crossing my fingers that he doesn’t do anything stupid. Anyway,” she added, making an effort to brighten up, “I mustn’t keep you. It was really kind of you to come in for a few minutes. And to offer to meet Frankie and have him for a couple of hours. I’ll pay you, of course, the going rate! I shall tell Mrs. M that I can be available extra hours.”
“So where’s young Jack now?” Kate said, as she and Cecilia walked back down the garden path.
“In his room,” Paula said. “He doesn’t seem to want to leave it. The social worker said he’s probably still a bit shocked.”
“Do you think that?”
“No,” said Paula. “I think he’s plotting something.”
GAVIN DROVE BACK IN THE EARLY EVENING THROUGH HIS PEACEFUL village with a feeling of relief. He was tired and looking forwards to seeing Kate and Cecilia. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he was anxious for their safety, but all day it had lurked at the back of his mind. Froot was used to getting his own way, and in the past had stopped at nothing to get it. Thank goodness Kate had decided against meeting with him.
He turned the car into their lane, and saw Tony and Irene in her wheelchair outside his gate. Christ! What was happening? He screeched to a halt and leapt out of his car. To his relief, he saw that Tony was smiling. Nothing too bad, then.
He greeted them, and then stood, breathing heavily. Irene stretched out her hand. “Evening, Gavin,” she said. “Hasn’t it been a beautiful day? We’ve been having tea in your garden with Kate and Cecilia. Such a treat for we oldies!”
Gavin looked towards his front door, and saw Kate standing there, holding his daughter, both of them waving to him. He said a silent prayer of thanks, and went to meet them. Apparently Tony and Irene had insisted on coming round to keep Kate company, bringing a sponge cake and homemade biscuits, and she hadn’t been able to refuse. In fact, they had all enjoyed it, and Cecilia had been thoroughly indulged.
Together, Gavin and Kate put their daughter to bed, and then settled down to a pizza and a bottle of red wine he had bought on the way home.
“Are we celebrating something?” Kate said.
“I suppose we are,” he said. “Got a new client, and an offer of a job.”
Kate gasped. How had Froot found Gavin already? “Who with?” she stuttered.
“Well, the bloke I went to see, of course. Robin Crossley. He wants me to join his company and take on the side of the business I’m already doing in Tresham. What’s the matter, Kate? Are you ill?”
“Not really,” she said, “but listen, I’ve got something important to tell you.”
IN HIS MAKESHIFT HOME IN THE WAREHOUSE, JACK HICKSON HAD cleaned a filthy window so that he could see out into the street below. He had spotted the paragraph in the paper saying that the missing boy had been safely at a friend’s house all the time. There was some adverse comment about wasting taxpayers’ money. Jack could not have explained exactly how, but he knew that his son was lying. The lad had his faults, but he wouldn’t have put his mother through all that worry voluntarily. No, he was absolutely certain that he had been abducted, and he knew by whom. No doubt young Jack was too frightened to tell the truth.
He knew there was little likelihood of seeing his quarry by chance. He would have to carry out his plan to pace the streets patiently, keeping his eyes and ears open, until he picked up a clue. Every so often he would slip into a public toilet or a menswear changing room or some such, and change his appearance. It was easy, really. A woolly hat, or heavy-framed glasses, or the false beard or mustache bought from the joke shop, and there he was, no longer Jack Hickson, but a perfect stranger. Or so, in his inexperience, he thought.
Suddenly his attention was caught by seeing a dirty white van pull up outside the newsagents opposite the warehouse. His heart began to pound. A man got out and scurried into the shop like a frightened rabbit. It was him! Jack could swear that it was the man he was hunting. He turned away from the window and dashed down the stairs, taking them three at a time, but when he emerged onto the street, he saw the van pulling away from the curb. Sod it! He thought of running after it, but that would be stupid, drawing attention to himself. No, it was still close enough for him to read the number plate, and Jack, who had a good memory for such things, stored it in his mind.
But how was he ever going to catch up with it? And what could he do, even if he saw it parked in town? No, he needed wheels. A bike, that’s what he needed. An old bike, not easily traceable, and lightweight enough to manhandle up to his warehouse lodging. Should he buy one or appropriate one left carelessly unattended? Not the latter, he told himself. Even the pettiest theft was a bad idea. He decided to go to the town dump. They always had old bikes that nobody wanted. He could slip a pound or two to the dump chap and be away in minutes, no questions asked. Then if he saw the van again, he would follow it. With the many traffic light stops, he would be able to keep up.
He returned to his watching position, feeling a lot more cheerful. Progress had definitely been made. And a bike would be good exercise. You can go anywhere on a bike, he said to himself. Even out into the country. Even to Long Farnden, if necessary.
And the best news of all was that his quarry was still around, still local.
FIFTY
LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, DEREK HAD BEEN RELIEVED WHEN IT became apparent that the only danger threatening Jack Jr. had been catching cold from sleeping in a cold draft on a friend’s floor. “No doubt having another try at drawing attention to himself,” he had said to Lois, pleased that this time she would have no reason to ferret about trying to find a mythical kidnapper.
To his annoyance, she had raised her eyebrows and said if he believed
Now, as they sat in silence at the breakfast table, Gran attempted to get a conversation going. “Only five more days to go to blast off,” she said cheerfully. “How’s it going, Derek? All the entries finished and rarin’ to go?”
“Sorry?” said Derek, looking up from opening his post.
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you!” said Gran, thumping the table. “Well, if you two want to carry on this silly business, I don’t. So you can stack the breakfast things yourselves. I’m off down the shop to have a civilized talk with Josie, who knows how to behave like an adult. Unlike some people I know.”
“Hey, Mum, what’s all this-?”
But Gran had stormed out, grabbed a coat from the hall, and was on her way before Lois could reach her.
“Oh, dear,” said Derek. “Do you think she’s possibly offended?” He looked at Lois with a serious expression, and for a moment she glared at him. Then she began to laugh.
“Looks like it,” she said. “Silly old bat. But no, she’s not silly. We are. Look, Derek, I know you think Jack Jr.’s explanation is the truth, but the person who knows him best, Paula, thinks otherwise. And if she doesn’t believe him, then I don’t either. I’m getting to know that young man, and I think he’s a good liar and a very scared thirteen-year-old child. What’s more, his mum thinks he’s planning something, and it could be very dangerous. So I’m working on the probability that he was abducted, and the need to find whoever did it as quickly as possible.”
“And Cowgill? Does he think this, too?”
Lois nodded. “And before you ask, he was thinking this before I talked to him.”
Derek sighed. “So is this going to be general knowledge? Is the soap box grand prix still to have this hanging over it?”
“Bugger the soap box grand prix!” retorted Lois. “That boy’s life is more important. And for all we know, the lives of other people. Don’t forget his father’s not been found yet. He didn’t go missing again for nothing. And no, it is not going to be general knowledge, so don’t worry, nothing will spoil the soap box day.”
“I heard that,” said Gran, coming silently back into the kitchen. “And I shouldn’t bet on it.”
“I thought you were-”
