S Bolton - Blood Harvest

‘It’s time,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton. Where had he come from? He’d been on the moor with the other police. Tom watched him put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready, lass?’

Tom’s parents followed the detective through a door and into a large room. There were lots of people sitting on chairs, facing a long table at the front. Lights began to flash as the family took their seats.

The vestry had become a cafeteria. Minnie Hawthorn and her gang of cron- -sweet, good ladies who were desperate to do anything they could to help – had transformed it. Half a dozen kettles were permanently on the boil. Sandwiches were being made and consumed constantly. They were too old to trawl the moors, the women had told him, as though embarrassed by their own frailty, but they could feed those who did; and they could pray for the little lad.

If Harry stayed near them any longer, he’d scream.

In front of the altar, DI Neasden was explaining why they’d had to temporarily abandon the search. When Neasden finished speaking, he’d be expected to lead more prayers. Harry knew he couldn’t stay in the building.

Outside, the helicopter was still circling. Towards the front of the church, standing a little apart, DCS Rushton was talking to Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw. Since Rushton was back, the press conference must have finished. Spotting Harry, Rushton left the Renshaws and made his way over. Suddenly exhausted, Harry sank on to the stone-table grave behind him. Rushton approached and sat beside him. He had a lit cigarette in one hand.

Harry turned to look at Rushton properly. The police officer wore a thick overcoat over his suit, heavy gloves and a green wool scarf. He’d possibly had even less sleep than Harry.

‘Anything?’ asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be but unable to stop himself asking.

Rushton inhaled deeply on his cigarette. ‘Not so far,’ he said, as smoke billowed around his face. ‘Press conference went well. Young Tom was a bit of a star, had the whole room in tears telling his brother he’d tidied his box of soldiers for him.’

Harry dropped his head into his hands.

‘It was exactly what we needed,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got the whole of Lancashire talking about Joe Fletcher.’

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Dr Warrington. ‘Saturday-morning surgery’s always busy.’

Evi forced her lips into a half-smile. She’d raced to get here after the press conference and had sat in the waiting room, watching squirrels run up and down trees in the garden outside, getting angrier as each patient with a cough or an in-growing toenail, not one of them a genuine emergency, was shown through before her.

‘I’ll have to rush you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We tee off at noon.’ There was a book open on his desk. He closed it and reached to put it on the windowsill behind him. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds.

‘There is a woman in this area who suffers from congenital hypothyroidism,’ said Evi. ‘I need to find her. I think it could be relevant to Joe Fletcher’s abduction.’

Dr Warrington reached over and switched off his computer. ‘Sorry, Dr Oliver,’ he said. ‘You know the rules.’

‘What about up here?’ asked Harry, feeling the smoke of Rushton’s cigarette fill his lungs.

‘Well, the dog handlers went through the church like a dose of salts,’ replied Rushton. ‘Twice. They’ve done the cellars and the churchyard. A couple of times we thought they might have picked something up, but it didn’t lead anywhere.’

‘The boys come into the church quite often,’ said Harry. ‘They were here last Sunday for the service.’

‘Yes, well, that could explain it. We had a bit more luck with the CCTV footage in Blackburn. I’ve just had a call through.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye. I haven’t had chance to tell his parents yet, so keep it to yourself, but the couple we picked up at King George’s were spotted again, getting on a bus in the direction of Witton Park. We spoke to the driver just over an hour ago.’

‘Does he remember them?’

‘Vaguely. He thinks they must have got off somewhere along King Street because they definitely weren’t on board when he approached the park. The bus was just about empty by then.’

‘Any trace of them after that?’

‘Nope. And not likely to be. They could have had a car parked anywhere along that road. The important thing is, this couple haven’t come forward. In spite of their picture being on the news last night and this morning and in today’s Telegraph, nothing.’

‘So you haven’t been able to rule them out?’

‘Quite the contrary. We managed to enhance the image until we could see some sort of sticker on the heel of the child’s shoe. Tom tells us Joe had Spiderman stickers on his trainers. We’ve also been able to pin down the clothes the two of them were wearing. Remember, both were in baseball caps, both wearing oversized coats?’

‘I remember,’ said Harry.

‘Clothes exactly like them can be found in British Home Stores, not half a mile from King George’s. We’ve been through the till receipts and found a transaction of just those four items, almost exactly an hour before Joe was last seen.’

‘Clothes bought specially for the abduction,’ said Harry.

‘It was a cash transaction, sadly, so we’ve no hope of tracing the credit card, but we’re pretty certain now that the couple on camera are Joe and his abductor,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got people working on the image, to see if it can be enhanced any more, but we’re not hopeful. Small man, tall woman, could be either.’

‘The footprint you found in the Fletchers’ house on the night of Millie’s abduction could have come from a small man or a tall woman,’ said Harry.

‘Aye, it could. And given that the film footage showed no sign of Joe struggling, it’s likely he went with someone he knew.’

‘So he could be here after all?’

‘Aye, he could. And I’m happy to be proved wrong as long as we find him in time. I’ve got a team doing a house-to-house search. We’re asking people for permission to take the dogs round their homes. We can’t force anyone, obviously, but so far everyone we’ve asked is cooperating.’

‘How long will it take to get round every house in Heptonclough?’

Rushton sighed. He stubbed out his cigarette on the gravestone and then dropped it on the grass. ‘We won’t manage it today,’ he said. ‘But I’ve put a couple of cars on both roads out of town. Everyone leaving is being stopped and questioned. We’re asking permission to search the boots.’

‘Are people agreeing to that?’

‘If they don’t, we want to know why.’

No, it was not going to end like this. ‘Yes, I know the rules,’ Evi said, trying not to snap. ‘I’ve read them three times in the last twenty-four hours, Dr Warrington, so don’t try quoting them at me. It seems to me that in situations where serious harm may occur to a third party, the doctor isn’t just able to pass on information, he’s obliged to.’

Warrington leaned towards her, locking his fingers together in front of his chin. ‘That refers to passing information to the police,’ he said. ‘Get the officer in charge of the case to come and see me and I’ll see what I can do.’ He was bending down, picking up his bag.

‘There isn’t time for that,’ said Evi. ‘Look, I know I’ve sprung this on you and I’m sorry, but I’ve been up half the night working on this.’

He opened his mouth. She wasn’t giving him a chance.

‘I have neither the time nor the energy to be polite, so here’s the bottom line,’ she hurried on. ‘If you don’t help me and Joe Fletcher dies, I will make certain everyone – the police, the General Medical Council, the media, absolutely everyone – knows about this conversation and that you put rules, not to mention golf, before a little boy’s life.’