Finders Keepers полностью

From his slightly obscured viewpoint, it was only when the figure stood up that Jonas recognized Steven Lamb.

The paperboy picked his school bag out of the summer daisies, slung it over his shoulder and walked towards the gate.

Jonas slid quietly behind one side of the arbour and listened to Steven lift the heavy iron latch, then drop it behind him with a little squeak and a clunk. He passed within three feet of Jonas and never knew he was there.

Jonas went over to Lucy’s grave. The nasty jar was back in its place, but there were no new flowers. Strange. Jonas replenished the nut feeder, then moved the jar to behind the headstone once more.

As he did, something shifted within it with a dull metallic sound.

Imagining a stone, Jonas unscrewed the lid.

Inside was £62.30 in three twenties and change.

The parents formed a support group. Find Exmoor’s Children, they called themselves – although the papers quickly dubbed them the Piper Parents, which stuck, of course. Even Marcie Meyrick had had to come into line on that one.

John Took was the spokesman, naturally, and they met once a week in each other’s homes to have a good cry.

At least, that’s how Rice saw it.

DC Paul Berry was the family liaison officer. Rice had been one herself in a previous incarnation, and could see he was hopelessly overwhelmed. As a beneficiary of the relaxation of force height restrictions, the over-keen, rosy-cheeked Berry looked like a child who’d found a police uniform in a dressing-up box, and John Took could look straight over his head, which made it even easier to ignore him. Sometimes the families told him when they were meeting and sometimes they didn’t. When they did, they expected him to make the tea.

Reynolds had gone to the first meeting at John Took’s, hoping that having all the parents in the same place at the same time might throw up the kind of case-busting coincidence so routinely seen in television cop shows. A common handyman; a sudden recognition of old college mates; a memory of all having been witness to a pivotal moment at a local hog-roast.

But nothing.

Once they had all spent an uncomfortable half-hour sipping tea while John Took and David Peach tried to establish a Skype connection to Jeff and Denise Knox in Swindon, the only consensus seemed to be that the broadband on Exmoor was an embarrassment.

Nobody had had anything useful to offer the investigation, and Reynolds had sat and tried not to look at his watch until nine o’clock, when they’d all got up. The men had shaken hands purposefully while the women exchanged stilted hugs and nose-bumping air-kisses, like old foes on a red carpet.

After that, Reynolds didn’t go again.

This Friday they were in Withypool in Maisie Cook’s home.

Maisie Cook’s parents had expressed their grief by not tidying up, even for guests, and Rice had to move an armful of newspapers and dirty washing before she could sit down.

John Took had brought his laptop and opened it to welcome the Knoxes, but the Cooks had just looked blank when he asked about broadband, so he hadn’t bothered trying to connect. The laptop sat there throughout with revolving screensavers showing Took with various women, horses and dogs, instead of the Knoxes. Rice imagined Jeff and Denise, shoulder to shoulder in Swindon, staring at their PC and wondering when they’d be included; finally trailing miserably to bed when it became apparent that they’d lost their son, and any meaningful support from the only people who really understood what they were going through.

Over the next two hours, Rice assessed the parents. John Took was loudest, David Peach most reasonable, Kylie’s mother Jenny the quickest to tears. Took’s ex, Barbara, was the most efficient – making the tea when it was plain Mrs Cook wasn’t about to – and Took’s girlfriend, Rachel, the most cloying.

None of them looked like the kind of people who would abuse their children, but she knew that that was no guarantee. Child abuse was the most egalitarian of crimes. Her discreet inquiries with Social Services had yielded nothing, and with nothing else to go on, Rice mentally sorted the Piper Parents into order for future interview, based on nothing more than gut feeling.

John Took was top of the list, just because she didn’t like him, but Jeff Knox was second, even though she did. The way his wife had turned on him in the car park at Tarr Steps was either very unfair or rooted in some history. History of what, she had no idea. After that came Mr Cook, because there were several Steven Seagal DVDs on his shelf, which Rice considered tantamount to calling your dog Rambo on the psycho scale.

She readily admitted to herself that her methods were neither scientific, nor likely to yield fruit. But she’d been asked to dig, and dig she would. It didn’t really matter where she started – what counted was what she might find.