âSettled? I'm never going back there. I couldn't!' His voice rose shrilly. He had torn his hand away and shook both fists in the air, white-knuckled. âOh God, I wish I was dead!'
âDon't tempt fate. Your girlfriend nearly is.'
Z stared in disbelief. Where was the comfort in that? But it seemed to have brought the boy to his senses.
âCharleen,' he said in a choking voice. âIt wasn't my fault, Grananna. There was a fox ran out right in front. We skidded, trying not to hit it. She wasn't dressed for biking and I had to get her home.'
âAnd where would home be?'
âHer flat in Slough. I've been shacked up there all weekend. She wanted to go to this rave down in Camberley. Insisted, really.'
âWhen did this happen?'
âSaturday night. Well, in the early hours actually.'
Some slight movement of Z's made him suddenly conscious of her presence. He darted a look across to where she stood against the wall. There was a flicker of some emotion, rapid like a camera's shutter. Then his face was prepared for her, young and pathetic. She recognised he was practised in this, conscious of his own angelic beauty, the power of his unfailing ability to charm. It didn't necessarily mean intention to deceive; just a habitual mechanism.
âWho's this?' he demanded.
âThis is Rosemary. She's looking after me.'
âHello, Rosemary.' He even smiled, a weak looping up of the lips under perfect cheekbones unscarred from the crash.
âWere you wearing a crash helmet?' Z asked him.
âI â I think so.'
She was going to ask, did Charleen have one, but Anna moved between the two of them and gave a warning glance.
âIt would have been worse without one,' Z offered limply.
He had an enchanting smile; defenceless, little-boy-lost acting brave.
âSo what do the doctors say?' Anna Plumley demanded briskly. âHow soon can we get you out of here and have you properly looked after?'
âOh, it's all right here. They've been good to me.'
âHospital's unreal. Fine as a brief interval, but you need to get your feet firmly on the ground again.'
Z marvelled at her callousness. That would have been part of Anna's received Air Force discipline: patch up the crash victims, send them up straight afterwards. She'd been treated the same way herself after a bad fall from a horse as a child. No truck with self-pity. Maybe that was right. It had worked with herself.
But this had to be different. Did Anna truly intend returning the boy to the house where his whole family had been wiped out?
âThey want me to see a shrink,' he said in a weak voice. âFor counselling.'
âNothing wrong with that,' his grandmother allowed. âYou don't have to stay here for it. There are excellent consultants in London.'
âLondon,' he said wonderingly. But she'd implied he had to go home. He frowned, seeming confused.
âGran, do you mind? I think I need a rest just now. You will come again, won't you? I'd like you with me when the police come asking questions. They do badger a guy so, and I could get muddled.'
âWe'll stay around,' she assured him. âYou can be certain of that; we'll both be coming back.'
As they left they passed a uniformed constable seated outside the door. Area, it seemed, were taking no chances.
âCoffee,' Anna briskly ordained. In the cafeteria Z pointed to a vacant table. âI'll get the tray.' She queued for two apricot Danish, a cappuccino and a double espresso to cover all eventualities, guessing that the older woman would be grateful for a few minutes alone to adjust.
âHe's just the same,' Anna said, as Z unloaded their crockery on the table. âOnly perhaps more so. Horribly spoilt.'
Why not? Z asked herself. He'd so many advantages that others hadn't: gifted with a secure family life, expensive education, a lovely home, moneyed background, good health and a talent to charm.
âWhich makes it that much harder to confront the sort of thing that's happened. So much to lose at one blow, poor boy,' she offered.
âYes. It's as he said. Now he's just got himself. And me, for all that's worth.' She sounded downcast. âMaybe I shouldn't have come. It's taking on too much.'
âBut he needs you, your strength. To know he's not entirely alone. Even his girlfriend â it's not certain she'll pull through.'
Anna stiffened, suddenly determined again. âYes. We must do something about her. Speak to her family?'
âDC Silver said they hadn't been able to contact anyone. No address was found on her. Nothing but a building society credit card made out to Charleen Jenkins. We'd need to ask Daniel. He mentioned a flat in Slough. He may know more of her background.'
âYou're right.' Anna grimly surveyed the coffee and pastry as the next challenge before her, picked up her knife and tackled the Danish with aggression. âAs soon as Daniel has had his little nap we must set about tracing the girl's family.'
The WPC Yeadings took along with him wouldn't have been his choice, but Marion Peel was the only one available according to the uniformed inspector. She was a stout party in a tight uniform and with a bad complexion. Motherly she might prove, and therefore ideal for most dealings with a bereaved family, but Yeadings had misgivings about the Jays' immediate requirements.
He would be a channel for their denial and anger: their daughter's tragic death had no part in their successful lives. Grieving must come later. His present role was to bow his head and take what came. There was no call for invasive questioning, since the child's inclusion in the Hoad family slaughter had surely been accidental.
He found he was mistaken in considering only the man's anger already displayed in confronting the Chief Constable. There was the mother too. He hadn't quite speculated on her reaction. Mrs Jay opened the door to them herself, although a uniformed maid hovered in the background.
Her eyes were puffy and red with weeping. âIt's good of you to come, Superintendent,' she said, âalthough God only knows what good it can do. Nothing will bring our darling back.'
She was a strongly built woman with an open face framed in wildly curling auburn hair. And humanly vulnerable, so that Yeadings had a natural urge to put an arm about her and gently rub her back for comfort. But she plunged away and they'd no choice but to follow, through the large, square hall and into an elegant sitting room. There was no sign of her husband.
âPlease,' she said and motioned them towards twin sofas to each side of a log fire giving out the scent of apple wood. Over it hung a full-length portrait of a ballerina in a white tutu. She was an ethereal creature, slim and erect, possibly some thirteen or fourteen years old. Not the daughter, then. Perhaps there were other children. He should have enquired into that before coming.
Mrs Jay followed the direction of his eyes and nodded. âI was crazy about dancing then, but I was growing too tall. Just never stopped. My father, an Ulsterman, said he should have put a turf on my head.'
Yeadings smiled. He'd heard that expression before.
âAnd my second love was cattle. So when Clifford came along and married me I grasped the opportunity. He indulged what he considered my whim. You may know I run a farm now. Friesians. They're amiable beasts.'
She was talking to keep off the subject he'd come about. A way of keeping him at bay. But he'd meant to offer comfort, however empty.
She caught the sound of a door opening and tensed. Then as the maid brought in a tray with tea things she gave a nervous laugh and settled to making room on a low table beside her. There were cups and saucers for three.
âIs your husband at home, Mrs Jay?' Yeadings asked.
âNo. He â he's busy in town. Some urgent case that's come up. He left yesterday.'
Left her to deal with grief on her own.
âI think he blames me for letting M-Monica go for a sleepover. She'd done it before, with other school friends. She's a popular little girl.'
Yeadings found himself liking the absent husband less every moment. On an impulse he decided to unburden himself.
âI'm finding this difficult. You must forgive me if I seem utterly useless. In other cases there has always been some hope left, when I can promise we will do our utmost to find a missing child. But this time it is too late. All I can do is swear we will hunt down whoever has done this appalling thing, and bring him to justice.'
She shivered, staring into the blazing logs. âThat at the very least.'
âBut it's never enough. I can't say how very much I feel for your loss. If it's any solace to you, Monica knew nothing of what happened. She was asleep.'
âYou have children of your own.'
It was a statement, needing no reply. She started busying herself with pouring tea, and her two visitors drank without tasting it, knowing they should already have left. As soon as he could politely withdraw, Yeadings stood and offered his hand.
âYou will let me know of any progress?'
âCertainly.' He noticed she had said âme' and not âus'. It sounded as though the marriage would not long outlast this devastating blow.
Â
Catherine Jay sat on for some twenty minutes while her tea grew cold. Then she rose and left the house by the kitchen, crossing the cobbled yard, past the row of stables to the distant milking parlour. The stockman was just herding her cows in.
She waited until Shula was opposite, then ran her hand over the velvety muzzle, drawing the great black and white body to her, breathing in her hay-scented breath.
âI'll see to this one,' she called, and guided the cow into a nearby stall. Not the impersonal, efficient Alfa-Laval system tonight. For Shula there should be hand-milking.
No, not for Shula: for herself.
The cow had a full, rounded udder, smooth like pink soap. The woman found a stool, pulled it alongside and sat, laying her cheek flat against the warm, sweat-greased flanks for solace. As she reached with both hands to squeeze out the sweet milk her tears began to flow. She remembered then that she had never been able to breast-feed Monica as a baby. It had left her feeling deprived. But nothing like now.
Her weight against the warm, breathing flanks, she milked and sobbed until both she and Shula ran dry.
Â
âGod, that's fabulous! A Granannavan!'
He leaned forward to clear the misted car window with his sleeve and peer out as Z braked and drew alongside the rear of the manor. Despite his protests they had brought him home. Anna had been adamant, Z doubtful, but the hospital had been happy to see him go, because of the hordes from national and local press who were finding ways of eluding the overloaded security system.
Almost as soon as the car started moving the boy had fallen asleep, his head lolling on to his grandmother's shoulder. Through her driving mirror Z had watched the woman draw him closer, resting his head on her ample breast and stroking back the wayward lock of hair that flopped over his forehead.
He slept all the way until they reached the gates to Fordham Manor where a half-dozen paparazzi, forewarned by phone, had gathered with a battery of cameras. Flashes lit the gloomy afternoon as they jostled to get a view of the car's occupants. There was even a TV van and a couple with furry mikes, one brandished on a boom and thrust at the driver's window.
âPolice,' Z snapped, stopping while the duty constable operated the gates. âThere's no admission.' They drove through unimpeded and the gates were closed behind them.
Waking to recognise the close hedgerows and the windings of the lane, the boy had pulled away from his grandmother. A sound that was between a whispered groan and a whimper escaped him.
âYou're going to manage fine, back among your own things,' the ex-Squadron Leader commanded. Z was doubtful, wincing as the woman went on, âWe'll go in by the gun room. I've brought the spare key.'
How could she be so unfeeling? But then Z recalled that the room had not been used to store guns for decades. It was more a dumping ground for garden furniture, golf umbrellas and muddy Wellington boots; as an entrance, probably more homely to the boy than most other parts of the house. But the name was unfortunate.
That had been the moment he saw the Jeep and the caravan. In an instant he was alert and fascinated.
âMine,' Anna admitted shortly. âI'm the peripatetic house guest, not always sure there's a welcome under my would-be hosts' roof.'
He flashed her his pathetic half-smile, there and gone in a second. And of course he knew what peripatetic meant. âWe've got two guest rooms,' he offered. âThere's beds for both of you.'
âRosemary?' Anna raised a suggestive eyebrow. âLike to stay on?'
âThanks,' said Z, turning in her seat to face him, âbut I'm local, more or less. And anyway, Danny, you should know I'm police. Sergeant Zyczynski, CID.'
He stared back at her, eyes wide in an ashen face. It was anything but welcome news. She was aware of a new barrier going up between them.
âIt was an accident,' he said weakly. âA fox darted out and I skidded avoiding it.'
âThat's Ascot's business,' she told him. âNothing to do with me. As your grandmother said, I'm here to help her in any way I can. But there's someone else who needs caring for. Your friend Charleen. We must get in touch with her folks. Do you know where they live?'
He continued to stare, his mouth slack.
âDid you give the Traffic officer her address?'
His reaction was delayed, but as he started to talk the words fell over themselves. âShe lives alone. It was a flat over a shop; number 7A, I think. I don't know the name of the road. It was dark when we got there and we had to get in out of the storm.'
So he didn't know her at all well. Probably a pick-up in some bar he'd risked entering, confident he looked older than his true age.
âThis would be on Friday?'
âYes.'
âThat was your first meeting?'
He was young enough to blush. âShe seemed friendly; lent me change for the phone. I'd left my mobile at home.'
âAnd then?'
âWell, I had to stand her a drink, didn't I? Actually we had one or two. She was funny and we got on really well together. When I told her the camp had been cancelled she said I could come back with her; spend the weekend there.' There was a brief hint of cockiness there, while his expression stayed unsure.
âI was a bit doubtful at first, only by the time I'd given her a lift home she said I shouldn't be riding farther after what I'd drunk. So I said I'd stay.'
âAnd who did you ring?'
âRing?'
âYou borrowed change from her for the phone.'
âOh, that was earlier. Yes. I rang home. Only there was no reply. The answerphone was switched on. They do that when everyone's gone to bed. To avoid being disturbed.'
âWhat time would that have been?' Her voice sharpened.
He looked vague, switched his gaze to his grandmother who was staring down at her hands. No help from that direction. What had he expected her to do â beg that the questions should stop?
âI don't know. It's all a bit foggy. Late, anyway.'
âBefore the pub closed?'
âOf course.'
âSo which pub would that have been?'
She caught a flicker of something like anger in his eyes. He wasn't used to being cross-questioned. His voice, when he answered, was superior, putting her in her place, a mere policewoman. âOh, the Swan or the Falcon or some such bird.'
âIn â¦?'
âSlough. I'd gone there to pick up my friend's bike. He was away that weekend on TA training.'
âWithout his bike?'
âThey'd sent him a rail warrant. To Bodmin. God, it'd have been really shitty out there on the moors. If the storm reached that far.'
âI guess so,' she conceded and managed a smile. No need to ruffle his feathers further. All he'd told her could easily be checked. âLet's go indoors, then.'
âIt should have warmed through by now,' Anna encouraged. âI turned the heating up before I left.'
They all got out, Daniel hopping between the hospital's aluminium sticks while Z retrieved his kitbag from the car's boot. The women waited for Daniel to join them at the door. His face was chalky white and Z had further misgivings about bringing him home so soon. They filed through into the hall. As Anna turned on the lights he stared wildly around, his eyes drawn at once to the police tapes denying access to the dining room. Instantly he crumpled to the floor, his gasping cry followed by the clatter of metal sticks on the tiles.
âOut like a light,' Anna observed, whipping off her car coat and bundling it under his head.
There was the sound of rapid feet descending the stairs. âThe housekeeper,' Anna explained. âShe arrived just before you picked me up.'
Mrs Pavitt appeared. âI heard your car. Oh God, it's Daniel. You've brought him back!' She sounded appalled.
She ran and knelt beside him, loosening his collar and chafing his hands between her own. âWe must get him to bed.'
âA sofa in the drawing-room,' Anna decreed. âRosemary, will you take his feet?' She stood back while the other two carried him through.
âSome water,' Alma Pavitt demanded, waving a hand at Z who disappeared into the kitchen.
âI think he's discovered a taste for something more bracing,' said his grandmother. âStop fussing and give the lad some air. You can get him a whisky when he comes round. Better still, make that three.'