Final Cut(57)

Bryan strides forward. ‘Come on now,’ he says, and the other guy seems to change his mind. He says something I don’t quite hear, to which Bryan responds equally quietly, then steps off the porch to let Bryan knock on David’s door. ‘David?’ he says. ‘It’s me. Bryan. Come out, mate.’

Mate? I think. It sounds wrong. Still, we wait. Will he answer? A ghostly calm descends; the crowd is silent, holding its collective breath, as if waiting for a show to start. There’s a movement from inside, just visible through the stained-glass window, a glimmer of light and shadow. Bryan leans in closer to the door but says nothing. I was mistaken. It was just a reflection. He’s not there. A few minutes later Bryan addresses the onlookers.

‘He’s not answering,’ he says. ‘Let me check the back.’

‘We’re wasting time!’

Someone else shouts out. I don’t see who. ‘Let him check, eh?’

It seems to placate the crowd, just a little. Bryan disappears around the back of the house and a minute passes. When he returns, he announces, ‘No sign.’

‘Like fuck,’ comes a voice. ‘He’s fucking in there! Look!’

As one, we raise our heads. A definite movement this time, in the window above us. The curtains are moving, as if they’ve been pulled aside and left to fall back. The heat in the crowd rises and someone sends a largeish rock sailing towards the house.

It’s a good shot. It hits the window in which we saw movement and flies through, shattering it. There’s a cheer from below, it’s as if the pack has smelled first blood. I look over at Monica. She’s on her phone and I’m relieved when I realise she’ll be calling the police. Things are on the brink, about to boil over. It’s my fault, I think again. It’s all my fault. I see them smash their way through the front door and rush in; they drag him out, his nose bloodied, face already beginning to bruise. I see the house on fire, smoke rising, black and caustic.

Or maybe Ellie is in there. Maybe we’re wasting time and bursting in to get her back is exactly what we should be doing. Bryan faces the crowd, his hands palm up. ‘Guys,’ he says. ‘Let’s calm it, shall we?’

A murmured chorus of disdain.

‘Just let me talk to him,’ says Bryan, turning back towards the house before anyone can answer. He calls out. ‘David! Come down. We just want to talk!’

We fall silent, but the only answer is the biting wind whistling around the house. Another voice sails over the crowd, high and piercing, as a figure approaches fast over the uneven ground. ‘Stop it!’

It’s Kat. ‘Stop it!’ she says again. ‘Leave him alone!’

Monica runs to meet her, but Kat pushes past her, determined. ‘Stop it!’ She’s screaming now. ‘She’s not in there!’

The ginger guy spits. ‘Where is she, then, eh?’

Kat stands her ground. ‘I don’t know,’ she says through her tears. ‘But not there. He had nothing to do with it.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do,’ she says. ‘Leave him alone! Whatever’s happened to Ellie, it’s not his fault!’

The guy shakes his head and gazes down at the ground, as if making a decision. When he looks up, it’s clear he wants blood now he’s tasted it. He mumbles something to Kat, then turns back towards David’s door. ‘Let’s get the fucker.’

Kat launches herself at him. She’s taller than he is and, though nowhere near as heavy, she has the element of surprise. She knocks him off balance, almost bringing him down, but after a brief moment of confusion he recovers and sends her flying backwards, to fall gasping into the mud, the remains of the melting snow. Monica rushes to help her up. ‘Pig,’ she says, but the guy ignores her, returning instead to his work on David’s door. A siren pierces the silence. Beneath us, on the other side of the outcrop, in the tiny turning-circle where the road peters out into nothing, there’s the flash of blue and red. A police car pulls up. I glimpse two or three uniformed figures, the flicker of yellow, a fluorescent Day-Glo vest. The officers approach on foot, followed by a few more villagers. As they get closer, I see Gavin among them, and wonder whether he called them, how he’d heard, how deep exactly he is in this. When he arrives, he hesitates, as if not sure what to do.

‘You okay?’

I tell him I’m fine and we look back at the house. The officers seem to have separated. One is knocking on the door, shouting through the letterbox, while the other is heading round towards the back of the house.

‘Can I see you later?’ he says, his hand brushing against mine.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Some of them are talking about going out, searching for Ellie.’

‘Good,’ I say, looking up at him. ‘We should help.’

He says nothing. David emerges from Bluff House, flanked by officers. The volume of the crowd swells as he’s marched past us. He seems terrified; his eyes are fixed on the ground. Someone shouts at him – Paedo, it sounds like – and he flinches. The officer on his right stares them down.

‘We’ll have less of that,’ he says, tightening his grip on David’s arm. ‘And you lot had better make yourself scarce.’

‘What’s ’e done, then?’ comes a voice. ‘Where’s the girl?’