LITMIR.BIZ

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knew what they were doing. It was as if they had been planning it before the child went missing, and the machinery had swung into action within hours. The way that the woman’s face had fallen to her hands a second or two before Ruth stood up had had a practised appearance. She didn’t want her satisfaction at the interruption and the discomfiture of the police to be too evident.

      ‘Let me assure you,’ the policeman said. ‘Let me assure everyone here that we are, indeed, carrying out house-to-house enquiries. These inquiries have led to a number of fruitful leads. We are now pursuing those. It would not be helpful, in the interests of our investigations, to explain here exactly what those leads are. I should also say that, in the hours immediately following China’s disappearance, we went as a matter of urgency to everybody in the vicinity who was on the sex offenders’ register. Of course, that was the first thing we did. We know who they all are, and they were our first priority.’

      There was another rumpus, from the back of the hall. It was a man this time, looking not at all like one of Micky and Heidi’s relations, both deplorable and beyond genealogical analysis. This one looked very much like the sort of person who was supposed to live in Hanmouth, and soon people recognized him as the man who sat at the cash desk in the antiques emporium on the quay. He was the sort of person who in normal circumstances would complain about Heidi and Micky. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a tie, even on this hot spring night. His wife, by his side, nodded agreement as he shouted.

      ‘Who are they?’ he shouted. ‘Who are these sex offenders living in our communities? We need to know their names. I have grandchildren and—and—’

      Heidi looked up, interested. She hadn’t anticipated or prepared this one.

      ‘Let me assure you—’ the chief constable said. ‘And that wasn’t the first thing you did. The first thing you did was to go wandering round my back garden without permission and walk up and down the long field out back, questioning innocent people while time got wasted. My wife and our grandchildren, our grandchildren, I tell you, they need to know—’

      ‘Let me assure you that investigations into such persons were immediate and very thorough. We will not, however, in the light, in the light of the strength, ah, of feeling around this case—’

      ‘This case?’

      ‘—around this case be revealing the names of those individuals who, though on the sex offenders’ register, are innocent of any involvement in China’s disappearance. I’m sure you can understand the thinking behind that.’

      ‘It’s not “this case”, it’s—’

      ‘We need to know—’

      On the far end of the trestle table, Mr Calvin sat in his blue suit, taking notes. The chief constable had got to know him well in the last few days. He lived in Hanmouth, on the best street, the Strand. Calvin was the sort of respectable figure who would not normally have had anything to do with anyone like the O’Connors. He had announced himself to the police, once challenged, as ‘a friend of the family’s’, who would be liaising with them and advising them. Already, the chief constable happened to know, he had told the press and television that he was the O’Connors’ ‘representative’. An officer with a good memory recalled that, in fact, he was nothing more than the chairman of the Hanmouth Strand Neighbourhood Watch and, last year, had lobbied successfully for CCTV to be placed not only from one end of the Fore street in Hanmouth to the other, but the whole length of the Strand and some tranquil streets behind it where no crime had ever been committed. Whether any criminal had been caught by this inch-by-inch surveillance in the two years since, no police officer could say, but the cameras, and the signs announcing their presence, had been conjured into existence by the wish of Calvin and his committee. Now, his pseudo-legal authority had allowed him to take control of the O’Connors’ wishes and campaign. The police and press had, already, found common, unvoiced ground in detesting him. He gave a tight little smile to his clients, or friends, or customers, and finished what he was writing in his orange notebook. He tore out the page and passed it to Heidi, before closing the notebook.

      ‘I’d like to invite Heidi and Micky to say a few words,’ the chief constable said, with resignation. ‘I’m sure we all understand how difficult this is for them, and appreciate how brave they’ve been in coming here tonight.’

      Heidi looked up from underneath her curtain of blonde hair, and turned to her left. She did not look at Micky, but at Mr Calvin in his blue three-buttoned suit and grey-white slicked-down hair. ‘Look at her,’ one of the women at the very back of the hall, Billa Townsend, the Brigadier’s wife, said to her friend from the reading group, and they both looked at Heidi. Despite the four children, the years of men’s demands and children’s commands in a small house buried a long way within the Ruskin estate on the Torcombe road, despite the lack of sleep this last week and the worst her newly acquired chainstore wardrobe could do for her, she was a beauty. Billa Townsend was indicating that in low tones, and her friend Kitty understood what she was being asked to look at. Heidi looked what she was, or had been: the sumptuous heroine of the Hanmouth Academy, and the eleven years since she had left school had done little to touch her perfect high-boned face, her green eyes, the pale stripe of hair falling like a shadow across her perpetually bronzed cheek, and that awkward but perfect element, the nose of an eagle or a duchess. They had shaken their heads when she had gone off, at sixteen, with sad, ratty Nigel. There must have been a reason for her to do that, and for the two hopeless men, one a hopeless and brief husband, since then. Must have been a reason, even, for Micky Thomas, seven years her junior. Hanmouth had hardly heard her speak since she left school, unless she had been suggesting a colour rinse in flat tones. Hanmouth had only, in the last year or two, seen her man in the worst of its pubs, heard his daft opinions, seen him manhandling different girls into the pub toilets at closing time. In her hand was the little page of the notebook Mr Calvin had passed her. She hardly glanced at it.

      ‘I’d just like to say thank you,’ Heidi said, in a flat quiet voice—the chief constable chivalrously adjusted the microphone in front of her. ‘I’d like to say thank you to everyone who is helping by making a contribution to the Save China fund. It means a lot to us that people who never met China care so much that they’ll send in thirty, forty, fifty pounds to help with the family expenses and the investigation that is going to help find China. China’s a lovely girl. She’s not an angel, she’s full of mischieviousness like any other eight-year-old. I just want to say to whoever’s got her that they want to think about us, think about her family, who love her so much and miss her. Her little brothers and her sister don’t understand she’s been taken, but they cry themselves to sleep every night. So, please, just bring her back home safe and sound soon.’

      The cameras stayed for a moment at their sustained angle, waiting perhaps for the mother to start weeping. She had done so once before. ‘Hard as nails,’ one cameraman muttered to his sound man, and lowered the camera in disappointment. The chief constable was winding up now, giving the same appeal for information that he had given the day before, but none of that needed filming. The party on the stage stood up—the chief constable and the woman police officer in charge of the O’Connors’ welfare, Calvin, the lawyer, Micky and Heidi. As at the end of a wedding, they sorted themselves out into disparate couples, the chief constable taking charge of Heidi, Mr Calvin walking with Micky’s elbow firmly in his grip, the lawyer and the woman police officer bringing up the rear. The community centre rose like a congregation, solemnly and silently. At the back of the hall, the crowd, which hadn’t found seats and was filling the lobby and half the street outside, pressed against each other and divided. The police officers at the back pushed and shoved, finding space for Micky and Heidi and their official attendants. ‘Those sex offenders—we need to know, Chief Constable,’ the man who had shouted out said again, now in quite a reasonable voice as the officers passed. Heidi smiled brilliantly for a moment; the chief constable did not appear to have heard.

      The hall had been solemn, concerned and angry, but the mood petered out the further you got from the stage. Outside, in the warm spring evening, the crowd was inquisitive, unfamiliar to each other, and even festive. One man staring at Heidi and Micky’s departure was finishing off a Cornetto. They hadn’t bothered to change

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