Ann Purser - Threats At Three

He turned away, rubbing his eyes. Then he looked back at Jack. “We’ve told the police, an’ they’ll be here any minute. I suppose you could wait and talk to them. One of the women who lives next door said she’d seen out of her bathroom window a man with a kid going in there yesterday, but they weren’t there when we looked.”

Jack waited until his informant was out of sight, and then ran fast in the opposite direction.

AT THE END OF THE RUTTED TRACK, JACK JR. AND HIS MINDER stopped. Jack had been looking all around him as they walked. It was difficult to see far, as the track was lined with high thorn hedges with only the occasional field gate. All the way, the man had hurried Jack along, shoving him forwards if he lingered by an opening in the hedge. “No dawdling,” he had said. “I know your tricks, young Hickson. I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“What’s the point of all this?” Jack said finally. “They’ll have every road covered. Why don’t you bugger off and leave me to find me own way home? I won’t say nothing. I’ll pretend I was stayin’ with a new friend. I’ll be really sorry to Mum. I’m good at that. I promise I won’t tell.”

He looked straight into the man’s eyes, and saw him hesitate. Jack knew something had gone wrong in the house this morning, and that’s why they were miles from anywhere with not a building in sight. The track had come to a dead end, and only the remains of a big straw stack hinted at a reason for its existence. Why would his captor bring him here? Jack shivered. He’d probably hoped to find a derelict barn where he could dump Jack, duly dealt with, and hop it. There’d be no farm traffic down here until next harvest.

The man shook his head. “You’re a lying little toad. I don’t believe a word of it. You’d have nothing to lose by telling.”

Jack shrugged, the gesture older than his thirteen years. “Please yerself,” he said. “But you ain’t got no option really. Without me, you stand a chance of disappearing without trace. With me around, you ain’t got no chance.”

“If you don’t shut y’ mouth, I’ll get rid of you forever! That’ll be good enough for me, plenty enough for yer father to remember me by.” He stepped towards Jack, his fists clenched.

Jack turned and ran.

LOIS SAT IN HER OFFICE, STARING INTO SPACE. SHE HAD EATEN only half the lunch Gran had prepared and, as expected, had listened to a mercifully short lecture on the folly of employing Paula Hickson and thereby becoming involved in this mess.

“What can you expect?” Gran had said, playing her trump card. “Anybody who gives her son the same name as her husband must be not quite right in the head.”

“Lots of people do,” Lois said wearily. “I think it’s nice. Anyway, I’ve got work to do, so I’ll be in my office if you want me.”

“What about this pudding?”

“No thanks. I’ll have some for supper. Sorry, Mum.”

After Lois had shut herself away, Gran cleared up the kitchen and then stood at the sink, looking out of the window. She hadn’t been very helpful, she knew. But it angered her to see her daughter so worried about a situation that should not really be her concern. If only she could think of something she could do to help. Practical help, that’s what she was good at. As she watched Jeems digging in the flower bed, she knew she should go out and stop her. Lois had just planted out new seedlings. Then the little dog pricked her ears and shot off across the garden. Gran craned her neck to see what had caught her attention. It was a cock pheasant, squawking loudly as it rose slowly into the air and escaped over the fence.

A pheasant! Gran caught her breath. Last seen hanging by the neck in a poacher’s bothy in the woods. She rushed out into the garden and saw Jeems coming towards her with a sheepish expression, carrying a long tail feather in her mouth.

“Good dog,” she said, holding out her hand. Jeems obediently dropped the feather and Gran picked it up. She rushed back into the house and straight into Lois’s office without knocking.

“Look! I should’ve told you before, but I completely forgot! This brought it all back!”

Lois frowned at her mother, and took the proffered feather. “What are you talking about, Mum? I am rather busy.”

Gran sat down heavily and said, “Just listen, and don’t interrupt.” Then she told Lois about chasing Jeems into the wood and finding the hut with a padlocked door. “There were things inside, including a newly killed pheasant, odd bits that somebody had left there and would be coming back for.”

Lois snapped alert. “So that’s it,” she said. “That’s where he was living. Young Jack’s father. I wish you’d told me before, Mum. It’s very important.”

She picked up the phone and dialled Cowgill. Chris answered once more. “Sorry-he’s not back yet.”

“It is very, very important that I speak to him. You can get in touch and tell him to ring me. Do it now, Chris. Please. Trust me.”

“Can’t I help?”

“Probably. But I need to speak to Cowgill. Sorry. Just get on to him, now.”

Gran stood up. She was near to tears, and Lois held out her hand. “Mum, don’t worry. You might still save that kid’s life. Go and make us some coffee, can you? I’ll tell you what happens.”

Cowgill phoned back in minutes. His voice sounded strange, and Lois realised he was still suffering. She told him exactly what Gran had said, and he mumbled that he would get on to it at once. “I’ll ’ing ’ou back in ’en minish,” he said, and rang off.

It was more than ten minutes, of course, and when he did ring, the news was not good. His men had found the hut, but the padlock had gone and it was empty. No trace of any kind of occupation. Completely cleared out. The only sign that there had been anyone there was a pile of ashes neatly swept into a corner.

“That was him, then!” Lois said. “He’d have camped out there. Boiled a kettle on a little fire, an’ that. Oh, sod it,” she added tiredly. “Poor old Mum, she’d forgotten all about it, and now she’s crucified with guilt.”

“Tell her we’ll find him, and not to worry. If it’s his father who has him, the lad won’t come to any harm. According to information we now have about Jack Hickson, he was not a bad sort of bloke until he got made redundant and consoled himself with the drink. Adored his children, apparently. He won’t harm his son. Tell Gran that. Must go, Lois. Keep in touch.”

As soon as she put down the phone, it rang again. This time it was Hazel from the office in Tresham. “Just had a call from somebody over the other side of Ringford,” she said. “It may be too far away for New Brooms, but this woman’s desperate. She’s had an op and her cleaner’s just given in her notice. Can we help?”

Lois gave her head a shake to clear it. “Of course we can. Give me the name and address and I’ll go across right now. It’ll give me something else to think about.”

“How is Paula?” Hazel said.

“As bad as can be expected,” Lois replied. “And that goes for most of us here in Farnden. Can you ring this woman and tell her I’m on the way?”

THE HOUSE WAS ON ITS OWN, SMALL AND IN GOOD ORDER, WITH A neat garden and well-trimmed hedge, high enough to shield the house from a busy road. Lois parked the New Brooms van outside on the grass verge, and went in. As the door opened, she could see a small, youngish woman holding a stick and not unhooking the chain until Lois had announced her credentials.

“I’m rather isolated here,” the woman said, “so I’ve promised my husband I would be very careful. But do come in, Mrs. Meade. I’m so glad you’re able to help.”