LITMIR.BIZ

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I’m glad I’m no there any more. I don’t like these wee places where everybody knows what everybody else is up to, you know what I mean? Like when I was living in this place, I knew this lad who was nicking sweeties from the shop on the corner. Him and his brother used to go in there and fill their bags with stuff, and I don’t just mean they were taking a few gobstoppers and the like. They were getting away with whole boxes of chocolates. You know what they lads were doing with all this stuff, Adam? They were selling it to all the other kids around there.’

      Findlay paused for a moment and emptied his glass. He studied it reflectively. ‘The trouble was, the woman who owned the shop was my auntie. I knew how it was affecting her losing all this stuff, and my mother knew that I must have some idea who was responsible. You know what she wanted me to do? She wanted me to tell her who it was. Difficult decision that. ’Course, I was only a wee lad then.’

      ‘So what did you do?’

      ‘What would you have done, if you’d been me, Adam?’

      ‘Idon’t know.’

      ‘Well, I didn’t know either. But in the end I had to decide. It was a case of divided loyalties you might say. I realized then, Adam, that we all have to make moral choices in our lives.’

      He paused again and then he stood up. ‘You sure you don’t want something to drink?’

      ‘I have to get back.’

      Findlay let his gaze linger, then nodded. ‘Aye, well, I’ll see you later.’

      What Findlay had said stayed with Adam throughout the day and on the bus ride home. He was still thinking about it when he crossed the water meadow towards the sawmill. David and Nick were leaving work for the day, heading along the track towards the road. He hung back watching them, and then for no reason that he could put his finger on he started following them from a distance.

      He soon realized they were heading for a steep hill called Back Lane which led to the part of town known as the bottom end. He followed them past small cottages with front doors that opened directly onto the road, and then past several streets of council houses that had been built after the war, a collection of prefab bungalows with pebble dash cladding and iron roofs. At the bottom of the hill Back Lane ended in an unpaved bridle track that vanished among tall trees.

      He gave them a few minutes before he followed. The houses on the edge of town were quickly lost from sight as the track curved towards a bridge over the river. Tall leafy elms and oaks filtered the light, lending a green-tinged hue. It was quiet other than for the twittering of birds and the gurgle of water beneath the old stone bridge where the river was dark and sluggish. Around the next curve the trees ended and on the edge of a meadow three cottages formed a terraced row beside the bridleway. On the other side of the meadow was the edge of Castleton Wood, which formed the boundary of the estate.

      The cottages had slate roofs and stone chimneys, their gardens long overgrown with weeds and brambles. Some of the windows were missing glass and had been covered with plastic sheeting, and the paint on the doors and frames was peeling and blistered. A proliferation of junk lay in the unfenced gardens. Old car parts, rusted wire netting, and a rotting chicken house that appeared to be slowly dissolving into the ground poked out of the weeds and nettles. A battered van was parked just off the track and a skinny mongrel dog lay asleep by an open door, its leg twitching as it dreamed.

      Confronted for the first time with the reality of where Nick lived, Adam realized he’d expected something more dramatic. The vague air of unspoken mystery that had always surrounded him, the sullenness and obvious results of physical abuse, had conjured dark family secrets. But the truth was simply depressing and squalid.

      Adam hung back, remaining hidden in the trees until David and Nick emerged from the first of the cottages. There was something oddly furtive about them. They looked around as if to make sure they were alone and then, apparently reassured, they opened the back door of the van. David reached into his pocket and then leaned inside. When he reappeared a few seconds later he said something to Nick before he quickly turned and started walking back along the track. Adam remained hidden, pressed against the trunk of a tree as David passed by no more than eight feet away. When he peered back towards the cottages a minute later Nick had vanished and the scene was once more quiet and deserted.

      In the morning it was on the news that James Allen had been arrested and taken into custody for questioning about the disappearance of Meg Coucesco. It was Findlay who told Adam that the police had found a bracelet in his van belonging to the girl.

      ‘They were acting on a tip-off.’ From the look in his eye Adam realized that Findlay suspected that he had had something to do with it.

      For twenty-four hours Adam was plagued with uncertainty about what he should do but before he could reach any decision Allen was released due to lack of evidence. He learned from Findlay that the fact that there was no body made it difficult for the police to press charges, though Findlay had spoken to a detective who was convinced that Allen knew what had happened to the girl. He was known to have been to the camp regularly that summer, and he had a history of violence.

      When Allen vanished after he was released Findlay was unsurprised.

      ‘If he showed his face around Castleton again the gypsies would nae doubt take matters into their own hands, Adam,’ he said.

      In the event, though, they didn’t need to. He was killed a few days later in Derbyshire when his van hit a petrol tanker and he was burned to death.

      ‘Poetic justice, eh, Adam,’ Findlay commented philosophically.

      ‘She was never found,’ Adam finished. He was standing by the window. The rain had stopped and the sun was struggling to break through the clouds above Islington.

      Morris was thoughtful. ‘What do you think happened to her?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Didn’t you ever speak to David about it? Even after Nick’s father was killed?’

      Adam went over and sat down. His leg was playing up, causing him to limp slightly. ‘We never mentioned it.’

      ‘Obviously this whole event made a significant impression on you,’ Morris said. ‘Are you saying that your choice of career stems from this incident?’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘Why do you think that is?’

      ‘Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to come up with the psychological whys and wherefores?’

      ‘I’m more interested in what you think.’

      ‘I suppose I feel guilty.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I didn’t tell anyone what I’d seen.’

      ‘So, you think David had something to do with whatever happened to the gypsy girl?’

      ‘Don’t you? I’m sure he knew her. I think he was seeing her. It must have been him that I saw in the trees the day she vanished. And what about the bracelet the police found?’

      ‘You think he planted it in Nick’s dad’s van?’

      ‘What else was he doing?’

      ‘I think it’s all what the law would call circumstantial evidence. You’re telling me that your choice of career, your dedication to your work …’

      ‘You mean obsession.’

      Morris smiled. ‘You’re saying that this all stems from a sense of guilt.’

      ‘Maybe not guilt exactly. Partly perhaps.’ Adam struggled to articulate something he’d always known, but had never confronted openly even to himself. ‘Maybe when I’m looking for a missing child, I’m looking for her too in a sense. For Meg.’

      Morris considered this, and then gave a little smile. ‘It seems very neat.’

      ‘Neat?’

      ‘Your

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