The Whisper Man(96)

“George Saunders?” I said.

He nodded sleepily, then pulled the white robe he was wearing more tightly around him. His hair was messy and unkempt, and the expression on his face suggested that he had only just woken up, and was both bewildered and slightly irritated about it.

“You work at Rose Terrace School, right?”

He squinted at me.

“Yeah. Right.”

“My son goes there. I think you might teach him.”

“Oh. Well, no, I don’t teach. I’m just an assistant.”

“Year three. Jake Kennedy.”

“Right. Yeah, I think he’s in my class. But what I meant is, it’s his teacher you’d need to talk to.” He frowned, but more out of sleepy confusion than suspicion, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. “And at the school too. How did you even get my address?”

I looked at him. His face was pale, and he was shivering slightly despite the heat of the morning. He really did look ill. And yes, slightly perturbed by my presence, but not about it being me in particular. Just uneasy about a parent turning up on his doorstep.

“It’s not really about his schoolwork,” I said.

“What is it about, then?”

“Jake is missing.”

Saunders shook his head, not understanding.

“Someone took him,” I said. “Just like Neil Spencer.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He looked genuinely aghast at that. “I’m so sorry. When did this…?”

“Last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said again, then closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “That is awful. Awful. I haven’t really had much to do with Jake, but he seems like such a nice kid.”

He is, I thought. But I also noted Saunders’s use of the present tense, and began doubting myself more. The evidence that had led me here was paper thin, and in the flesh Saunders looked like someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And he seemed genuinely surprised by the news that Jake had been abducted—upset, even.

I held up the picture of the butterfly.

“Did you draw this for him?”

Saunders peered at it.

“No. I’ve never seen that before.”

“You didn’t draw this?”

“No.”

He took a step back. I was holding the sheet of paper up, my hand trembling, and he was responding exactly the way anyone would when faced with a man like me on their doorstep.

“What about the boy in the floor?” I said.

“What?”

“The boy in the floor.”

He stared at me, more obviously horrified now. It was the kind of horror that came from gradually understanding he was being accused of something, and if he was faking it, then he was a phenomenal actor.

This is a mistake, I thought.

But even so.

“Jake,” I shouted past him.

“What are you—?”

I leaned up against the doorframe, almost chest to chest with Saunders now, and shouted again.

“Jake!”

No answer.

After a few seconds of silence, Saunders swallowed. The noise it made was so hard that I could hear it.

“Mr.… Kennedy?”

“Yes.”

“I can understand you’re upset. I really can. But you’re scaring me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I really think you should go now.”

I looked at him. The fear in his eyes was obvious, and I thought it was real. His whole body was frozen in a flinch. He was the kind of timid man you could force down into a huddle just by raising your voice, and it seemed I was halfway there.

Saunders was telling the truth.

Jake wasn’t here, and I— And I—

I shook my head, taking a step back.

Lost now. Completely lost. It had been a mistake coming here. I needed to do what I’d been told to and get back to Karen’s house before I could do any more damage. Before I could fuck things up any more than I already had.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Mr. Kennedy—”

“I’m sorry. I’m going now.”





Sixty-four


Wait here.

What choice did he have? None.

Jake sat on the bed, gripping the edges with his hands. When George had left, he’d locked the door at the bottom of the stairs. The bell had still been ringing then. The sound had continued for another minute or so before finally stopping, and so Jake assumed that George must have answered it, and was probably still talking to whoever was at the door. Otherwise, surely he would be back up here? Doing what he’d been planning to do before whoever it was called around.

Maybe not if I’m good, he thought.

Maybe if he waited here then George would like him again.

“You know that’s not true, Jake.”

He turned his head. The little girl was sitting on the bed beside him, and she had her serious face on again. But it was different now. She looked scared, but also full of quiet determination.

“He’s a bad man,” she said, “and he wants to hurt you. And he’s going to hurt you if you let him.”

Jake wanted to cry.

“How am I supposed to stop him?”

She smiled softly, as though they both knew the answer to that question. No, no, no. Jake looked over at the corner of the room, where the short corridor led to the stairs. There was no way he could go down there. He couldn’t face what might be waiting at the bottom.