“Will you let me know when he’s returned home?”
“Of course.”
I’d waited by the phone. But they hadn’t called to let me know they’d found him and he was all right.
I’d made three sketches until I was satisfied that I’d captured the child’s likeness. I recalled that he had a heart-shaped face with a high forehead, fine white-blond strands of hair falling silkily down either side of his face. His eyes were large, the color of the mareel, and there were deep shadows underneath, though I conceded this could have been an effect of the porch light. I had touched his arms, felt the goose bumps there from the cold. And I’d seen his feet, and his toenails—long and filthy, like he hadn’t been cared for.
The morning after, I went to the police station in person. Located inside a small shop in the village, close to Isla’s café, the station was tiny. An officer at the front desk took my details and didn’t seem to know anything about the call I’d made, or the child. He told me to take a seat on one of the plastic chairs while he located the sergeant.
“Chief Inspector Kissick at your service,” a voice boomed. “What can I do for you today?”
I stood and saw Bram, Isla’s husband.
“Oh, hello again,” I said, but he met me with a cold, flat stare. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me. “I called yesterday to report a missing child,” I said. “I was wondering if he’d been reunited with his family.”
Bram thumbed through a notebook on the front desk, then turned to the computer. “I have a note of your call here,” he said, squinting at the screen. “Nothing about a child being found. And no reports from any families on the island about a missing child.”
“No reports?” I said. Surely someone was missing their baby boy this morning. I’d envisaged a mother finding her son’s bed empty, her frantic calls to the police for help.
“This was the boy,” I said, spreading my sketch across the desk. He made a big show of digging a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket and squinted crossly at the drawing.
“Don’t recognize him. What was his name?”
“He didn’t tell me his name.”
He raised his eyes to mine. “Did he give details about his parents? His address?”
“He was so cold he could barely speak,” I said. “He didn’t appear to speak English, actually. He ran outside. I’m worried he might have hypothermia.”
Bram turned back to the notebook and tapped the page with a finger. “You said he ran out. A child with hypothermia wouldn’t be able to do that.”
“I meant that he might have developed hypothermia when he ran back outside,” I said.
“Well, as I said,” Bram said, with an infuriating smile, “you’re the only one to have seen this boy. Until we get a report from the parents, there’s nothing more can be done.”
“There’s a hole in the ground floor of the Longing,” I said. “Last time I checked, the grid had been opened. What if he’s fallen down there?”
“The matter’s closed,” he said, turning away from the desk and gesturing to a colleague. He wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Can’t you at least send a few officers down there to check?”
Bram turned his back on me and walked away. I gritted my teeth. I’m not normally an outspoken person, but this was too important, and I wasn’t going to be ignored.
“I think I’ll file a complaint,” I said loudly. “I’m sure your boss would be pretty outraged to hear that you didn’t act on a report about a missing child.”