far from claustrophobic, but the other man’s undisguised desire to spend hours underneath these tons of inimical rock was entirely alien to him. He loved the sun and the air on his skin too much to be attracted by this strange half-world.
Before George could reply, a cry echoed back towards them from ahead, so distorted it was impossible to decipher. He started forward, but Barry’s arm barred the way. ‘Wait,’ the caver ordered him. ‘I’ll go and see what’s what. I’ll come right back.’
George stood fretting, trying to make sense of the mutter of voices ahead of him. It felt as if he stood there for ever. But within minutes, Barry appeared before him. ‘What is it?’ George asked.
‘It’s not a body,’ Barry said quickly. ‘But there’s some clothes. Up ahead. You’d better come and take a look.’
The cavers pressed against the wall to let George pass. A few yards on, the passage widened into what had obviously been a junction of four passages. The other exits had been blocked with rocks and rubble, leaving a small cavern about ten feet across and seven feet high. On the far side, barely visible by the lights from the cavers’ lamps, it was possible to make out what looked like clothing.
‘Has anybody got a more powerful light?’ George asked.
Hands thrust a heavy lamp towards him. He switched it on and pointed its powerful beam towards the clothes. Something dark was bundled against the rocks. What had at first looked like two dark strips became identifiable as a torn pair of tights. The black cloth near them, George realized with a lurch of pain and disgust, was a ripped pair of knickers.
He forced himself to breathe deeply. ‘We’re all going to leave now. The man at the back, just turn round and head out. Everyone else, follow him. I’ll bring up the rear.’ For a moment, no one moved. ‘I said, now,’ George shouted, releasing a fraction of the pent-up tension that strung his nerves tighter than the top string of a violin.
He stood glowering at them. At last, they turned and walked back, their own sure-footedness a taunt to his stumbling pursuit. When they emerged into daylight, he felt as if they’d been inside for hours, but a glance at his watch revealed it had been less than fifteen minutes. Only now were the two uniformed officers emerging from the woodland path to keep the mine workings safe from prying eyes and destructive feet.
George cleared his throat and said, ‘Barry, I’d like your colleague Trevor to stay here with me and take some photographs. The rest of you, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait here until we’ve got the area properly secured. If you go back to the village now, the word will spread that we’ve found something and the place’ll be mobbed.’
The cavers muttered agreement. Barry fished a packet of cigarettes from a waterproof pouch slung round his neck. ‘You look like you could use one of these,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ George turned to the two uniformed officers and said, ‘One of you, go back to the caravan and tell Sergeant Clough we’ve found some clothing and we need a full team down here to secure a possible crime scene. And for God’s sake, man, do it discreetly. If anybody asks, we have definitely not found a body. I don’t want a repeat of Friday’s newspaper story.’
One of the bobbies nodded nervously and turned on his heel, jogging back up the path towards the heart of the village. ‘Your job is to make sure nobody who isn’t a police officer comes within twenty yards of this mine entrance,’ George told the other PC before turning back to Barry. ‘That central area in there – is there any chance that any of the other passages are accessible from there?’
Barry shrugged eloquently. ‘It doesn’t look like it. But I can’t be sure without a proper good look. It’s always possible that there was a way through and somebody backfilled the passage behind them to make it look impassable. But this is a mine, not a cave system. Chances are there’s only one straightforward way in and one straightforward way out. Anybody that dug themselves into the hill is still going to be there, but they’re not very likely to be alive and kicking. I don’t think she’s in there, lad.’ He put a hand on George’s arm then turned away to squat on the rocks with his mates.
It took seven hours for a thorough search of the cave. Trevor the caver brought his camera back underground and meticulously photographed every inch of the walls and floor. There was no way in or out other than the narrow passage. None of the blocked passages showed any sign of recent interference. There was no trace of a body having been disposed of in the mine. George couldn’t decide whether that should depress or encourage him.
By mid-afternoon, a duffel coat with a missing toggle, a pair of tights ripped with such savagery that the legs were entirely separated, and a pair of navy-blue gym knickers were on their way to the county police laboratory, carefully packaged to preserve any forensic traces. But George didn’t need a scientist to tell him that the stains on the damp clothes had a human source.
He’d been a police officer too long not to recognize blood and semen.
Two further discoveries were, if anything, even more disturbing. Embedded in the walls of the cave, one officer had found a distorted lump of metal that had once been a bullet. That had led to an inch-by-inch scrutiny of the fissured limestone. Deep in a crack, a second piece of metal had been found.
This time, there was no mistaking its function. It was, unquestionably, a bullet from a handgun.
Daily News, Friday, 20th December 1963, p.5
Heartbreak Christmas for lost girl’s mother By Staff Reporter Donald Smart
Mrs Ruth Hawkin is not buying a Christmas present for her daughter, Alison, this year. But Alison’s stepfather, Philip, has filled the missing girl’s room with gaily wrapped parcels containing records, books, clothes and make-up.
Mrs Hawkin, 34-year-old mother of Alison, cannot face Christmas shopping for her daughter. Nine days ago, she waved goodbye to her daughter as she set out from the family home in the tiny Derbyshire hamlet of Scardale to walk her pet sheepdog.
She has not seen her 13-year-old daughter since.
A relative said, ’If Alison is not found, it will be a very unhappy Christmas for everyone in Scardale.
‘We are a very close-knit community and it has hit us very hard. Everybody is baffled by Alison’s disappearance. She’s a lovely girl and no one can think of any reason why she might have run away.’
Police have questioned thousands of people, combed remote dales and moorland and dragged rivers and reservoirs in vain in the hunt for the pretty blonde schoolgirl.
Two other families will also have a gap at the Christmas table. A month ago, John Kilbride, aged 12, of Smallshaw Lane, Ashton-u-Lyne, disappeared. He was last seen on Ashton Market. Five months ago, 17-year-old Pauline Reade left her home in Wiles-street, Gorton, Manchester, to attend a local dance. Neither has been seen again.
It wasn’t the Christmas George Bennett had envisaged a few months before. He’d been looking forward to his first Christmas in their own home,
