jacket. Holding them gingerly, to avoid contamination with his scent, George walked back through the kitchen and out into the night air. Wordlessly, he handed the items to Miller and watched while the dog handler spoke soft words of command to Prince, offering the garments to its long nose.
The dog raised its head delicately, as if scenting some culinary delight on the wind. Then it started nosing the ground by the front door, its head swinging to and fro in long arcs, inches above the ground. Every few feet, it gave a snorting snuffle then looked up, thrusting its nostrils towards Alisons clothes and her scent, as if reminding itself what it was supposed to be seeking. Dog and handler moved forward in tandem, covering every inch of the path from the kitchen door. Then, at the very edge of the dirt track that skirted the back of the village green, the Alsatian suddenly stiffened. As rigid as a child playing statues, Prince paused for long seconds, hungrily drinking in the scent from the scrubby grass. Then in one smooth, liquid motion, the dog moved swiftly across the grass, its body close to the ground, its nose seeming to pull it forward in a low lope.
The dog raised its head delicately, as if scenting some culinary delight on the wind. Then it started nosing the ground by the front door, its head swinging to and fro in long arcs, inches above the ground. Every few feet, it gave a snorting snuffle then looked up, thrusting its nostrils towards Alisons clothes and her scent, as if reminding itself what it was supposed to be seeking. Dog and handler moved forward in tandem, covering every inch of the path from the kitchen door. Then, at the very edge of the dirt track that skirted the back of the village green, the Alsatian suddenly stiffened. As rigid as a child playing statues, Prince paused for long seconds, hungrily drinking in the scent from the scrubby grass. Then in one smooth, liquid motion, the dog moved swiftly across the grass, its body close to the ground, its nose seeming to pull it forward in a low lope.
PC Miller quickened his step to keep up with the dog. On a nod from Sergeant Lucas, four of the uniformed men whod arrived minutes after the dog team fell into step behind them, fanning out to cover the ground with the cones of their torch beams. George followed them for a few yards, not certain whether he should join their party or wait for the two CID officers hed summoned but who hadnt arrived yet.
Their path touched the village green at a tangent then, via a stone stile, into a narrow salient between two cottages that gave out into a larger field. As the dog led them unwaveringly across the field, George heard a car grumbling down the road into the village. As it pulled up behind the cluster of police vehicles already there, he recognized the Ford Zephyr of Detective Sergeant Tommy Clough. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the tracker team. Their torches gave their positions away. It wouldnt be hard to catch up with them. He turned on his heel, strode over to the bulky black car and yanked open the drivers door. The familiar ruddy harvest moon face of his sergeant grinned up at him. How do, sir, Clough said on a wave of beer fumes.
Weve got work to do, Clough, George said shortly. Even with a drink in him, Clough would still do a better job than most officers sober. The passenger door slammed and Detective Constable Gary Cragg slouched round the front of the car. Hed watched too many Westerns, George had decided the first time the lanky DC had swaggered into his line of vision. Cragg would have looked fine in a pair of sheepskin chaps with matching Colt pistols slung low on his narrow hips and a ten-gallon hat tipped over his hooded grey eyes. In a suit, he had the air of a man whos not quite sure how he got where he is, but wishes with all his heart he was somewhere else.
Missing girl, is that right, sir? he drawled. Even his slow voice would have been more at home in a saloon, asking the bartender for a shot of bourbon. The only saving grace, as far as George could see, was that Cragg showed no signs of being a maverick.
Alison Carter. Thirteen years old, George briefed them as Clough unfolded his chunky body from under the steering wheel. He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. She lives in the manor house, stepdaughter of the squire. Her and her mother are Scardale natives, though.
Clough snorted and clamped a tweed cap over his tight brown curls. Shell not have had the sense to get lost, then. You know about Scardale, dont you? Theyve all been marrying their cousins for generations. Most of them would be hard pressed to find their backsides in a toilet.
Alison managed to make it to grammar school in spite of her handicaps, George pointed out. Which, as I recall, is more than we can say for you, Sergeant Clough. Clough glared at the boss who was three years his junior, but said nothing. Alison came home from school at the usual time, George continued. She went out with the dog. Neither of thems been seen since. That was the best part of five hours ago. I want you to do a door-to-door round the village. I want to know who was the last person to see her, where and when.
Itll have been dark by the time she went out, Cragg said.
All the same, somebody might have seen her. Im going to try and catch up with the dog handler, so thats where Ill be if you need me. OK? As he turned away, a sudden chill thought struck him. He looked round the horseshoe of houses huddled round the green, then swung back to face Clough and Cragg. And every house I want you to check the kids are where they should be. I dont want some mother having hysterics tomorrow morning when she discovers her kids missing too.
He didnt wait for an answer, but set off for the stile. Just before he got there, he checked his stride and turned back to find Sergeant Lucas in the middle of directing the remaining six uniformed officers hed managed to rustle up from somewhere. Sergeant, George said. Theres an outbuilding you can see from the kitchen window of the house. I dont know if anyones checked it yet, but it might be worth taking a look, just in case she didnt go for her usual walk.
Lucas nodded and gestured with his head to one of the constables. See what you can see, lad. He nodded to George. Much obliged, sir.
Kathy Lomas stood at her window and watched the darkness swallow the tall man in the mac and the trilby. Illuminated by the headlights of the big car that had just rolled to a halt by the phone box, hed borne a remarkable resemblance to James Stewart. It should have been a reassuring thought, but somehow it only made the evenings events all the more unreal.
Kathy and Ruth were cousins, separated by less than a year, connected by blood on both maternal and paternal sides. They had grown into women and mothers side by side. Kathys son Derek had been born a mere three weeks after Alison. The families histories were inextricably intertwined. So when Kathy, alerted by Derek, had walked into Ruths kitchen to find her cousin pacing anxiously, chain-smoking and fretting, shed felt the stab of fear as strongly as if it had been her own child who was absent.
Theyd gone round the village together, at first convinced they would find Alison warming herself at someone elses fire, oblivious to the passing of time, remorseful at causing her mother worry. But as they drew blank after blank, conviction had shrivelled to hope, then hope to despair.
Kathy stood at the darkened window of Lark Cottages tiny front room, watching the activity that had suddenly bloomed in the dismal December night. The plain-clothes detective who had been driving the car, the one who looked like a Hereford bull with his curly poll and his broad head, pushed his car coat up to scratch his backside, said something to his colleague, then started towards her front door, his eyes seeming to meet hers in the darkness.
Kathy moved to the door, glancing towards the kitchen where her husband was trying to concentrate on finishing a marquetry picture of fishing boats in harbour. The police are here, Mike, she called.
Not before time, she heard him grumble.
She opened the door just as the Hereford bull lifted his hand to knock. His startled look turned into a smile as he took in Kathys generous curves, still obvious even beneath her wraparound apron. Youll have come about Alison, she said.
Youre right, missus, he said. Im Detective Sergeant Clough, and this is Detective Constable Cragg. Can we come in a minute?
Kathy stepped back and let them pass, allowing Clough to brush against her breasts without complaint. The kitchens straight ahead. Youll find my husband in there, she said coldly.