Catch the Fallen Sparrow (25 page)

She turned to Mike. ‘There's nothing here, Mike,' she said.

He nodded. ‘The lads have been through it,' he said.

‘It's so ...' she grappled for a word, ‘typical...'

Kirsty's room was different in that she did not share it. The posters were Take That, East 17 ... The clothes were less dissimilar, baggy jeans, baggy T-shirts, the school uniform skirt, cardigan, Doc Martens shoes. Joanna pulled open a drawer, fumbled through underwear. Again there was nothing there. She looked around in desperation. There must be something here ... some clue as to the girl's whereabouts. A photograph was stuck on to the wall, three children. It was fuzzy and blurred but she could just make out Kirsty, Jason and Dean, standing on the top of some rock, fists clenched as though they had conquered Everest. Dean's hair was blown in the wind, bright yellow, his clenched fist raised towards the sky. Jason had his arm crooked around the younger boy's neck while Kirsty was wiping her hair out of her eyes, squinting up at the sun. Joanna stared at the print and wondered who had taken the photograph. None of the children, as far as she knew, possessed a camera. She took a last glance around the room and went downstairs.

Mark Riversdale was in the corner of the sitting room, his head in his hands, looking as pale as death. He glanced up as they entered. ‘Haven't you found them yet?' His voice was pleading and he was drunk. ‘I could lose my job over this, you know.' He screwed up his face. ‘Haven't you any idea where they are?'

Maree met their eyes, shook her head very slightly and handed Mark a cup of black coffee. ‘Would you like one?'

They both shook their heads. Joanna sat down while Mike watched.

‘What were they like when you last saw them?' Joanna asked.

He thought for a while as though confused by the question. Then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just normal,' he said.

‘Were they very upset by Dean's death?'

‘Inspector,' he said, ‘these kids have a lot of things happen to them. They're pretty hard. They learn not to let their feelings show.'

‘But you're by way of being a parent,' Joanna said. ‘Surely you know what their feelings are.'

Riversdale shook his head. ‘No,' he said simply, ‘I don't. If they were upset they didn't show it. They were good kids,' he added.

‘Did they mention anything about Dean?'

‘Not really.'

‘Mr Riversdale,' Joanna said quietly, ‘where were you at five o'clock this evening?'

He looked in genuine puzzlement. ‘Why?'

‘Just answer the question.' Mike stepped forward. His voice was sharp. He too had been affected by what he had witnessed.

Mark looked helplessly at Maree and when she shook her head again slightly her ear-rings moved like wind chimes. The negative movement said it. I can't help you. You're on your own.

‘I was here,' he said, ‘thinking.'

‘Alone?' Mike could not keep the note of aggression out of his voice.

Riversdale heard it and looked puzzled. ‘I was thinking,' he said. ‘Wondering where they are.' His face changed then, became paler and seemed to shrink. ‘Why?' he asked. ‘Why are you asking me all this?' Then his voice changed too. ‘What's happened?'

Maree stood up, gripped the back of the chair ‘Oh my God,' she said. ‘Not Jason and Kirsty too?'

Joanna had learned to use fear and confusion as a weapon. So for a moment she said nothing but watched their faces silently. They showed upset and apprehension but no foreknowledge or guilt. So she told them. No ... the children had not been found but Latos had – with his throat sliced through to the spine.

Riversdale frowned. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘I don't understand. What is this all to do with Dean?'

Mike cleared his throat. ‘We don't know,' he said. ‘Yet.'

Maree looked angry. ‘Why can't you bloody well find them?'

‘Could you ever when they absconded before? When Dean went you never found out where he was.'

‘That was different.' She looked even more angry. ‘They could have been kidnapped.'

‘We know all that,' Mike said woodenly. ‘We are trying, Maree.'

She sighed and sank back down on the sofa.

‘This case ...' she said.

When Joanna returned to the station she was met by a triumphant Caro who produced a pale, thin woman dressed in long, dangly ear-rings, a short skirt and bent stilettos.

‘This is Dean's mother,' Caro said. Her triumph was complete – the magician had brought a live white rabbit out of a seemingly empty top hat. ‘She answered our plea for the missing mother.'

‘You'd better come into one of the interview rooms,' Joanna said. Caro didn't even ask. She knew the rules by now.

So Mike and Joanna faced the woman who claimed to be Dean's mother and Joanna felt uneasy. She didn't know whether to say she was sorry. In the end she decided she should – however inappropriate it might be. But the woman didn't look interested – let alone perturbed.

Joanna smiled. ‘I'm – sorry about Dean,' she said. ‘Mrs ... Miss.'

‘Ms'll do me nicely,' the woman said. ‘Gaynor's me name – Gaynor Tunstall. I actually was married – just the once. But it sort of fell through. Ever since then I've gone back to usin' me unmarried name.

‘Were you married to Dean's father?'

Gaynor Tunstall looked uneasy. ‘Not exactly,' she said. She glanced around at Mike. ‘Does he have to stay here?'

‘Look, Gaynor ...' Joanna spoke frankly. ‘We aren't pressing charges. The tape recorder is off. You came here of your own free will. We hope you might be able to help us find your son's killer. Gaynor,' she said softly, ‘we need your help.'

She nodded sagely. ‘ 'Avin' trouble, are you?'

‘It isn't proving an easy case,' Joanna said, ‘but I rely on Detective Sergeant Korpanski. He is simply here because he might pick up something I miss. You understand?'

Gaynor nodded. ‘Seems funny,' she said. ‘I don't really think of him as my son.'

‘Was he your son?'

She sighed. ‘Deany ...? Yeah. He was mine all right.'

Joanna and Mike exchanged glances. ‘Who was his father?'

Gaynor was like a sharp little bird. She put her head on one side. ‘Who wants to know?' she demanded.

Joanna leaned forwards. ‘Please,' she said.

She bit her lip. ‘I can't really say,' she said. ‘I was sort of – busy at the time. I suppose blood tests. But... I never bothered. It wasn't as if I was bringing him up anyway.' She looked at Joanna. ‘I'm an 'opeless mum,' she said without apology. ‘Just not born for it.' Then she glowered at Mike. ‘Dean was my only mistake,' she said with dignity. ‘And I did try with him. I tried 'ard. By the time 'e'd got to two I knew it was a waste of time. He was better off where he was. Home ... looked after ... clothes – schooling. Bloody social workers. They were always on at me. 'E's yours ... you know the sort of thing. Mother Love – something called bonding.' She gave a sharp cackle. ‘Always reminded me of bondage.' She paused. ‘It was a bloody waste of time. I couldn't cope. I never did Dean no good. I did the best for him.'

‘You didn't think of having him adopted?'

Now Gaynor Tunstall looked indignant. ‘What do you take me for? Give 'im away?'

Joanna leaned forward. ‘Please, Gaynor,' she said. ‘Can you think of any reason why anyone might have wanted to kill Dean?'

The woman frowned, thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly. ‘No,' she said. ‘Kill Deany – no.' She blinked away a couple of tears. ‘ 'Ad the funeral yet?'

Joanna's face grew tight with dislike. ‘No,' she said. ‘We were missing the chief mourner.'

It had been the photograph that had led her here, early on the following morning. Reluctantly leaving her bike in the garage, Joanna backed the car along the narrow lane and turned towards the moors.

A sleepless night pondering the picture of the three children. In the end at half-past three after tossing and turning and being denied sleep from every angle Joanna rose, slipped on a towelling dressing-gown and made herself a cup of blackcurrant tea, the picture in her hand. She knew now why the photograph had struck a lost chord. Behind the children was a rock – the crag of a hooked nose. She knew now where they had been standing. And someone had taken the photograph.

This morning the moors seemed clothed in gold. No creeping soldiers, no burning corpses. Only the lone call of a curlew and the shriek of a fox cub. Looking around at the wide expanse of moors Joanna shivered and thought she knew no lonelier place on God's earth. It seemed cut off from civilization, towns and streets. And yet there was a raw beauty up here – a sense of truth and purity. And she began to understand why Alice and Jonathan Rutter chose to live here in the dark and cold, through the northerly and easterly winds that had carved a man out of rock.

She began to climb. Thank God for strong legs.

She knew they were there before she reached the top. She could recognize the silhouette of tangled hair and Jason's thin shoulders. Tears moved into her eyes. Thank God, she thought. No more corpses ... dead children. The evil had not penetrated here.

The four of them were sitting round a small fire. Not one of them looked surprised to see her.

‘Cup of tea,' Alice said comfortably.

Joanna cradled the filthy cup in her hands while the wind bit around her. ‘Why didn't you tell me they were safe?'

‘They told me not to.' Alice didn't look guilty or apologetic. She was merely stating facts. They had asked her not to tell.

‘Thank God you're safe.'

Kirsty was shivering and pale. Jason doggedly determined.

‘We knew we'd be safer up here.' He stared defiantly at Joanna. ‘Trouble is,' he said, ‘sometimes you don't know who your friends are. We knew her was all right.' He put his arm around Alice Rutter's shoulders. ‘Her knows what it's like to be different, to be laughed at and have people on to you all the time. She aren't like them in the towns. You can trust 'er.'

‘Yeah ...' Kirsty joined in. ‘Trust 'er. You know where you are with 'er. We knew she weren't goin' to let us down.' She touched the old woman's cheek and Alice glared at Joanna.

‘See,' she said, ‘there aren't no harm up here. The boy were laid to rest 'ere. But he weren't killed 'ere. The evil happened in the town.' Her piece said Alice shrugged her shoulders. But it deceived none of them. They knew she was pleased. ‘We's clear people,' she said, ‘Kids – they knows that.'

Kirsty was looking at her sharply and Alice nodded. ‘Go get it, girl,' she said.

Kirsty rose, light as a little gazelle, hair streaming behind her as she dodged between the crags and disappeared into a narrow fissure. When she returned she was hold a bulky book. She handed it to Joanna. ‘Dean's,' she said simply... and Joanna knew she had reached the epicentre of the boy's murder. To her side the granite profile of the man gave a slow, solemn wink. Perhaps some ancient law allows certain rocks to possess their own energy source.

The ring of faces watched her apprehensively, waiting. Perhaps for her to open the book. But she needed to do that alone. Instead she turned her attention to Alice Rutter. ‘I could charge you, you know.' The words seemed to have no effect. Alice simply stared at her defiantly.

Joanna tried again. ‘Wasting police time ... obstructing the course of justice.'

‘We was frightened.' Jason moved closer to protect the old woman. A timid lamb protecting a buffalo?

Joanna felt she must make some attempt to make them understand. ‘Didn't you think we might be concerned about you?'

Kirsty's green eyes were fixed on hers. ‘What's going to 'appen to them?' she demanded, and Joanna knew the child's sole concern was for the two cave-dwellers. For her own fate she showed no interest. ‘Will they get into trouble – just for lookin' after us? It don't seem fair. They was only 'elping.'

Joanna clutched the album closer to her chest.

‘I very much doubt we'll be pressing charges against them. But it does all have to go in the report. We wasted a great deal of time and effort searching for you both.'

They were still watching her.

‘It isn't up to me.'

Alice stood up then, clutched her coat around her, moved closer to her husband. ‘But we'll have to leave here?'

‘It's nothing to do with the police, Alice. Social services will have to decide. And the people who own this land. They may evict you. They may allow you to stay.'

‘Excuse me ...' Jason was touching her arm timidly. ‘Where shall we stay tonight?'

There was something resigned about the way he asked it. Something in the thin face that spoke of many decisions made in which he had played no part except to comply.

‘You'll be safe back at The Nest,' Joanna said finally.

‘And Alice and Jonathan?'

‘Can remain here — for now.'

As she led the two children down the track she saw the silhouettes of the two rock-dwellers side by side with the profile of the Winking Man. And she could almost imagine that if the social workers did climb the rocks to evict Alice and Jonathan Rutter they would find no people, only three stone statues.

Joanna sat in her office, poring over each page of the photograph album, a part of her crying at the pathetic, childish scrawl, arrows pointing to ‘mother', to ‘my father', my uncle and auntie, grandpa and grandma ... Little footnotes. This is my mum when she was a little girl. Me and my grandpa. Dean's handwriting. All lies.

And through the Leeches' missing photograph album the whole, futile, tragic story began to emerge. She read it and felt angry.

Mike turned up at nine, yawning and ruffling both hands through his hair. Mid-yawn he stopped and stared at Joanna. ‘I thought it was your bike outside,' he said. ‘What's up?'