One Boy Missing(41)
‘I’m sorry you see it that way.’
Naomi turned, found a key in her pocket and opened the shed. ‘Come in,’ she said.
They both walked into the shed. She switched on a light. ‘You can come out now,’ she called.
‘Listen, Mrs Williams, it’s not about what I think,’ Moy said. ‘It’s just my job, to follow up on everything.’
‘Rubbish. Did you ring Alan?’
‘That’s why I came—’
‘You were trying to be clever! As with everyone in Guilderton you assumed—’
‘I didn’t know about your son. I’ve been in the city for the last fifteen years.’
She stood her ground; then she turned and indicated the writing on the sides of the boxes: paints; small canvases; brushes; sketchbooks; charcoals and pencils.
‘See, after all that business he just didn’t feel like continuing,’ she said.
Moy was scanning the shed. ‘I could imagine.’
‘Now he just gets up and goes to work.’
‘It’s a small town, isn’t it?’
‘And getting smaller, it seems.’
He shook his head. ‘Okay, I’ll be honest, Naomi, I acted very stupidly.’
She looked at him, her face calming.
‘I thought, maybe…What can I say?’
‘Sorry would be a good start.’
‘Sorry.’
Naomi’s eye was clear and bright. ‘And I bet I know who saw Alan near this boy?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘It was the mother—her name’s Silvia.’
‘No, I can tell you. Her name wasn’t Silvia.’
‘Or her sister, the boy’s aunt—Jay.’
Naomi stared at him, and knew. ‘See, you listen to gossip, Detective.’
‘I didn’t say…’
‘You listen to gossip…’
Yes, in fact. It was his job. He said nothing.
‘The thing is,’ Naomi said, finally, ‘Alan drove me to town last weekend and shouted me a ticket to King Lear. He took an extra day off school and we drove back on the Monday afternoon.’
‘King Lear?’
‘So, he might’ve taken him. Assuming he went missing after that.’
‘No.’
‘When was it again, Detective?’
Silence.
‘Mrs Williams, I’m sorry. I suppose I’d complain about me too.’
Naomi stepped forward, took his hand and attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps it’s best if we all start again.’
‘Yes.’
‘Almost like you’d never been here, Detective Moy.’
24
MOY SAT BESIDE his father at the small dining table in the old man’s kitchen. Patrick sat in a smaller chair, his hands under his legs, occasionally looking up at the stooped man with his big ears and hairy nostrils.
‘We’re looking for Patrick’s parents,’ Moy told George. ‘Until then, he’s staying with me.’
George looked the boy over. ‘You speak?’
‘He’s a bit shy.’ Moy placed another crossword book in front of the boy. ‘You can do these?’
Patrick picked up a pen and started writing.
George glared at his son. Moy stood his ground, his arms crossed.
‘Well?’ the old man asked.
‘What?’
‘Is there something you’d like to tell me?’
Moy shrugged.
‘I had a phone call earlier on.’
‘Good.’
‘Don’t get smart.’
‘Who was the phone call from, Dad?’
George stopped to think. ‘Janice…Janet? Either way, she was from the nursing home. She was after you, but she must have got the numbers mixed up.’
Moy didn’t know what to say. ‘I was gonna tell you.’
‘You were?’
‘It was just an inquiry.’
‘He’s put down your name, she says.’
‘There’s a three-year waiting list.’
‘I told you—’
‘Dad, what if you had an accident? What if you couldn’t look after yourself?’
George pointed his finger. ‘You were going to…’ He trailed off, looking at the boy. ‘You got many, Patrick?’
Patrick’s eyes drifted from the old man to the page.
‘Bit old-fashioned, eh? Words. No Facebook here.’
‘I’m not on it.’
‘And, what’s it called, the box thing?’
‘Xbox.’ He looked at the old man. ‘It’s good. I can play…’ Then returned to the crossword. ‘I can do these, too. Here, the most common element, silicon.’ He indicated.
George checked. Maybe the boy had a head for facts.
Moy knew his father wouldn’t let it go. ‘Dad…I’d never willingly put you into one of those places.’