Darkhouse by Alex Barclay Page B

said Shaun.
    ‘That’s not a huge amount of use to you, with the coverage once we head out of the village,’ said Frank.
    ‘Go home, son,’ said Joe, coming up beside him.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re all so worried about,’ said Shaun, his voice rising. ‘What do you think we’re going to find?’
    ‘Probably nothing at all,’ said Frank.
    ‘But it’s just best that you’re not around,’ said Joe. Shaun walked away. Frank turned around to talk to D.I. O’Connor.
    Joe took the chance to search his pockets for painkillers. He had nothing. He considered his options. He couldn’t walk away in front of all these people. Then he felt someone squeeze his arm. He vaguely recognised one of the elderly women from outside the village. Joe waited for the question. He was more patient than he used to be. The intrusion had amazed him when they first moved.
    ‘How’s the young lad?’ asked the woman, nodding towards Shaun. Her face looked more accusing than concerned, but he suspected it had set that way years ago. The best he could do was nod through the pain, trying to let her know Shaun was doing OK. She still waited for him to speak.
    ‘Is there any word on the little girl at all?’ she asked.
    He shook his head and murmured a ‘Mm-mm,’ his usual refuge at times like this.
    The woman tutted in disgust. He had seen it all before.
    ‘I’ve said a prayer to St Jude,’ she said as she walked away. He frowned, irritated. He knew St Jude was the patron saint of lost causes.
    He turned back to Frank who reached into his pocket and without looking, handed him some ibuprofen. Joe knocked them back with purple fizzy caffeine.
    Frank turned and faced his group, which included Joe. ‘Right, we’re taking the central partof the village, from Seascapes, around by the shops, back down to the harbour and up again toward Shore’s Rock.’
    About forty people moved into rows and walked slowly up to the holiday homes. In the bright afternoon, the densely packed trees cast black shadows across the drive. Joe was at the edge of the line and almost fell over a little boy crouched behind a sycamore. His eyes widened when he saw Joe.
    ‘I’m hiding,’ he said in a loud whisper. He put a finger up to his lips and pointed towards his parents who were packing up a station wagon in front of one of the houses.
    ‘Oh,’ said Joe. ‘But that might really scare your mom and dad. I’m sure they’d be real sad if they couldn’t find you.’ He looked through the trees and noticed a light on in the landing of the last house, the odd glow of a bulb in daylight. There was no car in the drive.
    ‘I don’t want to go home,’ said the boy sadly.
    ‘That’s a real pity,’ said Joe. ‘I’m gonna go over and say hi to your mom and dad. Do you wanna come?’
    The boy shook his head furiously. Joe told the man next in line to him that he had to check something.
    He walked up to the couple. ‘Don’t look now, but your little guy is in the trees right behind me. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
    The parents looked at each other and rolled their eyes. ‘We’ll kill him.’
    ‘Have you been here all weekend?’ said Joe.
    ‘Yup,’ said the woman. ‘But it’s still not long enough for Owen.’
    ‘You didn’t happen to see anyone in that last house, did you?’ asked Joe, pointing.
    ‘No. You actually notice the cars coming in and out here. It’s so quiet,’ said the man.
    ‘Or you’d see the headlights,’ added his wife. ‘We’ve been in every night.’ She nodded towards their son.
    ‘OK. Just curious,’ said Joe. ‘Safe trip. Good luck getting him into the car.’
    Joe rejoined the group for the walk through the village towards Shore’s Rock. Every now and then, the whistle would blow, everyone would stop and a guard would collect whatever had been found. Then the line would move along again in silence until they reached the gate to the lighthouse.
    ‘It’s getting dark,’ said Frank. ‘And the forest is