A Finer End

Heart
     
    When Kincaid first returned to Garnet’s kitchen and found it empty, he assumed that Gemma had gone out to meet the ambulance. A look out of the door, however, showed the yard deserted and quiet, the only vehicle Gemma’s Escort parked in the lane. He crossed the yard and pulled open the gate, tearing the crime-scene tape loose.
    But a look down the lane revealed no sign of activity. He went back into the house and knelt by Andrew Catesby. The man’s skin had taken on an unhealthy tinge. Swearing, Kincaid rang 999 again and was assured by the dispatcher that help was on the way.
    Standing, he called out for Gemma. There was no response. He checked the loo and the other downstairs rooms, fetching a rug from the sitting-room settee in passing. As he covered Andrew Catesby, he saw a scattering of papers on the floor beneath the table.
    Gathering the sheets, he lifted them into the light of the oil lamp. He read Garnet’s notes, then the book pages, with growing fascination. When he reached the newspaper clipping, he paused. Kinnersley... Where had he heard that name, and recently? It had been Buddy who’d mentioned that Garnet had bought the old Kinnersley place. The accident had happened here, then, outside this house. He read on... Sarah Kinnersley’s body was discovered by a neighbour, Charles Barnes, who informed her parents before ringing the police. No trace of the child’s assailant has been found.
    Charles Barnes? Buddy, of course. Buddy... Garnet... two hit-and-run accidents, all connected somehow, if he could only see it. That didn’t rule out the possibility that Garnet had seen Andrew strike Winnie with his car, but he was beginning to think that Andrew and Faith had played out a separate drama.
    He was still puzzling over it when he heard the pulse of sirens.
     
    ‘You didn’t by any chance see Gemma down the way?’ Kincaid asked, as he and DI Greely watched the paramedics load Andrew Catesby into the ambulance. He was now seriously worried.
    ‘What, have you lost her, then?’ Greely sounded amused.
    ‘I thought she might have gone down to guide the ambulance,’ Kincaid answered curtly.
    ‘And you say the girl is missing as well? It would be my guess your partner saw, or heard, something, and went to have a look.’
    ‘I’m very much afraid you’re right.’ With dismay Kincaid glanced round at the impenetrable darkness outside the farmyard. ‘But how—’
    A shout came from the officers in the lane; a moment later they appeared at the gate with a struggling and swearing figure between them.
    ‘Let him go,’ Greely ordered. ‘How’d you get up here, lad?’
    Nick Carlisle shook himself free and snarled, ‘Across the foot of the Tor. Is she here? Is she all right?’
    ‘Faith’s not here, Nick,’ Kincaid replied. ‘But we found Andrew badly injured. And now Gemma’s disappeared too.’
    ‘I saw a light at the summit of the Tor, just one flash as I came across the field—’
    ‘You think they’ve both gone up the blasted Tor, in the dark, in this weather?’ Greely shook his head.
    ‘Gemma had her torch,’ Kincaid remembered. ‘We’ve got to go after them. Have you a trained rescue unit? Faith may be hurt—’
    ‘The baby,’ interrupted Nick. ‘It was due any day. She couldn’t make that climb—’
    ‘But if she did, it’s very likely we’ve got another complication to consider. What about a stretcher?’
    It seemed an eternity before Greely was running them down the hill in his own car, followed by his men in a panda. Leaving the cars near the bottom of the lane, they took the path that led up the southern face of the Tor, Greely having vetoed the north side as insane in the dark. The DI dispatched officers to search the lane leading to the north entrance and instructed them to go as far along the path as they deemed safe, and he had sent one constable to Chalice Well.
    Nick, Greely, and Kincaid led, Greely having found torches for them all, while the three officers carrying lights, ropes, and the folding stretcher brought up the rear. Although the southern slope was considerably more gentle than the northern, it was still a difficult climb. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, improving the visibility if not the footing.
    Although none of them had much breath for conversation, Kincaid heard Greely mutter, ‘Mad. Bloody mad,’ more than once.
    ‘Likely as not they’ll find the girl curled up somewhere along the lane again, like a bloody