The following morning saw Jo Weston arrive early at the Police House in Aidensfield. Nick had not expected to see her that morning and was surprised when Eileen let her into the house. He was at the breakfast table sharing toast with Katie. Katie squeaked happily when she saw Jo. The two were becoming quite good friends.
"Tea Jo?Eileen asked her politely and she nodded. "Thanks!"
"You're up here early," Nick said as she joined them at the breakfast table.
"Yes," Jo said, looking uncomfortable. "I wanted to catch you before you headed off today. Nick, I know we planned to go to my parents at weekend for dinner but its off I'm afraid."
Nick looked sharply at her. "Any reason?"
"Well, Dad said that Mum had said she felt unwell," Jo explained.
"And do you think she is - unwell, I mean?" Nick asked.
Jo hesitated. "Who knows? But I can't say I don't believe her can I?"
Nick sighed. They had arranged the dinner to try and smooth things over - Jo's mother had made it very clear she didn't approve of Nick and Jo's relationship such as it was and her father was rather lukewarm about it too. Jo had more or less invited herself and Nick over for dinner and now they had cried off. But there was little that could be done about it.
Before Nick could say anything there was an urgent knocking on the office door of the Police House; exasperated, he got up to go and deal with it. Eileen sat down at the breakfast table with a fresh pot of tea and poured one for herself and Jo.
"Don't worry about it," she said gently, "These things can't be helped."
Nick was startled to open the office door and find six people stood on the doorstep. He knew them from the village of course - Graham and Hilda Bennett, Jack and Ruth Buckley and Arthur and Annie Crowther. What he didn't understand was why they'd all landed on the door step of the Police House so early.
"We need help Mr Rowan," Jack spoke for the little party. "Our lads have gone missing."
Nick stepped back. "Come in," he said.
It was slightly tight for room in the office but that couldn't be helped. Nick shut the door and turned to face the party.
"So - when you say your lads -"
Jack again spoke for the group. "Its our George, Mr Rowan. He runs around with Arthur and Annie's lad, Colin and Graham & Hilda's lad, Alan. And this morning we gets up and there's no sign of our George. He's cleared out a few things and he's gone."
"And so has our Alan," Graham put in.
"Our Colin left this note," Arthur said grimly handing Nick a piece of paper evidently torn from a school exercise book. "Its a right do this Mr Rowan, they're only nine when all's said and done."
Nick read the note out loud. "Me and Alan and George killed the old lady at Mistletoe. We let off a firework and she died and we did it. So we're running away so the bobbies don't come for us. We're sorry."
"What does it mean Mr Rowan?" Hilda shook her head. "The boys thinking they've killed someone, its ridiculous."
"Mrs Butters up at Mistletoe Farm had heart trouble," Nick said. "She was found dead yesterday having suffered a massive heart attack. Having a firework let off anywhere near her probably brought it on although in fairness she could have gone any time."
Jack shook his head. "But its not murder Mr Rowan?"
"Of course not," Nick said. He sighed. "My Sergeant might want to speak to them at some point though about their behaviour. But we need to get them home first. That's my main concern. Any ideas about where they might have gone to?"
"They roam all over," Arthur said. "Little buggers might be anywhere."
Nick nodded. ""When you say they took some things with them?"
"They went off on their bikes Mr Rowan," Jack said. "And we reckon they took some spare clothes with them like."
"I had a few shillings in a jar in the kitchen," Hilda whispered, "that money's gone."
"I'm missing a few things from the pantry - tins and things," said Ruth quietly.
"So they've money, change of clothes, bikes," Nick said. He paused. "Who's their teacher at school?"
"Miss Weston," said Jack.
Nick nodded. "She's here now at the moment," he said. "I'll just call her through. You never know, she might be able to shed some light on where the boys have gone. And even if not we are going to need all hands to find them."
"We - will find them Mr Rowan?" asked Hilda tremulously.
"Well we'll do our best," Nick said reassuringly, " and chances are before we do find them they'll have got fed up and come home by themselves. And then we can sort out the other business!"
He opened the door to the house slightly and called through, "Jo - have you got a minute?"
She got up puzzled and went through to the office. She recognised all the parents from school of course. "Hallo there!" she said. "How can I help?"
"Can I give Jo this note?" Nick asked.
"Aye, if it helps," Jack said.
Nick passed it over. Jo read it quickly. "Oh no," she said. "Nick, they couldn't be held responsible for what happened to Mrs Butters surely? They're only nine after all."
"Old enough to know better," Nick pointed out, "but no, she could have gone any time. I don't suppose a firework landing outside the door exactly helped but our main priority is to find them first. You don't know of any places that they might be do you? Anywhere the kids talk about at school?"
"I know the village kids like to play at the quarry sometimes," Jo said, "but that's about it I'm afraid."
"Well, I'll get onto Ashfordly and get searches organised," Nick said. "Jo, it would be useful if we could organise the search from the school - there's more room there for a start and we can use the school phone. Would that be all right?"
"I'm sure its fine," Jo said, "I'll go over to the schoolhouse and let Miss Watson know so she can get the school opened up. If it would help I can ask around the village and get some volunteers organised to help with searching as well."
"Yeah, that would be really helpful," Nick said. "If everyone meets up at the school we can organise things from there." He turned back to the boys parents. "In the meantime if you can give me the boys descriptions I'll circulate that over to Ashfordly. I'll need to come down to your houses as well and check the boys rooms to see if they've left any clues as to where they're heading for."
Up at bleak Top Ghyll Farm the swarthy faced man was huddled by the kitchen range, sitting on a rather battered kitchen chair. He opened the range door and poked at it crossly. He looked round as Brian came into the kitchen.
"Time you showed your face," he snapped.
"Its not nine yet, Len!" the unlucky Brian replied.
"I thought you had stuff to do today. Like getting me my bloody passport!"
"Yeah, I'll get over and see Micky later. Its fine honest. No one's going to find you here." Brian opened a cupboard door. "Let me get you some breakfast, there's bacon here and bread. Sandwich?"
"If that's the best you can do." Making no attempt to help Len watched Brian putting the bacon in a pan over the range. "So how do you find Micky then?"
"He has a lock up in Whitby and he'll be there about four-ish today. And he'll have what you need." Brian looked at Len. "Its cost me you know."
"Don't be looking to me for it!" Len snapped "I've not got owt. Any road you're hardly without are you? What else did your Gran leave you?"
"Nowt, just this place. She hadn't much else." Brian shrugged. "I'll sell it, there's a bit of land with it. Someone'll want it."
"Aye and then you'll be sitting pretty so you can pay me ferry fare and all," Len said
Brian thought it would be money well spent - his debt to Len would then be well and truly discharged and with Len in another country hopefully he wouldn't have to see him again. He'd certainly paid for dropping Len in it all those years ago. Len had never let him forget that along with the fact he'd kept Brian's name out of the Billy Flanagan business. For the twelve years Len had served inside he'd demanded Brian visit him whenever he clicked his fingers using Brian for whatever errands he wanted running or whatever he wanted smuggling in. As he flipped the bacon in the pan Brian thought he'd be heartily glad to see Len depart on that ferry. All he had to do now was make sure Micky didn't mess up that passport.