They looked at each other for a long moment, just a few feet apart, and Jess felt a bond begin to form between them.

Then she turned away and started walking, not daring to look back towards the darkness of the forest, nor wanting to dwell on the fate that might have befallen her beloved Casey.

Forty-three

CASEY FOUND IT totally by accident. She’d been walking and running for miles through the forest, ever since the horrible man had tried to shoot her, which seemed ages ago now.

She’d been running away from him after she’d broken free while he’d been on the phone, and she remembered tripping up because she was going so fast at just the same time when the horrible man had fired his gun at her. She’d fallen flat on her face and had just lain there, thinking that she should pretend she was dead like they did in films sometimes, because he hadn’t hit her with the bullet and that maybe if he thought she was dead, he’d go away.

And he had too, but then almost straight away Casey had heard the noise of fighting going on behind her, and more shooting. So she’d got scared again and had got up and started running.

But she’d had no idea where she was going, or where the woods would end. And all around her there’d been lots of strange noises: rustlings in the bushes and the hooting of owls, as though they were warning someone of her presence. Shadows moved in the trees too, and Casey imagined there were all kinds of horrible creatures lurking about, like werewolves and vampires, looking for lost people like her to feed on, even though she was old enough to know that werewolves and vampires didn’t really exist.

But now she’d found the end of the forest. She’d come to a quiet road with hills rising up on the other side and, even better, a little house tucked away behind a hedge with its lights on.

Casey was shy about ringing on the bell, even though it was a pretty place with a brightly painted front door, and lots of plants growing up the walls, and best of all, smoke from a fire rising out of the chimney. She didn’t know the people who lived here. They might not let her in. And she didn’t want to have to talk to anyone about what had happened to her today. She just wanted to forget about it. She even thought about lying down and going to sleep in the shed she could see behind the gate in the back garden, and waiting until morning. But it was cold, and she was tired and hungry, and maybe the people who lived here would call the police, and then the police could come and rescue her and Jess, and the other lady, Amanda, who all the bad men were after.

The curtains were drawn so she couldn’t see inside, and she stood staring at the front door, which was painted bright red, for quite a long time before finally she got the courage to ring the bell.

After a few seconds, she heard footsteps moving slowly inside the house, then an old man’s voice asked: ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Casey,’ said Casey, leaning in close to the letterbox. ‘I’m lost, and I need to call the police. Could you let me in, please?’

The door opened a few inches behind a chain and a white-haired man in glasses with a friendly face, who looked a bit like Liz Warren’s grandad, stared down at her.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Gosh, you poor wee thing, you look frozen,’ said the man in his Scottish accent. He took the chain off the door, opening it wide so that a big breath of warm air wafted out over her. ‘Come inside. Come on, come on.’

Not needing a second invitation, Casey hopped through the door and the old man closed it behind her. ‘Whatever happened to you, wee bairn? Tell me while you get yourself warm in front of the fire.’

He led her through into a comfy sitting room. The TV was on, showing an old-looking drama, and there was a big, roaring fire blazing away with a chair next to it. He ushered her into the chair and she sat down with a smile, basking in the heat of the flames. Briefly, she told him what had happened to her today, still unable to quite believe it all herself. She didn’t even cry when she told him about Uncle Tim and Auntie Jean.

The old man had a kindly face, and he nodded as she spoke, saying things like ‘Oh dear’ and ‘Poor wee thing’, but she could tell by his expression that he didn’t entirely believe her. ‘It’s all true, I promise,’ she told him when she’d finished. ‘We need to call the police. Jess is still out there. She might be hurt.’

The old man smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll call the police. Now you look very hungry. Would you like something to eat?’

Funnily enough, she wasn’t hungry at all. Just thirsty. ‘Do you have any Diet Coke?’ she asked, because she was only ever allowed it as a special treat.

‘Och no, I don’t drink that stuff,’ the old man scolded. ‘I could make you a cup of tea, though.’

‘Water’s fine, please,’ said Casey, hiding her disappointment.

He got to his feet. ‘You wait there. I’m going to call the police, then I’m going to get you a drink.’

Casey watched him go, feeling safe for the first time that night.

In the kitchen, the old man replaced the phone receiver in its cradle, before pouring a glass of water from the tap for his surprise, but very welcome, guest.

In fact, he couldn’t believe his luck. This beautiful, innocent little thing was like a gift from God.

The old man’s name was Ronald Dewey, and it was nine years since his release from prison. In that time, he’d kept his nose clean and, although he would be on the sex offenders register for the rest of his life, he was now categorized as at low risk of reoffending. In fact, he’d almost forgotten about the beauty of little girls, since he saw them so rarely these days, and it had been almost two decades since lovely, sweet Morag. But now, seeing little Casey brought all the memories flooding back, and he felt a hot flush washing over him.

Nobody knew she was here. She’d said so herself. If the story she’d told him was true, and there were a bunch of lunatics in the forest killing indiscriminately, then no one would ever suspect old Ronald of being responsible for her disappearance. Even if she’d made it all up, the fact was that she was alone, and had clearly wandered a long, long way from her family.

He knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t do it. He was happy here and had no desire to go back to prison. And he loved children. He really did. But Casey was such a nice, polite thing that it seemed such a terrible waste not to enjoy what she was offering, even if she wasn’t aware of what that was yet.

No. He couldn’t waste this opportunity.

He went back into the lounge with the water and gave it to Casey. ‘The police are on their way,’ he told her, hoping she’d heard the call he’d pretended to make from the kitchen, ‘but it’s going to take them a while. We’re a long way from the nearest police station.’

‘Thank you,’ she said sweetly, drinking from the glass, which she held with both hands.

‘Would you like to lie down and have a rest while you wait for them?’ he said, only just managing to keep the growing sense of excitement out of his voice. ‘You look very sleepy, and there’s a spare bedroom where my granddaughter stays sometimes.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Eleanor,’ he lied.

She smiled, showing lovely white teeth. ‘That’s a nice name. Is it warm up there?’

He smiled back. ‘Oh yes. It’s lovely and cosy. I always keep the house warm.’

She put down the empty glass. ‘Do you really mind if I go to sleep? I don’t want to be rude but I am very tired.’

‘Of course not. Come on, I’ll show you to her room.’

He led the way up the stairs, keeping his breathing steady, and opened the door to the spare room, switching on the light.

‘It doesn’t have any pictures on the walls,’ said Casey, the first hint of concern in her voice. ‘Doesn’t Eleanor like pictures?’