Sixteen Horses by Greg Buchanan (readict TXT) 📕

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

It occurred to Alec that these people, they thought he might be lying about his son’s presence in the car. That the disappearing boy might never have been there at all.

He wanted to see a friend.

He wanted to see George. He didn’t know why he wasn’t on the case.

He didn’t know why they were doing this, why they thought so little of him without knowing him.

He’d only ever tried to do good.

Day Twenty-Six

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Outside the train station, dark and dismal and thin, a vast blank billboard had been filled with a message for those who had been caught outside the quarantine and roadblock: WELCOME HOME.

The expected homecoming never occurred.

Instead, after a small initial influx of disaster tourists unable to keep their distance, residents had begun to leave. Restaurants open for decades began to close. Old people in care homes were left there, unvisited.

Louise Elton was eventually traced to her nephew’s home on the Isle of Man over a hundred miles away; she claimed she had not known of her husband’s activities, that he had hidden his paedophilic inclinations that had led to their blackmail threat. Cooper had got hold of the interview transcripts, had read them in between waiting for updates from Ada.

‘Please . . . just leave us alone,’ the stable owner had pleaded.

Her purported innocence was a load of shit, of course, but Louise had a good solicitor, and she was right: there was no hard evidence of any further involvement, at least not that would necessitate her immediate return.

Ilmarsh’s few remaining officers had the task of talking to each and every child who had attended the riding school throughout the past few years. No images of any of them were found on Charles Elton’s hard drive; all of the files appeared to be downloads from other users.

There was not, and never would be, any evidence that he’d molested anyone himself.

Cooper ended up speaking to a small group aged between fifteen and eighteen with the attending officers. It had been difficult to get their permission, her limited professional currency almost spent.

She asked them about two people, showed them photographs of these people, told them stories.

Simon?

The teenagers had seen him at school. He was well liked, charismatic, but none of them had grown particularly close to the boy.

Rebecca?

Most didn’t know the name. One of them recognized her photo, though. A boy named Peter. She’d been in his class at school. Hadn’t seen her for a long time, but for a single meeting.

‘She came to a lesson at the stables – months back.’ The student hesitated. ‘Why?’

Rebecca had been happy, the student said. She’d said she’d come again, but never did.

Rebecca had never ridden before, beyond a carriage-ride at the beach.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Seagulls perched on top of paint-flaked facades and black iron lamp-posts. Neon logos screamed ST GEORGE’S CHARCOAL GRILL, TROPICAL CAFE, CAESAR’S PALACE. Empty amusement arcades blared waka waka waka chiptune music and flashing lights.

There were no other trailers, no caravans left along the seafront.

No strangers in unpeopled Ilmarsh.

It was all left for Michael, now.

The sky was grey. Waves lapped against the shore.

Cooper walked up to his door and knocked upon it.

‘You’re not with the police?’ the carriage driver asked. They sat on the sea-wall nearby, watching the ebb and flow.

‘I’m a contractor,’ she said. ‘I work for myself.’

‘So you’re a private detective, then?’

She hesitated, then nodded. ‘I suppose so. For now, at least.’

‘I always wanted to be a detective,’ Michael said. ‘When I was young, at least. My dad claimed he was one, back before I was born, but I don’t know . . .’

He took a packet of cigarettes and held it out towards Cooper. She shook her head after a moment and he put them back in his pocket.

‘You can still have one,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to—’

‘You’ve given up. It wouldn’t be fair.’

Neither of them said anything for a little while. Seagulls landed on the sand nearby, watching them.

‘Show me this photo, then.’

Cooper reached into her coat pocket and retrieved it.

He nodded at Rebecca’s image. He hadn’t known her by name. ‘Took a ride for her birthday, ages back. Came again a couple of times. Said the first one was a present.’

‘Her birthday was in September, so—’

‘No, no. This was a year ago. Nothing that recent.’

Another boat moved in the distance. All the fishing vessels had gone now.

‘Did you talk about much?’ she asked. ‘I know it was a long time ago, but anything you can remember . . .’

‘Why are you asking me this? Who is this girl?’

Cooper scratched the back of her head.

‘Was she involved in what happened? Did she do this?’

‘She’s been in hospital for almost a month,’ Cooper said. ‘Only recovering just now.’

‘She was infected?’

Cooper nodded.

He looked away, and down at the photo again.

‘She was happy, happier than most,’ he said. ‘And I liked that. She wanted to stroke Annie, seemed to have a real thing for the whole experience, even had someone filming it. She—’

‘Who?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who was filming it?’

He paused, looking down at the photo and up again. ‘A man, I suppose.’

Cooper got her phone out and found a picture of Albert Cole. ‘Him?’

Michael shook his head.

After a moment, she found a photo of Alec and showed it to him.

Again, a head shake.

‘He was in his mid-twenties, I think.’

An image of Simon produced a similar shake of the head, but Michael stiffened. ‘The missing boy?’

Cooper nodded.

‘I would have said something if I’d seen him.’

‘How far away was the man standing? Where?’

‘Near the old cinema.’ Michael handed Rebecca’s photo back to her. ‘Just the first ride. I asked the girl why he didn’t join in, but she didn’t . . .’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘I don’t know.’ He looked tired. ‘She might have said he was afraid of them.’

‘Might have?’

‘Like I said, I don’t know. It was a year ago . . . and honestly, I’m not sure I’d know his face to look at.’

He took his cigarettes out again and this time he lit one, shuffling a small distance away from