Nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m sorry to press you, Angie,’ Calter said with a half glance towards Farrell. ‘You told us Jason failed to return home Monday evening. That he’d been digging bait in the late afternoon. Why didn’t you report him missing straight away?’
‘I said, didn’t I?’ Angie snapped. Her hands sat on her lap, tightly clenched. ‘I thought he was round a friend’s house.’
‘But you didn’t worry, didn’t feel the need to check?’
‘No. He often stays out late.’
‘But all night, Mrs Hobb? An eleven-year-old?’
Angie said nothing. Shook her head and stared down at her hands.
Calter tried another line of questioning. ‘Monday was a weekday. Why wasn’t he in school?’
‘He was upset about being bullied, so I let him stay home. Please, you’ve got to believe me.’
Calter felt a buzzing in her pocket. She pulled out her phone and silenced the call.
‘Can anyone else corroborate this? Because the headmistress at …’ Calter glanced down at her pad, ‘Torpoint Community College says Jason’s missed a lot of school this term. Nothing about bullying. She says there are concerns about family life.’
‘Concerns?’
‘Ned Stone. Your boyfriend.’
‘Ned? He’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘Did you know Ned has a conviction for assault?’
‘Yes, of course I did. You lot told me.’
‘When did you last see him, Angie? Not Monday night, was it?’
‘No, not this week. Ned was last round Saturday.’
‘You need to think hard about this. Whether you want to cover up for this man. He’s a violent offender, Angie.’
‘Ned? He wouldn’t hurt Jason, would he?’ Angie looked hard at Calter and then glanced at Farrell.
‘Has Ned ever got angry with you?’ Calter said. ‘Got angry and lashed out?’
‘No, he hasn’t.’ Angie shook her head and then brought her hands up and hugged herself. ‘I don’t understand. You’re confusing me. Why would Ned hurt Jason?’
‘I told you, Angie,’ Calter said. ‘He’s got a record for violence.’
‘Ned loves me. Jason will turn up, you’ll see. He’s run away before and always come back.’
‘He has?’
‘Yes. In the summer shortly after I met …’ Angie’s words trailed off.
‘Ned Stone.’ Calter nodded. ‘Suppose Ned had an argument with Jason and the argument got out of hand. Suppose Ned went too far.’
‘What do you mean “suppose”? Have you …?’ Angie looked again at Farrell, her mouth dropping open. Farrell stood and moved across the room. ‘No! You haven’t?’
‘We don’t know yet, but we’ve found a body.’
Now Angie was standing too. As Farrell reached her, she put her arms up and began to beat him across the chest.
‘No! No! No!’
Farrell caught Angie as all the energy went out of her and her legs buckled. He moved her back to the armchair and lowered her down.
‘My Jason! How can this happen? Noooooo!’
Calter almost put her hands to her ears to shield herself from the scream. She was surprised to see that in the turmoil Farrell had answered his phone. He stepped across the room away from the wailing. Calter got up from her own seat. She had to do something, to try to comfort the woman.
‘Angie?’ Calter moved to the armchair. She put her hand out and touched Angie on the shoulder. ‘We need you to be strong. We need—’
‘Fuck!’
Calter looked across at Farrell. He was Mr Goody Two Shoes and she’d never heard him swear before. He shoved his phone in his pocket and glared across at Calter.
‘What is it, Luke?’ Calter said.
‘It’s not Jason,’ Farrell said, shaking his head. ‘The body in the tunnel belongs to some other poor kid.’
‘Oh, thank God!’ Angie looked up, mouth agape. ‘Jason, my Jason. He’s alive!’
Friday again. I haven’t had much time this week as I was given extra homework on account of getting into a fight at school. Thank goodness it’s the weekend. When I mentioned this to Jason earlier, he shrugged. Something is bothering him. I know Father gave him the cane on Wednesday for some misdemeanour, but I don’t think that’s it. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s to do with Bentley.
Bentley is Mother’s fancy man. The guy from the Home Office. Of course, Bentley isn’t his real name – it’s the make of car he drives, or rather his chauffeur drives the car while he sits in the back and does his paperwork. Bentley, you see, is a minister. Not a religious minister though, Bentley is a Minister of the Crown.
The first time I saw him he jumped from his car and swept up the front steps with a number of aides in tow. The visit was routine, some kind of inspection, nothing much to worry Father though. Father keeps a tight ship and there’s rarely anything amiss.
Lately though, Bentley’s been coming alone or with just his bodyguard and chauffeur, slipping down the lanes to the home under the cover of darkness. Sometimes I’m in bed and I hear the big car crunching across the gravel car park, the headlights sweeping the coastline as the car turns in. Upstairs footsteps pound on the floorboards as boys scamper from room to room, while downstairs there’s a banging of doors as staff jump to please him.
Tonight I met him face-to-face for the first time. He arrived a little earlier than usual and when I came into the living room in our private apartment he was sitting in Father’s armchair, head down in a newspaper. As I entered, he looked up and asked me my name, almost as if knowing what to call me would give him some sort of hold over me. I shook my head and kept silent. As I stood there, Bentley smiled a lipless grin and nodded, as if accepting my right to challenge him. Then he returned to his newspaper.
I’m back upstairs now, snuggled down under the covers with a torch to help me to write. A few minutes ago I heard the familiar sound of boys on the move. I wonder about Bentley. What’s he up to? Why does he come here?
While Mother is in thrall to Bentley, with Father it’s different. Bentley has some kind of hold over him. It’s the only way I can explain their relationship. You see, my father isn’t a weak man, but Bentley walks all over him. He arrives whenever he likes, drinks my father’s whisky and does things with my mother I’d rather not think about. Father just takes it. I guess Bentley, being in the government, could close the home with a snap of his fingers. Perhaps he could even get Father in trouble, considering the kind of punishments used here at the Heights. One word from Bentley and Father would be facing unemployment or even prison.
I’ve just looked at the clock and it’s late, nearly twelve. Bentley is still here. I peeked out from the curtains and the car is still out front. The chauffeur is sitting in the driver’s seat with the window open, smoking a cigarette. Bentley is somewhere downstairs and just what he’s up to I have no idea.
The Shepherd jerks awake in the darkness. He holds himself still for a few moments until he has fully come to his