Chapter 23
Inspector Bill Pearson dunked a digestive biscuit into his mug of tea as he studied a map of Dartmoor, which had been hastily blue-tacked to the wall directly opposite him. Usually the room, on the top floor of the police station, was where officers kept their kit in lockers and spent their breaks microwaving meals and watching sport on a flat screen in the corner. Today the television was silent. The room had been set up as an incident room, a nerve centre where the police were co-ordinating the search for the two missing children.
The 999 call to say the brother and sister had disappeared from their home near Waterby had come in to the force control room at just before eleven o’clock that morning.
The children had now been missing for two hours and, with the weather on the moor deteriorating by the minute, the search for them was being treated as a critical incident.
Inspector Pearson had been put in charge of the search by his chief inspector and was expecting a long shift. He was due to go home at four o’clock but with two children missing on the moor in weather like this he knew the odds of finishing on time were long, to say the least.
Ignoring the buttons straining across his large stomach he reached for another biscuit.
“How many have we got on the moor now, Woody?” he asked the man sitting next to him.
Sergeant Wood was as thin as Inspector Pearson was round. He looked disapprovingly at his superior as the inspector took a large bite of the soggy digestive.
“Well, boss. We have all our available late shift officers and three Dartmoor search and rescue teams on the moor, two of them with dogs. They’re searching a three mile radius of the house, although they’re looking to extend that if we haven’t found the children before it gets dark.”
“What about the chopper? Surely the thermal imaging camera’s going to be our best bet?” asked the inspector.
“The helicopter’s grounded because of the fog, boss. The search is going to have to be done on foot.”
“That’s going to make things tough. What do we know about the two children?”
“They were being looked after by a friend of the family who has been staying with them while their mother’s in hospital. Mrs McKeever broke her wrist yesterday, by all accounts, but is due home this afternoon.”
“They’re not having a very good week, are they?” remarked Inspector Pearson.
“The boy, Charlie, left the house some time before ten this morning. He’s six. According to the family friend his sister Poppy, who’s eleven, discovered her brother had gone walkabout and went looking for him on her own. We think she’s been missing since about half past ten.”
Inspector Pearson looked at the clock. One o’clock. The rain was still drumming against the window. Dartmoor was no place for children on a day like this.
“What about a media appeal?”
“We’re working on that, guv. The on call press officer has been briefed. We’re just waiting for the go-ahead from the mother. Then we’ll get someone down to the house to pick up some recent photos of the kids.”
“Do we have someone at hospital with the mother?” he asked.
“Yes, boss. PC Bodiam has been there since about half past eleven.”
Inspector Pearson looked at the map again. By Dartmoor standards Riverdale wasn’t particularly remote, but it edged on to an isolated part of the moor where the terrain could be dangerous. Add to that the worsening weather. The temperatures plummeted at night at this time of year. If the children weren’t found before nightfall they didn’t stand a chance, he thought grimly.
The next couple of hours passed quickly in the makeshift incident room. Every half an hour briefings were given and the inspector updated on the progress of the search. More cups of tea were made and more digestive biscuits were dunked. North east of Riverdale police officers and volunteers from the Dartmoor Rescue Group, in their trademark red jackets, scoured the landscape for any trace of the two children. At just after three o’clock hopes were raised when one of the trained search dogs found a small digital camera. The information was radioed to PC Claire Bodiam at Tavistock Hospital who asked Caroline McKeever if either of the children had a camera, and if so, what make and model.
“Yes,” Caroline replied quietly. “I bought Charlie his own digital camera for Christmas last year so he could take his wildlife pictures on it. It’s a Canon, although I have no idea what model it is. But it’s silver, if that’s any help.”
PC Bodiam nodded and relayed the message back to the incident room. She smiled reassuringly at Caroline, who was white with worry.
“It looks as if it is Charlie’s camera they’ve found,” she confirmed. Seeing the fear on Caroline’s face PC Bodiam tried to set her mind at rest. “It’s good news, Mrs McKeever. It means the search teams are definitely in the right area. I’m sure it won’t be long before we find Poppy and Charlie.”
But another hour passed and there was still no sign of the children. Back in the incident room Inspector Pearson was about to incur the wrath of his wife by texting her to say he would be late home. Just as he started tapping out the message his radio crackled. He held it to his ear. Over the airwaves a voice shouted, “We’ve found them, guv!” He deleted the text message with relief. “Are they alright?” he asked.
“The lad is showing early signs of hypothermia and will need to go to hospital. We’ve just radioed for an ambulance. The girl is fine,” replied the police officer who had been leading the search teams up on the moor.
“Good job. Has anyone let the mother know?”
“PC Bodiam is next on my list to call, guv.”
Inspector Pearson was puzzled. “What on earth possessed the children to do a disappearing act on the moor in this weather?” he asked.
“They’d gone looking for big cats apparently, guv,” the radio crackled.
The inspector raised his eyebrows. “I might have known. Sniffer Smith was on to the press office a couple of days ago asking for a police comment on a sighting of the so-called Beast of Dartmoor. For something that doesn’t even exist, that damn creature has a lot to answer for.”