Sweet Tooth had struck again. Hugh was sure of it. There was only one thief in the country that would consider stealing the World's Largest Cupcake and that was Sweet Tooth and his AbSconeders. They were notorious not only for being the only gang of sugar thieves in the world but for having eluded police and detectives for the last decade.
"Found something of interest in there, Hugh," said Hugh's mother as she cleared the breakfast dishes from the kitchen table.
Hugh peered up at her from the top of the newspaper. "Just reading the cartoons, mum," he said. Hugh knew that no Private Investigator spoke about the cases they were working on; discussion might compromise their investigation and in the seedy underworld of thievery everyone was a suspect.
He turned his attention back to the newspaper.
'World's Largest Cupcake Missing,' was the news headline. Hugh read on.
'Police were last night called to Bunn's Bakery on the High Street following an alleged robbery. Detectives, expecting to find the office safe empty and computer equipment missing, were astonished to discover that all that had been taken was Mr Bunn's famous Blueberry Cupcake. Recently bestowed with the coveted title of 'World's Largest Cupcake', the baked good stood at six feet high, with a circumference of ten feet, and weighing upwards of one hundred and twenty-seven kilos. It was a sizeable haul that has left police baffled as to how, why and who stole it. Mr Bunn, having had the news broken to him, was understandably distraught. "I put my heart and soul into that cupcake. Months of planning and preparation it took, not to mention the cost of the ingredients." Mr Bunn later went on to say, "That cupcake was supposed to go to the children's ward at Berkly Hospital. I can't bear to think about how disappointed the children will be when they hear of this."'
Hugh closed the paper. All he could think about were the words 'police baffled' . They ran through his mind, tickling the part of his brain that controlled his urge to investigate. If the police couldn't solve the case, he, Hugh Dunnit, would have to. A buzz of excitement electrified him and he dashed upstairs to his bedroom. In his excitement he yanked open his wardrobe door, nearly pulling it off its hinges, dug out his rucksack and checked its contents: high resolution digital camera, check, sample bottles, check, magnifying glass, check, latex gloves, check, video camera, check. He was set.
When Hugh turned down onto the High Street he saw it was heaving with police. They were diverting nosy townsfolk, who Hugh presumed had read the same news article he had, away from the tape cordon they'd placed around the shop. But Hugh, however, was more than an eager onlooker. The police of Berkly were so used to seeing him at crime scenes they called him 'Hugh the Gumshoe'.
"A'right Gummy," said one suited policeman to Hugh. He was standing beside the tape with his hands behind his back rocking back and forth on his heels. "Come to take a look 'ave ya."
"If you don't mind," stated Hugh.
"Sarge," the policeman called out. "Gumshoe's here."
"That didn't take long," said a voice from inside the shop.
A moment later a man with half-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose, and a long brown mackintosh draped over his shoulders appeared in the doorway.
"Hugh Dunnit. What a surprise?" he said. "Come to solve my crime, have you?"
"You know who did it don't you, Detective," said Hugh as he ducked under the tape and approached the man.
"If I didn't I know you'd be the first to tell me."
"Sweet Tooth strikes again," said Hugh.
"But was he working alone? That's the question."
"A hundred kilo cake? No. Moreover Sweet never works alone."
"The AbSconeders, eh?"
"Victoria Sponge, Current Bun and T.Cake, no less."
"You know them well?" asked the detective.
"I've followed their alleged crimes, yes," said Hugh. "But they've never tackled something this big before. I reckon they've been planning the theft of that cupcake for as long as poor Mr Bunn has been planning the baking of it."
The detective didn't reply. Instead he drew in a sharp intake of breath and then exhaled it steadily. Hugh was sure he'd touched a raw nerve; hit on something the detective hadn't considered. That was the only explanation.
"So what would be your opinion of the crime?" asked the detective.
"May I go in and have a look?" asked Hugh.
"Be my guest," said the detective with an open arm.
Hugh stepped inside Mr Bunn's bakery. The podium, in the middle of the shop, where the cupcake sat, was empty, save for a few crumbs and chocolate chips. Muddy footprints, being photographed by the forensic team, led from the podium through to the back of the bakery. The rest of the glass counters in the front of the shop were untouched.
Hugh studied the footprints by the podium.
"They slid the cupcake off the podium onto something low and flat. They had hold of it either side, you can tell because the footprints are facing each other," Hugh peered closer at the mud. "But they didn't carry the cake, which would make sense, given how heavy it would have been."
"They must have wheeled it out them," said the detective.
Hugh shook his head. "There are no tracks. If they did there would be tracks through the footprints."
Hugh walked toward the door that lead to the back of the bakery, swung it open and examined the floor.
"But they did have something on wheels here," said Hugh, pointing to two sets of black lines. "Skid marks."
"They could have been there before."
Hugh shook his head. "I doubt it. It's just a hunch but they look fresh to me. Very clear and very black. I reckon they had something on wheels that had an extending platform that reached across toward the cake podium. Sweet's henchmen then gently slid the cake onto it and the device retracted. Easy as that."
"Well, that's remarkable," said the detective scratching his head. "But that doesn't solve the problem of where this missing cake is. I'm under huge pressure here, especially from the Mayor, to find it. A ward full of kids are depending on me and my boys in the force."
Hugh looked out toward the scatter of crumbs on the podium. Images of disappointed, sunken faces, tears and the sadness of all those sick children plucked his heart. As his eyes cast down he noticed sparkles on the floor, like little diamonds. Something was catching the light. He stepped closer and realised it was the mud that was glimmering. He crouched down and pinched a few grains between his fingers. It was fine, and gritty. Not at all like the clay mud that appeared in gardens in Berkly. With the spark of an idea in his mind he pulled off his back pack, reached inside and pulled out a sample bottle.
"What have you found, Gumshoe?" asked the detective.
"It's just a hunch I have," said Hugh as he scooped up a few lumps of dirt, stepped into the back of the shop and poured a little water into the vial from the tap. He gave a few taps and shakes and waited for the grains to settle to the bottom, then poured out as much of the water as he could.
Staring at the sediment he gave the detective a wry smile.
"What do you think that is?" Hugh asked.
The detective stared dumbfounded at Hugh's vial. "Dirt?"
"Wrong," said Hugh. "It's sand."
"So, the AbSconeders have been at the beach so what?"
"That's exactly what. The soil in Berkly is clay. They've been walking in sand. There's a beach nearby with a large, abandoned air raid shelter."
The detective's eyes lit up. "You reckon that's where they've taken the cupcake?"
" Undoubtedly. And moreover, despite Current Bun's reputation for gorging on anything sweet I reckon the cake is still in tact. If he'd been let loose at it there'd be far more crumbs and possibly dollops of frosting on the linoleum."
The detective beckoned, with the flick of a forefinger, for one of his officers to approach him. Out of earshot of Hugh he whispered something into the officers ear.
"If you're going out there I want to come too," said Hugh. "That's only fair. I solve the crime I want to capture the criminals."
The detective laid a heavy hand on Hugh's shoulder. "You're too young and its too dangerous."
"That's not fair. I've been following Sweet Tooth's work for as long as I've been alive. I know him better than you. I've proved that today."
"That may be the case. And believe me I'm extremely grateful for your expertise, but as I'm sure you also know, criminals are extremely unpredictable, especially when threatened with exposure. Now, Officer Crabtree will take you home."
The suited officer took Hugh's arm and led him out of the shop.
"It's not fair. It's just not fair," snapped Hugh.
"Why are you so sore, Gummy?" asked the Officer. "You solved the crime. If it weren't for you those kids would 'ave no cake. Isn't that enough?"
As much as Hugh didn't want to admit it, the Officer did have a point. But it was only a small consolation. He knew now he would have to wait to face his foe.
Showing posts with label crime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crime. Show all posts
Friday, November 27, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Unearthing Harry Sands
Holly powered her mother's Vauxhall Astra up the M6, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, her right foot maintaining a steady 65 mph. Her mother was sure to have reported it missing by now and Holly couldn't afford to be caught. She had to get across the border.
As she passed the turn off to Blackpool and the traffic started to thin out she relaxed her grip and sat back, deep into the bucket seats. She took a deep breath and glanced over to the passenger seat. It was littered with newspaper cuttings, print outs, an Ordnance Survey Landranger map number thirty-three and, sheathed in a clear plastic folder, a photocopy of an advert with a poem scrawled across it.
"Mum will understand. I'm sure," Holly said to herself. "I know she doesn't believe me but if there's a chance, even a slim one I know Aunt Morag will be grateful."
Her crossing into Cumbria was welcomed with leaden skies and heavy rain. Almost an omen, she thought. She checked the fuel gauge. Almost empty.
When she reached Carlisle she pulled into a service station, filled the tank up and plucked two ten pound notes from the wad in her purse.
'Gonna have to pull double shifts now to make my savings up again,' she thought.
After she paid up she drove into the almost empty car behind the garage and parked by a deserted burger van. It looked as lonely as her.
"Why is it just me on this crusade?" she said, thumping the dashboard with her fist. "Why does nobody over the age of nineteen believe anything anyone under the age of twenty has to say?"
She snatched up the sheathed advert and read over the poem once more.
If red but not found most certainly de parted
You'll find I'm third in line on the shore
Dressed in white, trimmed with these trees,
Nine plus or more
Silver's unsettled
Stolen kisses, no more
I bow in shackles
"You certainly were brave, cousin, to write it in code so he wouldn't understand," she said. "Sadly its pretty safe for me to say that you have 'de parted'. But not forever. I promise."
She started the car and turned the fan heater on trying not to dwell on what befell the cousin she never met. But as she reached for the road map to assess her route one of the newspaper cuttings slid off the passenger seat into the foot well. Holly reached down to pick it up but was unable to stop her eyes from catching the headline.
'Local Fifteen-year-old missing after party.'
Holly sighed and ran a finger over the date of the article. 'November 8, 1984.' She could hardly believe it all happened so long ago.
'Local schoolgirl, Harriet Sands, went missing on Monday November 5th. She was last spotted at approximately 11.30pm, standing at a bus stop on Fenchurch Street, by a couple walking their dog. Ms Sands had been at a party with friends who reported the missing girl left early to return home. She is described as intelligent and lively with shoulder length blonde hair, approximately five foot three inches in height and wearing a denim skirt, pink blouse and pink shoes. If anyone has any information in connection to her disappearance please contact Chester police on 456 2309.'
"Third in line on the shore," Holly mumbled. "Harry Sands."
Holly placed the article on the seat and then folded up the map. "If I could just get passed Glasgow by nightfall. I could find a service station and sleep on the backseat, " she said.
She rejoined the motorway and fiddled with the tuner on the radio. All she seemed to be able to find, apart from boring debates on speed cameras and the economy, was thrash metal. She left it tuned to the brain pounding beat of MetalPetals. She felt it matched her mood.
By the time she cut through central Glasgow, cursing the fact that the motorway scythed the city in half resulting in endless traffic jams, she finally reached the A82 and a quiet service station just outside Dumbarton. She parked up, finding a suitable spot shaded by a line of trucks that presumably pulled in for the same reason she did, and climbed onto the backseat.
As she snuggled up under a blanket she grabbed her papers and Harry's poem from the front seat.
"Dressed in white and trimmed with these trees. These trees," she muttered and scanned the advert the poem was written on. It was an advert for a holiday home in Sandaig. Harry's words were written on blank area of the advert that was the skyline above a hillock of trees. In front of the trees was a shale shore with a couple of old fisherman cottages. "He, they, whoever, took you to Sandaig forest. But what does dressed in white mean. You were wearing eighties denim and pink. And what does the rest of it mean," she said. "Okay nine plus or more. That's gotta be the length of time it took to leave Chester and get to Sandaig. I've already done five hours. Four plus to go, which means you must have been awake the entire time."
Holly shivered at the thought. Eight hours of not knowing your fate. How could anyone bear that?
She placed the pages on the mat and curled up to sleep.
Hours later there was a rapping sound at her window. It gave her such a fright she jerked awake. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it at the back of her throat and when her eyes acclimated to the light and who was peering through the window she gasped. It was the police.
Holly wound down the passenger window.
"Hello, Officer," she mumbled.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just catching forty winks," she said, noticing his eyes were surveying the inside of her car.
"Is this yur car?"
"Erm. No. It's my mum's I'm just borrowing it to visit a friend," she said hesitantly, praying he would believe her.
"D'ya have yur licence or some form of ID?"
"Yeah, of course," Holly replied as she scrambled through her bag and thrust her licence at him.
As the policeman peered at it all Holly could think was 'so close. I'm so close. Please let me go.'
He handed her licence back to her. "I wudnae recommend sleepin' in your car. Next time you're up here book intae a bed and breakfast. It's no safe. Alright?"
Holly nodded and when he left and got into his squad car she sat back and let out a long, gasp of a breath.
After a quick wash at the services Holly checked her map. "Straight up the A82, then left onto the A87 at Shielbridge."
It was just after noon when she passed the picturesque town of Eileanreach, five miles from Sandaig, and found herself on the deserted, bleak A82. She trundled past banks of trees on either side of the road wondering if they were the forest she had driven over four hundred miles and nine hours for. Her body twitched with a mixture of nervous excitement and apprehension. 'Will I find anything or nothing?' she thought.
Ahead she spotted a farmer herding sheep and as she neared she slowed and wound down her window.
"Can you tell me where Sandaig forest is, please?"
"'Bout two miles down on the right. There's a sign post," the farmer muttered beneath his bushy moustache before turning attention back to his flock.
As the bare wooden sign with white lettering that read 'Sandaig Forest' came into view Holly began to shake. There was no turning back now. The pathway into the forest was a dirt track that was slightly overgrown indicating not much traffic every went down it. 'No wonder he or they brought you here,' Holly thought.
Cautiously Holly turned onto the track and followed it as it wound through the mature coniferous wood. On a more inauspicious day she would love to walk through these woods and marvel at the majestic pines but her mind wasn't on sightseeing. She kept her focus on the road ahead instead. She had no idea what she was looking for but rather hoped that something would fatefully draw her attention.
When the road ended she found herself parked in front of a crumbling white house.
"Could this be it?" Holly said. "Dressed in white!"
Every nerve and fibre in Holly's body was screaming at her to stop. To go back. She was terrified of what she might find in that house, but her heart was in control.
"This was my cousin. My defenceless cousin," she said and stepped out of the car.
Outside the air was warm and the sun was shining through the tops of the conifers. 'A good omen,' she thought.
She crept up to the wooden door hanging off its hinges and pulled it open. Inside it was dark and damp. A strong musty smell of damp wood and earth mixed with charcoal hung in the air like a shroud. She took a left and stepped into a room with a wooden floor and a window that looked out toward the islands in the distance. Such a beautiful location, tinged with horror. In the middle of the room the floorboards had been lifted and Holly could see a fast flowing stream running beneath the house.
"No wonder nobody lives here. This place is probably condemned," she said as she looked up at the beams of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the roof. They shone down on something that glinted faintly on the floor.
Holly bent down and noticed a delicate bracelet, a little tarnished but otherwise in good condition, beside a broken chair. But when she picked the bracelet up her eyes were drawn to something else behind it. Something that filled her body with gut twisting terror-a coil of rusted chains bolted to the stone wall.
"I bow in shackles," Holly cried. She shivered violently and tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it was too big. Tears poured down her face as she reached for the chains. "What happened, Harry?"
No sooner had she said it a black crow landed on the stone frame of the window. It took one look at Holly, squawked and then flew off toward the shore. Holly watched as it landed on a large grey driftwood log beside a rise in the grass banking that didn't look natural.
Holly dashed outside and bounded over rocks, streams and mounds of mossy grass. Upon reaching it she knelt down and started to claw at the grass, slicing back the layers of time until she felt something smooth that rustled between her fingers. She leapt back.
'Plastic bag,' she thought.
Her heart thumped in her chest so fierce she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. She knew what she had to do but part of her didn't want to do it. Part of her wished she was back at home, on the sofa watching TV and not knelt down in a desolate place in a different country on her own searching for what she knew would just be bones. She reached out to tear the bag.
"Holly!" a voice screamed.
Holly spun round and saw three policemen and her mother standing by the crumbling white house. A heavy wave of relief swept over her that made her feel so weak and lightheaded she almost fainted.
"Mum," Holly cried and stumbled towards the open arms of her mother. "I've found her. I've found Harry. I've found her."
Holly threw her arms round her mother, desperate to feel the warmth and comfort of someone she loved, desperate to feel alive and reconnected to the world again.
"I thought I'd lost you too," said her mother, tearfully.
"Never. I just wish I knew who did this to her?" she said as she watched the three policemen make there way towards the remains of Harry Sands. One of them took off his helmet to reveal a shock of white blonde hair that glinted like silver in the sunlight.
Holly froze. "Silver," she gasped. "Silver."
"What's wrong, Holly?" asked her mother.
"Harry's diary. Silver. Silver hair. Silver Penny. David Penny. He's the one who killed her," Holly blurted.
"Holly you're not making any sense."
Holly delved into her bag and pulled out the wad of news clippings and frantically riffled through them.
"The newspaper report a two weeks after her disappearance. It mentions entries in Harry's diary. Here," she said holding it up to her mother. "It says her diary mentioned a person Harry had a bit of a crush on but Harry didn't call him by his real name in her diary. No girl would. She called him SP. The police couldn't work out what that meant. But look at the photo beside the report. It's of Harry and her friends. She has her arm around someone called David Penny. But look at his hair. It's bright white. Like Silver," Holly gusted with excitement as she rustled in her bag for the sheathed copy of the note Harry left. "And look at this. This was her message in a bottle, which I reckon she threw into the stream that runs under the house, it says 'Silver's unsettled. Stolen kisses, no more.' Silver Penny. SP"
Holly's mother took Holly's head into her hands and kissed her forehead. "Well, give this to the police. Let them take it from here. They'll get him. You'll see," she said as Holly watched a tear trickled down her mother's cheek. Her mother brushed the hair from Holly's forehead. "Your Aunt Morag will be very proud."
As she passed the turn off to Blackpool and the traffic started to thin out she relaxed her grip and sat back, deep into the bucket seats. She took a deep breath and glanced over to the passenger seat. It was littered with newspaper cuttings, print outs, an Ordnance Survey Landranger map number thirty-three and, sheathed in a clear plastic folder, a photocopy of an advert with a poem scrawled across it.
"Mum will understand. I'm sure," Holly said to herself. "I know she doesn't believe me but if there's a chance, even a slim one I know Aunt Morag will be grateful."
Her crossing into Cumbria was welcomed with leaden skies and heavy rain. Almost an omen, she thought. She checked the fuel gauge. Almost empty.
When she reached Carlisle she pulled into a service station, filled the tank up and plucked two ten pound notes from the wad in her purse.
'Gonna have to pull double shifts now to make my savings up again,' she thought.
After she paid up she drove into the almost empty car behind the garage and parked by a deserted burger van. It looked as lonely as her.
"Why is it just me on this crusade?" she said, thumping the dashboard with her fist. "Why does nobody over the age of nineteen believe anything anyone under the age of twenty has to say?"
She snatched up the sheathed advert and read over the poem once more.
If red but not found most certainly de parted
You'll find I'm third in line on the shore
Dressed in white, trimmed with these trees,
Nine plus or more
Silver's unsettled
Stolen kisses, no more
I bow in shackles
"You certainly were brave, cousin, to write it in code so he wouldn't understand," she said. "Sadly its pretty safe for me to say that you have 'de parted'. But not forever. I promise."
She started the car and turned the fan heater on trying not to dwell on what befell the cousin she never met. But as she reached for the road map to assess her route one of the newspaper cuttings slid off the passenger seat into the foot well. Holly reached down to pick it up but was unable to stop her eyes from catching the headline.
'Local Fifteen-year-old missing after party.'
Holly sighed and ran a finger over the date of the article. 'November 8, 1984.' She could hardly believe it all happened so long ago.
'Local schoolgirl, Harriet Sands, went missing on Monday November 5th. She was last spotted at approximately 11.30pm, standing at a bus stop on Fenchurch Street, by a couple walking their dog. Ms Sands had been at a party with friends who reported the missing girl left early to return home. She is described as intelligent and lively with shoulder length blonde hair, approximately five foot three inches in height and wearing a denim skirt, pink blouse and pink shoes. If anyone has any information in connection to her disappearance please contact Chester police on 456 2309.'
"Third in line on the shore," Holly mumbled. "Harry Sands."
Holly placed the article on the seat and then folded up the map. "If I could just get passed Glasgow by nightfall. I could find a service station and sleep on the backseat, " she said.
She rejoined the motorway and fiddled with the tuner on the radio. All she seemed to be able to find, apart from boring debates on speed cameras and the economy, was thrash metal. She left it tuned to the brain pounding beat of MetalPetals. She felt it matched her mood.
By the time she cut through central Glasgow, cursing the fact that the motorway scythed the city in half resulting in endless traffic jams, she finally reached the A82 and a quiet service station just outside Dumbarton. She parked up, finding a suitable spot shaded by a line of trucks that presumably pulled in for the same reason she did, and climbed onto the backseat.
As she snuggled up under a blanket she grabbed her papers and Harry's poem from the front seat.
"Dressed in white and trimmed with these trees. These trees," she muttered and scanned the advert the poem was written on. It was an advert for a holiday home in Sandaig. Harry's words were written on blank area of the advert that was the skyline above a hillock of trees. In front of the trees was a shale shore with a couple of old fisherman cottages. "He, they, whoever, took you to Sandaig forest. But what does dressed in white mean. You were wearing eighties denim and pink. And what does the rest of it mean," she said. "Okay nine plus or more. That's gotta be the length of time it took to leave Chester and get to Sandaig. I've already done five hours. Four plus to go, which means you must have been awake the entire time."
Holly shivered at the thought. Eight hours of not knowing your fate. How could anyone bear that?
She placed the pages on the mat and curled up to sleep.
Hours later there was a rapping sound at her window. It gave her such a fright she jerked awake. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it at the back of her throat and when her eyes acclimated to the light and who was peering through the window she gasped. It was the police.
Holly wound down the passenger window.
"Hello, Officer," she mumbled.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just catching forty winks," she said, noticing his eyes were surveying the inside of her car.
"Is this yur car?"
"Erm. No. It's my mum's I'm just borrowing it to visit a friend," she said hesitantly, praying he would believe her.
"D'ya have yur licence or some form of ID?"
"Yeah, of course," Holly replied as she scrambled through her bag and thrust her licence at him.
As the policeman peered at it all Holly could think was 'so close. I'm so close. Please let me go.'
He handed her licence back to her. "I wudnae recommend sleepin' in your car. Next time you're up here book intae a bed and breakfast. It's no safe. Alright?"
Holly nodded and when he left and got into his squad car she sat back and let out a long, gasp of a breath.
After a quick wash at the services Holly checked her map. "Straight up the A82, then left onto the A87 at Shielbridge."
It was just after noon when she passed the picturesque town of Eileanreach, five miles from Sandaig, and found herself on the deserted, bleak A82. She trundled past banks of trees on either side of the road wondering if they were the forest she had driven over four hundred miles and nine hours for. Her body twitched with a mixture of nervous excitement and apprehension. 'Will I find anything or nothing?' she thought.
Ahead she spotted a farmer herding sheep and as she neared she slowed and wound down her window.
"Can you tell me where Sandaig forest is, please?"
"'Bout two miles down on the right. There's a sign post," the farmer muttered beneath his bushy moustache before turning attention back to his flock.
As the bare wooden sign with white lettering that read 'Sandaig Forest' came into view Holly began to shake. There was no turning back now. The pathway into the forest was a dirt track that was slightly overgrown indicating not much traffic every went down it. 'No wonder he or they brought you here,' Holly thought.
Cautiously Holly turned onto the track and followed it as it wound through the mature coniferous wood. On a more inauspicious day she would love to walk through these woods and marvel at the majestic pines but her mind wasn't on sightseeing. She kept her focus on the road ahead instead. She had no idea what she was looking for but rather hoped that something would fatefully draw her attention.
When the road ended she found herself parked in front of a crumbling white house.
"Could this be it?" Holly said. "Dressed in white!"
Every nerve and fibre in Holly's body was screaming at her to stop. To go back. She was terrified of what she might find in that house, but her heart was in control.
"This was my cousin. My defenceless cousin," she said and stepped out of the car.
Outside the air was warm and the sun was shining through the tops of the conifers. 'A good omen,' she thought.
She crept up to the wooden door hanging off its hinges and pulled it open. Inside it was dark and damp. A strong musty smell of damp wood and earth mixed with charcoal hung in the air like a shroud. She took a left and stepped into a room with a wooden floor and a window that looked out toward the islands in the distance. Such a beautiful location, tinged with horror. In the middle of the room the floorboards had been lifted and Holly could see a fast flowing stream running beneath the house.
"No wonder nobody lives here. This place is probably condemned," she said as she looked up at the beams of sunlight streaming through the gaps in the roof. They shone down on something that glinted faintly on the floor.
Holly bent down and noticed a delicate bracelet, a little tarnished but otherwise in good condition, beside a broken chair. But when she picked the bracelet up her eyes were drawn to something else behind it. Something that filled her body with gut twisting terror-a coil of rusted chains bolted to the stone wall.
"I bow in shackles," Holly cried. She shivered violently and tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it was too big. Tears poured down her face as she reached for the chains. "What happened, Harry?"
No sooner had she said it a black crow landed on the stone frame of the window. It took one look at Holly, squawked and then flew off toward the shore. Holly watched as it landed on a large grey driftwood log beside a rise in the grass banking that didn't look natural.
Holly dashed outside and bounded over rocks, streams and mounds of mossy grass. Upon reaching it she knelt down and started to claw at the grass, slicing back the layers of time until she felt something smooth that rustled between her fingers. She leapt back.
'Plastic bag,' she thought.
Her heart thumped in her chest so fierce she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. She knew what she had to do but part of her didn't want to do it. Part of her wished she was back at home, on the sofa watching TV and not knelt down in a desolate place in a different country on her own searching for what she knew would just be bones. She reached out to tear the bag.
"Holly!" a voice screamed.
Holly spun round and saw three policemen and her mother standing by the crumbling white house. A heavy wave of relief swept over her that made her feel so weak and lightheaded she almost fainted.
"Mum," Holly cried and stumbled towards the open arms of her mother. "I've found her. I've found Harry. I've found her."
Holly threw her arms round her mother, desperate to feel the warmth and comfort of someone she loved, desperate to feel alive and reconnected to the world again.
"I thought I'd lost you too," said her mother, tearfully.
"Never. I just wish I knew who did this to her?" she said as she watched the three policemen make there way towards the remains of Harry Sands. One of them took off his helmet to reveal a shock of white blonde hair that glinted like silver in the sunlight.
Holly froze. "Silver," she gasped. "Silver."
"What's wrong, Holly?" asked her mother.
"Harry's diary. Silver. Silver hair. Silver Penny. David Penny. He's the one who killed her," Holly blurted.
"Holly you're not making any sense."
Holly delved into her bag and pulled out the wad of news clippings and frantically riffled through them.
"The newspaper report a two weeks after her disappearance. It mentions entries in Harry's diary. Here," she said holding it up to her mother. "It says her diary mentioned a person Harry had a bit of a crush on but Harry didn't call him by his real name in her diary. No girl would. She called him SP. The police couldn't work out what that meant. But look at the photo beside the report. It's of Harry and her friends. She has her arm around someone called David Penny. But look at his hair. It's bright white. Like Silver," Holly gusted with excitement as she rustled in her bag for the sheathed copy of the note Harry left. "And look at this. This was her message in a bottle, which I reckon she threw into the stream that runs under the house, it says 'Silver's unsettled. Stolen kisses, no more.' Silver Penny. SP"
Holly's mother took Holly's head into her hands and kissed her forehead. "Well, give this to the police. Let them take it from here. They'll get him. You'll see," she said as Holly watched a tear trickled down her mother's cheek. Her mother brushed the hair from Holly's forehead. "Your Aunt Morag will be very proud."
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