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Some things were hard to let go of.
With an open packet of rhubarb and custard sweets on the passenger seat within easy reach, her travel mug with coffee in the cup holder and the radio on, Lizzie set off. She hoped the butterflies currently swarming her stomach would abate once she pulled onto the motorway. But then, there was a strong chance they might stay with her until this ‘job’ was over.
Singing along to James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beautiful’ as loudly as she could bear, Lizzie attempted to focus on the road instead of her destination – and what she’d find there. Who she’d find there. Within twenty minutes she’d joined the M5 motorway traffic. Now all she had to do was follow the signs to Devon.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
1989 (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Bovey Police Station (#ulink_49684e45-de24-521f-93d5-ed8b73d91702)
Friday 21st July
‘Now, this is important. Tell me exactly what you saw.’
She sat on her hands. They’d begun trembling when the policeman had first started asking questions; now, after what felt like hours, he was still asking her stuff and a funny tingling had filled her belly. Why did she need to go over this? She’d told him again and again. Maybe he didn’t believe her. She’d have to say it in a stronger voice.
‘The truck stopped in front of where we were walking—’
‘Which was Elmore Road,’ he interrupted.
‘Yes, I thi— I mean, yes. It was.’ She mustn’t say ‘think’; it seemed to make her mum and the policeman a bit jumpy. ‘I held back and was going to turn around and take the cut-through to go to the park instead, but before I realised, she’d gone.’
‘Gone to the truck?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why she did that. Why she left me.’ Her eyes stung with fresh tears.
‘And what did this truck look like?’
She was somewhat relieved at being asked this; at least it was a different question to the other ones he’d been constantly getting her to repeat.
‘It was a red one,’ she said with conviction. ‘Dad says those types of trucks are called pickups because they have all that open space at the back to put things in.’
‘And what else? Was there anything else about it you can remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She felt confident about this now. ‘It had a yellow stripe all the way across the side. And as it pulled off, it turned so it almost went past me. I couldn’t move. I was scared he was coming for me too.’
‘But he didn’t try and take you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The truck slowed down, but it didn’t stop. But I did see something weird.’
The policeman sat forward in his chair, his round, ruddy face lighting up. ‘Yes? What was that?’
‘I could see something stuck on the front, on the bit that those red noses for cars go for Comic Relief.’
‘The grille,’ the policeman said as he scribbled in his notebook. ‘But it wasn’t a red nose?’
‘No. I could see a face. It was a doll’s head. Just its head.’
Chapter Ten (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
2019 (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Anna (#ulink_6d685cf6-8848-5015-b1aa-1c0df6bfee46)
Saturday 13th July
Pulling up outside her mother’s house again, Anna noted the doll’s head had finally been removed – holes from the nails the only sign something had been there; the only indication she hadn’t imagined it. She wished that had been the case. Because the alternative was far more disturbing.
Anna cautiously entered the house and rested the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop. She didn’t speak to Muriel; for the moment she was rehearsing the possible permutations of the conversation she needed to have with her mum in her head. It was a difficult subject to broach, and it required thought. The weighing up of the consequences of opening Pandora’s box weren’t only for her mother’s benefit, she too had to be careful. Years’ worth of self-preservation could easily be unravelled with a single poorly worded question.
As Anna slowly stored each item from the carrier bag into the cupboards and fridge, memories forced their way into her consciousness. She squeezed her eyes up tight, an attempt to prevent the images taking root. As she opened them again, she turned to where her mum was sitting. Muriel was staring at her.
‘You heard then,’ Muriel said, her eyes wide, unblinking. ‘The gossips at the shop, no doubt.’ There was a flatness to her tone; resignation.
At least Anna was let off the hook of being the first one to mention it, the first to dredge up the past.
‘Yes. I heard. It was on the front of the paper too.’ She was going to ask if that’s why her mum had immediately called her, as soon as she heard the news. But she hoped, by not embellishing, that Muriel would carry on the conversation without the need for Anna to intervene with questions. Possibly the wrong questions – those that would hurt and upset, rather than those that would help tease out her fears. Although Anna wasn’t sure she was the right one to be doing that, or, in fact, whether she could offer any real support at all. Because her mum’s fears were more than likely the same as her own. How helpful could she be if she was scared shitless too?
‘It could still be a coincidence, or kids thinking it’s funny?’ Muriel said.
‘Yes, it could.’ Anna tried to feel encouraged. ‘Obviously everyone knows the tale – I expect it’s been told to all the children as a warning over the years. Some teenagers are bound to have thought it was funny to pull this kind of prank. Yes, you’re right. Probably harmless fun.’ A false lightness attached itself to her words. It could be kids, it really could.
‘That’s what I was hoping. Of course, that isn’t what I thought when I first saw it. But I talked myself down, eventually. And once you got here, I felt a bit better about it.’
‘Okay then. Look, it’s not ideal that he’s out, but like Robert said, why would he dare come back here?’
‘Nell’s son Robert?’
‘Yes, he was the one who served me.’
‘No Nell this morning, then?’
‘Ill apparently. He said she’d been feeling under the weather.’
Her mother’s gaze turned to the window as she gave a hmmm sound.
‘You think she’s also worried?’
‘What?’ Muriel’s attention snapped back to Anna. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t seen anyone since I heard.’
‘Who told you, then?’
Muriel heaved herself up from the chair and wandered into the living room.
‘Mum?’
‘I got a call, don’t know who it was from.’
‘Really? Well, when?’
‘Four days ago. The day he was released supposedly.’
‘Was it him?’
‘No. No, dear, I think it was probably a journalist or some such person. Anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s how we deal with it, how we move on from here, knowing. Knowing that man is free. Free to do what he bloody well pleases. Can’t believe they let the monster out, can you?’
‘Unfortunately, life rarely means life, Mum. I guess he did his time.’ Anna shrugged. ‘It’s not like they ever found a body even, is it?’
And that had always been the issue; the underlying question the family and villagers had wanted answered.
Where hadhe hidden her body?
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
2019 (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
Lizzie (#ulink_681dfe7d-0edc-5bc6-ba05-6aaa7d54dc78)
She’d needed the satnav to reach Mapledon. It wasn’t where she remembered it, but that was to be expected; she’d only been a child when she was taken from the village. It was situated south of Dartmoor – with its imposing granite rocks and sprawling moorland – and tucked away in a valley ten miles from the nearest town. What felt like hours of winding lanes, long hills and dense woodlands had passed before she’d finally come to a wider road leading to a sign stating she’d reached Mapledon.
Years of living in other parts of the country had diluted what memories of the place she’d had. Now, driving at a snail’s pace through the centre of the small village, passing a spattering of old thatched-roof cottages, then a few larger, more modern houses, Lizzie’s heart rate soared. So far she hadn’t recognised anything. It wasn’t lack of familiarity that was causing her adrenaline to shoot through her veins, though. It was the thought of what went on here. It was being back. If Dom had known any of her history, he’d have stopped her from leaving. But he didn’t know. Her childhood secrets were hers alone. Well, almost.
There were some other people who knew.
Would they still be here, living in Mapledon?
Would he be here, waiting?
The reason she’d driven all this way was to find out, but now she was here the urge to turn around and leave, go back to her life in Abbingsworth, was so strong she could feel the pull. She should allow herself to be snatched from this place again – she didn’t belong here.
Her foot remained on the accelerator. There was still a part of her – the part that had been in the shadow for years – which couldn’t succumb to the pull. That side of her had to keep going regardless.
Thirty years. She cursed loudly. ‘Fuck this place. It doesn’t define me. That man does not define me.’ She slammed her hands on the steering wheel, an action supporting her determination as she headed to the top of the hill. To the church. It was the first place she decided she’d go – the only landmark she could see. With luck the vicar might be there – he’d know what was going on in his parish. He’d be the best person to start with.
She could do this.
She had to close the book on William Cawley.
Chapter Twelve (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
1989 (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon (#ulink_d1ea2c91-5f92-581e-8ed7-4adda2518b9f)
Thursday 20th July – the day after
Fears grow for missing child
Despite an extensive search of Mapledon and the surrounding area by police and over thirty local villagers, ten-year-old Jonie Hayes has still not been found. She has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and police say they are concerned for her safety. An appeal is due to be launched by Devon and Cornwall Police later today.
‘Such terrible news. I still can’t believe a little ’un could just disappear like that. Not here,’ Nell said, packing the tins into Mrs Percy’s shopping bag on the store counter.
‘We’re in shock. The whole village is.’
‘Well, almost the whole village,’ Muriel said, pushing forward in the queue to interject, her voice lowered conspiratorially.
‘Are you thinking what I am? About … you know who?’ Nell asked. A few other customers joined the women, even though they weren’t in the queue themselves.
‘Well, you can’t help but consider it, can you? I mean, after what happened to his little girl …’ Muriel raised one eyebrow in a high arc and stood back a little from the gathering villagers. ‘I’m just saying – I mean he wasn’t even out last night helping search for Jonie with all the others, was he? Wouldn’t surprise me if he had something to do with it, is all.’ She tilted her chin up.
‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It’s not helpful, Muriel.’ A voice came from behind her, causing her to start. Muriel spun around to face Reverend Farnley.
‘I’m not one to do that, Reverend.’ She kept her gaze steady. ‘Have you seen him over the last few days?’
‘Muriel. Please. Gossip is a tool of the devil. Be careful, now.’
‘It’s not gossip if it’s true, Reverend. And I didn’t even mention his name, but you knew who we were referring to …’ Muriel pursed her lips.
‘Now I think of it, I haven’t seen him, you’re right,’ Nell piped up in Muriel’s defence, before the red-faced vicar could respond. ‘Whilst it’s not helpful to gossip, it would be wrong to dismiss something that might actually be key. A little girl’s life is at stake, after all.’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest she’s been taken, ladies, or that her life is in danger; she could merely be lost,’ Reverend Farnley said. ‘Anyway, I’m sure the police have a good handle on things. We should leave them to their job. But we can pray for young Jonie’s safe return – put our faith in the Lord.’
Muriel turned away from the Reverend, directing the rolling of her eyes and small shake of her head to Nell and the remaining group of women. She’d been brought up to be God-fearing; however, some situations required a helping hand from those on earth. In Muriel’s opinion, God could only do so much and putting all your faith in Him was a mistake. Surely, He’d want His children to sort their own mess out occasionally.
After a few polite statements the conversation turned to the Mapledon Meeting and Reverend Farnley took his leave. Muriel and Nell took turns to head the monthly get-together, the venue alternating between their houses. It normally took place on the last Thursday of each month; however, they’d brought it forward this time – both having agreed it was somewhat of an ‘emergency meeting’. A small, select group of female villagers attended, usually twelve, but sometimes more if there was something pressing to discuss. Like now. Admittedly, this was one of the most pressing topics that had ever faced the group – although there’d been other challenging ones, Jonie Hayes’ disappearance was the worst. The mothers of the group in particular were very concerned and would need support and reassurance.
‘See you at seven-thirty sharp, Nell. I’ll make sure I put out extra nibbles – it’s going to be a busy one.’
Chapter Thirteen (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
2019 (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Anna (#ulink_eb2b700a-be01-592f-9c26-e545f0754c03)
Saturday 13th July
‘Hiding in here, worrying, isn’t very productive.’ Anna lowered the curtain, moving away from the lounge window to face Muriel. Since her disclosure she’d been quiet, barely speaking. Instead, she’d watched daytime TV, a blank look plastered on her face. Anna knew if she couldn’t put her mother’s mind at ease – if she couldn’t confidently tell her that the doll’s head was nothing to do with Billy Cawley – this would drag on; hang over their heads for the foreseeable future. Anna did not want to spend more time in Mapledon. Maybe she’d have to persuade her mum to move nearer to her and Carrie in Bristol.
‘What do you propose I do? March around the village accusing the local kids of trespass, criminal damage?’
‘Well, no. Although going to the police with your suspicions would be a start.’
‘I told you, Anna – I’m not going to the police.’ She looked past Anna, into the distance. ‘That’ll make matters worse.’
‘For who? The kids? That’s the idea, Mum. And if it isn’t the kids …’
‘It’ll be him,’ Muriel said.
