Child's Play (16 page)

‘Just answer the question eh, mate?' Since when had Dave turned into Mr Grumpy?

Portman didn't bat an eye, kept his gaze on Sarah. ‘I've never worked as a caretaker before, but beggars can't be choosers. And when you've been out of the job market as long as I have, I was happy to take it.'

Beggar in a Boss suit? She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

‘I use the cliché loosely, inspector.' Clearly he could read body language too. ‘I inherited a modest estate from my father but money isn't everything. Life can be pretty lonely without work. Everyone needs to contribute, feel useful. And what better way to meet people, build a social life? Besides, we all need a reason to get out of bed in the morning, don't we?'

Full bladder usually works.
‘Tell me …'

Three heads swivelled when the door swung open and a woman reversed in, arms piled high with cardboard boxes. ‘Whoops, sorry, I didn't realize anyone was here.' Not surprising given her nose was pressed against the top box. As she lowered the burden, her glance fell on Harries and her turquoise eyes lightened. ‘Hello again. What are you doing here?'

From a teacher, Sarah reckoned it was a pretty dumb question. She'd little doubt of box lady's identity. Dave's hot blush wasn't the only clue. The blob of red paint on Fox's otherwise peachy cheek clinched it. Actually, Sarah ceded, on Ms Fox it was less blob, more fetching dab. ‘Silly me,' the teacher unwittingly concurred. ‘Seeing someone out of context, it always takes a second or two to sink in. Like bumping into your dentist at the butcher's.' The girly giggle followed by a broad smile suggested she fancied herself as a bit of a wit. And Sarah wouldn't be surprised if she was on first-name terms with her dentist.

‘Actually,' Portman said. ‘We're just in the mid—'

‘Of course. No worries. I don't need to do this now.' She raked her fingers apparently artlessly through the long blonde tresses.

Sarah rose. ‘Let me give you my card, Ms Fox. I'm Sarah Quinn.' She was a good six inches taller than the younger woman. ‘If anything comes to mind …'

The teacher glanced at Harries. ‘I've already got—'

‘I'm senior investigating officer on the inquiry.'

‘Why not.' She gave a tight smile. ‘The more the merrier. Catch you later.'

Throwaway remark or carefully targeted? Harries had his head down. Sarah resumed her seat, uncharacteristically rattled. ‘We were talking about your work, Mr Portman. Tell me, do you have close contact with the children?' Christ, she could've phrased that better.

His mouth tightened and the twinkle went out. ‘What exactly are you suggesting?' Pique didn't cover it; he was clearly pissed off.

She raised a placatory palm. ‘Not the best way of putting it. I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is, are you in a position to pick up what goes on in school? Rumours. Playground gossip, that sort of thing. Would you know, for instance, if a pupil was being bullied, or bothered by something, someone?'

‘Apology accepted.' He smiled. ‘But no, not really. I've not been here long enough for that.'

‘“Not really”?' she quoted. ‘You're sure?'

‘I've certainly not heard any buzz about the missing girl.' He anticipated the obvious supplementary. ‘Or anyone else for that matter.'

She looked at Harries who shook his head. ‘OK, Mr Portman. I think that's it for now.'

‘Let me have a card.' He held out a hand. ‘If I think of anything, I'll be sure to ring. Is your home number on here as well?' He winked. ‘That was a joke. Seriously, though, I wish I could be more help. Maybe if I'd been around when Caitlin was …' He held out empty palms.

‘Why?' Harries couldn't resist a final dig. ‘What would you've done?'

‘Who knows? But I presume an intruder entered the grounds again?'

Again?

‘S
o when did they get in? And come to that, how?' Nat passed Caroline a black coffee, dragged a stool out from under the breakfast bar. ‘Sit down Caro, you look like shit.'

Her mumbled ‘Cheers, mate' had nothing to do with the drink. What woman liked being told she looked less than hot? After seeing the artwork on the wall, Caroline felt like puking, still hadn't taken her gaze off the bloody thing. She barely noticed her hand shake as she lifted the espresso to her lips.

‘I was scared I'd find you lying dead or something.' Nat's nervous laugh failed to take the edge off what he'd said.

‘Fuck's sake, Nat.' Dabbing coffee off her chin, brushing it off her chest. ‘Don't mince your words, eh?'

‘Sorry Caro, but look at it.' Hands deep in black denim pockets, Nat stood and surveyed the unwanted mural in all its gory glory. A child could have daubed it. The matchstick body, splayed legs, the corpse and limbs streaked red, the whole wall spattered scarlet. The semblance of blood had to be for shock value. It wasn't real; paint fumes still lingered in the air.

‘Get the window, will you, Nat?' Shivering, Caroline drew the dressing gown round her body more tightly. Presumably, the bastards had left it open on purpose. If she'd noticed the smell earlier she might have caught them red-handed. As it was the room could've doubled as a freezer.

Nat strode across the kitchen, his thin frame not exactly instilling confidence. As a reporter, Caroline knew he punched well above his weight. As for the real world, the jury was out. She slapped a hand to her mouth. Holy mother … What if? ‘Nat, have you—?'

‘The whole house.' He brushed a boyish fringe out of his eyes. ‘Bathroom was the last place I checked. Whoever did it has long gone.' He perched on a stool beside her, gave her hand a tentative pat. ‘And you still haven't answered the questions.'

She'd certainly been giving them thought. The intruder/intruders had to have broken in while she and Ed were playing rabbits.
Or maybe not?
He'd left around six and she'd been dead to the world for the next four hours. She shuddered. Stupid sodding expression. Surely Ed would have said if he'd smelled paint? ‘Timing was most likely between six and ten. I can't pin it down any further. What about the front door, Nat? Was it locked?'

‘Front and back. No sign of a forced entry.' He swallowed a mouthful of coffee. ‘And the windows? Did you check before bed?'

‘Yeah, I'm pretty sure.' On the other hand, she and Ed had been on the pop as well as on the job. Maybe she'd inadvertently provided a literal window of opportunity. Or could Ed have accidentally left the door on the latch? No way. Besides, much as she wanted to believe the break-in was a random act, she'd obviously been targeted. And the writing on the wall couldn't be much clearer.

Nat tilted his head at the message. ‘It's to do with the job, surely?'

The red scrawl had dripped like candle wax.

She nodded. ‘It's what reporters do, isn't it?' Narrowing her eyes, she slid off the stool, took a closer look. She'd not noticed them before. Tiny letters. Almost obliterated where the paint had dripped.

‘And cops.' Nat shoved her phone across the bar. ‘You need to call them now.'

‘No, hang fire.' She traced a finger over the initials: CR. It struck her the tip-off this time could have come from the horse's mouth.
CR wants you to dig.
‘I'll do a bit of groundwork first.'

Unearthing treasure wasn't high on Caroline's expectations, but Caitlin seemed to think something had been buried.

Or someone.

‘P
aulie, Paulie. Where are you?' Susan whimpered. Gingerly, she raised her head a few inches but it hurt; she felt dizzy. She must have hit it when she went flying. Even without her glasses, she could see the root that tripped her from here. But no Pauline. Susan crossed her legs, whimpered again; if she wet her pants her mum would kill her. Wincing, she gently traced the outline of a huge bump at the back of her ear. Her fingers came away streaked with blood. She wiped it on her shorts. Oh my God, they were ripped. She was going to get a smack. She must have knocked herself out. How long had she been lying here? If Pauline had scooted off home, and right now was having her tea, tucking into spam sandwiches … Some friend, huh? Susan clenched her fists, tears pricked her eyes.

She struggled to her knees, then remembered why they'd fled into the copse. Even though her head spun, she cast wary glances round. No sign of him. And still no sign of Pauline. Susan covered her face with her hands and started to cry tears mingled with blood, snot, dirt. She remembered how the man had shouted at her to get lost, to leave Pauline alone. She felt a warm trickle down her thighs. This was the worst day of her entire life. Then she gasped. Through her fingers she saw just the edge of Pauline's sandal. The little monkey was hiding behind that tree.

She'd get a hiding alright. Susan ran the back of her hand across her mouth. A damn good slapping's what she'd get an' all when Susan got hold of her. Fear forgotten, she was hopping mad. Breathing heavily, she stomped over, hands on hips.

‘You're gonna get it, you are, Pauline Bol—' Her brain couldn't – maybe wouldn't – collate what her eyes saw. ‘Are you messing round?'
Playing dead?
Pauline lay on her back a few feet from the sandal, arms stretched like broken wings. But the sandal wasn't white any more. It was splashed with red. Susan took a tentative step towards her friend. Where had the jam come from? Pauline's face was smeared with the stuff, great blobs all over her dress, her knickers. Wasps and flies buzzing round. Pauline didn't even flinch when a great fat bluebottle landed on her eye.

‘No,' she whispered, then ran to her little friend, grabbed her in both arms, shook her again and again. ‘Wake up, Paulie, wake up. I didn't mean it.' For a while Susan held her tiny body close, cuddled her, then held her out again, willing her to breathe. Everything sagged. Pauline's head lolled like a rag doll's; limp, lifeless. Susan gagged, slapped a hand to her mouth. Pauline dropped like a dead weight.

The noise started with a wail, then a loud howl, eerie, ear-splitting. Then another and another, endless. Susan had never heard an animal like it before. On and on it went – why wouldn't it stop? Please make it— Startled, she pressed a hand to her cheek. The slap smarted but it was OK because the noise had stopped. Then she saw Mrs Bolton's ashen face as she clutched Pauline to her chest. And knew nothing would ever again be OK.

Susan's whole body shook; she couldn't control the convulsions, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe …

Other villagers appeared; she heard more approaching through the trees. Someone swung her round.

‘What happened here?' Her mum looked frightened but sounded cross, crosser than Susan had heard anyone sound. ‘What happened here, Susan?' Her shoulders hurt where her mum's fingers still dug in. Writhing, she started to sob again.

‘Mum. A man …' She could hardly get the words out. ‘A man came …'

‘I
f you ask me the guy was bigging himself up.' Harries was huffing and puffing like an asthmatic pigeon. ‘Jake Portman takes on an old dipso trying to get his leg over the school wall? It's hardly up there with Captain Marvel, is it?'

Sarah observed the strop over the rim of her cup. Portman could tackle the red army single-handed and Harries wouldn't give him a used tissue. ‘Back off, Dave. Portman thought the weapon was real. He had no idea it was a water pistol.' Not until he'd over-powered the bloke anyway.

‘Big wow.' Dave stabbed a fried egg with his fork; he was lucky the exploding yolk didn't hit him. ‘So why bring the incident up at all? He must know it can't be related to Caitlin's abduction. It happened weeks ago. And dipso-man's drying out now.'

‘Yeah. I heard he was admitted with self-inflicted wounds.' Her lip twitched. She reckoned the crack was hilarious. Almost as comical as Dave's pompous-prick act. She wouldn't mind but they'd already discussed it
ad infinitum
.

Harries tightened his mouth big time, then caught her eye and laughed with her. ‘For you, that wasn't bad. Seriously though, there's never been any suggestion Caitlin was snatched by an intruder. Security at the school's tighter than a nun's … Well, it's tight. And someone would have seen something.'

She sighed. It always came back to that. And still no sightings anywhere. The hotlines hadn't even taken par-for-the-course nut calls claiming Caitlin had been abducted by little green men or devoured by giant lizards.

‘Come on.' She nodded at his plate – sausage, egg and chips. ‘We've not got all day. And that's getting cold.'

Like the trail.
She curled a lip. Her cheese salad was hot by comparison. She'd discarded it after finding a not-so hungry caterpillar helping her out with the lettuce. Not the canteen's finest culinary hour. She took Dave's point though. For a minute or so back at Queen's Ridge, she'd thought they were looking at a break in the case. She was pretty sure Portman hadn't deliberately misled them. What motive would he have? As for the search team at the school, so far it had come up with zilch.

‘I reckon Posh Boy was out to impress you, boss.' She caught him sneak a glance at her from under his fringe. If Dave thought she'd rise to the bait, he had another think coming. Turning her head, she looked through the window. Her gaze followed a jet trail just discernible between fluffy clouds. Cumulus? Cumuli? Who gave a fuck? She sighed. Was it conceivable Caitlin had left the country? Details had been circulated to ports and airports but perhaps with a false passport, some sort of disguise … But that would have meant weeks of planning. And, again, why? Was Caitlin hapless victim or happy colluder? Sarah wasn't convinced either way.