Authors: Faith Mortimer
Diana frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. Something in
my
head is insisting I tell you that. Perhaps…perhaps something will happen, and you have to make a decision. I can’t say any more.
Promise me
,” she urged.
Diana stared at Clare in astonishment. “All right. I have no idea what it could mean, but I promise I will.”
She still couldn’t believe how stupid she had been that day. First, she fell in the stream and soaked her phone. (Diana tried using it again, but it still wasn’t responding.) Then, she foolishly put Clare’s life at risk. She hated to think what Steve and Adam would say about incapable, interfering, unbelievable and dopey women once they all got together again. Sometimes she acted stupidly.
Diana stood up and held out a hand to Clare. “I think we ought to get moving, otherwise we’ll be even further behind and miss joining up with the others. Can you manage, Clare?”
“My ankle feels slightly twisted. I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a hand up the hill.”
The sun had disappeared behind a thick bank of clouds bearing down the valley from the mountains. A keen wind had picked up and immediately the temperature dropped. Diana felt chilled in her wet trousers, and despite the hard climb, she was no longer sweating. As well as being an arduous scramble, Diana and Clare discovered the ground was covered in a variety of flora. Cypriot acacia bushes were extra prickly with long wicked thorns, and the women soon found themselves covered in scratches on their bare skin when they had to crawl up steep banks.
Diana paused to catch her breath and wondered how much further they had to go before reaching the summit. Glancing round, she thought she could see a couple of people in the distance. From their slow movements, she guessed they were part of one of the other search teams. There was no sign of Randy and Wee Willy, and she assumed they had gone even further than she first thought. Bother! She knew she was going to get it in the neck for allowing her party to split up. She had been so deep in thought and full of her own importance. Giving Clare an encouraging smile, she dug her toes in and continued up. After another ten minutes climbing, they lifted their heads and looked up the slope. The house they were aiming for was now in sight, and both breathed a sigh of relief. They were exhausted and leaning forward on their knees, took deep gulps of air.
*****
Philip Bolton watched the scene unfold before him as soon as it was light. He saw the parties of searchers fan out over the hills, poking in the snowdrifts with their little sticks. One party passed his house on the road side, and he had gone out and asked them how they were doing in their search.
“It’s a dreadful thing to have happened and on such an awful day. Now the power has been restored, I’ve been listening to the local radio. Have you any leads on the Frost children’s whereabouts or what could have happened to them?” he asked courteously. When the searchers said there was no news except for the discovery of a child’s shoe, he shook his head in mock concern. “The poor little things. They’re not likely to survive in this weather for long. I’m only sorry I’m not fit enough to join you. Unfortunately, I have dodgy knees these days. Years ago I was pretty hot on orienteering, and I would have stayed out all day. But if I see or hear anything, I’ll be sure to get in touch with The Magic Teapot and pass it on. By the way, you said you found a child’s shoe. Where was that?”
Afterwards, he loitered on his snowy drive long enough to ensure they left the vicinity before hurrying upstairs to his binoculars to check the position of the search teams. So! They had found a shoe by the river bank, had they? It must have been washed down from when he threw the shoes into the well. It was fortunate for him. With any luck—and he believed his own was linked with the devil’s—they would assume the two children had fallen in the river and drowned. With a smirk, he let out a wild giggle when he saw the increased numbers of people straggling along the course of the river. It was all falling into place nicely, just as it had done so many times before. This was just too easy.
He kept his binoculars on the strap round his neck and walked into one of the spare bedrooms. The room contained nothing but an unmade double bed, a wardrobe and chest covered with some bathroom toiletries, towels and bed linen. To anyone glancing into the room, it looked about to be made welcome for a visitor. The fresh linen and towels and complimentary toiletries on the chest clearly indicated this. He paused at the chest and on impulse pushed the linen to one side and threw back the lid. Lying on her back with her mouth and hands taped was Hannah. Her eyes opened in terror at the man looming over her, and she gave a muffled scream.
Philip gave her a fond smile and stroked her soft downy cheek. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Then we’ll play a nice little game together. It’ll be fun.” He replaced the linen over the lid and went back downstairs, whistling a tune between his teeth.
It was time he resumed his search for Charlie. Confound the little bugger! He really had no idea of his whereabouts, but without shoes he couldn’t have gone far. Philip didn’t understand how he could have got away so quickly. One minute he was poised on the edge of the cellar steps next to his neighbour. After he had dispatched him with his axe, he turned round to do the same to the boy and found him gone. Vanished into thin air! Feeling some concern, Philip spent some time checking under the car, in the car, on the floor of the garage, in the cellar and just outside. There were some smudged footprints, undoubtedly left from his neighbour’s boots, and the boy could have followed in them, but he was too small to have gone far. There was definitely no trace of the boy.
Philip checked the house once again, thinking it was improbable the boy would have entered it, but he needed to double-check all the same. It wasn’t as if the house was large either. There was nowhere to hide in the kitchen area, nor the living room. The bathroom was just a bathroom, and he had already looked in the bedrooms twice.
He ventured back down into the garage for one final look. Satisfied the cellar was empty, he made sure the trapdoor was completely covered with the old sacks. It was now time to look a little further afield. He would head for the fields to see if he could find any trace of the boy. Philip headed for the drive, keeping his head down while checking for any telltale footprints. His brain was racing; he needed to find the boy—and fast. If he wasn’t in the fields or orchard, he would search out the hilltop. Time had passed since he had killed and disposed of Roger, and since no one had come by accusing him of abducting the boy, he was hoping he had met with a nice little accident. It was easy to fall into a crevice in these parts. He had to be nearby.
*****
The women reached the top of the hill in a state of near collapse. Overall, they had covered the remaining hill climb in less than twenty-five minutes, and looking back, they agreed what a tough ascent it had been. Under different circumstances, they would have felt proud of their achievement. Worry gave an added impetus to Diana’s footsteps. She had to get help for Clare: she made light of her ankle injury but was clearly in some pain. They staggered the last few metres into the garden of Philip Bolton’s house. Despite Clare’s plucky ascent up the hill, her ankle was twisted, and she was exhausted. Adam needed to get her home fast.
It was the first time Diana had visited Philip’s property, and she looked round to get her bearings. Previous sightings were from the road or when she and Steve had walked on the land nearby. The garden was still under about a foot of snow. The topography wasn’t at all smooth; various lumps and bumps were all around, and she guessed they were the usual strewn rocks typical of the Cypriot landscape.
On a whim, Diana fished her phone from her pocket and tried to make a call one more time. “Well, I’ve got power now—that’s something, but still no signal. Maybe it’s this hill after all.” She replaced the phone and turned towards Clare.
“Come on, Clare, let’s go and try the house. I’m sure Philip Bolton will let us use his phone. Lean on me as much as you want to.” Putting her arm around Clare’s waist, Diana indicated she should drape an arm around her shoulders. Together they cut across a smooth part of the garden and limped towards the building. Once they were clear of the deep snow, they moved onto what seemed to be a level path going around the side of the house. To their right stood a stone outbuilding, which had a tiled roof patched with sheets of corrugated metal. Outside the building, under the melting snow, there appeared to be a collection of twisted metal, odd bits of wood and the usual clay pitharia.
“There’s the door. Come on, it’s not far to go now. I promise you that you’ll soon be sitting down in a nice warm room,” Diana said, smiling at Clare who by now was in real pain.
“Can I help?” a gruff voice called from the right. Startled, both women looked towards the sound and saw a man walking towards them. “Are you in trouble? You seem…in a bit of a state”
Diana recovered first upon recognising Philip. There was no mistaking his overweight frame or his long greasy salt-and-pepper-coloured hair. “Yes, yes you can. My friend has had an accident, and I need to use a telephone rather urgently. Mine has packed up you see…”
Once he drew near, he peered closely at Diana. “Don’t I know you? It’s Diana Rivers isn’t it? The novelist?”
Diana nodded. Her knees were still feeling weak and wobbly. “Yes, we’ve met in the village once or twice. This is Clare. She’s over here for the Christmas holiday.”
He made no move to shake Clare’s hand as he turned his strange pale eyes towards her. His gaze slowly assessed her before replying. “Telephone you say? I’m sorry but I don’t possess a mobile.”
“A landline, then?” Diana persisted, wondering why his eyes were so cold. Staring into them was like looking at a dead person. Unconsciously, she drew back; his body odour was rank.
“No, there’s no landline working. There’s been a power failure, and it hasn’t come back on yet. Are you part of one of the search parties?”
“Yes. But the power
is
back on now. Please, if you could just check. Clare has twisted her ankle and is in a lot of pain. She fell down the hill below your house.”
He paused as if considering her words, his eyes darting nervously from one woman to the other. Diana noticed a line of sweat along his brow and thought it odd considering how cold it still was.
“Please, we won’t be in your way. Once we’ve made our call, someone will pick us up and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Philip licked his lips before glancing over his shoulder. The action seemed to help him come to a decision.
“You’d better come in then.” He turned and led them towards the house. Clare and Diana gave each other a hasty glance before following. Diana pulled a face and Clare raised her eyebrows. Philip Bolton seemed decidedly odd and creepy with it.
Chapter 31
Bolton led them into the house. The ground floor was an open-plan area with a bit of a kitchen added in one corner. Apart from a sagging sofa and one armchair, the only other furniture of note in the room was a pine table and three chairs. Dirty cups and plates littered the single kitchen sink, and there were empty takeaway food cartons lying on the worktops. A bag of groceries was lying on the floor, the contents spilling over the beige-coloured tiles. Overall, the place exuded an oily and stale smell.
The light inside the house was subdued because the curtains covering the windows were still drawn. Only the drapes over the French windows were pulled back. Diana noticed the doors overlooked the hills on the other side of the valley. The temperature seemed barely above freezing, and Diana shivered. There was something that disturbed her about the house. The quicker they made the call and got out, the better.
“The phone’s upstairs, I’ll go and check,” Philip Bolton said. He looked round the room, his eyes darting from side to side and then suddenly seemed to remember his manners and swept some old newspapers off the sofa. “Please sit down.”
He shuffled off towards the stairs, and Diana helped Clare down onto the lumpy old sofa.
“This place is filthy, and what clapped-out old furniture,” Diana whispered as she wandered round the room. Her face was a picture of undisguised disgust. She sidestepped the bag of groceries, noticing an upturned bottle had exuded a little of its contents. She almost laughed when she realised it was a well-known proprietary brand of children’s bubble bath. Bolton used bubble bath despite his overall dirtiness! “I know I’m not the world’s best housekeeper but even so. We’ll leave as soon as we can. The best bit of kit in here is his set of binoculars. He obviously takes his birdwatching seriously, that’s an expensive pair of Steiners.” She gestured with her head towards the binoculars, which were lying on a chair by the doors, before sitting down gingerly on the grubby woollen throw next to Clare.
“Actually, it’s odd, come to think of it. I would have expected him to—ow! What’s that?” she suddenly asked, snatching her hand away from the cushion. Looking down she noticed the corner of a hard-backed book protruding from between the cushion and the arm of the sofa. She pulled the book free and frowned. It was a cheap copy of the famous fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel, by the brothers Grimm. She was about to hold it up to show Clare and say something like, “Strange reading for a single man, don’t you think?”
when she heard Philip Bolton’s footsteps coming back down the stairs. Pushing it back in place, she looked up at him expectantly.