Finders Keepers (39 page)

Jonas slumped back against the fence, sick with disappointment. He’d hesitated. On the off-chance that Coffin would be rational, he’d put all his eggs in one basket case.

Lucy, I blew it
.

He covered his face with his hands and his body let go of the tension in a long, shuddering breath. He felt fingers in his hair, smoothing him like a loved pet.

‘
One man went to mow
,’ sang Charlie cautiously. ‘
Went to mow a medal. One man and his dog
…’ He waited for one of the others to supply the part that Teddy had sometimes sung. Jess or Steven often did. But today there was only a yawning hole in the air.

And then Jonas felt his heart jolt as if he’d touched a live wire.

One man and his dog …

Bob Coffin had got rid of the hounds. That meant he had shot them.

And
that
meant he had a gun.

REYNOLDS HELD A
press conference in the Red Lion’s skittle alley, and released the information about the green woollen gloves. It wasn’t huge, but any breakthrough was enough to keep the story in the news, and Davey swelled with pride as he heard DI Reynolds say that this latest information had come from him.

‘Davey’s memory of events is becoming clearer all the time,’ he added, ‘and he’s making a tremendous effort to help his brother in whatever way he can.’

Lettie stroked his back and Nan said, ‘Well done, Davey,’ and Davey went to bed so excited about the green-woollen-glove breakthrough that he could hardly sleep. He was sure that by that night the police would have received a tip-off. Steven could be home by tomorrow!

But by the next evening Davey had learned another valuable lesson – that sometimes truth has to be its own reward.

*

I love them.

Funny how it’s the big un what understands that. Appreciates what I done. I always thought he was a bit mazed, but turns out he’s the one with the brains, after all!

Anyway, it’s good to know that someone’s on my side. Made me happy when he said that.

But that poor little Charlie. Can’t be having ’em sickly and shitting that way. That’s not right. Them’s my responsibility and I got to take better care of ’em. Else I’m as bad as them what left ’em alone.

Old Murton always told me, if you can’t feed it, don’t keep it. And he were right about most things.

So if I want to keep ’em, I got to try harder to feed ’em.

THE HUNTSMAN WAS
late.

There was no bang as he left the cottage in the morning, no squealing rumble as the big shed door was pushed aside on its metal runner, no soft explosion in the incinerator, no
sssssshh
of the knife that would separate bone from cartilage from tendon for them to eat.

Within minutes of his being overdue, the children grew restless, and before the hour was up they were nervous and fractious.

‘Where
is
he?’ Jess Took kept saying. ‘He’s
never
late.’

But he was.

Jonas and Steven exchanged worried looks.

Charlie sang ‘Ten Green Bottles’ quietly, while Pete clung to the chain link at the front of his kennel, craning to see up the walkway and occasionally murmuring, ‘I thought that was him’ under his breath.

‘He’s
never
late,’ Jess said again, as if words alone would make it true.

Steven turned his back to her and spoke softly to Jonas. ‘How long should we wait?’

Jonas frowned. ‘Before what?’

Steven opened his mouth, then closed it again. Before what indeed? Before escaping? Before calling for help? If those things had been realistic options then they would have worked already.

‘Maybe we should save our water a bit,’ said Jonas.

Steven nodded and passed the message down the line. Then he did something he hadn’t done for weeks – he started to test the boundaries of his prison, kicking at the wall, pushing a stalk of grass into the padlock, tugging at the ends of the wire fence as if he might unravel the chain link like an old jumper.

*

The .22 pistol was a waste of time.

What worked well when pressed between the eyes was completely useless when trying to hit a galloping pony at fifty paces. Bob Coffin thought he’d winged a couple but not even badly enough to be able to hunt them down and kill them. The deer didn’t even let him get within firing distance.

Bob Coffin threw the pistol on to the passenger seat of his old diesel and slammed the door hard.

Time was there was a never-ending parade of old, broken-down livestock coming into the yard, and the Park Rangers would let him know when a pony or deer was dead on the moor. Then the flesh room was always packed with fresh meat.

Not now the hounds were gone.

He’d stolen the last cow. Just walked into Jack Biggins’s field by night and taken the first one he’d come to. It was so easy it didn’t even feel like theft.

But when he’d tried it again over at Deepwater, the herd had gone off like a bovine car alarm – mooing and lowing and milling about him until he’d feared they would knock him down and trample him. But he’d needed the meat, and clung on to the cow
until
a skin-and-bone collie with one white eye had scattered the beasts and then bitten his ankle as he scrambled back over the five-bar gate.

He had a sheep, but it would last no time.

After that, he didn’t know what he would do.

*

Jonas saw Steven wince as a sharp point of wire pricked his finger. The boy didn’t give up, though – he shook his hand, then bent to his task again, even though it was hopeless.

Jonas thought of the grim truth – that Bob Coffin was their captor and tormentor, but he was also their lifeline. If he fell down and broke his leg, they were all dead; if he had a car accident and was taken to hospital, they were all dead; if he simply lost interest or got scared, or took a long weekend by the seaside, they were
all dead
.

Now the huntsman was somewhere else and they were here.

Helpless as infants.

As he watched Steven, Jonas cursed himself. A strip of leather and a small padlock, and he’d simply resigned himself to his fate, along with the children he was sworn to protect. He should have remembered the gun and realized the danger they were in. He should have been planning an escape for weeks, not waited until there was a crisis like this one. He’d been afraid, and frozen by that fear, and it had stopped him thinking.

He’d better start again right now.

Jonas ran his fingers along the chain that tethered him to the fence. He examined every link minutely, tried their strength with his hands and his teeth. He picked a link in the middle of the tether, and scraped it repeatedly across the cement, making a graze in the grey of the floor, and a shiny new corner on the metal.

That might work. Although an escape plan that relied on the erosion of metal was an escape plan that should have been
formulated
long before they were each left with half a bucket of water and no food.

The link became shiny but it didn’t get thin. It seemed hopeless, but Jonas beat down the feeling that he was wasting his time. Right now this was the most important thing in the world. The
only
thing left within his control.

The thought made him strangely optimistic, and he went at the task with new vigour.

Steven said ‘Shitshitshit’ and flapped his hand again.

‘You OK?’ said Jonas.

‘Cut it,’ said Steven, holding it up to the fence for Jonas to see.

Jonas reached out and wiped away the blood with his own thumb. Immediately it squeezed out again in a pretty red sphere.

‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ said Jonas with a smile.

‘Yeah,’ said Steven. He smiled back, but it didn’t last long. ‘Jonas?’ he said tentatively, ‘do you think he’s going to come back for us?’

‘Of course,’ said Jonas. ‘He loves us, doesn’t he?’

The sun was high in the sky before Pete said, ‘I hear him!’ and he was right.

Bob Coffin came down the walkway without meat, but with purpose, carrying a coil of thin cord. He wore his mask but no gloves. He strode past them all and unlocked Charlie’s kennel, then shook an end out of the coil like a cowboy about to rope a calf. Charlie stood up and moved away, like that same calf.

Jonas knelt against the fence. ‘What are you doing?’

Coffin ignored him and lunged at Charlie, who dodged him, then burst into tears.

Bob Coffin tried again, arms outstretched, and Charlie cowered, then darted away, bawling his lungs out.

‘Hold still, bay!’

Charlie rattled the gate in blind panic and twisted out of Bob Coffin’s grip once more. ‘No meat! No meat!’

‘Stay! Or I’ll get the gloves.’

Charlie ran to Jonas at the fence, clutching at the wire. ‘I don’t want to go!’ he cried. ‘Jonas!’

The terrified boy fell to his knees as Bob Coffin tried to drag him away.

‘Leave him alone! What are you doing?’

Charlie tried to feed his hand through the fence, but Bob Coffin yanked it backwards. ‘Trying to let the little bugger go!’ he grunted.

Jonas took a second to realize what he’d said. He looked at the man’s face, distorted despite the smoothing stocking.

He couldn’t see his eyes, but it felt like the truth.

I promise
.

Jonas couldn’t afford to disbelieve him.

‘Charlie! Charlie, calm down!’

Charlie cried and struggled and clung to the wire while Coffin hauled on his arms.

‘Let him go,’ Jonas told the huntsman sharply. ‘Let him go so I can talk to him.’

Coffin did. He stepped back from Charlie, leaving the boy gripping the fence, facing Jonas with his arms spread in an incomplete hug.

Jonas had to work fast. He touched Charlie’s fingers with his. ‘Charlie, listen to me.
Listen
to me. You’re going home.’

Charlie’s brimming eyes met his. ‘Home?’

Jonas nodded vehemently. ‘Yes, home. Today. Right now. You’re going to go home and see your dad.’

Charlie nodded, bottom lip still wobbling.

‘But you have to go with him, Charlie. Go with him and be a good boy.’

‘Don’t make a fuss,’ said Charlie.

‘That’s right. Be a good boy and don’t make a fuss.’

Charlie looked warily over his shoulder at the huntsman.

Jonas tugged his fingers to bring his attention back to him. ‘You’ll be fine, Charlie. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise.’

Charlie nodded but still looked doubtful. Coffin moved towards them, hand out. Charlie leaned away.

‘I
promise
, Charlie.’

Charlie knelt still, hitching with sobs, as Coffin pushed the end of the cord through the metal loop on his collar.

‘Good bay,’ said Coffin soothingly.

‘Where are you going to take him?’ Jonas asked.

‘Back,’ said Coffin.

‘To his house?’

‘I’ll leave him where he’ll be found.’

Jonas felt uneasy. ‘Somewhere safe, right?’

Coffin’s voice rose. ‘He’ll be found.’

‘Somewhere close to—’

‘I’m taking him
back
!’ Coffin spat angrily.

Jonas bit his lip. He had to shut up. If he didn’t, the huntsman might change his crazy mind.

Coffin helped Charlie to his feet.

Jonas rose with him, and his heart rose too. Charlie was going home. He was going to save the boy, after all. Then he was seized with sudden panic.

What about the others?

He’d told Coffin the truth – Charlie probably
didn’t
know where he was and so was unlikely to be able to lead the police back to the kennels. He did not have the capacity to relay any whispered instructions. Too late, Jonas realized that Charlie was the
last
captive he should have been working to free. Steven or Jess would have had the police up here within the hour; even little Maisie could have given them enough information to bring this nightmare to a swift close.

He was saving the boy – and leaving the other children to their fates. In a second Charlie would be gone – along with any faint chance of help. He had to send a message
with
him somehow. A clue. Where they were, or at least that they were still alive.

As Coffin turned to lead Charlie from the run, Jonas pushed his hand through the wire. His hand was big and the diamond pattern was small. He grimaced and twisted and shoved brutally, and watched the skin curl off in a bloody strip between his thumb and his wrist.

He cupped Charlie’s neck and held him there a moment longer at the end of his rope leash.