‘Any other relatives Jodie might have gone to?’
‘There’s only my mum, and she would’ve been straight on the phone if Jodie had turned up there.’
‘What about Mr Stevens’ family?’
‘They’re all in Portsmouth. He’s got a few mates around here, but no one Jodie would know.’
‘Okay. As I said, I’ll have a quick scan around outside then report back to the station.’
Alison showed her out, then called her mother and told her what had happened.
‘Why didn’t you phone me earlier? Jesus, Alison, she’s been missing for over three hours.’
‘Because I kept thinking she’d come home. Then I went looking for her and phoned the police.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They’re gonna do a local search.’
‘Where’s Terry?’
‘Out looking for her.’
‘Okay. I’ll be round as soon as I can.’
Alison disconnected the call. She finished her wine and gazed out the window. It was still light enough to see part of the way along the Bunky Line. Overgrown weeds and brambles littered the disused railway track that ran for three miles from Feelham to Chorley. The neglected fields were waist-high with wild grass, making them the perfect place for predators to hide. The once thriving farmland that used to harvest barley, and the accompanying factory where the crop was processed to make malt were long gone. Just another ghost of an industry slaughtered in the name of progress. The perfect setting to find a little girl who’d gone missing after walking to the shops to buy some milk.
Alison would never forgive herself if anything had happened to her daughter. She should have gone to the shop herself. Or gone with her. Made sure she was safe.
She thought of Jodie outside wearing nothing but shorts and a tee-shirt. She’d be cold, scared, and vulnerable. And there was nothing Alison could do about it. Nothing at all.
Chapter Five
Mathew was glad it was Saturday because he didn’t have to go to work at the weekend. He’d not slept much, thanks to thoughts of birds and death, and now he was in a bad mood because he was too tired to do the chores. He’d promised to hoover the house while his mother was at the Book Café, but he’d barely enough energy to go to the shed and feed Tortilla.
He sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. The local radio station was playing country music. He liked the tunes, but the lyrics sometimes saddened him. Still, there were worse things going on in the world than Lucille leaving her husband and Ruby taking her love to town.
As the music faded out, the station delivered the local news bulletin:
‘Police have today said they are concerned for the safety of eleven-year-old Jodie Willis, who was last seen buying milk from Abbasi’s Convenience Store in Feelham at around 6 p.m. on Thursday evening. She is described as four feet, four inches tall, slim build with brown hair. She was wearing a red tee-shirt and pink shorts and white trainers. Police are appealing for anyone who has seen somebody matching Jodie’s description to contact them immediately by calling 101 or their local police station.’
Mathew gawped at the radio as if it had just tapped into his mind and delivered the worst news possible. There was an intense pressure building inside his head, and his heart was thumping so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest.
He banged his fist on the table. Slowly. Rhythmically. ‘I said this would happen. I said it would happen, but no one would listen.’
Maybe you should go to the police and tell them about the girl in Mr Abbasi’s, and Jim Bentley following her along St John’s Road.
Mathew considered this briefly but knew he’d only get in a muddle and make himself look suspicious with no one there to help him.
Get Mum to go with you, then.
But Mother had the shop to run. She couldn’t just close up on a Saturday afternoon.
You don’t want the coppers thinking you’re trying to hide something, do you?
‘I’m not!’ Mathew said, as if the voice in his head was a prosecutor in a court of law. ‘I’m not hiding nothing.’
You told Mum you went to the river after going to Abbasi’s, but you really went to the Bunky Line.
Mathew’s stomach tingled like it always did when he’d done something wrong. He’d only told his mother he’d been to the river because he’d not wanted to worry her about Jim Bentley and the little girl. Only she wasn’t just the “little girl” anymore. She had a name, which somehow seemed to make her more real.
Jodie Willis.
The name swirled around his head and contaminated his thoughts with guilt.
Jodie Willis.
Eleven years old. Still at primary school. Her mum and dad would be worried sick.
So, go to the police.
Mathew went to the sink and splashed water on his face. He dabbed it dry on a tea towel, then poured a glass of water and took two paracetamol tablets. They got stuck in his throat, and he had to drink two glasses of water to wash them down properly.
Opening the back door, he stepped into the garden. It was just a small patch of baked earth with sporadic tufts of yellowing grass sprouting here and there. He’d set the mower too low the last time he’d cut it, and now it would need treating before the autumn. Tortilla had told Mathew he wasn’t to blame. That he wasn’t responsible for the drought. True. But that still didn’t stop him from blaming himself for not thinking ahead.
He walked into the shed and found the leopard tortoise lying in a large shallow dish filled with water. Sensible. Tortilla had belonged to a cousin who’d given him to Mathew six years ago. His cousin had told him that Tortilla was twenty-four and could live right up to a hundred if he was lucky. Mathew loved the idea of growing old with Tortilla. Sharing stories and caring for him for the rest of his life.
The wooden shed was six feet by eight. Large enough to stretch out on the floor and chat with Tortilla when the tortoise wasn’t out foraging in the garden. Considering there wasn’t anything to forage at the moment, thanks to the relentless heat, the reptile spent most of his time in the shed relying on Mathew to feed him with grasses and vegetation twice a day.
‘How you doing, Tortilla?’
The tortoise stared glumly ahead, his poker face giving nothing away. He spoke in Mathew’s mind. Too hot.
‘I know how you feel. Said on the radio it’s meant to rain on Monday.’
Good.
‘Do you know much about the police?’
They catch criminals.
‘I think someone’s been killed.’
Who?
‘A girl called Jodie Willis. She was in the shop last night, and Jim Bentley followed her along St John’s Road.’
Have you told the police?
‘I’m scared.’
Why?
‘In case they think I’ve done something wrong.’
Why would they think that?
‘Because I told Mr Abbasi someone was gonna die because there was a bird inside the house.’
Oh.
‘And then I told Mum I went to the river after Abbasi’s, but I didn’t. I went along the Bunky Line to the derelict farmhouse to see if Jim Bentley had taken the girl there.’ Mathew wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.