CHILDHUNT: A Mystery & Suspense Thriller in the Bestselling Diana Rivers Series (The Diana Rivers Mysteries Book 5) (9 page)

She lifted her hand to her lips and found them trembling as she tried to answer him. “Debbie?” She heard the anxiety in his voice and caught the look of panic in his eyes.

Again, she tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. William swung her up into his arms and staggered towards the house.

Debbie closed her eyes as she struggled to speak. The children…they had to find them. She heard William mutter something between his gasps of breath. “Debbie, what’s happened…oh my God!”

After reaching the dark house, William stumbled through the open doorway and switched a light on. He lowered Debbie into a kitchen chair just as his phone rang, and he leapt to answer it. Mutely, Debbie listened as he gabbled down the line and realised he must have been speaking to a neighbour.

“I’ve just got home and found Debbie lying outside on the ground. No, she’s not injured…yes, I know. I found the house in darkness. I…I don’t know where the kids are. I haven’t had time to go and look for them. Can you wait a minute while I look upstairs?” Without waiting for an answer, he tore out of the kitchen and up the stairs, calling for Hannah and Charlie as he searched.

Debbie could hear him running through the rooms, and she struggled to her feet. By the time she reached the stairs, William had returned and stood panting as he got his breath back. After throwing her a bleak look, he spoke into his phone once again. “No. They’re not here. Yes please. Call the police while I take care of Debbie. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She doesn’t seem able to speak…I think she’s in shock.”

He threw his phone down and grabbed Debbie in his arms. “That was Roger, darling. He’s going to call the police for us. They’ll be here soon. Sweetheart, can’t you tell me what happened?” Looking round, he seemed to realise how cold the kitchen was as he shivered in his sweater. “Let’s go into the den. I’ll light the wood-burner.”

William laid Debbie on a settee while he bent down and touched a match to the paper. There was soon a crackle as the twigs caught alight. He stood up and looked at his wife with concern. She still hadn’t uttered a word. He pulled a throw from the other settee and settled it round her. As he stood back up, it was then that he noticed her computer. The action in the room must have jerked the machine out of pause mode; he found he was staring at identical email he had received that morning.

My God! How cruel! Whoever had sent the email to him had copied it to his wife. Of course! Why hadn’t he realised before? There was a noise at the back door and someone called out.

“In here, Roger,” he answered.

Debbie groaned, and William hurried over to her side. “Hush, darling. It’s all right…it’s only Roger come to help. He’s called the police. Do you understand? They’ll soon be here. Are you getting warmer?” By the time he turned back to greet Roger, he noticed he was already in the room. Roger’s gaze drifted from the pale woman lying on the settee to the photographs of her on the computer.

William started to jump up, but something in Roger’s face told him he understood. He had read the email.

Roger’s eyes slid back to William’s troubled ones. “We need help, William. Every minute is precious. Who knows who else has received that email?”

William’s voice faltered as he replied. “I got it this morning. I was on the way home as soon as I read it, but my boss detained me. But I don’t understand. How do you know about Debbie?”

“It’s a long story, and now isn’t the right time. We’ll discuss it later. But please, rest assured, I swear I had nothing to do with this. One thing is clear, though. You won’t be able to protect Debbie now. If he’s sent it out to even a few people, the entire community will know about it in a few hours.”

Debbie shuddered as she thought about the photographs, especially the one showing her leaving the courts. She remembered Claude had been drowned at sea a week or so earlier. On her release, her emotions were taut and confused. She was relieved with her freedom, but she hadn’t wanted to live without her family.

She knew that certain people would never have believed in her innocence and vowed to move away from the area as soon as she could. She had never been blonde before—her own hair colour was a lustrous chestnut—but she had no qualms about cutting off her hair and bleaching it. Then she decided to change her whole persona. Her clothes were exactly what Claude liked. He had always taken an interest in her wardrobe, but they were hardly modern. She had taken all her old garments and bundled them up for the charity shops. Shopping for new clothes had taken her mind off things for a few hours.

Debbie still had a few remnants of that shopping expedition: a pair of jeans and a shirt or two. That was why the photo of her was the biggest shock of all. It was taken when she left England to come to Cyprus. The airport had been crowded, as it was near the Easter holidays and the busiest time for travel to and from the island. She travelled on her own and spoke to no one until she was sitting on the plane. She really thought she had managed to slip away unnoticed to begin a new life.

But someone thought differently.

Now, it would begin all over again. William couldn’t protect her from an evil mind. He couldn’t protect his family. My God! What was she thinking? It was too late. Sally and Stuart had been taken away and murdered, and now Hannah and Charlie were missing.

She bit her lip so hard she drew blood. No! Please, God, protect my children. Don’t let harm come to Hannah and Charlie. They were playing in the garden. She remembered hearing them playing hide and seek. Charlie was counting down, and no doubt Hannah would have been giggling somewhere not far from her big brother. Charlie looked after his little sister despite teasing her mercilessly, but he was always there for her.

Last time, last time, last time…it beat against her brain. She fought a sob as it rose to her throat. It was like last time…when they found Stuart and Sally lying together in their sad little grave. Nose to nose and dumped in barely six inches of icy dirt.

They had to be around somewhere. She heard Roger and William talking softly as the dizziness and darkness came and engulfed her. No, God, not again! Please, no!

Chapter 13

It was highly entertaining, watching from his vantage point. Standing in the near dark and with his Steiner binoculars clamped to his eyes, he saw everyone running around like crazy wasps. There were two police cars in the grounds of the house as far as he could ascertain from their flashing blue lights and four policemen. They were inside the house for half an hour before setting foot outside to search the garden and surrounding orchard.

He felt like laughing at them. It was almost too pitiful to watch. The local police weren’t renowned for their expertise when it came to searching for missing people. He remembered when two years ago a resident in another valley went missing. She had been ill and confused, but despite their ‘search and rescue’ efforts, the unfortunate woman hadn’t been found until months later. If all went as planned, these two wouldn’t be found until long after he had left the island.

A drool of saliva ran down his chin. Wiping it away with his sleeve, he realised his armpits and groin were wet where he was sweating inside his jacket. Bored with watching the police, he turned aside, laid down his binoculars and switched his attention to his next move.

Earlier, on arrival back at the house, he parked the car inside the outhouse, making sure he still had access to the cellar trapdoor. He disguised this by spreading some oily sacks and large plastic bags over the floor and tacking an old stained cloth to the trapdoor itself. With the addition of a pile of rusty oil cans and a few lengths of pipe gleaned from the garden, he reckoned it looked authentic enough as a scruffy, dirty garage.

He carried the drugged children down to the cellar and laid them on the mattress on the single bed. Despite not feeling the cold himself, he realised small children would soon succumb to the chill if they weren’t cared for.  After gazing at their sleeping faces, he covered them almost tenderly with a blanket, smoothing down their untidy and damp hair. He didn’t want them dying on him; he wanted to play some games first. He then had a thought and removed their shoes. In the unlikely event that one or the other escaped, they wouldn’t go far without shoes. The ground was far too stony and full of thorny prickles to walk on. He would throw the shoes down the well in the garden, where no one would ever find them.

He thought he would probably separate them for a while, when things had quietened down overnight and he was ready. He looked forward to cuddling and fondling the little girl, giving her nice kisses before dressing her up in the new garment he had bought her. He would brush and stroke her long dark hair when she was sitting on his knee, and he might even read her a story from the book he had bought specially for the occasion. Because he sound-proofed the cellar, he knew he had all night and the next day to spend with the children. In fact, he had until the next night, when it became dark once more. By then, the police would have given up their search, and no one would be nearby to see or hear them anyway. Days, weeks, could pass before they were found. What joy! It would be just the same as the first time…like all the other times.

He grinned lasciviously, thinking how pleasant and delightful touching them would be. Especially knowing their mother was being held by the police. And the questions they would ask! ‘Where are your children? What have you done with them?’

He felt laughter welling up inside him as he walked away from the window. He filled the kettle with water and got out a cup. If the police were to come calling, he would make sure he was doing nothing more sinister than drinking some tea. How very proper and English. He felt amazingly alert and relaxed. He could see everything he needed to through his binoculars, and at the same time he was perfectly safe, warm, and comfortable.

Taking a sip of his tea, he wondered what Yvonne—or
Debbie
as she liked to be known as—was doing. Was she crying, sobbing her heart out with shock and grief? She cried last time, when she went on and on repeating she was innocent.

She always looked innocent, young and virginal. He recalled the first time he saw her. She wasn’t a student, although she looked it. He remembered her working in the university bookshop, filling in for someone who had gone into hospital for a major operation. From the first time he saw Yvonne, he was attracted to her. He had marvelled over her glossy dark hair, how it tumbled and curled around her elfin face and thin shoulders. She had a sweet cupid bow mouth and rich brown eyes ringed by sooty brows and lashes. She was almost the epitome of Snow White, and he almost expected the birds and wild animals to come unbidden to her fingertips.

He wondered how the children were now. Were they awake and lying shaken and terrified in the dark? He hadn’t left a candle; it would have been too dangerous. Maybe he should have left a torch…he would think about it, and later, when all was quiet he would see. He thought about the girl. She was dark too…like Yvonne had been…
was
really underneath all that bleached blonde hair. Did she really think she could hide from him?

The little girl was a peach. Her locks had clung in damp tendrils around her face; she had a tiny nose, dimples in her cheeks, perfect unblemished skin…she was her mother all over again.

He glanced at his watch; he had been back for almost an hour. The children would wake up soon. He ought to go down to see if they were okay. He decided not to turn any lights on because it might have attracted attention further down the valley. He was sure the police would visit him sometime that day, but he didn’t see the point in broadcasting that he was at home.

He opened the back door and checked that no one was around. The lane and surrounding land were deserted as he slipped out and crossed over the yard to the outhouse. With the aid of the light from the torch he was carrying, he knelt down in the dirt by his car and reached for the trapdoor hidden under the sacks.

Descending into the gloom, he heard a moan followed by a sob. “Mummy! Mummy!” He walked to the bed and saw Hannah was sitting up with her eyes wide open with terror. Her face was wet with tears, and she shrank back when he stretched out a hand towards her. “It’s all right. Don’t worry.” He ran a hand over her head and hushed her. “Mummy can’t come, she’s busy.”

His voice stirred the boy, who stretched and rolled over towards the sound. After a few seconds, Charlie came to and sat up. His wide eyes showed the same astonishment as before when the man grabbed him in the garden. Charlie glanced at his sister before demanding, “Who are you?” The boy made a movement to get off the bed and stopped when he saw his surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe and hidden. You both like hide and seek, don’t you? We’re playing a game with Mummy. She said she wanted your Christmas to be extra special this year. So here we are.”

The boy was obviously alert, but he sat quietly on the mattress; so far he hadn’t made a fuss. That was perfect. He would be easy to control. Yvonne had brought them up well, just like the others. They had done exactly as he had asked that day too. No questions when he picked them up from the car park and put them in the boot of his car—hiding from Mummy.

Charlie stared back at him; a frown crossed his features.

“So, are you ready to play the game? You can call me Uncle if you like, since I’m an old friend of Mummy’s.”

The little girl moved restlessly, and fresh tears ran down her face as she began to cry once more. “Charlie…” she began.