Catch the Fallen Sparrow by Priscilla Masters Page A

funny – or clever.’ Mark Riversdale was confronting Jason and Kirsty in the kitchen of The Nest. ‘Not telling me he’d gone – again,’ he said in disgust. ‘How infantile can you get.’
    Neither of the teenagers said a word but glanced at each other. After a pause Mark carried on. ‘I suppose he’s gone off again.’ He wagged an index finger at them. ‘Where does he get to when he sets off like this?’
    Again, neither of them spoke.
    Mark sighed. ‘Well, at least tell me this – and I expect the truth. When did you last see him?’
    Jason heaved a long sigh. Wherever he was Dean would be safe now. He, Jason, had bought him twenty-four hours to get where he was going. Covering for him wouldn’t help. He gave a quick glance at Mark Riversdale, and saw the warden was furious. ‘Yesterday morning, sir,’ he said.
    â€˜So he could have been gone a day and a half. Thirty-six bloody hours. Where?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    The warden looked sceptical. ‘You know,’ he growled. ‘You’re just not telling. Where is he?’
    The boy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t know, sir,’ he repeated mechanically.
    Mark gave a loud sigh and a groan. ‘More damned paperwork,’ he said. ‘I really thought he’d stop absconding. I gave him a talking to last week. I thought we’d connected. He’s disappeared less in the last year. I was a fool to imagine he’d settle down. Kirsty,’ he appealed, ‘where is he?’
    As the girl stared at the floor he coaxed her.
    â€˜Come on, love — you can tell me.’ Then his patience snapped. ‘Kirsty, when did you last see Dean?’
    â€˜Yesterday morning,’ the girl said. ‘Early. I think he left early – before I was up anyway.’ She shrugged her shoulders and blinked. ‘I didn’t actually see him go.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell me? You know Dean has been in trouble for absconding.’ He bit his lip. ‘And I suppose he wasn’t at school today?’
    Both teenagers shook their heads. There was no point trying to cover for him. Rivers would soon ring the school and find out he had skipped it.
    Mark Riversdale paused before leaving the kitchen. ‘What I’d like to know is where does he get to on these jaunts? Who looks after him? Someone does ... someone gives him things. They can’t all be nicked ...’
    As the door closed after him Jason looked at Kirsty. ‘Sue Whalley told me they found a body on the moors early this morning. It was a boy. Her dad told her. He’s a copper.’ His eyes grew round and frightened. ‘What if it’s Dean?’
    â€˜Hah.’ Kirsty gave an explosive, disdainful sound. ‘It won’t be ’im. It won’t be the nipper. I never knew a kid what could look after ’imself better Dean –’e always lands on ’is feet. Bloody clever -for a little un.’
    Kirsty had a small, heart-shaped face, pale with freckles, but her prettiness was marred by a thin, mean mouth with an ugly twist to it. It twisted even more now. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘lands on ’is feet – every time. Lucky little bleeder.’
    Jason kicked the leg of the table thoughtfully. ‘Do you know what I fancy doin’?’ he asked.
    â€˜What?’ The girl looked only mildly interested.
    â€˜Tattoin’ little Timmy.’
    â€˜Old Man Rivers’ll kill you.’
    The boy kicked the leg of the table even harder. ‘Two more bloody years in this dump,’ he muttered. ‘Treat us like kids they do.’
    â€˜And then what?’ the girl asked scornfully. ‘Two years – then what?’
    â€˜A place of my own ... somewhere where no one’ll interfere.’
    It was the list of objects stolen that intrigued her. Why take a photograph album? Easily traced, valueless ... It was the