hand on his chest and drew in a noisy breath. “You stay.” He added something in Polish.
His son gave a rueful shrug. “He's afraid he's going to die.”
“He's not the only one,” Sophie countered with spirit, 'and, frankly, I don't think hiding in here is a solution. We'll be sitting ducks if they break down the front door."
“He says he can feel another attack coming on.”
She shook her head angrily. “There's nothing wrong with him,” she snapped. "He ran in here like a two-year-old. In any case, I dropped my bag in the hall."
If Nicholas was surprised by her lack of sympathy, he didn't show it.
“The police'll be here soon. We'll be all right then.”
Sophie listened for sounds in the corridor but all she could hear was sporadic and muted shouting which seemed to be coming from the direction of the window. “Can the crowd get round the back?”
Nervously, he followed her gaze. "It's gardens. They'd have to break down the fences to reach us.“ He broke off to listen. ”It's an echo from the road," he said.
Sophie grabbed the edge of the table and slid it away from the door.
"Yes, well, I'm not prepared to bet on it ... and this bit of rubbish wouldn't keep a child out." With an irritated gesture towards Franck motioning to him to get up, she turned the handle and peered through the gap. Ominously, the shouts from the street seemed to have quietened, but the doors were still closed and there was no one in the hallway. "Take your dad upstairs and I'll get my bag. I'll check through the letter box to see what's happening."
Another burst of Polish from Franck, followed by Nicholas's grip on her arm, dragging her backwards. “I'll get the bag,” he said. "You look after Dad."
She shook him away. “Get off me!”
With a muttered 'sorry' he released her immediately, only for his father to clamp a filthy palm over her mouth and grasp her round the waist with the other. He urged her towards the stairs, the heat of his naked breasts pressing against her shoulder blades. "Be good, little girl," he whispered in her ear, 'or I break your back like a twig. You keep us safe till the police get here. Yes?"
Eleven.
Saturday 28 July 2001 incident room, church hall, Portisfield
AMY HAD BEEN missing for over twenty-four hours, and the phones in the incident room had rung non-stop since her photograph was shown on television news broadcasts. She had been seen the length of Britain from Land's End to John O'Groats, and each report had to be painstakingly investigated. The most promising were those describing a little girl in the company of a man, but at the height of the holiday season this wasn't unusual. Fathers regularly escorted their daughters to buy food in service stations or stood outside the Ladies while the child went in. There was a sense of growing frustration as each new lead faltered.
In contrast to this scattergun approach, which such investigations invariably generated, the focus of Inspector Tyler and his team's efforts was on finding out where Amy had been during the last two weeks. The pattern that was emerging was a strange one. According to Barry, she had left every morning at ten o'clock he always woke when the door banged and returned every evening at quarter to six, saying she'd been with Patsy. But when Kimberley challenged her on the Wednesday evening with being a liar, Amy had turned into a 'right little bitch'.
The boy looked puzzled as he described the scene. "Normally she was a bit of a spastic cried a lot didn't like telly then Kim calls her a liar and she goes flicking ballistic. She was kicking and fighting and it was only when Kim promised she wouldn't tell her mum that Amy backed off. The deal was that she had to get back before Laura otherwise Kim'd lose her baby-sitting money."
“This was Wednesday?” Barry nodded. "And she stuck to the bargain on the Thursday night?“ Another nod. ”Did either of you try to find out where she was going?"
"Sort of. Kim kept
His son gave a rueful shrug. “He's afraid he's going to die.”
“He's not the only one,” Sophie countered with spirit, 'and, frankly, I don't think hiding in here is a solution. We'll be sitting ducks if they break down the front door."
“He says he can feel another attack coming on.”
She shook her head angrily. “There's nothing wrong with him,” she snapped. "He ran in here like a two-year-old. In any case, I dropped my bag in the hall."
If Nicholas was surprised by her lack of sympathy, he didn't show it.
“The police'll be here soon. We'll be all right then.”
Sophie listened for sounds in the corridor but all she could hear was sporadic and muted shouting which seemed to be coming from the direction of the window. “Can the crowd get round the back?”
Nervously, he followed her gaze. "It's gardens. They'd have to break down the fences to reach us.“ He broke off to listen. ”It's an echo from the road," he said.
Sophie grabbed the edge of the table and slid it away from the door.
"Yes, well, I'm not prepared to bet on it ... and this bit of rubbish wouldn't keep a child out." With an irritated gesture towards Franck motioning to him to get up, she turned the handle and peered through the gap. Ominously, the shouts from the street seemed to have quietened, but the doors were still closed and there was no one in the hallway. "Take your dad upstairs and I'll get my bag. I'll check through the letter box to see what's happening."
Another burst of Polish from Franck, followed by Nicholas's grip on her arm, dragging her backwards. “I'll get the bag,” he said. "You look after Dad."
She shook him away. “Get off me!”
With a muttered 'sorry' he released her immediately, only for his father to clamp a filthy palm over her mouth and grasp her round the waist with the other. He urged her towards the stairs, the heat of his naked breasts pressing against her shoulder blades. "Be good, little girl," he whispered in her ear, 'or I break your back like a twig. You keep us safe till the police get here. Yes?"
Eleven.
Saturday 28 July 2001 incident room, church hall, Portisfield
AMY HAD BEEN missing for over twenty-four hours, and the phones in the incident room had rung non-stop since her photograph was shown on television news broadcasts. She had been seen the length of Britain from Land's End to John O'Groats, and each report had to be painstakingly investigated. The most promising were those describing a little girl in the company of a man, but at the height of the holiday season this wasn't unusual. Fathers regularly escorted their daughters to buy food in service stations or stood outside the Ladies while the child went in. There was a sense of growing frustration as each new lead faltered.
In contrast to this scattergun approach, which such investigations invariably generated, the focus of Inspector Tyler and his team's efforts was on finding out where Amy had been during the last two weeks. The pattern that was emerging was a strange one. According to Barry, she had left every morning at ten o'clock he always woke when the door banged and returned every evening at quarter to six, saying she'd been with Patsy. But when Kimberley challenged her on the Wednesday evening with being a liar, Amy had turned into a 'right little bitch'.
The boy looked puzzled as he described the scene. "Normally she was a bit of a spastic cried a lot didn't like telly then Kim calls her a liar and she goes flicking ballistic. She was kicking and fighting and it was only when Kim promised she wouldn't tell her mum that Amy backed off. The deal was that she had to get back before Laura otherwise Kim'd lose her baby-sitting money."
“This was Wednesday?” Barry nodded. "And she stuck to the bargain on the Thursday night?“ Another nod. ”Did either of you try to find out where she was going?"
"Sort of. Kim kept
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