One Boy Missing(78)
But there was nothing, no one.
Was it the man with the shovel? Naismith’s murderer? Or Patrick’s father, come to reclaim a clue? The longing for his son too strong?
He ran outside. There were hundreds of faces—mums and dads, kids, some as tall as Patrick, with his hair, even his blue windcheater. ‘Patrick!’
He wouldn’t go any further than this, he thought. He’s too smart, too careful.
He felt sick. Wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. ‘Patrick!’ More faces; similar; passing; curious. Back to the cattle shed, the pigs, the sheep. And out the other end, minus the boy he was meant to be looking after, caring for.
Fuck fuck fuck.
He stood on a high ramp and studied every face. ‘Go,’ he said to himself, and ran back to the Arts and Crafts. Jumping up the steps, he ran up and down each of the aisles and, again, stopped at the lucky dip. ‘My son, he’s gone,’ he said to the woman.
‘You sure?’
‘I’ve looked everywhere.’
She barely moved in her seat. ‘I wouldn’t think. Plenty of kids go missing. They meet a friend then they’re on the sideshows or at the sample bags.’
‘Not Patrick.’
‘Just wait a while.’
Moy stared at her. ‘Can we put a message out?’
She half-raised her eyebrows but Moy decided to let it go. Standing up, she looked across the hall and motioned to the guide. This woman, wearing a green dress and carrying a clipboard, approached them with a smile.
‘This gentleman’s lost his son,’ the first woman said.
‘That’s quite common.’
‘I’ve heard all that,’ Moy replied.
‘Give it twenty minutes, have a look around.’
‘Listen,’ Moy almost shouted, ‘I’m a policeman.’ Saying it slowly. ‘A detective. The boy was under my care.’
‘Your son?’ the guide asked.
‘Yes, no, look it doesn’t matter. I want you to put out a call on the PA.’
‘I don’t think so, we generally only—’
‘We’re wasting time.’
‘That’s the secretary’s decision.’
‘Call him.’
She found a little walkie-talkie in the pocket of her dress and contacted the secretary, who was also unconcerned. Moy put it in simple terms. ‘Tell him if he doesn’t, he’ll be charged with impeding an investigation.’
Impeding, he thought. Impeding. Turning the word over in his head.
‘Tell him to do it now. Patrick Barnes. Four foot five. Nine years old. Brown hair. Tell him to return to the lucky dip.’
The secretary refused. Moy grabbed the walkie-talkie. ‘If the boy’s been taken you will be charged,’ he said.
‘You think I should do this ten times a day?’
‘If it’s needed.’
Silence.
And then the message, loud and tinny.
Moy waited, pacing the aisles as the two women watched him. He turned to a landscape painting and studied the hills and a blocky house with a curl of chimney smoke like Charlie used to draw.
Six minutes, seven. No Patrick. Moy decided he wasn’t about to wander back in. There was only one conclusion. He’d been taken. Stepping outside, he called the station. ‘Jason, it’s Bart. Patrick’s gone missing.’ He scanned the faces again, still hoping for a simple solution. ‘Who have we got?’
Jason told him it was just Andrew and Ossie, out on patrol (oh, and I think Ossie said they were gonna stop at his place for lunch).
‘Okay,’ Moy said. ‘Call ’em, get ’em down here now. Ask ’em to check cars heading back to town. A man, a boy, Patrick. You remember what he looks like?’
He described him anyway.
‘Then tell ’em to look around the showgrounds, the car park. What about Gary?’
‘Three days off.’
‘Ring him, tell him what’s happened, see if you can get him down here.’
He rang off and looked at the woman. ‘A fucking broken toy car,’ he said.
But she just stared at him.
‘If you see the boy, get your mate to put out another call.’
The guide seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Is it a custody dispute?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t move from this spot.’
GARY WRIGHT WAS still in his track pants, wearing his uniform jacket and carrying a radio. He kept checking with Andrew and Ossie who were combing two acres of agricultural machinery displays on the east side of the showgrounds. ‘So what time was it, when you came out?’ he said.
Moy studied his watch. ‘Ten forty-five, fifty, I can’t remember.’
‘You okay?’
‘I can’t believe I left him alone.’