Dan Waddell - Blood Atonement

We just want to speak to him in relation to a case we're working on,' he said.

'Is he in trouble?'

We don't know. But we need to speak to him. Are you in contact with him?'

She shook her head. Her eyes were beginning to well.

'Not for a while. Quite a while, actually.'

Why?'

She turned her head and stared sadly out of the window.

The sun had just broken the clouds. It appeared to galvanize her. "I was desperate for a child, any child. My father was desperate for a boy, an heir for the family business.

It seemed the easiest option. It didn't turn out that way.' She folded her hands in her lap.

Why not?' Foster asked.

'He was always a difficult little boy. He didn't sleep much and he seemed to have a real anger within him. I loved him, though. My husband wanted little to do with him -- he was never that sold on the idea in the first place, so when this cross little child turned up and kept us awake all hours he became even less enamoured with it all. It nearly forced us to part. Fortunately, I became pregnant and we had our own son, then another, and then a girl.

And Dominic? Well, Dominic just got squeezed out of our affections, I'm ashamed to say.'

'In what way?'

We sent him to boarding school very young. Too young, in hindsight. He didn't tell us but it turned out he had a wretched time there. In the holidays he was sullen and uncommunicative. I did try but my husband could barely stand to have him around and treated him quite harshly.

Dominic seemed to be so full of resentment. I don't blame him for some of that, and I accept my fair share of the blame in making him that way, but he became impossible to deal with. The only person he seemed to get on with was our daughter. She liked him. The two boys and he fought constantly. Eventually he left school and he didn't come home any more. There was the odd letter. I sent him money once. We had one or two calls from the police. Nothing serious.'

'Do you have an address or any idea where we could find him?'

'No. The last I heard, eight or nine years ago, he was up in London. He wasn't married. He changed his surname a few times, so I heard.' She turned to the garden once more. 'I do hope he hasn't hurt anyone.'

To ease your guilt? Foster thought. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor sod. Given away by his parents, adopted by a new family and then cast aside and rejected when they had a son of their own. Unloved and unwanted.

Runt of the litter. He thought of the daughter he'd never met. The child he never wanted in the first place. He was in no position to judge.

'Do you know anyone who might know of his whereabouts, Mrs Ashbourne?' he asked.

The old woman gave it some thought. Her eyes were red and ringed now with great sadness. 'I could ring Clarissa, my daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if they were in touch. She did tell me a few years ago that he was living in Barking. Would you like me to call her?'

'If you wouldn't mind, thanks,' Foster replied.

She left the room.

It's like a textbook on how to screw up a child, he thought.

A few minutes later, Mrs Ashbourne came back into the room. 'Clarissa hasn't heard anything since the last time she told me he was in Barking.'

Where Leonie and Gary lived, he thought. 'She doesn't have any numbers, or an address?'

'No,' she replied quickly, almost snappily. She composed herself. 'Sorry,' she said. 'This sort of news hits one very hard.'

Does it? he thought. After hearing her story, his reserves of sympathy were low. 'I better be going.' He rose. 'Thanks for your time.'

He knew where he needed to go next.

She was aware only of the putrid smell of the sheets and the ticking clock in the corner. Counting the last seconds of her life. She felt alone and so far from her home. Her dreams were all about the open fields and the empty skies, the crisp winter mornings and the long, hot summers that seemed never to end. But mainly they were filled with the look of her mother, the creases at the corners of her eyes and the soft smile. Except in the dreams those laughing eyes often frowned.

And those screams, those awful screams.

This city had been a place to live but it had never been home. For her two daughters and their families it was. They would never know the joy of living from the land like she had.

The doctor had been. She had fallen asleep but it was clear she was dying. The vicar was on his way to administer the last rites. At least there will be the comfort of the Lord, and the chance to be reunited with Horton. Maybe up there -- and she had prayed every night since his death that their sins be forgiven and they be allowed to join Him in his eternal kingdom -- they might find other ways to be redeemed.

That could only happen in the arms of the Lord. Down here, there was damnation. She must find a way to warn the little girl.

Hours slipped by. It could have been days. She half-remembered the vicar sitting by her bed, his hand on hers. He was a good man.

She had found a good church. They would get what little she had, unlike those two ungrateful, godless daughters of hers. Isaac was a good boy. She knew he would be up there one day, and she longed to see him. The other two could rot in the other place.

But not the little girl. She needed to be saved.

She woke with a start, gasping for air before she settled. It was almost a disappointment. Death's warm embrace seemed a better option than the cold spare room at her daughter's. It was morning.

Was it? It didn't matter. The same dreams. Her mother's soft face and her anger. Those gut-wrenching screams . . .

The sheets had been changed. The window opened. Someone had been. Emma, she presumed. It was then she noticed somethingfrom the corner of her eye. On the chair, eyes wide, sat little Magg ie. Her legs were swinging ever so slightly but when she caught her grandmother looking at her they stopped. 'Hello, Grandmother,' she said weakly in her sing-song voice.

She tried all she could to muster a smile. Bless her. Sarah stretched out her hand and with great effort beckoned the girl closer with a bony finger. The child got up and walked across the room. Sarah gestured for her to come even closer. She could hardly raise her voice beyond a hoarse whisper and she wanted her words to be heard.

'You're a good girl,' she wheeled and she clasped her clammy hand around the little girl's. She held it therefor a few seconds, perhaps longer. Time ceased to have much meaning.

She opened her eyes. Maggie was still there, eyes wide, unblinking.

Sarah felt a bolt of pain sear up from her chest. The shot the doctor had given her was wearing off. She groaned. She was so weak. The end was soon. The little girl stood back.

The pain eventually subsided. She opened her eyes and beckoned Maggie in once more.

'They will come,' she said. 'They will come for you like they came for your grandfather.' She sucked in some more air. The little girl stood transfixed. 'By my bed, there's a box. Get it.'

The girl rooted around.

In the cupboard,' she gasped.

The little girl found it.

'Put it on the bed.'

She did. Sarah fumbled with the lock and the combination. It was exhausting but eventually she opened it.

'Look at it.'

Maggie peered in.

'Pick it up,' she hissed.

She held it in her hands. The photograph the police said was on Horton's broken body when it was found crushed on the road. Killed by an omnibus, they said. She knew different. They had found him and murdered him. The police gave her his belongings and the photograph was among them. She recognised the man with the spade.

Even the burned-out buildings. She went home and cleared out their things and moved away immediately. They had not yet found her, but she knew they would never stop looking. Whether she was alive or dead they would come for her kin. The rest could take their chances but the little girl must be warned and she must be told.