“Far as we can make out from the boy, ma’am,” said the younger policeman, “an old lady stabbed his mum with some kind of knitting needle. The auntie’s done a runner with a man believed to be the boy’s father. Don’t know where they went.”

A stretcher appeared, pushed by two ambulance men. Amina lay covered in a sheet, an IV in her arm and an oxygen mask on her face. She made a faint sound when she saw them and tried to raise her hand.

“Mummy!” called George, and Noreen and the kindly sergeant struggled to hold him back.

“Let them help your mummy now,” begged Noreen.

The Major stepped over to the stretcher and took Amina’s hand.

“How is she?” he asked a burly ambulance man who appeared to be in charge.

“Must have missed the heart or she’d be a goner, but she’s probably bleeding internally. Hard to tell with such a small entry wound.”

“Where’s George?” whispered Amina. “Is he all right?”

“He’s right here,” said the Major. “With your aunt Noreen and Jasmina.”

“Please find Abdul Wahid,” whispered Amina. “He thinks it’s his fault.”

“They gotta get her to the hospital now, sir.” The sergeant’s eyebrows were drawn together in sympathy.

“I’ll go with you,” said Jasmina. “He’s my great-nephew.”

“You will not,” said Noreen. “You will stay away from us and you will suffer for your crimes.”

“I’m not to blame and neither is Abdul Wahid. You cannot think it, Noreen.”

“Do you know where your nephew might go, ma’am?” the sergeant asked, writing on a notepad. “Seems he took off with the old lady.”

“I have no idea,” said Jasmina. She smoothed George’s tear-stained face with her hand as the men loaded the stretcher into the ambulance and asked, “George, where did your daddy go?”

“He said to Mecca,” said George. “I want my mummy.”

“Mecca—is that a restaurant or a store or something?” said the young policeman.

“No, he means the city I think,” said Jasmina. The Major felt her look at him.

“He said walking to Mecca,” repeated George, hiccupping through his tears.

“Well, if he’s walking they won’t get far,” sneered the policeman.

“Is Daddy with old auntie?” asked Jasmina. George broke into fresh wails.

“She hurt my mummy with her knitting and she scratched my arm.” He showed the bandage and his body trembled.

“He might be protecting his daddy. Kids’ll say anything when they’re scared.” The younger policeman was beginning to grate on the Major.

“My nephew was not involved with this,” said Jasmina.

“Put her and her family in jail,” said Noreen as the sergeant handed George up to her in the ambulance. “They are criminals.”

“We can’t rule anything out right now.” The sergeant shut the doors of the ambulance, and the siren began to wail. “I need to find your nephew.”

“I have no idea where he is,” said Jasmina and the Major marveled at her blank face and her clear gaze. “Obviously he’s not heading to Mecca.”

“You never know, he might slip the country.” He turned to his companion. “Better warn the airports and get out a description. Does he own a car, ma’am?”

“No, he does not own a car.” The Major noticed that Jasmina did not mention her own blue Honda, which was not parked in its usual spot. He saw her sway as if she might faint and grabbed her around the waist.

“This has been a big shock, officers,” he said in his most authoritative tone. “I think I need to take her home to sit down.”

“Are you in the village, sir?” asked the sergeant and the Major gave them his address and helped Jasmina back to the car. “Stay indoors once you get there,” added the younger policeman. “We may need to talk to you again.”

Outside Rose Lodge, the Major left the car running while he hurried inside to the scullery. He retrieved his gun box and slipped one of the guns into a canvas carrying slip. Taking a box of shells from the locked cabinet, he shook out a few and stuffed them in his trouser pocket. Then, for good measure, he unhooked a pair of binoculars and a water flask too. He put them in his leather game bag and added a small first aid kit in a tin and an unopened bar of mint cake to complete his preparations. Patting the bag, he hoped he was adequately armed and provisioned to face an insane woman. As he left, he met Roger in the passageway.

“Where are you going? I thought you were dancing it up at a wedding.”

“Got to try and find the groom first,” said the Major. “Abdul Wahid may be trying to walk off a cliff.” As he hurried down the path, Roger’s voice came faintly behind him.

“Pretty extreme way to call things off. Why doesn’t he just send her a text message?”

Chapter 24

The Major knew he was driving faster than was safe in the growing darkness of the lanes, but he felt no fear. There was only concentration and the trees, hedges, and walls tumbling by. The engine’s roar was fury enough. No need for either of them to speak. He could sense Jasmina shivering beside him but did not take his eyes from the road. He kept his mind only on the task at hand and as they surged from the carelessly flung outskirts of the town onto the bare grass road to the cliffs, he felt a soldier’s pride at an assignment well executed.

“What if we’re too late?” whispered Jasmina. The anguish in her voice threatened to tear his composure to shreds.

“We must refuse to imagine it and concentrate only on the next step and then the next,” he said, swinging the car into the empty car park. “We do what we can do, and the rest is God’s problem.”

The cliff on which they had strolled so happily with little George lay in gloom under gray clouds that streamed and feathered at the edges in the growing wind and hung down swollen underbellies black with rain. Out in the channel, curtains of rain already brushed the choppy sea. It was neither dark enough for the lighthouse lamp to make any impression nor still light enough to inspire hope. A gust splattered cold rain on the windshield as they got out.

“We need coats,” the Major said, and hurried to the back of the car.

“Ernest, there’s no time,” she said, but she hovered at the edge of the road waiting for him. He strapped his game bag across his chest, slung his gun slip over one shoulder, and picked up his shooting coat and hat. When he handed Jasmina the coat, he hoped the gun was unobtrusive over his shoulder. She seemed not to notice as she put the coat on. “It’s so empty now.” She scanned the endless grass for signs of Abdul Wahid. “How will we find them?”

“We’ll head up to that vantage point,” he said, putting on his hat and looking at the small knoll with its low stone wall and pay telescope. “Always see more from high ground.”

“Oi! Where d’you think you’re going?” A short man emerged from one of the small buildings adjacent to the darkened public house. “Too windy to be safe out there tonight.” He wore stout boots and jeans with a short work coat and a large reflective vest that made his ample torso resemble a pumpkin. Some sort of harness jingled its loosened buckles around the folds of his waist and he carried a clipboard and wore a two-way radio on a lanyard.

“I’m sure you’re right,” said the Major, “but we’re searching for a young man who may be despondent.”

“There’s no time.” Jasmina was pulling on his arm. “We have to go.”

“Jumper, is he?” said the man, consulting his clipboard. Jasmina moaned slightly at the word. “I’m with the Volunteer Suicide Emergency Corps so you come to the right place.” He made a note on the clipboard with his pen. “What’s his name?”

“His name’s Abdul Wahid. He’s twenty-three and we think his elderly great-aunt is with him.”

“Not many people jump with their auntie,” said the man. “How d’you spell Abdool?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake just help us look for him,” said Jasmina.

“We’ll start searching,” said the Major. “Can you round up some more volunteers?”

“I’ll put out the call,” said the man. “But you can’t go out there. It’s not safe for the general public.” He stepped in front of them and made a sort of herding motion with his arms as if they were sheep to be corralled.

“I’m not the general public, I’m British army, rank of major,” said the Major. “Retired, of course, but in the absence of any proof of your authority, I’ll have to demand you step aside.”