The Missing Read Free Page B

Michael Shepherd was unhappy about leaving the classroom without finding out anything from his daughter’s classmates, though he had little choice but to follow Elaine as she swept out. He nodded to me as he went, and I smiled, trying to think of something to say, but he was gone before anything remotely suitable occurred to me. He walked with his head down, like a bull being led into an abattoir, all that power and determination draining away, leaving only despair.
    In the woods, the traffic noise fell away as if a soundproof curtain had dropped behind me. The birds sang and a breeze sighed through the treetops with a sound like rushing water. The rhythmic thud of my feet on the dark, firm ground punctuated the rasping of my breath and every now and then a singing note was the whiplash of a thin, reaching branch that had snagged on my sleeve for an instant. Tall, ancient trees with knotted trunks spread a canopy of bitingly green new leaves overhead. The sunlight slid through their shade in slanting beams and pinpricks of light, dizzying brilliance that glanced off a surface and was gone the next instant. I felt, briefly, almost happy.
    I kicked myself up a long, steep hill, toes digging for purchase in the leaf mould, my heart thumping as my muscles burned. The ground was as dark and rich as chocolate cake; it had just enough give in it. I had run on iron-hard, ankle-killing parched earth the previous summer, and slithered through slick mud on icy days midwinter, black splashes streaking up the backs of my legs like tar. These conditions were perfect. No excuses. I fought all the way to the top, to the pay-off downhill slope on the other side, and it felt as if I was flying.
    After a while, of course, the euphoria wore off. My legs started to complain at the exertion, my thigh muscles aching. I could run through that sort of niggling discomfort, but my knees were also protesting and that was more serious. I winced as a careless step on the uneven surface jarred my left knee, sending a jolt of pain up the outside of my thigh. Checking my watch, I was surprised to see that half an hour had slid by since I left the house; I had done about three and a half miles. It was far enough to count as a decent run by the time I got home.
    I made a wide loop and doubled back on myself, running parallel to the route I’d taken on the way out. There was something disheartening about running over the same ground on the way back; I hated to do it. The new route took me along a spine of higher ground that ran between two steep-sided depressions. The surface here was crumbly and knotted with roots. I slowed right down, wary of twisting an ankle, eyes glued to the ground in front of me. Even so, I came to grief, skidding on a smooth root that angled sharply downwards. With a muffled squawk I pitched forward, hands outstretched, and ended up sprawling in the dirt. I stayed in that position for a second, my breath rasping, the woods around me suddenly hushed. Slowly, painfully, I peeled my hands off the ground and sat back on my heels to inspect the damage. No broken bones, no blood. Good . I brushed the worst of the dirt off my hands and knees. Bruises, maybe a slight graze on the heel of my right hand. Nothing too remarkable. I stood up, holding on to a convenient tree trunk for support, grimacing as I stretched out my legs, glad that no one had seen me fall. I bent forward and stretched out my hamstrings, then walked around in a tight circle, gathering the motivation to carry on. I was about to set off again when I stopped, frowning. Something nagged at me, something strange that I’d half seen out of the corner of my eye, something out of context. Even then, it didn’t occur to me to worry, even though I’d been thinking of the missing girl all day.
    I stood on tiptoe and looked properly, peering through the gathering shadows. Down in the hollow to my left there was a gap in the leaf canopy where an old tree had fallen, and a shaft of