Mo Hayder: Gone

‘I didn’t see his face. He had a mask on.’

‘But you told us something about his voice. It was a bit like someone’s . . . ?’

‘Oh, I know what you mean.’ Cleo half rolled her eyes, half smiled. Embarrassed by the words that had come out of her nine-year-old mouth just six months ago. ‘I said he was like Argus Filch out of Harry Potter. The one who’s got Mrs Norris. That’s who he sounded like.’

‘So shall we call him the Filch man?’

She shrugged. ‘If you want, but he was worse than Argus Filch. I mean a lot worse.’

‘OK. How about we call him the – I don’t know – the caretaker? Argus Filch is the caretaker at Hogwarts, isn’t he?’ Caffery pushed himself away from the wall. He walked to the door, turned and walked back again. He knew the CAPIT officer had a protocol to follow but he wished she’d get a wriggle on. He turned at the window and crossed the room again. The CAPIT officer raised her chin and eyed him coolly, then went back to Cleo. ‘Yes, I think we’ll do that. We’ll call him the “caretaker”.’

‘Cool. Whatevs.’

‘Cleo, I want you do something for me. I want you to imagine that you’re back in that car on that morning. The morning the caretaker got into your car. Now imagine it hasn’t happened yet. All right? You’re with Mum on the way to school. Can you picture that?’

‘OK.’ She half closed her eyes.

‘What do you feel?’

‘I feel happy. My first class is PE – it used to be my favourite – and I’m going to wear my new gym T-shirt.’

Caffery watched the CAPIT officer’s face. He knew what she was doing. This was the cognitive interviewing technique a lot of the force was using these days. The interviewer took the subject back to the way they were feeling when the incident happened. It was supposed to open up the channels and let the facts flow.

‘Great,’ she said. ‘So obviously you’re not wearing the gym T-shirt yet?’

‘No. I’m wearing my summer dress. With a cardie over it. My gym shirt was in the boot. We never got it back. Did we, Mum?’

‘Never.’

‘Cleo, this is difficult but imagine it’s the “caretaker” driving now.’

Cleo took a breath. She screwed her eyes tighter shut and her hands came up to her chest. Rested there lightly.

‘Good. Now, you remember his jeans. Mum says you especially remember his jeans – with loops on them. When he was driving could you see those jeans?’

‘Not all of them. He was sitting down.’

‘He was in the seat in front of you. Where Dad usually sits?’

‘Yes. And if Dad’s sitting there I can’t see all his legs.’

‘What about his hands? Could you see them?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what do you remember about them?’

‘He had on them funny gloves.’

‘ Those funny gloves . . .’ Simone corrected.

‘Those funny gloves. Like at the dentist’s.’

The CAPIT officer glanced up at Caffery, who was still pacing. He was thinking about gloves. The CSI’s report on the Blunts’ Yaris hadn’t turned up any DNA at all. And the guy was wearing gloves in the CCTV footage at the exit barrier. Forensically aware, then. Bloody great.

‘Anything else?’ she asked. ‘Were they big? Small?’

‘Medium. Like Dad’s.’

‘And quite important now,’ the officer continued slowly, ‘can you remember where his hands were?’

‘On the steering-wheel.’

‘Always on the steering-wheel?’

‘Yes.’

‘They never came off it?’

‘Umm . . .’ Cleo opened her eyes. ‘No. Not until he stopped and let me out.’

‘He leaned past you and opened the door from the inside?’

‘No. He tried to open it but Mum’s child lock was on. He had to get out and come round. Like when Mum and Dad let me out of the car.’

‘So he leaned across you once to try the door? Did he touch you when he did that?’

‘Not really. Just brushed my arm.’

‘And when he got out of the car did you see his jeans?’

Cleo gave the CAPIT woman a strange look. Then she glanced at her mother, as if to say, Are we going mad? I thought we’d gone through this already. ‘Yes,’ she said cautiously, as if this was another test of her memory. ‘They were with loops. Climber’s jeans.’

‘And they looked normal? Not undone like he wanted the toilet or anything?’

She frowned, puzzled. ‘No. We didn’t stop at toilets.’

‘So he came round, opened the door and let you out?’

‘Yes. And then he drove off.’

The clock was ticking: the day was getting away from them. Caffery could feel every passing hour like a brick piled on his back. He moved to stand behind Cleo, caught the CAPIT officer’s eye and made a circling motion with his finger. ‘Move on,’ he mouthed. ‘Move on to the route he took.’

She raised her eyebrows coolly at him, gave him a polite smile, then calmly turned back to Cleo. ‘Let’s go back to when it first happened. Let’s imagine you’re in the car just after the caretaker’s pushed Mummy away.’

Cleo closed her eyes again. Pressed her fingers to her forehead. ‘OK.’

‘You’re wearing your summer dress because it’s warm outside.’

‘Hot.’

‘The flowers are out. Can you see all the flowers?’

‘Yes – in the fields. There are those red ones. What’re they called, Mum?’

‘Poppies?’

‘Yes, poppies. And some white ones in the hedges. They’re a bit puffy and stalky. Like a stalk with a puff of white on them. And the other white flowers like trumpets.’

‘As you’re driving along are there always flowers and hedges? Or do you go past anything else?’

‘Umm . . .’ Cleo wrinkled her forehead. ‘Some houses. Some more fields, that deer thingy.’

‘Deer thingy?’

‘You know. Bambi.’

‘What’s Bambi?’ said Caffery.

‘The Bulmer’s factory in Shepton Mallet,’ Simone said. ‘They’ve got the Babycham fawn out at the front. She loves it. A huge great fibreglass thing.’

The CAPIT officer said, ‘What happened then?’

‘Lots of roads. Lots of bends. Some more houses. And the pancake place he promised.’

There was a moment’s silence. Then it sank in: she’d said something that hadn’t been in her first interview. Everyone looked up at the same time.

‘A pancake place?’ Caffery said. ‘You didn’t mention that before.’

Cleo opened her eyes and saw them all looking at her. Her face fell. ‘I forgot ,’ she said defensively. ‘I forgot to say it, that’s all.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said, holding his hand up. ‘It’s all right. It’s not a problem that you didn’t say.’

‘It was an accident that I didn’t say it before.’

‘Of course it was.’ The CAPIT sergeant gave Caffery a steely smile. ‘And aren’t you the clever one for remembering now? I reckon you’ve got a much better memory than I have.’

‘Have I?’ she said uncertainly, her eyes flitting from her to Caffery and back again.

‘ Yes! Much, much better. A shame you didn’t get the pancake. That’s all I can say.’

‘I know. He promised me one.’

Her eyes stopped on Caffery. Hostile. He folded his arms and forced a smile. He’d never been good with kids. He thought they saw through him most of the time. Saw the empty hole he was mostly able to keep hidden from adults.

‘He wasn’t very nice, then, was he, the caretaker?’ said the CAPIT officer. ‘Especially as he promised you a pancake. Where were you going to have the pancake?’

‘At the Little Cook. He said there was a Little Cook up there. But when we got to it he just went straight past it.’

‘Little Cook?’ Caffery murmured.