For a second they didn't move. Then, just as he knew she was going to, Evi turned and reached up to him. It was just a hug, he knew that, a moment of comfort, but it was impossible to be this close to her and not bend his head down to the skin at the side of her neck, to find that freckle, to press his face against her hair and breathe in deeply. Then she moved in his arms, pulled back her head, and it was completely out of the question that he not kiss her.

Moments pa.s.sed and the only thing he could think of was that the world couldn't be too bad after all because Evi was in it; and would he be d.a.m.ned for all eternity if he picked her up, laid her gently down on the pew beside them and made love to her for the rest of the afternoon?

Then Evi made a gasping sound that had nothing to do with pa.s.sion. She'd stiffened in his arms, had pulled away from him, was staring over his left shoulder. Cold air on the back of his neck told him the front door of the church was open. He stepped back and turned.

Gillian stood in the open doorway. For a second Harry thought she was going to faint. Then it looked as though she might hurl herself at them in rage. She did neither. She simply turned and ran.

67.

MILLIE WAS IN THE DOORWAY, WAS IN THE DOORWAY, WATCHING SOME CHICKENS WATCHING SOME CHICKENS strut up and down in the lane. Across the drive, her mother was unloading shopping from the car. She straightened up and headed for the door. strut up and down in the lane. Across the drive, her mother was unloading shopping from the car. She straightened up and headed for the door.

'Will you go back inside?' she said to the toddler, bending down towards her. 'It's freezing.' She squeezed past the child and disappeared. A moment later her hands caught hold of Millie round the waist. 'I mean it,' she said, as she lifted her daughter up and took her out of sight. 'You'll fall down those steps.'

For a moment the doorway was empty and then the mother appeared again. She crossed quickly to her car and found the last of the bags. As she straightened up and pressed the b.u.t.ton on the thing in her hand that would lock the car, the child appeared in the doorway again. She stole a brief, sly look at her mother before turning to the chickens that had wandered into their garden. Then she climbed down the steps to the drive.

The car hadn't locked itself. The mother pressed the b.u.t.ton twice, three times and then gave up, using the key to lock the car instead, just as Millie set off across the lawn. The mother crossed the drive and went inside. The front door closed. Silence.

Nothing to see, nothing to hear for a minute, maybe two. Then the front door was pulled open and the woman, her face white and her hands clutching her upper arms, appeared in the doorway. 'Millie!' she called, as though afraid to shout too loudly. 'Millie!' she called again, a bit louder this time. 'Millie!'

68.

'WHERE DID YOU FIND THESE?' ASKED HARRY. ASKED HARRY.

'Environment Agency archives,' said Gareth Fletcher. 'Watch those crisps, I'll get throttled if I get grease on them.'

Harry put his crisp packet down and leaned over the maps. 'Catchment maps,' he said. 'I've never heard of them.'

Gareth lifted his pint and drank. A week before Christmas, the White Lion in the middle of Heptonclough was busy and even at nearly five o'clock in the afternoon the two men had been lucky to get a table. Harry almost wished they hadn't, that he and Gareth Fletcher had been forced to reschedule the chat they'd had planned for days. He'd wanted to help Evi find and talk to Gillian. That was not something she should have to face on her own.

'No reason why you would,' said Gareth. 'The water authorities produce them. They show the countryside from the point of view of the water resources.'

'And that means what, exactly?' asked Harry. Across the room, a party of office workers were in high spirits. Several wore paper hats. When they stood up, most seemed unsteady on their feet.

Evi had refused to let him go with her. Gillian was her patient, she'd said, her responsibility.

'Most maps are about roads, towns and cities, right?' said Gareth.

'Right,' agreed Harry.

'This one is about rivers. See, this is the river Rindle. Starts as a spring way up in the hills and gradually makes its way down to where it joins the Tane. All these other streams and rivers are its tributaries.' Gareth leaned across the map, pointing out faint, wiggling lines with his finger. 'They all feed into it and it gradually gets bigger and bigger. The area they all cover is called the catchment.'

'OK, got that,' said Harry, who'd been watching a dark-haired girl with a purple paper hat who reminded him of ... how soon could he phone her? Was she with Gillian right now? 'And the water authorities need these because ...' he prompted, forcing himself to concentrate.

'If a stream dries up, if it gets polluted, if there's a fish kill, or a flood threatening, the authorities need to know where it is and what other water-courses it's going to impact upon.'

'OK.' I could be struck off for this, Harry I could be struck off for this, Harry, she'd said to him, as they'd argued at the church gate. You have no idea how serious it is. You have no idea how serious it is.

'The modern maps are easier to read, all the different catchments are coloured differently,' Gareth was saying. 'This one must be eighty years old. It does, though, have something the more modern ones don't. This one shows the underground streams. Even some of the deeper aquifers. It dates back to the days when people dug their own wells and needed to know where they might strike lucky.'

'Still following,' said Harry. She trusted me, and I've let her down in the worst possible way. She trusted me, and I've let her down in the worst possible way.

'Now, you can see how a fairly sizeable subterranean stream starts right up here, just below Morrell Tor, and winds its way down through the village, feeding quite a few wells as it goes, probably all abandoned and covered over by now, and eventually goes under the church.'

'We saw it that day we went exploring. The monks had turned it into a sort of drinking fountain.'

'Exactly. Now, as we know, it disappears into a grate, running under the cellar, and this is the important bit, are you concentrating?'

'Oh, I'm riveted.' If anything happens to her it'll be my fault. If anything happens to her it'll be my fault.

'Just after it leaves the church foundations, it forks in two. The main stream continues down, through the graveyard, under the Renshaws' garden and then on down the moor. The other part heads west and follows the line of the church wall.'

'Seriously weakening it?'

'In my view, yes. If you ask me, there's not a lot of point rebuilding that wall until you can divert that offshoot of the stream.'

'If we block it off, will the water continue down the hill with the rest?'

'Probably, although I'd need to check it out with my friends in water resources. Do you want me to do that before you speak to G.o.d about releasing the funds?'

'Yes, thank you. What's this?' In an attempt to take his mind off what might be happening with Gillian and Evi, Harry had been trying to spot places he knew around the town on the map. He'd found Wite Lane, had followed the track he sometimes ran along up the hill. He was pointing at a double circle within a rectangle.

'Looks like a bore hole, an old drinking well,' said Gareth. 'Although why there'd be one way up there I have no idea.'

'It's just below the Tor, isn't it? Wasn't there an old mill up there?'

'That's right. I'll bet this is inside that hut. The one the kids call Red Riding Hood's cottage.'

Harry nodded. He knew the one. 'Belongs to the Renshaws,' he said. 'DCS Rushton was telling me how they searched it when they were looking for Megan Connor. I don't think he mentioned a bore hole.'

'If it's been covered over and forgotten about, he might not have known it was there,' said Gareth, finishing his pint. 'There are wells and bore holes all over the place that n.o.body knows about. Another one?'

'I think I'm still drunk from last night,' said Harry. 'One more won't make much difference.'

Gareth grinned. As he stood up both men heard the tinny notes of the Bob the Builder tune. 'Mine,' said Gareth, pulling his mobile from his pocket.

Gareth continued walking as he held the phone to his ear. He made it as far as the bar then turned on the spot, shot a quick look at Harry and left the pub, pushing aside two boys who looked barely old enough to drink.

For a second Harry didn't move. Then he got to his feet. It would be a problem at Gareth's work, he told himself, nothing important. The noise in the pub seemed to have increased. Over at the office-party table girls were squealing, and blowing on the paper trumpets that came out of crackers.

He took a step towards the door.

Millie would be fine. She'd been shopping with her mother that morning, the last big shop before Christmas, nothing could happen at the supermarket. A waitress was walking from one diner to the next. 'Sherry trifle?' she was saying. 'Who ordered the sherry trifle?' Even the till at the bar seemed unnaturally shrill.

'Merry Christmas, Vicar,' people called after him as he made his way through the crowd. He ignored them. Millie would be fine. She was never allowed out of her mother's sight these days. Someone dropped a gla.s.s just behind him, he might even have knocked it over himself. It shattered on the tiled floor.

He pushed at the door; the cold evening air hit him and so did the silence. He took a deep breath and looked around. It was completely dark. Gareth was fifteen yards further up the hill, about to get into his truck, and for a moment Harry just wanted to let him go. He didn't want him to turn round; he didn't want to see that look on anyone's face again as long as he lived.

'Hey!' he shouted, because for the life of him he'd forgotten what the other man was called.

Gareth turned back. There it was again, that look: sheer terror. He opened his mouth and Harry could just about make out what Gareth was croaking at him. Not Millie then, Millie was OK after all.

Joe was the one who'd gone missing.

69.

'OK, THEN, THEN, THIS IS WHAT WE KNOW.' THIS IS WHAT WE KNOW.' DETECTIVE CHIEF DETECTIVE CHIEF Superintendent Rushton stopped and cleared his throat. He had to look at the top of Alice's head, her eyes were staring down at a stray cornflake on the kitchen table. Superintendent Rushton stopped and cleared his throat. He had to look at the top of Alice's head, her eyes were staring down at a stray cornflake on the kitchen table.

'Joe was definitely still in King George's at the interval,' continued Rushton, 'which took place from three fifteen to three forty-five. The front-of-house manager was quite definite about timings. Joe was bought an ice cream and more than one little lad remembers seeing him in the toilet queue. What we can't be certain of is whether he was still in the theatre for the second half.'

'Who the h.e.l.l was sitting next to him?' said Gareth. He hadn't stopped moving since he and Harry had walked through the door. He paced the floor, he rocked back and forth on his heels, he wandered from room to room, shouting his thoughts out to whoever might be listening. Alice, in sharp contrast, had barely moved in three hours. Her face seemed to be getting paler and smaller by the minute.

Harry looked at his watch almost eight o'clock. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. No messages.

'Well, that's the thing,' said DI Neasden. 'The kids didn't have allocated seats, they all swapped round at the interval. One or two of the little ones got scared of the baddie up on stage and went to sit next to the teachers. The theatre wasn't completely full, so there were empty seats. No one we've spoken to can definitely remember seeing Joe during the second half. We've checked with the event stewards; there were three of them on duty and none of them remember seeing a young lad wandering round by himself.'

'The school didn't know for certain he was missing until they got all the kids back on the coaches and did a head count,' said Rushton. 'This was at ten to five. The staff went back into the theatre to search, and gave up after another thirty minutes. We were notified at twenty-five past five.'

'He could have been gone two hours by then,' said Gareth, pushing his way past DI Neasden to get to the sink. He ran himself a gla.s.s of water, raised it to his lips and put it down again. He turned as the kitchen door opened and Tom came in. The boy stood in the doorway, looking from one adult to the next. No one seemed to know what to say to him. Then Jenny Pickup appeared behind him, paler and more dishevelled than usual, with Millie in her arms.

'Come on, Tom, love,' she said. 'Let's leave everyone to talk. Shall we play on the computer?'

Tom opened his mouth as if to say something, but his bottom lip began to tremble. He turned and ran from the room, just as Millie started squealing to get to her mother. Alice stood and held out her arms. She took her daughter and dropped down into her seat again, as though the effort of standing was just too much.

'I'll stay with Tom,' muttered Jenny.

'Thanks,' said Gareth. 'I'll come through in a sec. They should probably be in bed.'

Harry checked the screen of his mobile again as Jenny slipped out of the room.

'OK then,' said Rushton. 'Next thing we did was have a look at the CCTV footage. Not the easiest of tasks; it's a big building. As well as the pantomime, they had a conference in the Northgate Suite and the cafe-bar was as busy as you'd expect a few days before Christmas.'

'And?' said Gareth, pouring the water down the sink.

Rushton shook his head. 'The cameras in the foyer didn't pick up anything. Of course there were a lot of people milling around in the interval and it's not impossible he slipped out behind someone else, but the school had a member of staff standing by the doors to prevent exactly that. She's adamant no child went past her and she seems pretty reliable.'

'What about other doors?' asked Harry.

'Including the staff entrance and the fire doors, there are nine exits from the building,' answered Rushton, 'some covered by cameras, some not. We did pick up one image that we want you to have a look at. Have you got it, Andy?'

Detective Constable Andy Jeffries, who looked more like a teenage hoody than a member of the Lancashire Constabulary, had his laptop ready on the kitchen table. He pressed two keys and then turned the screen to face Alice. Gareth approached the table and leaned over the back of his wife's chair. Harry moved closer. They watched as a clip of CCTV footage started playing. They were looking at one of the corridors in King George's Hall. Two members of staff walked towards the camera and, as they disappeared from view an adult and child came on screen, walking out of shot. The adult was wearing a baseball cap, trousers and a thick quilted jacket. The child was similarly dressed in an oversized baseball cap and a large, blue plastic raincoat. They walked to the doors, the adult with one arm around the child, and then disappeared outside.

'What do you think?' said Rushton.

'Let's see it again,' said Gareth.

The clip was played again. 'Impossible to be sure,' said Gareth, after they'd seen it a third time. 'Right sort of height for Joe, right build, but we just don't get any sort of look at his face. What do you think, Al?'

For a second Alice didn't react. Then she shook her head.

'We're going to be running that clip on the news tonight,' said Rushton. He looked at his watch. 'In just over an hour. Asking them to come forward. If it was nothing to do with Joe, we can rule them out.'

'Is that a man with him?' asked Harry. 'Woman? Teenager?'

'Anybody's guess,' said Rushton. 'We've got people trying to enhance the image, but when all you're working with is the back of someone's head it's tricky. Of course, these two might have nothing to do with Joe. We've got officers talking to all the bus drivers who were working that patch this afternoon. Taxi drivers too, in case the lad managed to sneak some money out. Needless to say, his picture's been sent to all stations in the area, along with a description.'

Harry put his phone on the table in front of him. 'What about cameras around the town?' he said. 'Don't we all get caught on camera about a hundred times a day? If that's true, some of the ones around Blackburn must have picked Joe up.'

'We've got a team going through them all,' said Rushton. 'It'll take a while, as I'm sure you can imagine, but you're right, some of them will have spotted him.'

'Can we help?' said Harry. 'If it's a question of manpower. We can sit and look at TV screens.'

'It's a good thought,' said Rushton, 'but these things need to be done by people not emotionally involved. Your place is here, with the family. Right, where was I?' He glanced down at his notes. 'We've got officers working their way through Blackburn town centre, asking in all the shops that are still open. They're all carrying his photo.'

'Joe wouldn't just go off with a stranger though,' said Gareth. 'If he left King George's with someone, it would have to be someone he knew.'

'Quite possibly,' said Rushton. 'On the other hand, he is a very young lad. And people can be very convincing. We've also been talking to all his cla.s.smates. If Joe had any plans, he might have mentioned them to someone. Right, I need to get back to the station now. When the news bulletin goes out, the phones will go bananas.' He reached out and patted Alice's shoulder. 'Keep your spirits up, la.s.s,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Someone will have spotted him.'

'Hold on a second,' said Harry, pushing back his own chair. 'What you're doing in Blackburn looks very thorough, but what about here?'

Rushton was frowning at him. 'Here?' he said.

'Who's looking here? I've seen no sign of a search going on outside. And we still haven't found this girl Tom's been talking about.'

'Blackburn's twelve miles away, Harry,' said Rushton. 'I doubt he ran away from the theatre only to make his way back home on his own.'

'And you think Joe's disappearance is just coincidence?' said Harry. 'That it's not connected to what's going on up here?'

Rushton seemed about to speak and then changed his mind. 'Word outside, Reverend,' he muttered, indicating the door to the hall. Harry stood and followed Rushton out of the room. They crossed the hall towards the front door, with Gareth close behind. Rushton opened his mouth to object.

'Last time I checked, he was my son,' said Gareth, folding his arms across his chest.