Belinda Bauer - Finders Keepers

Dougie’s pronouncement rang in Steven’s ears, and he hedged, ‘She’s not my girl friend. Just a friend.’

Nan snorted and stared at him until he blushed.

‘I thought so!’ she said triumphantly, and marched downstairs.

He was half-happy to think his nan knew that he was now a boy who had a girlfriend, but the fact that it had been acknowledged made him fearful too; the more people who knew, the greater would be the humiliation if – when – Em fulfilled his friends’ cheerful predictions and dumped him.

While he waited for that to happen, he smelled of Lynx Instinct.

JONAS WAS BACK on his beat.

He was out by 8am every day and by 6.30pm, when he drove back to Shipcott, he was exhausted. He was no longer used to the physical exertion of a working day, and had eaten too little for too long to have any reserves of energy.

Now he parked outside the Red Lion and looked across at the Sunset Lodge retirement home.

He should go in; he always used to.

It used to be a regular part of his beat – sitting in that sauna of a garden room with a cup of tea balanced on one knee and a custard cream going soggy in his saucer.

Reassuring the old folk.

That had worked well, hadn’t it? Keeping the killer at bay armed with cheap biscuits and empty promises. But the killer had paid a visit anyway – forcing a knife against the window latch, and leaving a bloody trail of tragedy through the home before disappearing into the night. No, he didn’t have the barefaced cheek to go into Sunset Lodge again. The Reverend Chard may be bound by his faith to forgive, but Jonas expected no such thing from anyone else.

A few houses up he saw Steven Lamb watching him from the front window of his home – one in a long line of gaily painted terraced cottages that opened straight on to the narrow slate pavement. He raised a hand in greeting, but the boy merely stepped slowly back into the dark interior.

He sighed. It would take him years to rebuild the trust he’d once taken for granted in the village.

He got out of the Land Rover and locked it, and went into the pub.

Reynolds took a sip of white Merlot and scanned Jos Reeves’s lab report. Working in the Red Lion was so much more pleasant than being stuck in that glorified shoebox in the car park – especially after hours.

‘The white residue on the glass from the broken windows is PVC tape—’

‘Like insulation tape?’ Rice emptied a third of her glass of cider and sighed in enjoyment.

Reynolds nodded. ‘And the green threads are a poor-quality synthetic wool mix, dyed using Malachite green, most commonly used during manufacturing processes in China.’

‘So we’re looking for a Chinese electrician in cheap green mittens.’

Reynolds looked at her over his Merlot like a disapproving schoolmaster over half-moon spectacles.

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘Could be gloves. Could be a blanket he throws over them. A scarf he was wearing…’ He shrugged, then continued, ‘Here’s the thing. The green fibres at the Pete Knox and Charlie Peach scenes were impregnated with butane while the fibres at the Jess Took scene were not.’

‘Weird,’ she said. ‘Maybe she put up more of a struggle than he liked. Forced him to change his tactics.’

‘Anything’s possible.’ Reynolds sighed.

It was true, thought Rice. They knew so little about anything connected with the kidnapper that right now anything was possible.

Jonas found Reynolds and Rice in the bar, poring over what looked like lab reports.

She smiled; he didn’t.

‘Hi Jonas, have a seat,’ said Rice, and Reynolds shifted a little way around the table to make space for him. Jonas perched uncomfortably on a low chair.

‘The cars that were vandalized at the show,’ he started hesitantly. ‘Nothing was reported stolen from them, right?’

‘No,’ said Reynolds.

‘Why?’ asked Rice.

But Jonas didn’t really have a theory to satisfy that question. Instead he asked another.

‘I think you said windows were also broken at Tarr Steps.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Was anything stolen there?’

‘Apart from Pete Knox?’ said Reynolds sarcastically.

‘Nothing was stolen,’ Rice supplied, giving Reynolds a slightly disapproving look.

Reynolds sighed. ‘We’re busy trying to find three missing children here. We’re not so big on petty vandalism right now.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Of course,’ said Jonas. ‘I just thought that maybe if nothing was taken, then the windows being broken were about something else. Some kind of message, maybe. I mean, who kidnaps a child and then hangs around to break windows? It must mean something . Maybe.’

Rice looked at Reynolds, who shrugged and said, ‘Except that there were no windows broken at the Jess Took scene.’

‘Oh.’ Jonas hadn’t known that. It was a dent in his theory. He wondered how big that dent was.

‘Have a drink, Jonas?’ asked Rice, then looked him up and down. ‘Or something to eat?’

‘No, thanks.’

He stood up, and Reynolds turned away to pick up a map. Jonas noticed that his brown hair sprouted from his scalp in doll-like tufts. He knew the conversation was at an end. But if he walked away now, he wouldn’t be able to bring it up again.

‘Do we have the names of the owners of the damaged cars at Tarr Steps?’ He hated saying ‘we’ when he knew he was barely included. It was a poorly disguised attempt to remind Reynolds that he was also a policeman.

Reynolds looked up at him again. ‘Of course.’

‘Maybe I could ask them a few questions.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m not really sure yet.’

Reynolds pursed his lips and Jonas could see him trying to think of a reason to say no. But eventually he said, ‘Of course. Do you mind, Elizabeth?’ and turned back to the papers.

Rice got up and motioned Jonas to follow her, which he did, through the creaking passages and stairways of the old pub to her room.

‘’Scuse the mess,’ she said, although the only thing he could see out of place was a pair of black lacy panties over the back of the armchair.

She took a box file from the wardrobe and put it on the bed. Jonas stood silently just inside the door while she rummaged through it, until she smiled and held up a clear A4 folder.

‘Here it is. I’ll write the names and contact details down for you.’

‘Thanks.’

She turned her back on him and sat at the small scratched desk in the chair that didn’t match – or stand square on the floor.

When Rice turned round and held out a sheet of paper for him, she asked, ‘How are you, Jonas?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ he said automatically, as he took the paper.

‘How is it being back at work? Must be strange.’

‘A bit.’ He shrugged.

He didn’t know why Elizabeth Rice was taking an interest in his wellbeing. Didn’t know if it was genuine concern or keeping tabs on him.

‘Take it slowly, won’t you?’

Jonas wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic, so he didn’t answer her. Instead he looked at the notes she’d made. ‘Thanks for these.’

‘Sure. Let us know what you find.’

‘Will do.’

He put a hand on the door knob; he couldn’t wait to leave.

‘Jonas?’

He turned in the doorway and she walked over to him.

‘If you need someone to talk to, make it me.’

He looked at her, a little bemused, then mumbled ‘thank you’ or something like it, and left.

Rice watched the door close behind Jonas and squirmed with embarrassment.

Make it me . She had no idea where she’d come up with the B-movie dialogue. She might as well have invited Jonas Holly to come up and see her some time.