Shepherd's Cross (25 page)

2.00pm:
Wilf Blackett cursed with frustration as the plough attached to the front of
his tractor struggled to shift some of the deeper drifts of snow that blocked
the eight-mile stretch of road from Shepherd’s Cross to the main highway. If it
wasn’t for the two hundred quid that Sergeant Jennings was paying him for his
troubles, he would have probably conceded defeat by now and headed home. With
every yard of progress, it became clearer to him that he didn’t have the right
tool for the job: what was needed was one of those heavy-duty council gritter
lorries with a proper snowplough secured to the front. But Jennings had told
him that the council boys wouldn’t be able to come this far out until tomorrow
morning as a result of the problems on the so-called priority roads.
I don’t
see what the hurry is
, Blackett thought, the near total whiteness outside
beginning to blur his vision.
He only has to wait one more day – what could
be so pressing that he needs to get out sooner?

If only he knew…

Suddenly the tractor dipped to the side,
its wheels slipping into a shallow ditch at the side of the road. ‘Shit!’ he
shouted, fighting with the steering wheel to gain control of the machine.
Thanks to his driving skills, not to mention a large slice of good fortune, he
managed to steer the tractor back on to the flat of the road. He turned the
engine off and leant back into his seat. ‘That’s as far as I go,’ he muttered
to himself, catching his breath and reaching for his flask. He’d only cleared a
couple of miles at most, but he knew that he couldn’t go on. It was too much of
a risk: any more slip-ups like that and he’d be walking home. He could just
about manage two miles if he had to, but walking for five or six miles in these
conditions wouldn’t be so easy, especially as darkness would be falling in the
next couple of hours.

He held the flask to his lips and took a
long, comforting slug of whisky; and then another. Thirty seconds later he
started the engine, carefully manoeuvred the tractor through one hundred and
eighty degrees, and began his journey back towards Shepherd’s Cross.

2.30pm:
Liam Turner was first to find Cara, her bright-yellow Police jacket making her
stand out like a beacon against the snow. He’d spotted her standing at the
opposite side of the village green with Ben Price, near to The Fallen Angel.
Three years of trudging around the village delivering newspapers every morning
had kept him fit, so it didn’t take him long to make his way over to them. He
didn’t say a word until he reached them, not wanting to draw attention to
himself or arouse the curiosity of those who were searching for Chloe. Although
he couldn’t actually recall Jennings swearing him and his father to secrecy,
common sense told him that whatever Jennings had in mind was not for public
knowledge.

‘Cara,’ he said, catching his breath and
checking around to make sure nobody could overhear him. ‘Sergeant Jennings
needs you to come to the Station straight away. He says it’s urgent.’

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, setting off
immediately without waiting for a reply.

‘I’m not sure. But I think it has
something to do with Chloe.’

‘Okay. Thanks, Liam.’

They made their way back across the
village green towards the Station, Liam and Cara leading the way, closely
followed by Ben Price. Cara didn’t try to stop him from coming with her; if
Jennings had some news regarding Chloe, then Ben had every right to hear it.

They arrived at the Station two minutes
later, Jennings acknowledging them with a smile as they came in. Liam hovered
in the doorway. ‘I better find my dad,’ he said to Jennings. ‘He’s still out
there looking for Cara. Do you need me for anything else?’

‘Not right now, lad,’ replied Jennings. ‘You’ve
done a good job. Thanks for your help. Keep searching for Chloe, will you?’

‘Of course,’ he replied, closing the
door behind him as he left.

‘What’s happening, Sarge?’

Jennings glanced briefly across to Ben
before answering her. ‘It might be nothing, but Liam reckons he saw a black
four-by-four heading up the lake road around eleven-thirty this morning. I’m
wondering whether it might belong to our new friends. It certainly matches
Liam’s description, and if you remember, Blackmoor told us when we were up at Fellside
Hall earlier today that King had come into town on an errand. Seems too much of
a coincidence to me, wouldn’t you say?

‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Ben. ‘Are
you saying they’ve taken Chloe?’

‘Calm down, Ben. It’s probably nothing.
A couple of southern academics have moved into a rundown old Hall a couple of
miles from here. There’s no evidence to suggest that they’re anything different
to who they say they are, but Cara and I have been up there a couple of times
now, and let’s just say…let’s just say they’re a bit odd.’

‘So you
do
think they might have
taken her?’

‘Not necessarily. But let’s not beat
around the bush here,’ he said, directing his words at Cara. ‘If Chloe’s just
upped and disappeared like that, and practically a whole village can’t seem to
find her on its own back doorstep, then it strikes me there’s a distinct
possibility that somebody may have taken her. And it wouldn’t surprise me if
that same somebody happened to be connected with the incident at All Saints’
Church.’

‘What incident?’ asked Ben, starting to
panic.

‘It’s not important,’ replied Jennings, his
voice quiet but firm. ‘What is important is that we find your daughter as soon
as possible. And I reckon that heading up to Fellside Hall might not be the
worst idea I’ve ever had.’

‘How do you want to proceed, Sarge?’
asked Cara. ‘I can’t let you go alone this time.’

‘I don’t want to go alone,’ he said. ‘It’s
too dangerous. If they have taken her, we’ll need to be ready for trouble. I
want you to go and inform Emily Mitford that you and I need to go up to Fellside
Hall on Police business. Tell her that she is to remain in charge of the search
operation in and around Shepherd’s Cross. I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige.
That way, at least we’ll be able to maintain a level of activity down here
while we’re away.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Ben, a look
of steely resolve in his eyes. ‘It sounds like you might need an extra pair of
hands; and if my daughter is up there, I want to be with her. There are enough
people searching for her down here. I’ll be more useful with you.’

Jennings sighed. ‘I’m not sure. What if
–’

‘Please,’ said Ben. ‘I want to come with
you.’

There was a brief moment of silence as
Jennings considered Ben’s request. ‘Okay. But I want you to stay close to me,
do you hear? You’re to remember at all times that you’re a civilian…you don’t
have any authority to intervene in Police business, is that understood?’

‘Loud and clear.’

‘Good. Right then: Cara – you go and
find Emily and come straight back after you’ve spoken to her. Ben and I will
lock up here and wait for you in the Land Rover. Be as fast as you can. The
light’s already starting to fade, and I don’t want to be stuck up there after
dark.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She zipped
up her jacket and hurried outside.

Jennings walked across to the other side
of the room and unlocked a cupboard, retrieving a padded waistcoat and a
truncheon. ‘Okay, Ben. I want you to take these,’ he said, handing them to Ben.
‘They’re for protection only, do you hear? Under no circumstances are you to
use them for anything other than self-defence.’

‘So you
do
think she’s up there?’
Ben asked, fastening the waistcoat.

‘Right now, I honestly can’t say either
way. However, I think there’s a better than average chance that she is. There’s
been too much happening in this village since those two have arrived for all
this to be simply a coincidence. And if my suspicions are proved correct, we
may well be in for a difficult couple of hours. Come on, let’s get going.’

‘Shouldn’t you call for backup?’

‘The phones are down. There
is
no
backup.’

He motioned for Ben to leave the Station,
following behind him and turning off all the lights before locking the door and
heading to the Land Rover. Regardless of whether or not Blackmoor and King had
kidnapped Chloe, Sergeant Jennings had a strong feeling that they would not be
greeted this time with the usual hospitality. He didn’t care: he was ready for
trouble; as ready as he would ever be. He’d wasted enough time tiptoeing about
like a kid who’s scared of his own shadow. A little girl’s life was at stake.
He wanted answers.

3.00pm:
Emily Mitford sat at a large table in The Fallen Angel, the map in front of her
remarkably accurate considering the fact that it was hand drawn. Despite her
aversion to soggy carpets and damp seat cushions, Tina Radcliffe had agreed to
Cara’s request that her premises be used as a makeshift meeting point for the
various search parties that were out combing the area for Chloe. To avoid
unnecessary duplication of effort, Emily had drawn up a map of Shepherd’s Cross
and its environs, agreeing to coordinate the search in Cara’s absence. She may
have been too old to be out scouring the streets, but a ‘back-office’ job like
this was an ideal use of her organisational skills.

Although the search was now approaching
three hours, the mood of the villagers remained surprisingly upbeat; as if
having a shared sense of purpose was the perfect antidote to the depressing
conditions of the previous three days. Nevertheless, three hours was a long
time for a six-year-old to be missing, and every lane or field that Emily ran a
red strike through on the map was a lane or field less to search. The red
strikes now far outweighed the unmarked areas, which could only mean one thing:
they were running out of options.

‘What do you think, Emily?’ asked Tina,
filling up the large tea urn for the third time that afternoon. ‘Do you think
we’re going to find her?’

‘We have to believe that we will,’ Emily
replied, without looking up from her map. ‘It will be dark in hour or so; it
will be nigh on impossible to find her then. In the meantime, we’ll have to
give it everything we can. We can’t afford to let our heads drop.’

‘Dougie Hickman’s going around saying
that she’s been kidnapped by those newcomers up at Fellside Hall; he reckons
that’s why the Police are up there. And there are a fair few folk who think
that Reverend Jackson’s got something to do with it; that he’s been up to no
good with her, and that’s why we’re not allowed inside the church. A couple of
them are even saying he’s probably one of those paedophile vicars who get their
kicks from fiddling with the bairns.’

‘Really, Tina! You should know better
than to listen to dangerous, unfounded rumours like that. They won’t help us
find that little girl, will they?’

‘I can’t help listening to ‘em – they’re
what folk are saying…well, what some of them are saying, anyway. And Bill
Thompson’s not denying it, is he?’

‘Bill Thompson is doing exactly what Sergeant
Jennings instructed him to do, which is to say nothing either way until the
investigation is over. Honestly, Tina, you’d be wise not to get involved in
such drivel; you’ll only be adding fuel to the fire. You know what this place
is like. You can’t keep anything secret in The Cross.’

‘Maybe so,’ she replied, smiling to
acknowledge the arrival of Wilf Blackett as he walked into the pub. ‘But even
you can’t deny that there’s something iffy going on at Fellside Hall. Why else
would the Police have dropped everything and hot-footed it up there, taking Ben
Price with them? They obviously think there’s a chance that Chloe’s up there.
Kidnapped, I reckon.’

‘Whisky and water please, Tina,’ said
Blackett, hoisting himself onto a stool by the bar. ‘Make it a double, will
you? I need thawing out.’

‘I take it you didn’t make it through to
the highway?’ asked Emily. ‘Too deep, was it?’

‘Aye, too deep and too dangerous. My
tractor hasn’t got the power to push on through the bigger drifts; we’ll have
to wait for the heavy truck ploughs to come tomorrow. Until then, it looks like
we’re stranded here for another night.’ He placed some money on the bar and
took a heavy sip from his glass. ‘Christ, that’s good,’ he said, before taking
another, smaller sip. ‘Any news on the girl?’

‘Not yet,’ replied Emily. ‘But we’re all
still hopeful of finding her.’

Blackett nodded and said nothing. If
there was one attribute that was essential for surviving in the remote North
Pennines, it was hope: hope for a productive lambing season, hope for a kind
winter, hope for the arrival of wealthy tourists in summer. It wasn’t easy
living in a place where the line between success and failure was so thin, where
one’s livelihood often depended more on the vagaries of lady luck than one’s
own actions.

‘And another thing,’ said Tina. ‘Have
either of you seen Frank Gowland in the last couple of days? It’s not like him
to simply up sticks and disappear without saying anything. He’s always the
first customer to come in here on a Sunday morning…and usually the last to
leave. You can set your watch by him. And I’ve no idea where Ted Wilson’s got
to either: he’s another one who’s usually as regular as clockwork.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’
Blackett said. ‘I can’t remember seeing either of them.’

‘Nor me,’ said Emily. ‘For goodness
sake, what a weekend! I don’t think I can take much more of this.’

Their conversation was interrupted by
the arrival of one of the search parties. There were four of them: Bill and
Liam Turner, Dougie Hickman and Jack Cranfield; and from the despondent look on
their faces, they were not about to convey any messages of joy.

‘No luck?’ asked Tina, taking out some
fresh mugs from the dishwasher and setting them down on the bar.

‘Nothing,’ Bill Turner replied, pouring
some milk into one of the mugs before filling it with hot tea from the urn. He
looked tired – they all did – but he was also determined. As soon as he and his
group had warmed themselves up and recharged their batteries, they would all
head back out again and renew their search.

‘By the way, where’s Sergeant Jennings?’
asked Blackett. ‘I haven’t seen him since he asked me to clear the road for
him. Must be out searching, is he?’

‘No,’ said Emily. ‘He and PC Jones went
up to Fellside Hall not so long ago with Ben Price.’

‘Fellside Hall? What on earth have they
gone up there for?’

‘I reckon they think those London fellas
have taken the little girl up there. Probably a couple of paedophiles, if you
ask me,’ said Dougie Hickman.

‘Dougie Hickman! You’d be well advised
to keep that trap of yours clamped shut,’ said Emily. ‘You shouldn’t be going
around accusing people of such terrible things, especially without any evidence
to back it up. And I’ve heard the utter rubbish you’ve been saying about
Reverend Jackson – that kind of talk can be dangerous you know?’

‘Dangerous my arse!’ replied Hickman. ‘You
keep your head in the sand if you want to, Emily, but I’m seeing things for how
they really are. Why else would they have gone up there for, eh?’

‘Who knows?’ said Emily. ‘There could be
lots of reasons. But until we know what’s going on, we have a job to do around
here. Unfounded speculation won’t help us find Chloe, will it?’

‘Hmmpphh!’ was the only reply Hickman saw
fit to muster.

‘Emily, can you remember what you were
saying yesterday about that cross on my field maybe being some kind of curse?’
asked Blackett. Emily nodded. ‘Well, the more I think about it, the more I
think you’re right. This place is cursed alright.’

‘What makes you say that, Wilf?’

‘Well, you can’t deny we’re on a run of
bad luck…and it’s getting worse all the time. The Carter boys laying into that
lad the other night, the incident at the church this morning; and now the
missing girl. What next? And to top it all off, we’re snowed in and can’t get
out. It’s as if something out there wants to keep us trapped here.’

‘Come off it, Wilf. How many of those
have you had?’ asked Tina, pointing to his empty glass, trying to lighten the
mood a little.

‘Never mind about that,’ he replied,
looking around the room at everyone in turn. ‘I tell you: there’s something
else going on around here; something strange. I don’t know what it is, but it’s
not normal. I’ll give you an example – when I was trying to clear a way through
to the highway for Brian, I swear on my life there was something out there warning
me to stop and come back. Okay, as it happens I wasn’t able to go any further
anyway, but I can’t say for certain that I would have continued even if I could
have. It was like there was a voice inside my head ordering me to turn back. I
know you’ll probably think I’m daft, but I hope you know me well enough by now
to know that I’m not one for going around making this kind of stuff up.’

A few quiet moments passed by, nobody
wanting to be the first to speak, nobody wanting to openly agree with him…even
if they did. It was Liam Turner who eventually broke the silence. ‘I wasn’t
going to say anything,’ he said, staring sheepishly down at the floor as he
spoke. ‘But I saw a black four-by-four heading up the lake road around the same
time that Chloe went missing. When I told Sergeant Jennings, he asked me to
find PC Jones immediately – he said it was urgent. I’m pretty sure they’ve gone
up to Fellside Hall because they think Chloe’s been taken there by whoever was
driving that car.’

‘There you are then,’ said Dougie,
smiling smugly. ‘I’m right – she’s been kidnapped. In future, you lot would be
wise to listen to Dougie Hickman. I know a thing or tw…’

‘Oh, pipe down, Dougie,’ Emily said. ‘Can’t
you see this is serious?’

‘What do you think we should do, Bill?’
Blackett asked. ‘Do you think we should go after them? I mean…if these fellas
are dangerous, then Brian and the other two might need some help. What do you
reckon?’

Bill Turner, who up until now had
remained quiet, took a deliberately long slurp of tea as he considered his
response. ‘I think,’ he said, placing his cup onto the beermat in front of him,
‘that if they haven’t come back within the hour, a few of us ought to jump into
Wilf’s and Jack’s tractors and go up there after them. We can’t leave them up
there alone.’

‘But as far as we know, they could be
armed with machine guns and machetes,’ said Dougie, his cheeks still burning
from Emily’s scolding. ‘Don’t you think we’d be better off focusing our efforts
on looking for Chloe here as Sergeant Jennings asked us to?’

‘There’re plenty of people still out
there doing that as it is,’ replied Turner. ‘And let’s be honest, the chances
of finding her here are looking pretty slim. I suggest we get back out there
for the next hour or so and keep searching. If Brian and Cara haven’t returned
by four o’clock, we’ll meet back here and get ourselves up to Fellside Hall to
give them a hand. And we’ll go armed…just in case. Everybody agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Liam.

‘Agreed,’ said Blackett and Cranfield.

The entire room stared at Dougie
Hickman. ‘Agreed,’ he said finally, shaking his head to indicate he wasn’t
happy with the idea.

‘Good,’ said Turner. ‘That’s settled
then. Come on, drink up; let’s get back out there. Emily; where’s left to
search?

Emily checked the map. ‘Can you head
down to Bobby’s Brook? Nobody’s checked there yet.’

‘Will do,’ he replied. ‘See you in an
hour, if not before.’

Emily watched as the five men brushed
themselves down, zipped themselves up and marched outside into the overcast
afternoon. When they were gone, the door closed behind them, she went back to
her map and scratched a red line through the area around Bobby’s Brook.

‘What’s going on, Emily?’ asked Tina. ‘What’s
happening to this place?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, sliding the
top back onto the pen and standing up. She walked unsteadily over to a window
and looked outside. The sky was grey and heavy, the remaining daylight
disappearing with every passing minute. She’d listened quietly to Blackett as
he’d uncharacteristically shared his feelings with the others, not wanting to
interrupt him in mid-flow. However, if she
had
interrupted him, she
would have told him that she didn’t need any convincing that a black cloud had
descended onto Shepherd’s Cross – like him, she could feel it in her bones. She
hadn’t said anything because she hadn’t wanted to add to an already growing
sense of uneasiness amongst the villagers that a dark presence was closing in
around them, patiently playing with them like a cat plays with a mouse; biding
its time before putting it out of its misery once and for all. Blackett had
picked up on it, as had several others she’d talked to in the previous couple
of days; particularly the old-timers, who had lived long enough in The Cross to
sense when things weren’t right.

Emily looked across the village green to
All Saints’ Church, with its snow-covered spire stretching up towards the
heavens. She closed her eyes and gripped the windowsill, and with all her
strength, she prayed for God’s help.

A storm was coming: a storm too powerful
for any man-made shelter to protect against. Was God’s intervention the answer,
or was it the strength and determination of the community itself? Either way,
it was clear that the battle line between good and evil had been drawn across
the very heart of Shepherd’s Cross.