Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(50)

When Colin spoke, his voice was so low the DI had to strain his ears to hear him. The soft timbre didn’t reveal anything, however – the man’s emotions were cached away.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Bob Valentine, and this is my colleague DS McAlister.’

‘Shall we go inside, gentlemen?’

The officers followed behind. Marie required a supporting arm from her husband, her thin shoulders trembling beneath the light navy cardigan she had wrapped around her. She sniffed into a white handkerchief as she went, each breathy exhalation clogged with emotion.

The house in Elizabeth Crescent was smaller than it looked from the outside, but by today’s standard of council property the interior was roomy. The walls were covered with naive watercolours, Ayrshire scenes mainly – Greenan Castle, the Isle of Arran seen from the coast and a ramshackle Burns Cottage. Occasionally the face of a small boy was recognisable to Valentine. In happier conditions the DI would have remarked upon the pictures, inquired after the artist, but it didn’t seem appropriate. He thought he might never know which of the two parents had wiled away the tortuous hours in the distraction of paint and brushes.

‘Can I get you anything, some tea?’ said Colin.

‘We’re fine thanks.’

The man seemed wounded by the rejection of his offer, his eyelids double blinking to reveal a dull gaze. It was the first hint of unease he had displayed and belied his stiff appearance.

‘Mr and Mrs Stevenson, we’re here with some news about your boy, Rory,’ said Valentine.

The couple clung to each other on the sofa, the sharp knuckles showing the tightness of the grip. ‘Have you found him, Detective?’ said Colin.

As Valentine tried to answer the question he became dimly aware of another figure standing in the doorway. He felt a shiver pass through his jowls and his mouth dried over. Speech was prevented as he stared at the small frame in grey.

‘Detective?’ said Colin.

Valentine’s face sat slack above his neck. He tried to turn but found he couldn’t. Rory Stevenson stood splay-footed before him. There was a football under his arm, which he started to bounce on the floor. The vibration shook the room and the noise took Valentine from his trance; he closed his mouth and heard the noise of his teeth clicking then glanced at Colin. As the DI returned his gaze, the boy vanished.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Stevenson. I find this very difficult, I know how much you have both been through.’

Marie leaned forward, a faint gleam entering her eyes. Colin patted her hand. ‘Let the man speak, love.’

Valentine reached into his pocket and removed the small St Christopher pendant and instantly heard the ball bouncing in the hallway again. He kept his focus on Colin as he handed over the small pendant. ‘Is this something you recognise?’ he said.

Colin took the small piece of silver and passed it to his wife. The sound of the ball bouncing stopped once again and Rory appeared in the doorway. The boy looked at his mother holding the small pendant to her face and ran back to the hall. Marie Stevenson’s cheekbones shone with tears as she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and cried for her lost son.

Colin spoke. ‘This was Rory’s.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Valentine.

‘He got it from St John’s. The initials are for the Cumnock Bible School. We’ve been looking for it for years. We thought we’d lost it too.’

The DI rose from his chair. He nodded briefly to DI McAlister and then turned back to face the Stevensons. ‘We have quite a few more items down at the station. Do you think you’d be able to identify them?’

Colin dropped his head, once. ‘Yes, we can come in tomorrow.’

‘That would be very kind of you both.’

Colin stood up but kept his outstretched hand on his wife’s shoulder. ‘Will we get him back?’

For a moment Valentine didn’t understand; his mind was a cleft of rock.

‘We’d like to give him a Christian burial, Detective.’

‘Yes, the remains will be released in due course.’

‘Thank you.’ A forced grin cut his face. He saw the officers out; his wife had returned into her silence once again.

In the street, Valentine removed his jacket and yanked off his tie, pulling the loop over his head. As he steadied himself on the garden wall he took deep gasps of the still air.

‘Everything all right, boss?’ said McAlister.

He felt energy seeping from the tensed stock of his body, like he had just sprinted farther and faster than he was capable of. His mind was constricting all thought again and confusion pervaded him. As he turned back to the Stevensons’ home he caught sight of a small boy there. He was staring from an upstairs window. The DI felt a powerful connection to the boy, like he was communicating directly, and then his fingertips on the wall started to burn with a slow friction.

‘Yes. I’m fine, Ally.’ Valentine yanked away his hand and proceeded with quick footsteps back to the car.

‘That was pretty intense in there,’ said McAlister.

‘You don’t know the half of it!’

‘Sir?’

‘Nothing, Ally, I’m just rambling.’

‘Looks like a positive ID.’

‘That’s a given. We won’t get anyone to pick out Donal Welsh so confidently.’