Poppy edged off the bales of straw, dropped to the floor and stumbled to her knees.
She needed help.
It no longer mattered if her daddy found her and killed her, if she didn’t get help soon, she was going to die. Die of hunger, die of thirst, or die of a horrible infection that shuddered through her body to make her hot and cold all at the same time.
Her teeth chattered as she scrabbled around in the dusty straw layering the concrete floor.
Her fingers knocked against her iPhone and she forced them to hold on.
She could switch it on and phone Sophie. She could phone the police. She depressed the button, waiting for it to load with painful slowness. She couldn’t wait, she needed help now.
Eyes blurred with pain, Poppy tucked the phone into the sweatshirt pocket and crawled on her hands and knees towards the barn door.
She’d go to the farmhouse.
Mrs Crawford would know what to do.
46
Tuesday 21 April 1555 hours
Gordon Lawrence looked at his phone for the hundredth time in as many minutes.
Bingo!
He fucking knew she couldn’t resist. A curl of pride circled in his stomach. No daughter of his could.
He’d just had to move in closer and wait. Contain the fury that had burnt bright when she wasn’t in the location it had indicated. An old brick shed. Clean as a whistle. Why that was clean when every other outhouse looked as though a bomb had hit it was beyond him.
Clever little girl. She must have sneaked in there to switch her phone on just in case. Either that or the satellite wasn’t as accurate as it could be, or the phone had been on such a short while, the location hadn’t had time to narrow in.
He sniffed as he thought through the process. Maybe she’d needed a stronger signal.
He jumped down from the old bale of hay he’d been waiting on in the little tin roofed outhouse he’d chosen and reached for the double-barrelled shotgun he’d placed at his side. His back-up pistol was already tucked away in the waistband of his trousers.
One for her.
One for him.
Boom!
Boom!
It would all be over.
Detached, he stared at the phone.
He should have done it right in the first place, but there was a reason he hadn’t killed himself then. That reason was his daughter. If he’d died, she would have been left behind and she was his, just as her mum, brother and sisters were his and he’d take them all with him. Every one of them.
Fate had given him a second chance.
He strode to the door, all the time looking at his phone.
Ironic.
If only he’d decided to wait one barn over in old man Crawford’s outbuildings, he would have found her. As it was, he’d parked way down the old disused dirt track bordering the two pieces of land so he could check out his property first. Logically, a child might make their way back home but as the place was swarming with fire and police services, he’d given them a wide birth. He assumed she had too.
Puzzled by her thought processes initially, he’d made his way through the back of the Crawford’s land careful not to encroach too near their house, not wanting to risk them seeing him. They may be old but neither one of them was stupid and he’d never liked the look in the old woman’s eye as she studied him, judging him. As though he was beneath contempt.
Ordinarily, he’d not consider her worthy of his attention. Now, avoidance was the better option. His priority was to find Poppy before the police pieced together their puzzle, realised he was alive and came looking for him.
The police.
Why hadn’t Poppy gone to the police? There was an enigma.
He cocked his head to one side. Could he hear voices?
He waited. Nothing.
He didn’t want to stumble over the Crawfords and have to shoot them. The police would hear the gunshot from Kimble Hall and be all over the place like a rash.
They’d hear it when he dispatched Poppy, of course, but by the time they arrived, it would be too late. He couldn’t afford for them to arrive before he located Poppy.
He paused before he stepped through the rickety old door, virtually off its hinges. The furthest little shed away from the house. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the brilliant sunlight.
Poppy hadn’t gone to the police because she thought she’d done something wrong.
And on the rare occasion when Poppy was naughty, it was in her nature to stick her head in the sand and wait until the storm was over.
He checked his phone and headed towards the huge black Dutch barn dominating the skyline. ‘Not long now, Poppy. Not long, my sweet daughter.’
He’d known the rough proximity, but not the exact location. It had just proved to be a waiting game.
The wait was over.
47
Tuesday 21 April 1600 hours
‘Oh, forthefuckoffucksake!’
Poppy whipped her head back inside the black barn, the strangled sound of panic lodging in her throat.
Daddy!
She grabbed the wooden crossbar on the barn door, digging her nails in deep to haul back on it so it closed, leaving only a sliver of a gap.
She turned and stumbled a few paces before she sank to her knees and toppled sideways, the energy she needed failing her.
Come on! Come on! He wasn’t far away, he’d be there within minutes.
She sank her cheek to the straw covered floor and drew in a breath.
Keep calm. Get up. Move.
Poppy raised her head and focused on the furthest point of the barn where she’d made her nest so no one could find her. With the knowledge she couldn’t possibly make it, she blew out a breath, pushed herself to her knees and staggered to her feet.
One foot in front of the other as her eyesight wavered while the dust motes danced on the air drawing her to the side of the barn where the edge of a piece of farm machinery poked out from under a huge black tarpaulin.
Knees buckling, Poppy reached out and grasped one corner of the tarpaulin to lift it away from the machinery. Lightheaded and dizzy she lurched forward. Dropping to her knees, she crawled under the huge rotary blades of a hedge cutter and tugged the tarpaulin back into place around her, plunging herself into the dark.
With shaky fingers, Poppy took out her phone and switched it on.
Too late. She’d left it too late.
The stale mustiness of the tarpaulin coated the back of her throat as she waited for the phone to switch on and then punched the emergency button before she even entered her code.
‘Emergency, which service do you require? Fire, Police or Ambulance?’
Poppy drew in a breath, pain radiating through her side, her body vibrating with little convulsions, her teeth chattering in her head. ‘Police.’
The soft creak of the barn door stopped the breath in her throat.
Daddy.
Daddy had come for her.
48
Tuesday 21 April 1600 hours
Mason shot a glance over to where Lee Gardner lurked and then kicked his toe in the dirt before he gave a quick scan of the area. Looked like Gardner was up to no good as usual. Lazy git, probably looking for somewhere to sit down while everyone else did the work.
As Gardner wandered off, hands in pockets, he cast a furtive glance over his shoulder that had Mason’s senses prickling with interest. He kept his gaze on Gardner until the man made his move. In the direction Jenna had taken.