Free For Reasons Unknown by Michael Wood Page A

thought his parents had called them as he was late coming home and he just panicked and continued cycling.’
    ‘But his parents weren’t thick; they’d have just called the parents of the friend he was staying with. They wouldn’t call the police.’
    ‘His parents weren’t thick but maybe he was.’
    ‘I’m sorry but I don’t buy it. He was missing for three days before just turning up out of the blue. If he was worried about getting into trouble for being late home he would have stayed away just the one night, not for three, not in the middle of winter.’
    ‘Unfortunately,’ Matilda began, flicking through the three-page statement, ‘it doesn’t go into a great deal of detail. It doesn’t even say where he was hiding, for crying out loud. All it says is that he was hiding in the woods. Sheffield is one of the greenest cities in the country; it’s surrounded by bloody woods.’
    ‘Is Matthew still in Sheffield?’
    ‘No. He moved away as soon as his education was finished. I’ve no idea where he is now. We’ll have to try and track him down. These case notes are pitiful.’
    She closed the file in frustration and looked up as the roaring sound of the hydraulic excavator slowly moved onto the plot of the Harkness house. It was demolition time.
    A few nosy neighbours had congregated. They were dressed appropriately in long coats, hats, and scarves. They had their hands firmly in their pockets to keep warm or their arms wrapped tightly around their bodies. Some people didn’t care about the cold; they just wanted to be witness to an event that would go down in local history.
    From a nearby Mondeo a young man in his early thirties wearing an open-necked shirt, faded blue trousers, and scuffed black shoes climbed out from behind the steering wheel. From the passenger seat, a gruff-looking man close to retirement hoisted himself out with a large camera around his neck.
    ‘Bloody press,’ Matilda said under her breath.
    ‘Are we getting out?’ Rory asked.
    ‘No I don’t…’ she stopped when her eyes fell on something of interest. She quickly scanned through the reports in front of her once again and found what she was looking for: a photograph. She looked up through the windscreen then down at the picture again.
    ‘Do you reckon that’s Jonathan Harkness?’ She showed Rory the photo of an eleven-year-old Jonathan in school uniform. He was looking directly into the camera lens and had a forced smile on his face. It was obviously a school photograph and he didn’t seem too pleased to be having it taken.
    Rory looked at the picture then up at the young man in the black coat who was standing away from the crowd on his own. ‘It looks like him. Same build, same hair.’
    ‘Come on then.’ She whipped off her seatbelt and jumped out of the car.
    Shortly after arriving at his childhood home, Jonathan saw the journalist and photographer climbing out of their car. He hoped they wouldn’t recognize him and lifted up his coat collar. He was standing alone, away from the crowd of ghoulish onlookers, but wondered if this might draw attention to the reporter so he slowly edged back to join them.
    As soon as the large hydraulic excavator made its way onto the overgrown garden where he used to play, his attention was firmly aimed at the home he was born in.
    His heart was beating loudly in his ears and he took a deep breath. He was dressed for the weather, wrapped up in scarf and gloves, but he was shivering underneath his thick winter coat. His mouth was dry and he swallowed painfully a few times. He watched as the arm was slowly raised a little higher than the roof. The bucket was angled and just as it made contact with the house he closed his eyes tight. The crunching sound caused him to jump. He opened his eyes and saw the large hole in what used to be his bedroom.
    A large section of the front of the house was soon torn down and for the first time in more than twenty years, daylight penetrated the rooms.