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Chapter Nine
1989
Bovey Police Station
Friday 21st July
‘Now, this is important. Tell me exactly what you saw.’
She sat on her hands. They’d begun trembling when the
policeman had first started asking questions; now, after what
felt like hours, he was still asking her stuff and a funny tingling had filled her belly. Why did she need to go over this? She’d
told him again and again. Maybe he didn’t believe her. She’d
have to say it in a stronger voice.
‘The truck stopped in front of where we were walking—’
‘Which was Elmore Road,’ he interrupted.
‘Yes, I thi— I mean, yes. It was.’ She mustn’t say ‘think’;
it seemed to make her mum and the policeman a bit jumpy.
‘I held back and was going to turn around and take the
cut-through to go to the park instead, but before I realised,
she’d gone.’
‘Gone to the truck?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why she did that. Why she left me.’ Her
eyes stung with fresh tears.
‘And what did this truck look like?’
She was somewhat relieved at being asked this; at least it was
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a different question to the other ones he’d been constantly getting her to repeat.
‘It was a red one,’ she said with conviction. ‘Dad says those
types of trucks are called pickups because they have all that
open space at the back to put things in.’
‘And what else? Was there anything else about it you can
remember?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She felt confident about this now. ‘It had a yellow
stripe all the way across the side. And as it pulled off, it turned so it almost went past me. I couldn’t move. I was scared he was
coming for me too.’
‘But he didn’t try and take you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The truck slowed down, but it didn’t
stop. But I did see something weird.’
The policeman sat forward in his chair, his round, ruddy face
lighting up. ‘Yes? What was that?’
‘I could see something stuck on the front, on the bit that
those red noses for cars go for Comic Relief.’
‘The grille,’ the policeman said as he scribbled in his notebook.
‘But it wasn’t a red nose?’
‘No. I could see a face. It was a doll’s head. Just its head.’
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Chapter Ten
2019
Anna
Saturday 13th July
Pulling up outside her mother’s house again, Anna noted the
doll’s head had finally been removed – holes from the nails the
only sign something had been there; the only indication she
hadn’t imagined it. She wished that had been the case. Because the alternative was far more disturbing.
Anna cautiously entered the house and rested the bag of
groceries on the kitchen worktop. She didn’t speak to Muriel;
for the moment she was rehearsing the possible permutations
of the conversation she needed to have with her mum in her
head. It was a difficult subject to broach, and it required thought.
The weighing up of the consequences of opening Pandora’s box
weren’t only for her mother’s benefit, she too had to be careful.
Years’ worth of self-preservation could easily be unravelled with a single poorly worded question.
As Anna slowly stored each item from the carrier bag into
the cupboards and fridge, memories forced their way into her
consciousness. She squeezed her eyes up tight, an attempt to
prevent the images taking root. As she opened them again, she
turned to where her mum was sitting. Muriel was staring at her.
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At least Anna was let off the hook of being the first one to
mention it, the first to dredge up the past.
‘Yes. I heard. It was on the front of the paper too.’ She was
going to ask if that’s why her mum had immediately called
her, as soon as she heard the news. But she hoped, by not
embellishing, that Muriel would carry on the conversation
without the need for Anna to intervene with questions.
Possibly the wrong questions – those that would hurt and
upset, rather than those that would help tease out her fears.
Although Anna wasn’t sure she was the right one to be doing
that, or, in fact, whether she could offer any real support at
all. Because her mum’s fears were more than likely the same
as her own. How helpful could she be if she was scared shit-
less too?
‘It could still be a coincidence, or kids thinking it’s funny?’
Muriel said.
‘Yes, it could.’ Anna tried to feel encouraged. ‘Obviously
everyone knows the tale – I expect it’s been told to all the children as a warning over the years. Some teenagers are bound to
have thought it was funny to pull this kind of prank. Yes, you’re right. Probably harmless fun.’ A false lightness attached itself to her words. It could be kids, it really could.
‘That’s what I was hoping. Of course, that isn’t what I thought
when I first saw it. But I talked myself down, eventually. And
once you got here, I felt a bit better about it.’
‘Okay then. Look, it’s not ideal that he’s out, but like Robert
said, why would he dare come back here?’
‘Nell’s son Robert?’
‘Yes, he was the one who served me.’
‘No Nell this morning, then?’
‘Ill apparently. He said she’d been feeling under the weather.’
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Her mother’s gaze turned to the window as she gave a hmmm sound.
‘You think she’s also worried?’
‘What?’ Muriel’s attention snapped back to Anna. ‘Oh, I don’t
know. I haven’t seen anyone since I heard.’
‘Who told you, then?’
Muriel heaved herself up from the chair and wandered into
the living room.
‘Mum?’
‘I got a call, don’t know who it was from.’
‘Really? Well, when?’
‘Four days ago. The day he was released supposedly.’
‘Was it him?’
‘No. No, dear, I think it was probably a journalist or some
such person. Anyway, doesn’t matter. It’s how we deal with it,
how we move on from here, knowing. Knowing that man is
free. Free to do what he bloody well pleases. Can’t believe they
let the monster out, can you?’
‘Unfortunately, life rarely means life, Mum. I guess he did his time.’ Anna shrugged. ‘It’s not like they ever found a body even, is it?’
And that had always been the issue; the underlying question
the family and villagers had wanted answered.
Where had he hidden her body?
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Chapter Eleven
2019
Lizzie
She’d needed the satnav to reach Mapledon. It wasn’t where she
remembered it, but that was to be expected; she’d only been a
child when she was taken from the village. It was situated south
of Dartmoor – with its imposing granite rocks and sprawling
moorland – and tucked away in a valley ten miles from the
nearest town. What felt like hours of winding lanes, long hills
and dense woodlands had passed before she’d finally come to
a wider road leading to a sign stating she’d reached Mapledon.
Years of living in other parts of the country had diluted what
memories of the place she’d had. Now, driving at a snail’s pace
through the centre of the small village, passing a spattering of
old thatched-roof cottages, then a few larger, more modern
houses, Lizzie’s heart rate soared. So far she hadn’t recognised
anything. It wasn’t lack of familiarity that was causing her adrenaline to shoot through her veins, though. It was the thought of what went on here. It was being back. If Dom had known any
of her history, he’d have stopped her from leaving. But he didn’t know. Her childhood secrets were hers alone. Well, almost.
There were some other people who knew.
Would they still be here, living in Mapledon?
Would he be here, waiting?
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The reason she’d driven all this way was to find out, but now she was here the urge to turn around and leave, go back to her
life in Abbingsworth, was so strong she could feel the pull. She
should allow herself to be snatched from this place again – she
didn’t belong here.
Her foot remained on the accelerator. There was still a part
of her – the part that had been in the shadow for years – which
couldn’t succumb to the pull. That side of her had to keep going regardless.
Thirty years. She cursed loudly. ‘Fuck this place. It doesn’t
define me. That man does not define me.’ She slammed her
hands on the steering wheel, an action supporting her determi-
nation as she headed to the top of the hill. To the church. It
was the first place she decided she’d go – the only landmark she
could see. With luck the vicar might be there – he’d know what
was going on in his parish. He’d be the best person to start with.
She could do this.
She had to close the book on William Cawley.
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Chapter Twelve
1989
Brook Cottage Store, Mapledon
Thursday 20th July – the day after
Fears grow for missing child
Despite an extensive search of Mapledon and the surrounding
area by police and over thirty local villagers, ten-year-old
Jonie Hayes has still not been found. She has been missing
for almost twenty-four hours and police say they are
concerned for her safety. An appeal is due to be launched by
Devon and Cornwall Police later today.
‘Such terrible news. I still can’t believe a little ’un could just disappear like that. Not here,’ Nell said, packing the tins into
Mrs Percy’s shopping bag on the store counter.
‘We’re in shock. The whole village is.’
‘Well, almost the whole village,’ Muriel said, pushing forward in the queue to interject, her voice lowered conspiratorially.
‘Are you thinking what I am? About . . . you know who?’ Nell
asked. A few other customers joined the women, even though
they weren’t in the queue themselves.
‘Well, you can’t help but consider it, can you? I mean, after
what happened to his little girl . . .’ Muriel raised one eyebrow 39
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in a high arc and stood back a little from the gathering villagers.
‘I’m just saying – I mean he wasn’t even out last night helping
search for Jonie with all the others, was he? Wouldn’t surprise
me if he had something to do with it, is all.’ She tilted her chin up.
‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It’s not helpful, Muriel.’
A voice came from behind her, causing her to start. Muriel spun
around to face Reverend Farnley.
‘I’m not one to do that, Reverend.’ She kept her gaze steady.
‘Have you seen him over the last few days?’
‘Muriel. Please. Gossip is a tool of the devil. Be careful, now.’
‘It’s not gossip if it’s true, Reverend. And I didn’t even mention his name, but you knew who we were referring to . . .’ Muriel pursed her lips.
‘Now I think of it, I haven’t seen him, you’re right,’ Nell
piped up in Muriel’s defence, before the red-faced vicar could
respond. ‘Whilst it’s not helpful to gossip, it would be wrong
to dismiss something that might actually be key. A little girl’s
life is at stake, after all.’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest she’s been taken, ladies, or that her life is in danger; she could merely be lost,’ Reverend
Farnley said. ‘Anyway, I’m sure the police have a good handle
on things. We should leave them to their job. But we can pray
for young Jonie’s safe return – put our faith in the Lord.’
Muriel turned away from the Reverend, directing the rolling
of her eyes and small shake of her head to Nell and the remaining group of women. She’d been brought up to be God-fearing;
however, some situations required a helping hand from those
on earth. In Muriel’s opinion, God could only do so much and
putting all your faith in Him was a mistake. Surely, He’d want
His children to sort their own mess out occasionally.
After a few polite statements the conversation turned to the
Mapledon Meeting and Reverend Farnley took his leave. Muriel
and Nell took turns to head the monthly get-together, the venue
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alternating between their houses. It normally took place on the last Thursday of each month; however, they’d brought it forward
this time – both having agreed it was somewhat of an ‘emergency
meeting’. A small, select group of female villagers attended,
usually twelve, but sometimes more if there was something
pressing to discuss. Like now. Admittedly, this was one of the
most pressing topics that had ever faced the group – although there’d been other challenging ones, Jonie Hayes’ disappearance
was the worst. The mothers of the group in particular were very
concerned and would need support and reassurance.
‘See you at seven-thirty sharp, Nell. I’ll make sure I put out
extra nibbles – it’s going to be a busy one.’
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Chapter Thirteen
2019
Anna
Saturday 13th July
‘Hiding in here, worrying, isn’t very productive.’ Anna lowered
the curtain, moving away from the lounge window to face
Muriel. Since her disclosure she’d been quiet, barely speaking.
Instead, she’d watched daytime TV, a blank look plastered on
her face. Anna knew if she couldn’t put her mother’s mind at
ease – if she couldn’t confidently tell her that the doll’s head
was nothing to do with Billy Cawley – this would drag on; hang
over their heads for the foreseeable future. Anna did not want to spend more time in Mapledon. Maybe she’d have to persuade
her mum to move nearer to her and Carrie in Bristol.
‘What do you propose I do? March around the village accusing
the local kids of trespass, criminal damage?’
‘Well, no. Although going to the police with your suspicions
would be a start.’
‘I told you, Anna – I’m not going to the police.’ She looked
past Anna, into the distance. ‘That’ll make matters worse.’
‘For who? The kids? That’s the idea, Mum. And if it isn’t the
kids . . .’
‘It’ll be him,’ Muriel said.
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‘The police will be able to keep an eye on things. On him.
He’ll be on a life licence. Something like this would put him
straight back to prison.’
‘Or, it could stir up a hornet’s nest,’ Muriel said, her face
stony.
That was the problem with small villages. Anna had always
sensed it growing up, but now it was even more apparent. One
event could cause a ripple effect – what should be contained
within a family unit suddenly became the business of every person in the village. Everyone had something to say; some advice to
give, solutions to problems to offer. Whether wanted or not. If
word got out that Muriel thought the children of Mapledon were
responsible for the macabre doll’s head, then she was right –
accusations would fly, uptight members of the community would
be up in arms. The local council would probably seek to lay
down a curfew – the teenagers would rebel. The situation would
likely worsen. And then Muriel would become the sole focus of
attention. But then, maybe she had already.
Why had she been targeted?
If it really was him, then this was just the start. Anna remembered that at the time every villager had been horrified at what
had happened. Everyone had named Billy Cawley.
‘I think I’ll get some fresh air, Mum.’ Anna couldn’t sit inside
the house waiting for the next ‘gift’ to be delivered to Muriel’s door. It might be that others had received something similar. A