CHILDHUNT: A Mystery & Suspense Thriller in the Bestselling Diana Rivers Series (The Diana Rivers Mysteries Book 5) (4 page)

“Course I won’t.”

Debbie opened the kitchen door, and the two children rushed out. Debbie shivered and wondered how children never seemed to notice the cold when they were engrossed in play. Even when Charlie had been suffering with a head cold the week before, he insisted on playing outdoors. She hoped Hannah wouldn’t get it, because her previous two colds had affected her ears quite badly. The morning was quite drear: grey and cloudy. She was positive it would snow some more before the day was out. Closing the door behind her, she cleared the table ready for their reading lesson later. Charlie was already romping through simple books, and Hannah could recognise most of the letters of the alphabet. Debbie felt proud of her achievement and dreaded the day when William would say it was time they went to proper school and mixed with children. She thought she could teach them herself until they were at least seven or eight. How would she cope when they were out of her sight?

Debbie dragged the vacuum cleaner from the cupboard under the stairs and decided to clean upstairs first. Christmas was so close, and she didn’t want to be doing housework over the break. She started on Charlie’s room, which was in a tip, as usual. Books, toys and an odd assortment of items from his pockets littered the floor. She sighed and wondered whom he took after. William was neat around the house and ordered when it came to work. She didn’t think she was that untidy herself either. A throwback to her parents, perhaps? Thinking of her parents made her pause as she plugged in the cleaner. They had been killed in a car accident eight years previously. The police said it was a hit-and-run: a driver in a stolen vehicle, who had been speeding on the wrong side of the road. Her father never stood a chance in his old saloon. The only positive thing about the tragedy was that they were killed outright and never knew what hit them. She couldn’t remember, but maybe one of them had been untidy.
It hardly matters in the grand scheme of things
, she thought as she scooped up a handful of books and dumped them on a shelf. There were more important things to worry about.

Once she had cleared the floor space, she looked around her and glanced out of the window. She could hear Hannah’s excited squeal as Charlie either chased her or pushed her on the swing. She couldn’t see them from where she was standing, but from their cries she knew they were fine and having fun. Although the house wasn’t perfect, Debbie loved the area. When she and William first drove up into the hills above the coastal road and discovered the pretty little stone village of Agios Mamas, a real feeling of peace and welcome stole over her.

She originally fled to Cyprus because she knew she had to get away from England and the narrow-minded and unforgiving people she knew. She thought everyone was still treating her as an outcast and didn’t believe she was innocent of her children’s murders. She never wanted to see any of them ever again—nor her friends, who turned against her, or Claude’s friends and work colleagues. Her own friends were embarrassed and changed direction if they saw her walking down the road. Claude’s friends not only blamed her for the children’s deaths, but for his death too. When she turned a bewildered face to one vociferous accuser, she was astonished to learn that certain people blamed her because a heart-broken Claude had taken himself off sailing on a day when he normally would have stayed ashore. They said he was so upset, he didn’t know what he was doing, and it was only his impaired judgement that made him leave the south-coast shores that stormy day. So Debbie also got the blame for Claude’s death.

Debbie’s parents had told her that Cyprus was a nice place. The people were mostly friendly, but kept to themselves. She would find anonymity quite easy, especially as she didn’t speak Greek or Turkish, and it was easy living among strangers. Debbie needed a place to hide. She wanted to sort her life out and come to terms with her loss.

She knew that within the ex-pat community it would only be a matter of time before someone recognised her as Yvonne Brookes. She decided to cut her long dark and curly hair and bleach it to a deep golden blonde. With her new golden-cap look, she hardly knew herself in the mirror. The face staring back at her bore no resemblance to the photographs splashed across the daily newspapers back in England. She rented a flat in Limassol for the first few months after her arrival and learnt to live a normal life all over again. For the first time in months, she slept through the night. It was a deep, dreamless sleep in which she didn’t hear her children, Sally and Stuart, calling her. Neither did she hear her husband, Claude, condemn her.

It was quite by chance that she met William. She needed advice on where to place some of her savings, and she came across the finance company De Vere as she was scanning the Cypriot newspapers. As an English-speaking company, she was sure they would understand her needs and made an appointment to see one of their consultants.

When she met William, she was impressed by his apparent straightforwardness and honesty. She used a fictitious name and said she was a widow called Debbie Alsop. William didn’t pry or even look curious; he just gave her a gentle smile as he jotted down some notes. Over the following weeks, Debbie relaxed in his company and learnt to trust the kind and mild-mannered man once he began managing her savings.

She still remembered the first time he nervously asked her out for lunch. It was a clear, brilliant day. The sky was cloudless and painted a deep blue, stretching as far as the horizon. Limassol bay was tranquil and still. After lunch, they sat together in the sun, finishing a bottle of white wine. There was a natural lull in their conversation, and Debbie closed her eyes and held her face up to catch the rays. The tranquillity of the scene enhanced a calming sense of peace which surrounded her. Peace. How she longed for it.

William somehow felt her fragility and brittleness, as he took their relationship very slowly. Little by little, over the weeks, she began to look forward to their casual dates.

Debbie sighed, realising she was still standing by the window and hadn’t even turned the cleaner on. It was easy to get lost in memories. She saw someone in the distance and presumed it was their neighbour, Roger. She often saw him out walking. She bent down, flicked the switch, and the vacuum cleaner roared into life. The room was colder than the kitchen, and she checked that Charlie hadn’t left the window on the latch. Sure enough, it was open an inch or so. Shivering, Debbie closed it. More clouds were gathering over the mountains, and she was certain
the temperature had fallen since breakfast. Debbie thought she really should call the children back inside, but they needed fresh air, and there was still the cleaning to finish…

Increasing her pace, she powered the cleaner through Charlie’s room and then into Hannah’s. Her little daughter, despite being only three and two years younger than Charlie, was a much more organised person. All her teddies were lined up in an orderly row along the headboard of her bed. Her other animals and dolls were sitting on a wicker chair by the window, and most of the remaining toys were either in boxes or on the bookshelf. Debbie smiled at the thought of her funny little girl. Now
she
would make someone a good wife when the time came!

She heard the kitchen door open and close, and when it banged shut scarcely a minute later, guessed that Charlie had crept indoors and pinched another gingerbread man. She smiled, thinking what a little rascal her son was but so loving.

Debbie glanced at her watch. The children had been outside for about twenty minutes. She would call them after a few minutes; Hannah shouldn’t stay out too long with her sniffles. She hurried into her own bedroom and saw that William had already pulled the duvet up. It was tidy enough in there. She couldn’t hear Hannah squealing with laughter anymore, but as she was on the other side of the house, she probably wouldn’t have heard her anyway. Just another five minutes while she finished the bathroom, and she would call them in. Five minutes, she promised herself, if only to quiet the nagging feeling that she really ought to get them in
that instant
.

Chapter 5

Most mornings, Roger Skinner took a walk through the hills around Agios Mamas. He told himself it was good for his constitution, and only since the last course of chemotherapy had his health shown some improvement at last. He wasn’t holding his breath though. His UK doctor had stressed that the cancer would almost certainly return, and he had to be prepared for more treatment. Roger loathed the period of his chemotherapy. His hair fell out, he vomited after each treatment, and he felt exhausted. Depending on if and when it returned, he would make the decision whether or not to embark on another course. It wasn’t the first time he found himself alone without a partner. He wouldn’t have wished his troubles on anyone. If he was going to get really ill before he died, he preferred not to be a burden.

Roger had always loved the outdoors, despite living in a town and working long days and more nights than he cared to remember. Whenever he took a holiday, he would pack a rucksack and headed for the hills and dales of England. During fine weather, Roger had been known to pass many a warm moonlit night under the stars, wrapped up in a sleeping bag with no more shelter than a hedgerow to keep the dew off. Falling prey to the dreaded big C had produced one small advantage. Roger wanted to live life as he saw it, with no more endless days spent indoors pouring over barristers’ or solicitors’ papers and getting everything prepared for court.

His rambles from his house in Cyprus always took him past William and Debbie’s house. He often saw the children playing in the garden, the little boy chasing his sister or teasing her mercilessly. On Saturdays, William stayed at home, and Roger would pop down their way with a copy of the weekend newspaper and half a dozen eggs from his own hens. It was the first time he had kept chickens, and he felt tremendously proud every morning when he collected a handful of brown eggs from the coop. With a garden patch in which he grew almost all his vegetables and fruit, he knew he would live out the rest of his days there in quiet contentment.

That cold morning he decided to hike up as near the dam as the weather permitted. It was a tough walk in places: uphill with the path criss-crossing the ravine many times. Roger enjoyed the challenge, knowing that six months earlier it would have been impossible for him, and who knew what the future held? He passed the Frosts’ house and gave it his customary glance. William, although not a handy-man, kept the place looking neat and cared for. The drive gate had been rehung so that it could be closed to keep the local goats out of the garden, and Roger knew he had also painted all the shutters on the house that autumn. Debbie obviously enjoyed her garden. In the summer, she was often seen outside before it became too hot to work in the sun. If she saw him in the distance, she would wave and then return to her weeding. She never called him in for a cup of tea or simply to pass the time of day. If his suspicions were correct, he knew why. She was determined to remain incognito.

That day, she was nowhere to be seen, but he heard the two children somewhere out back. There was a sudden break in the threatening clouds, and he was momentarily dazzled by the appearance of the sun.  After a while, the wind bit into him, and he turned his collar up. Roger knew that as soon as he began the climb, he would be in a sheltered valley and would welcome the weak sunshine on his face. He left the dirt road and turned off into the open and rough scrub land, or bondu as it was known in Cyprus. It was amazing how quiet the countryside was. Now and again he heard a bird call, but even they were few and far between because the local Cypriot men shot at anything that moved. Roger looked back behind him towards the sea. The main part of the village sprawled up and along the side of one of the hills to the right. It straggled along the lanes and was a mix of old stone houses with a few modern ones here and there. Further left, apart from William and Debbie’s house, the only other one which interrupted his ocean view was a rented property belonging to old Costas. Roger knew the tenant, Philip Bolton, was on the island, as he had seen his car travelling down towards the coast once or twice during the previous few weeks. Roger had only spoken to the man once or twice because he kept to himself. He was first told about him by Tony, who understood he was a photographer, or bird fancier, or something of that ilk.

Tony! Now there was an unsavoury character if Roger had ever met one. Roger often visited the village pub, The Magic Teapot. The MT, as it was fondly referred to, was run by a gregarious couple, Roy and Geraldine, who organised a full programme of weekly entertainment for the locals. Roger particularly enjoyed the quiz and kebab nights each week. Tony was one of the village residents, who unfortunately tried to muscle in on Roger’s quiz team when no one else wanted him. Tony had lived in Agios Mamas for a number of years and had acquired a reputation for two things: the first was in knowing everyone’s business and the second, for an apparent fondness for sex with much younger women. There was talk about his regular trips down into Limassol, and more recently he had been seen visiting a local ‘sauna and massage’ house. The house was run by Russians and staffed by a bevy of girls from Rumania, Poland and Russia. It was rumoured that a lot more went on than simple saunas. Roger knew gossip was often blown out of proportion, especially in a village community as small as Agios Mamas, but even so, he liked to stay well clear of Tony. After being involved and around the courts of England, Roger knew how sleaze could easily attach itself to an unwitting victim. And where there was sleaze concerning women, crime was always involved.

On this occasion
, he thought,
Tony could be right about Bolton’s bird watching pastime
. As Roger looked across the promontory towards the stone house, his keen eyes noticed a figure standing in an upstairs window. The burly figure was almost certainly Philip Bolton, and it looked as if he was holding something up to his face. Roger guessed he must be either taking photographs or watching some birds.