Blood Harvest

61

17 December

‘FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, VICAR, I THOUGHT THAT WAS better than the first one. Shorter. Less standing around in the wind.’

Harry turned to see that Tobias Renshaw had crept up on him through the mourners that were gathered in the large hall of the Renshaws’ house. It really wasn’t his day. After Lucy’s second interment, in a new grave, lower down the hill than her first, he’d raced back to the church, cassock flapping, to try and catch Evi before she disappeared – again – and had practically fallen over the gang of journalists lurking by the church door. He really wasn’t in the mood for this obnoxious old bugger. He made a point of looking round the room.

‘I’m not sure Mike is back from the graveside yet,’ he said. ‘I might pop out and look for him. He seems to be taking this quite hard.’

‘Who?’ asked Tobias. ‘Oh, Jenny’s husband. Never really took to him. Always struck me as being on the make. Still, she seems happy enough. How’s the lovely Alice and her charming daughter? I saw them in church just now. Haven’t they come back?’

‘Detective Chief Superintendent,’ said Harry in relief as Rushton appeared behind Tobias. ‘Good to see you.’

‘All right, lad.’ Rushton nodded at him then turned to the older man. ‘Mr R.,’ he said. ‘My condolences.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Tobias. ‘Can I get anyone a drink? You’d think there’d be a hardship fund, wouldn’t you, for when a second funeral becomes necessary?’ Harry and Rushton watched the old man walk away towards a drinks table.

‘He’s harmless enough,’ said Rushton in a low voice.

‘If you say so,’ said Harry, without the energy even to try to hide his feelings. ‘I’ll tell you what puzzles me, though.’

‘What’s that, lad?’

‘Doesn’t everything round here – the land, the farms, all the property – doesn’t it belong to Tobias? He’s the oldest Renshaw, after all. Yet Sinclair always seems to be completely in charge.’

‘It was all made over to Sinclair a few years ago,’ replied Rushton. ‘From what I can remember, Tobias was ready to retire and Sinclair wouldn’t take over unless he was given a free rein.’

Harry could smell smoke and coffee on the other man’s breath. ‘He made his father sign over control?’ he asked.

‘Oh, that sounds worse than it was. It would all have come to Sinclair in the end. The property is – what do you call it? – entailed. The oldest male always inherits. Now then, I’m glad I’ve caught you. A quiet word, if I may.’

As Harry allowed himself to be gently propelled into a quiet corner of the old school room, he caught sight of Gillian watching them.

‘We’ve had the results of the latest DNA test,’ said Rushton quietly. He too had spotted Gillian. ‘You know, the one done on the burned remains Mrs Royle had in her kitchen cupboard? It took longer than we’d have liked, but anyway, it’s back now.’

‘And?’

‘Result. Perfect match to our friend Arthur.’

Harry sighed. There was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the drinks table but it wasn’t even midday and he had a busy afternoon. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘The remains Gillian Royle had in her kitchen cupboard all this time were actually those of a seventy-year-old man called Arthur Seacroft who was originally buried next to Lucy.’

‘Well, strictly speaking, just the remains of part of his right leg,’ said Rushton. ‘The rest of him is still in the grave. Ah, thanks, love, very nice.’

Christiana Renshaw had approached, carrying a tray of sandwiches. Rushton helped himself to two. Harry shook his head, then waited until Christiana had moved away to the next group.

‘So someone dug up Arthur’s grave,’ he said, ‘helped themselves to one of his limbs, broke into Gillian’s house that night, abducted Hayley, left Arthur’s leg behind in her cot and then started the fire.’

Rushton chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. ‘You have to admire their nerve,’ he said. ‘Without some trace of charred human remains in the house, the firemen would have been suspicious. Finding nothing would have given credence to Gillian’s claims that her daughter didn’t die in the fire. There would have been a serious search. We’d have found them in the crypt. Arthur’s right leg put paid to all that. We didn’t look for Hayley. Another serious error for me to account for when I meet my maker.’

‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve seen the report into the fire. Gillian showed it to me. The fire investigators had no reason to suspect arson.’

Rushton said nothing. He carried on eating but his actions had an automatic look about them. ‘We’ve also had the entomologist’s report back,’ he said after a minute. ‘Goes on at length about egg-laying and hatching cycles, cheese graters, skuttle flies, coffin skippers – sorry, lad, I don’t do bugs. The long and short of it is that he thinks Megan and Hayley joined Lucy in the ground in early September.’

‘About the time the church was reopened,’ said Harry.

‘Exactly.’ Rushton finished his first sandwich and got to work on his second. ‘Whoever was responsible wasn’t prepared to take the risk of the three being found when the new vicar decided to explore the crypt. So they were moved to the graveyard, which is the best place I can think of to stash away a body or two. He or she wasn’t counting on the Fletcher boys and their midnight escapades.’

At the far side of the room, Christiana reappeared. Her tray of sandwiches had been replenished.

‘Christiana knows more than she’s telling us,’ said Harry.

Rushton turned to look at Christiana. She moved slowly, but rather gracefully for such a tall woman. ‘Aye, so you say, lad,’ he said. ‘But when I talked to her she just said who wouldn’t be worried, after two other girls were found to have died the exact way Lucy did. And after Millie Fletcher so nearly went the same way. You have to admit she has a point. And before you ask, she volunteered to give us her fingerprints – they weren’t on the effigy you found, or on the wine decanter Mike brought in back in October.’

‘Oh, you’re probably right,’ admitted Harry. ‘I’m jumping at shadows.’

‘You know I saw her the morning after we found the bodies?’ Rushton said. ‘To ask her to identify the pyjamas?’

Harry nodded.

‘I showed them to Jenny and Christiana. Jenny wasn’t sure – well, she was very upset that day, but Christiana, now, she was quite something. She brought her workbasket out and showed me the patterns she’d used to make the animals, all those years ago. And then she told me the exact colour and reference number of each embroidery silk she’d used. She’s an odd one, but bright as anything in her own way.’

‘Any news on the wellington boot?’ asked Harry, then waited until Rushton had finished his sandwich.

‘Hit a dead end,’ said Rushton. ‘I’d hoped we might be able to pin it down to a particular batch, but no such luck. If we find the boot itself, we can match it, but a lot of people wear wellies around here.’

As Rushton was speaking, Harry caught sight of Gillian again. She raised a glass of colourless liquid to her lips and swallowed most of it. Rushton followed his glance and the two of them watched Gillian make her way towards the drinks table. She reached out, swaying slightly, and took hold of a bottle.

Gillian’s initial reaction to learning that Hayley was indeed one of the three corpses unearthed by Tom Fletcher had been one of jubilation at being proven right: her daughter hadn’t died in the fire, as she’d always claimed. That had been quickly followed, though, by ongoing torment, as she seemed unable to stop herself imagining the final hours of her daughter’s life. Even without talking to Evi, Harry knew that Gillian’s recovery had taken a severe setback.

He took a quick look around the room. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. ‘Will you excuse me?’ he said to Rushton.

The older man nodded. ‘Aye, go on, lad,’ he said. ‘Although, frankly, I’m not sure there’s much you can do for that one.’

62

‘OK, HERE ARE THE RULES,’ SAID EVI, LOOKING DOWN AT three alert, interested faces in front of her. They were in the family interview room at the hospital. The Fletcher children were sitting opposite her in three miniature, brightly coloured armchairs.

‘In this box there are some funny masks and also some quite scary ones,’ she went on. ‘So as soon as anyone starts to feel scared, or anxious or worried in any way, we can stop. Joe and Millie, if you want to go over to the table and draw, or play with the toys in the box, that’s fine. If you’d rather stay and help Tom, that’s fine too.’

‘I want to draw,’ said Joe.

Evi indicated the low table, already set up with paper, coloured pens and crayons. In the corner of the room sat Alice and Detective Constable Liz Mortimer. Evi had asked them both not to distract the children or make them self-conscious. Behind a large mirror on one wall of the room, DC Andy Jeffries was watching and making notes.

‘OK, Tom,’ said Evi. ‘Are you ready to have a look in the box?’

Tom nodded, looking anxious but also, Evi thought, quite enjoying the attention. Evi lowered herself to the carpet. Kneeling for any length of time was a seriously bad idea, one she’d pay for later, but it was unavoidable in this case. She took the lid off the cardboard box, conscious of Alice watching from under a canopy formed by her left hand, a magazine on her lap. Evi reached inside. ‘I think this one is…’ She peered quickly at the mask she was bringing out. ‘Scooby Doo,’ she said, holding up a cartoon dog’s face.

Tom smiled and visibly relaxed. ‘Can I try it on?’ he asked.

Evi handed it over as Millie wriggled off her armchair and headed straight for the box. Tom put the Scooby Doo mask over his head and turned to look at himself in the large mirror. Alice looked up, smiled and turned back to her magazine. Millie had picked up the box lid and was balancing it on her head.

‘Right,’ said Evi, reaching into the box again. ‘Next one is Basil Brush. Can I try this one?’

‘We’re going to the pantomime tomorrow,’ said Tom. ‘In Blackburn. It’s a school trip.’

The exercise was one it had taken several weeks to set up. The idea had occurred to Evi shortly after Tom had first confided in her about the strange little girl. After listening to his descriptions, she’d explained to the investigation team her theory that someone, probably an older child or young teenager, had been hanging around the house and had even crept inside on at least one occasion, wearing some sort of carnival mask. If they could pin-point the mask used, the police might have some chance of tracking down where and to whom it had been sold. It was a long shot, especially as there was no proof that Tom’s little girl was in any way connected to the attempted abduction of Millie, but it was one the police were willing to try.

Having decided to go ahead, the investigation team had gathered together every party, carnival and Hallowe’en mask they could find in the shops and on the internet. Evi had already discarded some that bore no relation to Tom’s description and had arranged the funnier, less threatening ones so that they came out of the box first.

Tom was reaching into the box himself now, turning round with each new find to see how it looked in the mirror. Millie was copying her brother, getting the elastic tangled in her hair. Joe was studiously ignoring both of them. Gradually, the masks became darker, scarier, no longer made with children’s parties in mind.

‘Mum, look,’ called Tom. He stood up tall, an oversized mask over his head. The mask seemed to depict a male, East European peasant with drooling mouth and very little brain.

‘What?’ said Alice, looking up from her magazine. ‘Oh, very nice.’

‘You know who I am,’ prompted Tom. ‘The servant from The Young Dracula. The one who makes them bat-bogey porridge for breakfast.’

‘Yeah, I must get some of that,’ agreed Alice. ‘Any nicer ones in there?’

Tom turned back to the box as Millie waddled over to her mother with an Incredible Hulk mask pulled over her face. It was upside-down.

Thirty minutes later, Tom had reached the bottom of the box and Evi was ready to admit defeat. On the plus side, none of the children appeared to have been disturbed by the exercise. Tom had treated it like a huge game, trying on every mask, even making Evi put on several. Millie, too, had joined in the fun, although she’d grown tired a while ago and was now sitting on her mother’s lap. Joe had completely ignored both his siblings and had concentrated instead on his drawing. He’d been working on the same picture for over half an hour now. He was just a little too far away for Evi to see what it was.

The clock in the corner of the room said it was twenty-five past six. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to stop now,’ said Evi, glancing at the large mirror. ‘Tom, thank you. That was very brave of you. And it was very helpful. Thank you, Millie.’ She glanced over at Alice and DC Mortimer in the corner of the room. Alice raised her eyebrows in a silent question. Evi shook her head. Alice stood up, Millie in her arms. The child’s eyes were glazed and she snuggled in close to her mother.

‘Worth a try, I suppose,’ muttered the detective, getting to her feet.

‘Come on, boys,’ said Alice. ‘What did we do with coats? Joe, are you done?’

Evi had almost forgotten about Joe. The boy had been so quiet all the time she’d been interacting with Tom and Millie. Now he stood up, examined the drawing he’d been working on and then carried it over to her. He held it out.

Evi took it, feeling her ribcage tighten. The drawing was exceptionally good for one done by a six-year-old. It showed a figure dressed in pale blue, with long fair hair and over-sized hands and feet. The head seemed large too, whilst the eyes looked huge and heavy lidded. The full-lipped mouth hung open and the neck was terribly misshapen. A movement at Evi’s side told her that Tom, too, was looking at his brother’s drawing. Alice and Millie drew close.

‘Ebba,’ said Millie, her eyes brightening as she reached for the drawing. ‘Ebba.’

‘That’s her,’ said Tom in a small voice. ‘That’s what she looks like.’

63

‘ALL THREE OF THEM? ARE YOU SURE?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Evi. ‘Joe drew her, Tom and Millie both recognized her. Millie even had a name for her. Ebba, she called her. She’s quite real, this Ebba person. The police just have to find her. Are you playing Springsteen?’

‘A man can dream. Hang on, I’ll turn it down.’ Harry picked up the remote control and the music faded. ‘So what is she?’ he asked. ‘A kid, a dwarf?’

‘Hard to say. Tom showed me on a height chart roughly how tall he thought she was. About 140 centimetres, which would put her on a par with an eight-or a nine-year-old child. But if Joe’s drawing was accurate, her hands, feet and head are disproportionately big. That might suggest an adult with stunted growth. And she appears to have some sort of lump, maybe a goitre, on the front of her neck.’

‘If someone like that lives in Heptonclough, people will know about her.’

‘Exactly. And she must live there. There are no other towns close enough.’

‘There are quite a few farms dotted about, some of them pretty isolated. She may come from one of them.’

‘The detective who was there mentioned that. He’s going to talk to his boss about getting a couple of officers to start visiting homes.’

‘They took all this seriously? I mean, at the end of the day, it was a six-year-old kid’s drawing.’

‘I don’t think they have much else to go on, do you?’

‘What did Joe have to say about her?’

‘Nothing. I talked to him for a good five minutes on his own, but he wasn’t saying a word. Tom thinks he’s made her a promise that he won’t talk about her, but drawing her picture doesn’t seem to count.’

‘Could she have threatened him?’ asked Harry.

‘Possibly. Although I rather doubt it. Joe doesn’t show any sign of being frightened of her. He wasn’t stressed by the conversation, just silent. And Millie greeted her picture like she was an old friend.’

‘So Tom has been scared to death of someone his brother and sister are fine with? How likely does that seem?’

‘Tom’s quite a bit older,’ said Evi. ‘In many ways he’s starting to think like an adult. Joe and Millie, being younger, might be more likely to accept Ebba.’

‘What is that you’re calling her?’ asked Harry.

‘Ebba. It’s Millie’s name for her. Could be anything, of course – Emma, Ella, who knows? The point is, she’s real.’

‘And how’s she getting into the house?’

‘Well, she isn’t any more, according to Tom. He’s hasn’t seen her since the night the wall came down. Now that Alice and Gareth have tightened up their security, she can’t get in. He thinks she might still be watching them when they’re outside, but he can’t be sure.’

‘Come round,’ said Harry, scared at how much he wanted her to.

No reply.

‘I’m cooking,’ he tried, when there was still no response.

‘You know I can’t do that,’ she said.

Inside Harry, something snapped. ‘I don’t know anything of the kind,’ he said. ‘All I know is that for the first time in my life, I’m losing my grip on what’s happening around me. I have reporters pouncing on me every time I go out, I hardly dare answer the phone any more. Everywhere I turn I find a police officer. I’m starting to feel like I’m a suspect myself.’

‘I understand that, but-’

‘I’m dealing with a level of grief that is unprecedented for me, I have corpses of children tumbling out of the ground and my only friends in this place are heading for nervous breakdowns. I find effigies of children in the church, I’ve been tricked into drinking blood…’

‘Harry…’

‘And the one person I’ve met who could help keep me sane refuses to have anything to do with me.’

‘Effigies? Blood? What are you talking about?’ Her voice had dropped. She sounded as if she was holding the telephone away from her ear. Harry heard a soft knocking sound. Had the cat knocked something over?

‘Evi, if I thought you weren’t interested, I wouldn’t be pestering you,’ he said, looking round the room. No sign of the cat. ‘I promise you, I’m not that pathetic. Just tell me I’m out of line and I’ll leave you alone. But I don’t think that. I think you feel the same way I do, and…’ The knocking sounded again. There was someone at the door.

‘What do you mean, you’ve drunk blood?’

‘Look, can we just forget that crap for a minute and talk about us? Come for dinner – nothing else, I promise. I just want to talk. ‘

‘Harry, what haven’t you told me?’

‘I’ll tell you everything if you come round,’ he offered.

‘Oh, don’t be so bloody childish,’ she snapped at him. ‘Harry, this is serious. Tell me what happened.’

‘There’s someone at the door,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to answer it. If you’re not here in half an hour, I’m coming to you.’ He put the phone down.

Muttering curses, Harry walked down the hall. He could see a tall, dark shape through the glass of the front door. Wondering what the record might be for speed of dispatching an unwanted parishioner, Harry pulled the door open.

Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton stood on his doorstep, one hand clutching a bottle of Jameson. He lifted it into the air. ‘Couldn’t help noticing your own bottle was looking a bit depleted last time I was here,’ he said. ‘So I brought my own.’

64

18 December

‘HEY, YOU.’

Harry looked up. He’d heard footsteps approaching, had just assumed it was yet another police officer prowling around his church. And now, even before he’d opened his mouth to say hello, he was up, striding across the vestry, heading for the young woman who might be wearing the same violet colour as her eyes, only it was impossible to be sure because he’d already taken her in his arms, was far too close to focus on what she was wearing, and she was smiling up at him…

Dream on, Harry. He hadn’t moved from his desk, was still staring stupidly across the room, and yes, she was wearing violet, a large, loose sweater over tight black jeans tucked into long boots; and that was a very unclerical thought he was having about those boots on bare legs.

‘You didn’t come,’ she said, one hand on the doorframe, the other holding the door ajar.

Harry leaned back in his chair. Five seconds it would take him to cross the room, kick the door shut and put the fantasy into action. ‘The other love of my life turned up with a bottle of Irish,’ he said. ‘After an hour, driving really wasn’t an option for either of us; and I hope he’s been suffering all day as well.’

‘DCS Rushton?’ she asked, as her cheeks glowed a little pinker.

‘The very same.’ Would it be five seconds? He could probably do it in four, if he leaped over the desk.

‘How was he?’ She stepped forward, collecting her stick from where it had been leaning against the doorframe, and allowed the door to fall shut.

If he leaped over the desk, he’d be sick.

‘Terrified he’s going to be forced into early retirement before the case is solved,’ he said. ‘At a complete loss to know what to do next. I told him I knew just how he felt and the two of us poured each other another drink.’

Her smile faded as footsteps approached outside. Harry waited to see if they were heading for the vestry but they continued on down the path.

‘I need you to tell me what’s been going on here,’ she said. ‘It’s important.’

Harry sighed. He really, really didn’t want to get into all that now with Evi. All he wanted to do was step forward, pull her away from that door and…

She let her head fall on to one side, looked him directly in the eyes. ‘Please,’ she said.

‘OK, OK.’

In as few words as possible, he filled her in about every weird thing that had happened to him since his arrival in Heptonclough: the whispered, threatening voices; his constant sense that he wasn’t alone in the church; the smashed effigy that bore a remarkable resemblance to Millie; and his own personal favourite: drinking blood from a Communion chalice. When he’d finished, she was silent.

‘Can I sit down?’ she asked, after a moment.

He pulled a chair in front of the desk and she sank into it, a frown of pain creasing her forehead. Then she looked up at him. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Can’t answer that one in a hurry. Does any of it make any sense?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. But I think I’m getting closer to finding out who Ebba is. That’s why I came up. My laptop’s in my bag. Could you get it, please?’

Harry retrieved Evi’s large, black leather bag from where she’d left it by the door and put it on the desk in front of her. While she pulled out and switched on the slim computer, he brought a chair round the desk so that they were sitting side by side. Evi opened up a window and turned the screen so that Harry could see it. It was a page from a medical reference site. His eyes went to the title at the top.

‘Congenital hypothyroidism,’ he read and turned to her for confirmation. She nodded.

‘Once Tom had Joe’s drawing to jog his memory, he was able to give me a very detailed description of the girl,’ she said. ‘The goitre is what really gives it away, though.’

‘What is it, exactly?’ asked Harry, who’d been scanning the text beneath the heading, unable to make much sense of the medical jargon.

‘Basically, a shortage in the body of the hormone thyroxin,’ said Evi. She was just inches away from him. He could smell her sweet, warm scent, too delicate to be perfume, maybe soap, body lotion. He had to concentrate.

‘Thyroxin is produced by the thyroid gland in the neck,’ she was saying. ‘If we don’t have enough of it we can’t grow properly and we can’t develop as we should. The condition is rare now, luckily, because it can be treated, but in the old days, it was quite common, especially in certain parts of the world.’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it,’ said Harry, shaking his head.

‘Oh, you will have,’ said Evi. ‘The less politically correct name for it is cretinism. I think Tom’s friend – shall we call her Ebba, it makes life a bit easier – is what we used to call a cretin.’

Harry rubbed both temples, thinking for a second. ‘So, she’s what?’ he asked. ‘A child?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Evi, with a tiny cat-like smile on her face. ‘People with the condition rarely grow taller than about five foot so an adult could easily appear much younger. And they usually have the mental age of children, would act in a childlike way. Do you need some paracetamol?’

‘If I take any more I’ll rattle. How is it caused?’ asked Harry. ‘Is it genetic?’

‘In some cases,’ said Evi. ‘But mainly the causes are environmental. For the body to produce thyroxin we need iodine, which we get primarily from food. In the days when people grew their own food and fed on local livestock they were much more vulnerable. Certain soil conditions, typically remote mountainous regions like the Alps, were deficient in iodine. So if you lived in an area where there was no iodine in the soil, your thyroid gland would swell up in size to suck up as much iodine as possible. That’s what causes the goitre on the neck.’

‘We’re a long way from the Alps,’ said Harry.

‘Parts of Derbyshire were very vulnerable not too long ago,’ replied Evi. ‘Derbyshire neck was quite a well-known medical condition. Look.’

She changed the screen and Harry was looking at a picture of a woman in late-nineteenth-century dress. A massive swelling on her neck pushed her head out of position, forcing her to look upwards.’

‘That’s a goitre,’ said Evi, indicating the lump. ‘And we’re really not so far from the Peak District here, are we?’

‘So the girl that’s been frightening Tom is a local woman suffering from this condition? I can’t believe no one’s mentioned her.’

‘It does seem odd,’ agreed Evi. ‘But the Fletchers are still very new. Maybe people were just being discreet.’

Harry thought for a moment. ‘I need coffee,’ he said, standing up and crossing to the sink. Kettle in hand, he turned back. ‘And you say the condition can be treated?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Evi, nodding her head. ‘That’s what’s puzzling me. Newborn babies are routinely screened these days. If they’re found to be deficient in thyroxin, it can be administered artificially. They have to take it all their lives, but their development will be normal.’

Harry switched the kettle on and found clean mugs.

‘The only explanation I can think of is that she was born to relatively uneducated parents who haven’t maintained her treatment,’ continued Evi. ‘Maybe they suffer from it themselves. I spoke to DCI Rushton this morning, suggested he start looking at outlying farms and farm-workers’ cottages. Whoever this family are, I’m guessing they don’t come into town too often.’

‘OK, big question now,’ said Harry, spooning instant coffee into the mugs. ‘Could this girl – woman, whoever – be responsible for the deaths of Lucy, Megan and Hayley? For the threat to Millie?’

Evi flicked the screen back again. ‘I’ve spent most of today finding out everything I can about the condition,’ she said. ‘There’s no evidence I can see of these people behaving in violent or aggressive ways. Even Tom doesn’t think it was she who tried to abduct Millie now. He claims it was a much bigger person.’

‘It was dark, he was scared,’ said Harry. ‘He could have got confused.’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t feel right somehow. These people are known for their gentleness, their harmlessness. Even their name suggests that. The word "cretin" is believed to come from the Anglo-French word “Chrétien”.’

‘Meaning what?’ asked Harry, as the kettle came to the boil and switched itself off.

‘Christian,’ said Evi. ‘Cretin means Christian. It’s supposed to indicate the sufferers’ Christ-like inability to commit sin.’

He really couldn’t concentrate this morning. ‘How so?’ he asked.

‘They don’t have the mental capacity to distinguish right from wrong, so nothing they do can be considered sinful in the true sense of the word. They remain innocent.’

Harry almost shook his head and stopped himself just in time. He was never drinking again. ‘That doesn’t mean they can’t do anything wrong, just that they don’t know they’re doing wrong,’ he said. ‘What if this Ebba person likes the look of little blonde girls, sees them as some sort of plaything, and it all… oh, hang on a minute, this is ringing bells.’

‘I’d say the last thing you need right now is bells ringing in your head.’ She was laughing at him.

‘What I need right now can’t be discussed in a house of God,’ he replied. She was right though, he could really do without a hangover today. ‘Innocent Christians,’ he said, as though trying out how the words sounded in his mouth. Then he had it. ‘Innocent Christian souls,’ he said. ‘We need the burial register.’

‘Sorry?’

Harry was already reaching into the cupboard where the register was kept.

‘Look,’ he said, when he’d found the right page. ‘Sophie Renshaw, died in 1908, aged eighteen, described as An Innocent Christian soul.’

‘There’s another one,’ said Evi. ‘Charles Perkins, died in 1932, aged fifteen. How many are there?’

He counted quickly. ‘Eight,’ he said. ‘Six girls, two boys, all under twenty-five at the time of death.’

‘The condition’s more common in females,’ said Evi. ‘You think all these people could have been like Ebba?’

‘I wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised. I even remember that old bugger boasting about it. “Ninety-five per cent of the food I’ve eaten my whole life comes from this moor,” that’s what he said to me. I’ll bet the soil up here’s – what did you call it?’

‘Iodine deficient. We really need to find her, Harry.’

65

THE COACH STOPPED AND FIFTY EXCITED CHILDREN LEAPED to their feet. Through the steamed-up windows Tom could see the huge banner and posters outside King George’s Hall and the massive lights of Blackburn’s Christmas decorations. The Snow Queen, bit of a girly pantomime but who cared? It was an afternoon off school, and then tomorrow – the Christmas holidays.

Tom felt himself being pushed towards the front. ‘Climb down carefully,’ Mr Deacon, the headmaster, was saying. ‘I do not want to spend my afternoon in Accident and Emergency.’

Grinning to himself, Tom stepped down to the pavement. A second coach had pulled up on Blakeymoor Street and the Key Stage One children were climbing down. Most of them had never been on a school trip before and they gazed around, mesmerized by the Christmas lights. As Tom watched, Joe jumped out, making light work of a step that was half the size he was. He caught Tom’s eye and waved.

Following the line, unable to keep from jumping up and down as he went, Tom made his way into King George’s Hall.

66

‘DO YOU THINK WHERE IT HAPPENS IS IMPORTANT?’ ASKED Evi, as Harry walked her back through the church. ‘That of all the high places in the world small children can be thrown off, it has to be this one?’

‘I’m sure of it,’ he replied. ‘This is the killing ground.’

Evi allowed her eyes to travel upwards, to the gallery that was almost directly above them. ‘That’s revolting,’ she said.

Harry looked up too. ‘There’s something wrong in this church, Evi. I think I knew the first time I set foot in it.’

He felt her fingers brushing softly against his hand.

‘Buildings absorb something of what goes on in them,’ he continued. ‘I wouldn’t expect everyone to agree with me, but I’m sure of it. Normally, churches feel like peaceful, safe places because they’ve taken on decades, sometimes centuries of hope, prayer, goodwill.’

‘Not this one?’ Her fingers were closing around his hand.

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘This one just feels like pain.’

For a second they didn’t move. Then, just as he knew she was going to, Evi turned and reached up to him. It was just a hug, he knew that, a moment of comfort, but it was impossible to be this close to her and not bend his head down to the skin at the side of her neck, to find that freckle, to press his face against her hair and breathe in deeply. Then she moved in his arms, pulled back her head, and it was completely out of the question that he not kiss her.

Moments passed and the only thing he could think of was that the world couldn’t be too bad after all because Evi was in it; and would he be damned for all eternity if he picked her up, laid her gently down on the pew beside them and made love to her for the rest of the afternoon?

Then Evi made a gasping sound that had nothing to do with passion. She’d stiffened in his arms, had pulled away from him, was staring over his left shoulder. Cold air on the back of his neck told him the front door of the church was open. He stepped back and turned.

Gillian stood in the open doorway. For a second Harry thought she was going to faint. Then it looked as though she might hurl herself at them in rage. She did neither. She simply turned and ran.

67

M ILLIE WAS IN THE DOORWAY, WATCHING SOME CHICKENS strut up and down in the lane. Across the drive, her mother was unloading shopping from the car. She straightened up and headed for the door.

‘Will you go back inside?’ she said to the toddler, bending down towards her. ‘It’s freezing.’ She squeezed past the child and disappeared. A moment later her hands caught hold of Millie round the waist. ‘I mean it,’ she said, as she lifted her daughter up and took her out of sight. ‘You’ll fall down those steps.’

For a moment the doorway was empty and then the mother appeared again. She crossed quickly to her car and found the last of the bags. As she straightened up and pressed the button on the thing in her hand that would lock the car, the child appeared in the doorway again. She stole a brief, sly look at her mother before turning to the chickens that had wandered into their garden. Then she climbed down the steps to the drive.

The car hadn’t locked itself. The mother pressed the button twice, three times and then gave up, using the key to lock the car instead, just as Millie set off across the lawn. The mother crossed the drive and went inside. The front door closed. Silence.

Nothing to see, nothing to hear for a minute, maybe two. Then the front door was pulled open and the woman, her face white and her hands clutching her upper arms, appeared in the doorway. ‘Millie!’ she called, as though afraid to shout too loudly. ‘Millie!’ she called again, a bit louder this time. ‘Millie!’

68

‘WHERE DID YOU FIND THESE?’ ASKED HARRY.

‘Environment Agency archives,’ said Gareth Fletcher. ‘Watch those crisps, I’ll get throttled if I get grease on them.’

Harry put his crisp packet down and leaned over the maps. ‘Catchment maps,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard of them.’

Gareth lifted his pint and drank. A week before Christmas, the White Lion in the middle of Heptonclough was busy and even at nearly five o’clock in the afternoon the two men had been lucky to get a table. Harry almost wished they hadn’t, that he and Gareth Fletcher had been forced to reschedule the chat they’d had planned for days. He’d wanted to help Evi find and talk to Gillian. That was not something she should have to face on her own.

‘No reason why you would,’ said Gareth. ‘The water authorities produce them. They show the countryside from the point of view of the water resources.’

‘And that means what, exactly?’ asked Harry. Across the room, a party of office workers were in high spirits. Several wore paper hats. When they stood up, most seemed unsteady on their feet.

Evi had refused to let him go with her. Gillian was her patient, she’d said, her responsibility.

‘Most maps are about roads, towns and cities, right?’ said Gareth.

‘Right,’ agreed Harry.

‘This one is about rivers. See, this is the river Rindle. Starts as a spring way up in the hills and gradually makes its way down to where it joins the Tane. All these other streams and rivers are its tributaries.’ Gareth leaned across the map, pointing out faint, wiggling lines with his finger. ‘They all feed into it and it gradually gets bigger and bigger. The area they all cover is called the catchment.’

‘OK, got that,’ said Harry, who’d been watching a dark-haired girl with a purple paper hat who reminded him of… how soon could he phone her? Was she with Gillian right now? ‘And the water authorities need these because…’ he prompted, forcing himself to concentrate.

‘If a stream dries up, if it gets polluted, if there’s a fish kill, or a flood threatening, the authorities need to know where it is and what other water-courses it’s going to impact upon.’

‘OK.’ I could be struck off for this, Harry, she’d said to him, as they’d argued at the church gate. You have no idea how serious it is.

‘The modern maps are easier to read, all the different catchments are coloured differently,’ Gareth was saying. ‘This one must be eighty years old. It does, though, have something the more modern ones don’t. This one shows the underground streams. Even some of the deeper aquifers. It dates back to the days when people dug their own wells and needed to know where they might strike lucky.’

‘Still following,’ said Harry. She trusted me, and I’ve let her down in the worst possible way.

‘Now, you can see how a fairly sizeable subterranean stream starts right up here, just below Morrell Tor, and winds its way down through the village, feeding quite a few wells as it goes, probably all abandoned and covered over by now, and eventually goes under the church.’

‘We saw it that day we went exploring. The monks had turned it into a sort of drinking fountain.’

‘Exactly. Now, as we know, it disappears into a grate, running under the cellar, and – this is the important bit, are you concentrating?’

‘Oh, I’m riveted.’ If anything happens to her it’ll be my fault.

‘Just after it leaves the church foundations, it forks in two. The main stream continues down, through the graveyard, under the Renshaws’ garden and then on down the moor. The other part heads west and follows the line of the church wall.’

‘Seriously weakening it?’

‘In my view, yes. If you ask me, there’s not a lot of point rebuilding that wall until you can divert that offshoot of the stream.’

‘If we block it off, will the water continue down the hill with the rest?’

‘Probably, although I’d need to check it out with my friends in water resources. Do you want me to do that before you speak to God about releasing the funds?’

‘Yes, thank you. What’s this?’ In an attempt to take his mind off what might be happening with Gillian and Evi, Harry had been trying to spot places he knew around the town on the map. He’d found Wite Lane, had followed the track he sometimes ran along up the hill. He was pointing at a double circle within a rectangle.

‘Looks like a bore hole, an old drinking well,’ said Gareth. ‘Although why there’d be one way up there I have no idea.’

‘It’s just below the Tor, isn’t it? Wasn’t there an old mill up there?’

‘That’s right. I’ll bet this is inside that hut. The one the kids call Red Riding Hood’s cottage.’

Harry nodded. He knew the one. ‘Belongs to the Renshaws,’ he said. ‘DCS Rushton was telling me how they searched it when they were looking for Megan Connor. I don’t think he mentioned a bore hole.’

‘If it’s been covered over and forgotten about, he might not have known it was there,’ said Gareth, finishing his pint. ‘There are wells and bore holes all over the place that nobody knows about. Another one?’

‘I think I’m still drunk from last night,’ said Harry. ‘One more won’t make much difference.’

Gareth grinned. As he stood up both men heard the tinny notes of the Bob the Builder tune. ‘Mine,’ said Gareth, pulling his mobile from his pocket.

Gareth continued walking as he held the phone to his ear. He made it as far as the bar then turned on the spot, shot a quick look at Harry and left the pub, pushing aside two boys who looked barely old enough to drink.

For a second Harry didn’t move. Then he got to his feet. It would be a problem at Gareth’s work, he told himself, nothing important. The noise in the pub seemed to have increased. Over at the office-party table girls were squealing, and blowing on the paper trumpets that came out of crackers.

He took a step towards the door.

Millie would be fine. She’d been shopping with her mother that morning, the last big shop before Christmas, nothing could happen at the supermarket. A waitress was walking from one diner to the next. ‘Sherry trifle?’ she was saying. ‘Who ordered the sherry trifle?’ Even the till at the bar seemed unnaturally shrill.

‘Merry Christmas, Vicar,’ people called after him as he made his way through the crowd. He ignored them. Millie would be fine. She was never allowed out of her mother’s sight these days. Someone dropped a glass just behind him, he might even have knocked it over himself. It shattered on the tiled floor.

He pushed at the door; the cold evening air hit him and so did the silence. He took a deep breath and looked around. It was completely dark. Gareth was fifteen yards further up the hill, about to get into his truck, and for a moment Harry just wanted to let him go. He didn’t want him to turn round; he didn’t want to see that look on anyone’s face again as long as he lived.

‘Hey!’ he shouted, because for the life of him he’d forgotten what the other man was called.

Gareth turned back. There it was again, that look: sheer terror. He opened his mouth and Harry could just about make out what Gareth was croaking at him. Not Millie then, Millie was OK after all.

Joe was the one who’d gone missing.

69

‘OK, THEN, THIS IS WHAT WE KNOW.’ DETECTIVE CHIEF Superintendent Rushton stopped and cleared his throat. He had to look at the top of Alice’s head, her eyes were staring down at a stray cornflake on the kitchen table.

‘Joe was definitely still in King George’s at the interval,’ continued Rushton, ‘which took place from three fifteen to three forty-five. The front-of-house manager was quite definite about timings. Joe was bought an ice cream and more than one little lad remembers seeing him in the toilet queue. What we can’t be certain of is whether he was still in the theatre for the second half.’

‘Who the hell was sitting next to him?’ said Gareth. He hadn’t stopped moving since he and Harry had walked through the door. He paced the floor, he rocked back and forth on his heels, he wandered from room to room, shouting his thoughts out to whoever might be listening. Alice, in sharp contrast, had barely moved in three hours. Her face seemed to be getting paler and smaller by the minute.

Harry looked at his watch – almost eight o’clock. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. No messages.

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ said DI Neasden. ‘The kids didn’t have allocated seats, they all swapped round at the interval. One or two of the little ones got scared of the baddie up on stage and went to sit next to the teachers. The theatre wasn’t completely full, so there were empty seats. No one we’ve spoken to can definitely remember seeing Joe during the second half. We’ve checked with the event stewards; there were three of them on duty and none of them remember seeing a young lad wandering round by himself.’

‘The school didn’t know for certain he was missing until they got all the kids back on the coaches and did a head count,’ said Rushton. ‘This was at ten to five. The staff went back into the theatre to search, and gave up after another thirty minutes. We were notified at twenty-five past five.’

‘He could have been gone two hours by then,’ said Gareth, pushing his way past DI Neasden to get to the sink. He ran himself a glass of water, raised it to his lips and put it down again. He turned as the kitchen door opened and Tom came in. The boy stood in the doorway, looking from one adult to the next. No one seemed to know what to say to him. Then Jenny Pickup appeared behind him, paler and more dishevelled than usual, with Millie in her arms.

‘Come on, Tom, love,’ she said. ‘Let’s leave everyone to talk. Shall we play on the computer?’

Tom opened his mouth as if to say something, but his bottom lip began to tremble. He turned and ran from the room, just as Millie started squealing to get to her mother. Alice stood and held out her arms. She took her daughter and dropped down into her seat again, as though the effort of standing was just too much.

‘I’ll stay with Tom,’ muttered Jenny.

‘Thanks,’ said Gareth. ‘I’ll come through in a sec. They should probably be in bed.’

Harry checked the screen of his mobile again as Jenny slipped out of the room.

‘OK then,’ said Rushton. ‘Next thing we did was have a look at the CCTV footage. Not the easiest of tasks; it’s a big building. As well as the pantomime, they had a conference in the Northgate Suite and the café-bar was as busy as you’d expect a few days before Christmas.’

‘And?’ said Gareth, pouring the water down the sink.

Rushton shook his head. ‘The cameras in the foyer didn’t pick up anything. Of course there were a lot of people milling around in the interval and it’s not impossible he slipped out behind someone else, but the school had a member of staff standing by the doors to prevent exactly that. She’s adamant no child went past her and she seems pretty reliable.’

‘What about other doors?’ asked Harry.

‘Including the staff entrance and the fire doors, there are nine exits from the building,’ answered Rushton, ‘some covered by cameras, some not. We did pick up one image that we want you to have a look at. Have you got it, Andy?’

Detective Constable Andy Jeffries, who looked more like a teenage hoody than a member of the Lancashire Constabulary, had his laptop ready on the kitchen table. He pressed two keys and then turned the screen to face Alice. Gareth approached the table and leaned over the back of his wife’s chair. Harry moved closer. They watched as a clip of CCTV footage started playing. They were looking at one of the corridors in King George’s Hall. Two members of staff walked towards the camera and, as they disappeared from view an adult and child came on screen, walking out of shot. The adult was wearing a baseball cap, trousers and a thick quilted jacket. The child was similarly dressed in an oversized baseball cap and a large, blue plastic raincoat. They walked to the doors, the adult with one arm around the child, and then disappeared outside.

‘What do you think?’ said Rushton.

‘Let’s see it again,’ said Gareth.

The clip was played again. ‘Impossible to be sure,’ said Gareth, after they’d seen it a third time. ‘Right sort of height for Joe, right build, but we just don’t get any sort of look at his face. What do you think, Al?’

For a second Alice didn’t react. Then she shook her head.

‘We’re going to be running that clip on the news tonight,’ said Rushton. He looked at his watch. ‘In just over an hour. Asking them to come forward. If it was nothing to do with Joe, we can rule them out.’

‘Is that a man with him?’ asked Harry. ‘Woman? Teenager?’

‘Anybody’s guess,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got people trying to enhance the image, but when all you’re working with is the back of someone’s head it’s tricky. Of course, these two might have nothing to do with Joe. We’ve got officers talking to all the bus drivers who were working that patch this afternoon. Taxi drivers too, in case the lad managed to sneak some money out. Needless to say, his picture’s been sent to all stations in the area, along with a description.’

Harry put his phone on the table in front of him. ‘What about cameras around the town?’ he said. ‘Don’t we all get caught on camera about a hundred times a day? If that’s true, some of the ones around Blackburn must have picked Joe up.’

‘We’ve got a team going through them all,’ said Rushton. ‘It’ll take a while, as I’m sure you can imagine, but you’re right, some of them will have spotted him.’

‘Can we help?’ said Harry. ‘If it’s a question of manpower. We can sit and look at TV screens.’

‘It’s a good thought,’ said Rushton, ‘but these things need to be done by people not emotionally involved. Your place is here, with the family. Right, where was I?’ He glanced down at his notes. ‘We’ve got officers working their way through Blackburn town centre, asking in all the shops that are still open. They’re all carrying his photo.’

‘Joe wouldn’t just go off with a stranger though,’ said Gareth. ‘If he left King George’s with someone, it would have to be someone he knew.’

‘Quite possibly,’ said Rushton. ‘On the other hand, he is a very young lad. And people can be very convincing. We’ve also been talking to all his classmates. If Joe had any plans, he might have mentioned them to someone. Right, I need to get back to the station now. When the news bulletin goes out, the phones will go bananas.’ He reached out and patted Alice’s shoulder. ‘Keep your spirits up, lass,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Someone will have spotted him.’

‘Hold on a second,’ said Harry, pushing back his own chair. ‘What you’re doing in Blackburn looks very thorough, but what about here?’

Rushton was frowning at him. ‘Here?’ he said.

‘Who’s looking here? I’ve seen no sign of a search going on outside. And we still haven’t found this girl Tom’s been talking about.’

‘Blackburn’s twelve miles away, Harry,’ said Rushton. ‘I doubt he ran away from the theatre only to make his way back home on his own.’

‘And you think Joe’s disappearance is just coincidence?’ said Harry. ‘That it’s not connected to what’s going on up here?’

Rushton seemed about to speak and then changed his mind. ‘Word outside, Reverend,’ he muttered, indicating the door to the hall. Harry stood and followed Rushton out of the room. They crossed the hall towards the front door, with Gareth close behind. Rushton opened his mouth to object.

‘Last time I checked, he was my son,’ said Gareth, folding his arms across his chest.

‘Three dead children were found in the garden of this house,’ said Harry. ‘And now another one is missing. This cannot be a normal abduct-’

‘Those children were girls, quite a bit younger than Joe,’ shot back Rushton. He glared at Harry for a second, then seemed to relax. ‘I’ll bring a team up in the morning,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the dogs out, I’ll see if the chopper’s available, we can look for this little girl of Tom’s. But tonight, I have to concentrate my resources on where the chances of finding the lad are greatest. He’s somewhere in Blackburn, I’m sure of it.’

70

‘FEELING BETTER?’

Evi wiped her nose and drew the handkerchief under her make-up wouldn’t smudge too badly. ‘Yes,’ she said, although she wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry.’

After the incident in church, Evi had driven straight to Gillian’s flat. There had been no response to her continued knocking. In the end, the woman from the shop beneath the flat had told her that Gillian had caught a bus not ten minutes earlier. Evi had had no choice but to return to work. Not long after she’d arrived, she’d taken a phone call from the police, telling her about Joe’s disappearance. She had cancelled her appointments for the rest of the day and then driven for nearly an hour to reach her supervisor Steve Channing’s house. His wife was a partner in a large firm of accountants and they lived in an old manor house in the heart of the Forest of Bowland.

‘No need,’ he said. ‘Now, ready to talk?’

She nodded.

‘The police aren’t connecting Joe’s disappearance with what’s been happening in the town?’ said Steve. ‘With what nearly happened to his sister twice?’

Evi shook her head. ‘No. They’re saying because he went missing in Blackburn and because he doesn’t fit the victim profile, it’s unlikely to be directly connected. The officer in charge of the case thinks the media coverage in the town recently has provoked Joe’s abduction. He thinks someone caught a glimpse of him on TV and took a fancy to him. It’s feasible, I suppose.’

Steve stood up and walked to the window. Across the street, porch lights lit up a row of stone cottages. Christmas trees stood in several of the windows. At the end of the street, a stone bridge led over a narrow river. Earlier, Evi’s arrival had coincided with that of a flock of geese. They’d landed noisily on the riverbank. Evi thought she could still hear them as they settled down for the night. Then she could hear something else. A faint beeping noise coming from her handbag. Someone was trying to phone her again.

‘What do you think?’ Steve asked her.

She couldn’t answer the phone, she could not talk to Harry right now. ‘It seems too much of a coincidence to me,’ she said, forcing herself to concentrate. ‘And it would be just stupid to ignore the possibility that whoever killed the girls has got Joe. I wonder if DCS Rushton is afraid to admit the connection because it means he’s responsible, at least partly. If he hadn’t screwed up on the earlier cases, the killer wouldn’t still be at large.’

Steve stepped away from the window and sat down again. ‘That’s a bit harsh, but you could be right,’ he said. ‘So what do you think is going on?’

‘I can’t imagine, Steve,’ she said. ‘It’s not just three murders and an abduction. We’ve also had blood in the Communion chalice, an effigy hurled from the church gallery, homes broken into, disembodied voices, and a seriously handicapped woman sneaking around and terrifying people. None of it makes any sense.’

Steve just looked at her.

‘Millie Fletcher fits the victim profile,’ said Evi. ‘I think she was targeted from the beginning, from when her family first moved into town. But why on earth would someone who had killed twice, who planned to kill again, play so many stupid tricks? It’s almost as though they were trying to…’ she stopped.

‘Go on,’ encouraged Steve.

‘Warn people,’ she finished, because Steve was looking at her in that particular way of his and she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away without answering. ‘But that makes no sense. Why would the killer try and warn the people who were in a position to…’

‘Go on.’

Oh, why couldn’t she think clearly? Joe’s disappearance had sent her straight into panic mode. ‘The killer wouldn’t warn them,’ she said at last. ‘The killer isn’t responsible for the tricks.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Christ, it’s obvious,’ she went on. ‘All this time we’ve thought we’ve been looking for one person. We’re not, we’re looking for two.’

‘Now you’re getting somewhere,’ said Steve, an annoying smile on his face. ‘The killer of the little girls, who may have Joe, and the person who’s been trying to warn those in a position to protect them. Or, in Gillian’s case, not warn her, because it’s too late for that, but tell her what really happened. What did the voice keep saying to Gillian? “Mummy, Mummy, find me”? Maybe she was supposed to take that literally – find the grave.’

‘How does Harry fit into it?’ Evi asked. ‘He’s not a parent.’

‘Harry is responsible for the church,’ replied Steve.

‘The killing ground,’ whispered Evi, as a sudden vision of Joe’s pretty, pale face and long, skinny limbs swam in front of her. She blinked hard to get rid of it.

‘Exactly,’ said Steve. ‘Now, it seems to me the killer cannot be this woman you’ve been calling Ebba. Someone with a severe case of congenital hypothyroidism just wouldn’t have the mental and physical capacity to plan and carry out three abductions and murders. Let alone catch a bus to Blackburn and take a young boy from King George’s Hall. Agreed?’

‘Yes,’ said Evi. ‘Yes, of course. You’re right. But she could be the one who’s been trying to warn people.’

Steve was leaning towards her. ‘Think about what these voices have been saying. What did she say to Tom? “Millie fall”? He took it as a threat, but turn it around and it could just as easily be a heads-up. Now then, when did you last take your medication?’

Evi had to smile. ‘I missed my six o’clock fix,’ she admitted. ‘In too much of a hurry to get here.’

‘Can I get you something?’

‘No, really, it’s not too bad. I’m trying to lower the dose anyway. Steve, if Ebba had nothing to do with the abductions, if she’s been trying to warn people, she probably knows who the killer is.’

Steve nodded. ‘Seems to me that if you find Ebba, you find your abductor. If you find her before the killer can get Joe to the church, you might be in time to save him.’

71

HARRY OPENED THE DOOR TO THE CHURCH CRYPT. THE stale smell of things long since forgotten came stealing up towards him. He picked up the flashlight and the box of tools he’d brought from his car.

The darkness below seemed to have grown denser. Rushton and his team would be up here as soon as it was light. They’d be able to turn the church and the crypt upside-down. It would be stupid for him to do anything that might jeopardize that search. On the other hand, dawn was eleven hours away. Joe could be down there now.

But it had been so much easier to walk down those steps when it was daylight outside, when he hadn’t been alone and before the corpses of murdered children started turning up. Last time he’d stood here, evil hadn’t come close enough to stroke him on the back of the neck. He shone the torch down. It was a powerful beam, but even so he couldn’t see more than a dozen steps. He was still on the first.

The door key was in the lock. If he went down and left it there, someone could close the door softly, turn the key and… the key went into his pocket. He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. It was just a cellar. Was this to be the night he learned he was a coward?

In the beam of the torch the darkness seemed to be moving, as though gathering its forces, waiting for him to dare, knowing he probably wouldn’t. He was a man of God. In a church. Was this also to be the night he learned his faith was a sham?

‘Though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ whispered Harry, and immediately felt worse. Anyone listening would know he was lying. He was very afraid. ‘I will fear no evil,’ he tried again, ‘for you are with me.’

He was still on the top step and Joe, tiny six-year-old Joe, could be below, cold and terrified, trapped in one of those stone chests.

‘For you are with me,’ repeated Harry. He hadn’t moved. ‘Oh, fuck it,’ he said, and went down.

72

‘TAKE IT EASY,’ SAID STEVE, LEANING DOWN AND speaking to Evi through the window of her car. ‘It’s a long way and there’s a hard frost forecast.’

She didn’t need telling that. She could see Steve’s breath spiralling away into the darkness. The frost was already starting to gleam on the dry stone walls that lined the narrow road. ‘I’ll be careful,’ said Evi. ‘And thank you.’

Seeming reluctant to let her go, Steve crouched lower and leaned both forearms on the window ledge. ‘A couple more things occur to me,’ he said. ‘These girls were taken for a reason. When children are abducted, the obvious motive is to fulfil a sexual need.’

Evi had to bite her lip. Joe was there again, hovering like a little ghost in the driveway. ‘I know this child, Steve,’ she said. ‘He has dark-red hair and freckles and-’

‘Stop it.’

Evi blinked hard.

‘His mother can weep about his red hair and freckles. You have to stick to the facts if you’re going to be any use to him. Now, Megan and Hayley were both found wearing the clothes they were last seen alive in. Does that suggest sexual abuse to you?’

‘Makes it less likely,’ agreed Evi. ‘So if the killer’s motive isn’t sexual, we’re looking for something else?’

‘Second, the place they’re killed is important. There is a reason why they’re dropped from the church balcony.’

‘I agree,’ she said. ‘So does Harry. He thinks it’s all about the church.’

‘Third, there is a link between these victims, including Joe,’ said Steve. ‘Whoever took them had a connection with all of them. Otherwise, he or she would have gone much further afield to find their victims and in doing so would have reduced the chances of being caught. He or she stuck to home ground, suggesting to me it couldn’t be just any girls, it had to be those particular ones. Find the link and you’ll find the killer.’

‘Or find Ebba.’

‘Exactly. Will the GP talk to you, do you think?’

Evi shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘He might think I’m ambushing him when I turn up at Saturday-morning surgery.’

‘Well, you have to give it a try.’

‘I know. Are your knees up to prolonged crouching?’

‘No part of my body is up to anything much these days. Call me when you’ve spoken to him.’

‘Will do.’

‘And stop beating yourself up about Harry. Up until this morning you did everything by the book. People don’t get struck off for a moment of poor judgement.’

‘I’m so grateful, Steve.’

‘Now are you sure I can’t get you anything for the pain?’

Evi shook her head. ‘It’s not that bad, really. I’ll have something as soon as I get home.’

‘OK.’ Steve stood up, then seemed to think of something and bent down to the window again. ‘There’s something about Joe that’s bothering me, Evi. He doesn’t fit. The detective’s right about that at least. He’s needed for something else.’

73

TOM WAS SHIVERING. THE GLASS WAS COLD AND THE WALL was cold and everything was cold but he couldn’t move. Not until he’d seen the thin beam of light travel up the churchyard path. He started counting. Ten, eleven, twelve. By thirty, his dad would be home.

He heard the sound of a key turning downstairs and the front door opening. His dad was coming back from his look around the graveyard and he would have Joe in his arms, cold, tired, annoying as hell, but Joe all the same. His dad had found him, he just knew it. Tom was running across the carpet, opening his bedroom door, reaching the top of the stairs. Gareth stood in the hall below, still wearing his heavy outdoor coat. He glanced up. He was alone.

Tom watched as his dad took off his coat and slung it over a chair in the hallway before climbing the stairs. He reached the top, put both hands on his eldest son’s shoulders and turned him round. The two of them walked back into Tom’s bedroom. Tom climbed into Joe’s bed; his dad didn’t comment. He knelt on the carpet and stroked his son’s head.

‘Dad, I’m sorry.’ Tom had been waiting all evening for the chance to say it, but this was the first time he and his father had been alone.

His dad looked puzzled. ‘What for, matey?’

‘For not watching him. I know I’m supposed to look after him.’

His father took a deep breath and seemed to shudder. Suddenly his eyes were wet. Tom had never seen his father cry before. ‘Tom, it wasn’t your fault,’ he said, his cold hand taking hold of Tom’s. ‘It wasn’t your job to watch him. There were teachers there. Never, ever think it was your fault.’

Tom had never heard his father lie before.

‘We’ll find him, won’t we, Dad? Promise me we’ll find him.’

Gareth’s mouth twisted and he pulled it straight again with an effort. ‘I’ll spend the rest of my life looking, Tom,’ he said. ‘I promise you that.’

Gareth wrapped one arm round his son and leaned his head against the pillow. Tom, determined to stay awake until Joe came back, found his eyes starting to feel heavy. His dad hadn’t promised that Joe would be found, only that he wouldn’t stop looking for him. Just the one lie, then. That’s all he was going to get.

74

THE BLUE AND SILVER CAR WASN’T IN THE STREET OUTSIDE Harry’s house. It was almost eleven. Evi pulled out her mobile and checked the screen. He’d left six messages, all before eight o’clock, but she simply hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone until she’d had a chance to think, to talk to someone who wasn’t emotionally involved.

She dialled his number and was invited to leave a message.

Her leg was screaming at her and her spine felt as if she’d been stretched backwards over a rock for hours. She needed medication, she needed to eat and she had to rest. She started the car engine.

When she parked, she tried his number again. No response. She was on her own.

75

‘I TAKE MY HAT OFF TO BURKE AND HARE,’ MUTTERED HARRY, inserting the crowbar beneath the stone lid of the sarcophagus before leaning on it with his entire weight. The heavy slab moved a fraction of an inch. With the skill developed over nearly an hour of practice, he moved the lid just enough to be able to shine his torch inside.

Nothing. Which was precisely what he’d found in the eight stone coffins he’d managed to open. No bones, no mummified flesh, no shrivelled grave clothes, and definitely no Joe. He’d probably never know when the remains of the long-since-dead clergy had been taken away from St Barnabas’s crypt, but gone they were.

His nervousness had long since evaporated. There really was nothing like building up a sweat for chasing away the willies.

Only one alcove remained a mystery. The very last in line, closest to the rear of the crypt. None of the keys he’d retrieved from his desk drawer had opened the iron grille. When the police had searched it previously they must have used one of Sinclair’s keys. Harry had tapped out rhythms on the ironwork, he’d stuck a wrench through the bars and banged on the two sarcophagi that he could reach, he’d called Joe’s name and had spent at least ten minutes just listening quietly. At last he’d been compelled to give up. Joe wasn’t in the church. He wasn’t in it and he wasn’t below it.

At least now he knew.

Harry crossed the first chamber of the crypt and found the doorway to the second with his torch beam. He was now under his own church, and even close to midnight, some light from the street outside was making its way down.

Harry walked forward. Impressed by his own daring, he switched off his torch. Gradually, vague shapes emerged from the darkness. The streetlights outside were shining through the windows of the church and a fraction of that light was seeping through into the cellar.

How exactly?

He walked over to where the light seemed strongest. Yes, definitely light, a square beam. He reached it and looked upwards. There was a grille of some sort directly above his head. He reached up and tugged. It held firm. He tried pushing and it shot upwards.

Sliding it to one side, Harry heard it scrape along the tiled floor. He reached up and grasped the edges of the hole he’d opened up. His fingers closed around the stone tiles he knew covered the uncarpeted part of the chancel floor. Time to find out how strong his arm muscles were.

Strong enough. One massive push and he was up, looking round. He was directly behind the organ, in the cramped, dust-filled void that often existed behind old instruments. Through gaps in the pipes he could see the pulpit, not four feet away from him.

Time to kill.

‘So this is where you were,’ muttered Harry. ‘Our little friend with the voices.’ Harry lowered himself back down, replaced the grille and made his way out of the crypt. The Fletcher children’s strange friend, Ebba, knew her way around this church, that was clear enough. It had probably been she who’d led him such a dance the day he’d arrived.

Harry locked the crypt, then checked that the main doors of the church were locked and bolted. He used the lavatory at the rear of the building and then entered the nave. Thanks to Jenny Pickup, he and the Fletchers had eaten a couple of hours earlier. He had a travel rug from his car, which he’d parked half a mile down the hill in a quiet cul de sac. He was all set.

When he reached the altar, he lifted the drapes that surrounded the old oak table. The altar had been spread with a creamy damask linen and the rich purple brocade of the Advent cloth. He pushed a couple of prayer kneelers underneath, then crawled in himself. Pulling the altar cloths back into place and the car rug around him, he lay down.

He was in the killing ground. If someone brought Joe here tonight, he’d be ready.

76

EVI CHECKED HER WATCH. IT WAS ALMOST TEN O’CLOCK, but she could see lights in the first-floor window. She crossed the street and rang the bell. The pain in her leg and back had got much worse during the last hour. She’d been stupid not to take some medication from Steve.

After several minutes, light flooded the landing at the top of the stairs. A dark figure could be seen descending. Evi’s chest started to feel tight. The figure reached the bottom of the stairs. The door opened and for a second the two women just stared at each other.

‘Hello, Gillian,’ said Evi.

Gillian seemed to sway backwards; her eyes couldn’t quite focus on Evi’s. ‘Dragged yourself away from him, have you?’ she said. She’d been drinking.

Evi’s ribcage seemed to have shrunk. She almost had to gulp in air. ‘After you saw me in the church, I came straight down here to find you,’ she said, knowing that Gillian would only listen to conversation that was focused on herself. ‘When I couldn’t, I went to see another psychiatrist,’ she went on. ‘We spent a lot of the evening talking about you. I’m worried about you, Gillian. Can I come in?’

‘No!’ Gillian’s hands shot to the doorframe, blocking the way in, as if words alone might not be enough to keep Evi out.

‘Gillian, there is no intimate relationship between me and Harry,’ said Evi, hearing her voice shake but forcing herself to look the other woman in the eye. ‘We don’t go out together, we don’t spend time at each other’s houses and we certainly don’t sleep together. But he’s been under a great deal of strain recently. So have I. What you saw this afternoon was a mistake.’

Evi stepped forward, tried to smile and failed. ‘I’m not his girlfriend,’ she said. ‘But Gillian, I’m afraid you have to accept that neither are you.’

‘Lying bitch!’

The fury on the woman’s face, more than her words, made Evi step backwards and almost stumble.

‘You’re the reason he changed,’ spat Gillian. ‘He liked me. We were close. He kissed me. Then suddenly he started avoiding me. You were spinning him lies about me, weren’t you? Telling him I’m nuts. You poisoned him because you wanted him for yourself.’

‘I don’t discuss you with…’ Evi stopped. She couldn’t even say that any more. She had talked to Harry about Gillian.

‘You’re pathetic, you know that?’ Gillian stepped out of the doorway, forcing Evi back towards the road. ‘I thought I was bad, but you’re just delusional. Well, listen to some plain speaking for once. He might fuck you if he gets really desperate, but that’s all he’s ever going to want from a cripple.’

‘Gillian, stop.’ She couldn’t deal with this, not now.

‘And he’ll only ever do it in the dark.’

Dancing in the… She was going to be sick. ‘I’ll come and see you in the morning,’ she managed.

‘Don’t bother.’

‘We’ll find you another doctor. I know our relationship has broken down and that’s my fault…’

Evi was talking to herself. Gillian had slammed the door.

77

19 December

WHEN TOM WOKE UP, THE ROOM WAS DARK. THE CLOCK on his desk told him it was nearly three in the morning. He was alone in Joe’s bed.

He closed his eyes again. He remembered seeing a television programme about people having a sort of connection in their heads. Identical twins often had it, the programme had said, they could tell what the other was thinking without speaking out loud. He and Joe weren’t so very far apart in age. Quite often, he knew exactly what his brother was thinking. Maybe he and Joe had this connection. Maybe if he concentrated really hard, Joe could tell him where he was.

Softly, the church clock began to strike the hour. Bong, bong, bong.

The linen of the altar cloth was brushing against Harry’s face. He woke with an effort. He raised his hand to his face and pressed the luminous button on his watch. Ten past three. There was a cold breeze on his face. Someone had opened a door.

As quietly as he could, Harry rolled out from under the altar, got to his feet and crossed to the organ. The church looked empty. The square grille beneath his feet was still in place. No one had come up from the crypt.

He stood still, listening hard. The wind had fallen; the weather forecast earlier that evening had mentioned the possibility of snow.

After five minutes he made his way slowly down the aisle, checking the pews on each side as he went. At the back of the church he tried the door to the crypt. It was still locked and bolted. Upstairs, the gallery was empty. He crossed to the small wooden door that led to the bell tower. It was locked but not bolted. Had he drawn that bolt earlier? He couldn’t have done. But he was sure he had.

Nothing. If Joe was sending messages, Tom wasn’t receiving them. And it was suddenly impossible to lie still. Tom pushed back the duvet and climbed out of bed. He crossed the landing and opened the door to Millie’s room. She was fast asleep, her hair damp with sweat, her little arms clutching Simba to her chest.

What if Joe were outside right now? What if he’d come home and just couldn’t get in? He might be huddled on the doorstep, freezing cold. Tom ran lightly down the stairs and peered out through the glass of the front door. No tiny, cold boy on the doorstep.

He was just about to go back upstairs when a sound in the living room made him stop. Hardly daring to hope, he pushed open the door. His mum, still in the clothes she’d been wearing all day, lay on one of the sofas, a blanket around her hips. On the other sofa sat his dad. His head had fallen back and his eyes were shut. He was breathing heavily.

Tom crept into the room. On the third sofa there were cushions and a brightly coloured throw. He lay down and pulled the throw over himself.

Harry unlocked the door to the bell tower. Bloody hell, it was cold. The tower was empty, the bell hanging upside-down just as he’d left it hours earlier. There was no point going up there. No one could climb out through the tower.

No adult male could. A slim woman might manage it. And Ebba was the size of a child. Harry pushed himself up until he could see out properly. The tiled roof sloped away from him. At the opposite corner, at the front of the church, he could see one of the three fake bell towers. Unlike the one he was standing in, they were empty, built only to provide aesthetic balance to the church. He could see the night sky through the stone columns. There was no one on the roof – he couldn’t have drawn the bolt earlier. He climbed back down and left the gallery. Crossing the nave, he looked at his watch again. Twenty to four. Might as well go back to bed.

78

AHARSH, GRATING SOUND. THEN A LOW-PITCHED CLANG AS something heavy was dropped on to stone. Harry rolled from his hiding place just in time to see a dark shape disappear into the floor.

‘Wait!’ he yelled instinctively. He heard the sound of something thudding to the ground beneath him. He reached under the altar, grabbed his torch and sped across the chancel floor. No point in stealth.

Harry dropped to the floor of the crypt and turned on the torch, allowing its beam to pick out every corner, to find any shadows that didn’t belong, any movement other than his. The first chamber seemed empty. He was just about to make his way to the second when he heard another sound. Iron clanging against iron, in the second chamber.

Harry ran towards the opening and stopped. No point rushing into darkness. Still in the doorway, he began to sweep the torch beam around, finding the scallop shell, the first of the alcoves, the second, the – the gate on the sixth and last one was open. The one he hadn’t been able to search earlier – someone was inside it now.

‘Ebba,’ he called. ‘Is that your name? Ebba, I only want to talk. I need you to help me find Joe.’

No answer. He was passing the third alcove, drawing closer.

‘All I want is Joe, Ebba. Can you tell me where he is?’

Past the fourth alcove, approaching the fifth. The gate was still open on the sixth.

He slowed his pace as he drew closer. He remembered four sarcophagi in the sixth alcove, a narrow passageway and a small wooden door in the far wall.

Bracing himself for a sudden attack, he stepped inside the gate. The alcove was empty. Ebba must have left through the door at the rear. Harry stepped towards it. It was hardly more than eighteen inches wide and it opened outwards.

The room beyond was a narrow, tall chamber with an arched brick ceiling. Brick-built shelving lay on either side, each shelf carrying stone coffins. The air was dry and earthy, and a cold breeze was coming through another door at the far end. Ebba had left in a hurry, and through the smallest of gaps he could see the night sky.

He glanced at his watch as he strode past the coffins. Six forty a.m. He pushed the door and stepped out into a tiny courtyard, surrounded by high iron railings. He recognized them at once, although he’d never been on this side of them before. He’d left the church through the Renshaw family mausoleum.

Well, now he knew how Ebba was getting in and out of the church without being seen. But where was she? He crossed the courtyard, his feet crunching on gravel, and pushed the iron gate.

It might be six forty and the world might be waking up, but the sky above him was as black as it had been the entire night. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest. No sound, not even wind.

Then the grasses were being rustled and the bushes shaken. Someone was coming towards him. Harry stepped into the shadow of a tall laurel bush. He could see her, a slight figure, creeping towards him, looking all around, as if scared that something would spring out. Harry stepped forward, grabbed the figure by the shoulders and spun it round to face him.

‘Tom!’ he said, as all the breath went out of his body. ‘What on earth are you doing out here?’

Tom looked back at him, wide-eyed and slightly sullen, the way kids did when they didn’t want to answer a question. Especially a stupid one. He was looking for his brother, of course, what else would he be doing?

‘Do your mum and dad know you’re here?’ Harry asked.

Tom shook his head. ‘They were both asleep. I didn’t want to wake them up.’

‘OK, but we need to get back.’ He put a hand on Tom’s shoulder and urged him up the hill. If Alice and Gareth woke to find another child missing they might just lose any remaining sanity they were clinging to.

They found the path and Harry finally felt relaxed enough to speak. ‘Tom,’ he said, ‘I think I just saw that girl you talk about. The one Millie calls Ebba.’

Tom stopped walking and looked up at him. ‘You saw her?’

‘Yes. Don’t stop moving.’ Harry pushed Tom gently and they both carried on up the hill. ‘She was in the church just now.’

‘She’s scary, isn’t she?’ said Tom in a low voice.

‘Well, I didn’t get a proper look.’ They were close to the churchyard wall now. ‘Tom, do you have any idea who she is, where she lives?’ Harry asked. ‘She can’t live out in the hills, she must belong somewhere.’ She had a key to the Renshaw tomb. Could she possibly…?

‘She usually runs away when I see her,’ said Tom. ‘I’m pretty certain she talks to Joe, though.’

‘Do you think Joe’s with her now? Do you think she took him?’

Tom gave a small nod. ‘I said that to the police,’ he said, ‘but they said anyone who looks as strange as she does would have been spotted in Blackburn, especially in King George’s Hall. They think Joe was taken by a grown-up.’

‘All the same, I wish we could find her. Tom, did you ever-’

‘Tom! Tom!’

Tom started to trot forward. Harry took a deep breath. ‘He’s here!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘He’s with me!’

A second later Gareth’s head and shoulders appeared over the boundary wall. Pushing himself up, he strode towards his son.

‘Do you have any bloody idea…?’ he began.

Harry stepped forward. ‘Tom couldn’t sleep,’ he said quickly. ‘He came out to look for Joe. He met me just down the hill.’

‘Your mother nearly had heart failure. Now get inside.’

‘Take it easy, buddy,’ said Harry.

Gareth lifted his hands to his face and breathed heavily. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Come on, matey.’ He reached out and pulled his son to him. Tom wrapped an arm round his father’s waist and they walked together to the churchyard entrance. Harry followed behind, spotting Alice at their front door, watching them. Her thin body seemed to be jerking; he wondered if she were struggling not to cry – or scream. Across the street, lights were being switched on, curtains drawn back. He and Gareth had woken half Heptonclough with their yelling.

Harry fell back as Gareth and Tom left the church grounds and headed back to their house. It was almost seven. He reached the churchyard entrance and stopped. He should go home and change, eat breakfast. In another hour it would be completely light and Rushton and his team would arrive. They’d have eight, maybe nine hours of daylight.

Someone was watching him. He turned to face uphill. The silver Audi was tucked up tightly against the church wall. Evi had just climbed out, using a stick to steady herself. She waited for him to go to her.

79

‘WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? DO YOU have any idea how worried I was about you?’

He was holding her by the upper arms; it was too angry to be a hug, too intimate to be anything else. He smelled of sweat and dust and candle smoke. His eyes were bloodshot. She reached up, stroked the stubble on his chin.

‘Where did you spend the night?’ she asked, feeling her jaw trembling and thinking that if he didn’t let her go soon, she’d start to cry and that really would be the end of her ability to function.

Harry took one hand off her arm to rub it across his face. ‘You really don’t want to know,’ he replied, releasing her and pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘Come and get some breakfast with me.’

There was nothing she’d like more. Have breakfast at his house, run a bath for him, watch him shave. She shook her head. ‘I haven’t time,’ she said. ‘I have to put calls out to all the local hospitals and talk to the district GP when Saturday-morning surgery opens. If a child was born with congenital hypothyroidism in the last thirty years, there must be a record somewhere. And I said I’d go to the press conference with the family.’

‘What happened to you yesterday?’ Harry asked her.

Evi sighed. ‘I went to see my supervisor,’ she said. ‘He’s had some forensic experience so I thought his take on things would be useful. I can fill you in later. Finding Ebba is the key thing.’

‘Did you see Gillian?’ asked Harry, not quite meeting her eyes.

‘Late last night. It didn’t go well.’ Over his shoulder she could see people heading for the church. ‘The other thing I need to do is find another doctor to take over her case,’ she went on. ‘I’m going to try and get her seen today. I’m really quite worried.’

Two elderly women were waiting just a few yards away, obviously wanting to speak to him. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She turned to her car and stopped. ‘Could use some of that faith of yours right now,’ she said. ‘Any going spare?’

If he replied, she didn’t hear him.

80

HARRY TURNED FROM EVI TO SEE MINNIE HAWTHORN AND one of her friends at the entrance to the churchyard. Their eyes seemed to peel him like a vegetable as he walked towards them, taking in his creased clothes, his unshaven face.

‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, wondering where he was going to find the energy to be polite to small-minded, nosy old crones, who were probably only here because they were enjoying the drama unfolding on their doorstep.

‘Vigil, was it, Vicar?’ asked Minnie, her eyes travelling to his feet and then up again.

‘Something like that,’ agreed Harry.

‘Church open?’ asked her friend.

Behind him, Harry heard Evi’s car engine start. He nodded.

‘We’ll help ourselves then,’ said Minnie. ‘Sort you out with breakfast in a minute, Vicar.’

Harry turned just as Evi drove past without even glancing his way. Stanley Hargreaves, another of his parishioners, was walking down towards them with two other men. Then a Land Rover appeared from the moor road and pulled up outside the butcher’s shop. Jenny and Mike Pickup sat in the front. Lights flickered on inside the shop. Dick Grimes and his son appeared from a rear door and came out into the street.

‘They won’t wait for the police,’ said Minnie’s companion. ‘They’ll start just as soon as you’ve finished prayers.’

‘Prayers?’ said Harry.

‘Prayers for the little lad,’ said Minnie, taking his arm and leading him towards the church. ‘For his safe return. Come on, Vicar, you seem a bit dopey, if you don’t mind me saying so. I think you need a cup o’ summat hot inside you.’

Evi wiped her eyes as she drove round the corner and could no longer see the church in her rear-view mirror. They filled again in seconds. Gillian was standing outside the front door of her flat. As their eyes met, Evi took her foot off the accelerator and the car slowed down. But she couldn’t stop – what on earth would she say? She put her foot down again and the car shot forward.

Was Gillian planning to join the search? I’ve spent years walking over the moors, I know all the best hiding places. She certainly wasn’t dressed for it, in a thin denim jacket and high-heeled boots.

A sudden vision filled her mind of a small boy’s body, lying under a hedge. The collies would sniff it out, probably even before the police dogs arrived, and it would all be over.

Stop it. Stop it. It’s not over.

She looked at the clock. Saturday-morning surgery ran from ten a.m. to twelve noon. John Warrington was the GP on duty today. The press conference started at ten and would probably run for around forty minutes. It would be tight, but do-able. There was time. It wasn’t over.

So why couldn’t she bloody well stop crying?

The church hadn’t been empty since before dawn. Within half an hour of Evi’s departure, Harry had been fed bacon sandwiches and strong coffee and was holding an impromptu service for the search party. Someone had cleared away his makeshift bed of the night before. Someone else had told him not to bother with robes; in the circumstances, jeans and a sweater would do just fine.

Five minutes after he started, the building was nearly full. Most people had just remained standing at the back and down the sides, as though they could spare the time to pray, but not the time it would take them to sit down. After eight minutes, the police arrived, filing in silently at the back.

Sinclair and Christiana Renshaw entered through the vestry door and took their usual pew. Gillian slipped in behind the police and stood, shivering, at the back. He could see people starting to get fidgety. A movement in the gallery caught his eye. Gareth and Tom Fletcher were standing there. A second later, Alice joined them, with Millie in a rucksack on her back. The family was due to make a television appeal for Joe’s safe return later in the morning. Until then, they weren’t wasting any time. Harry closed his book.

‘Let’s go and find Joe,’ he said. He was the first to leave the building.

81

AGRIM DETERMINATION SEEMED TO HAVE GRIPPED THE people of the moor. ‘We’ll find him,’ Harry had heard muttered more than once. ‘We’re not losing another one.’

He certainly couldn’t fault the efficiency of the police. DC Andy Jeffries had taken thirty of the more able-bodied men and older boys to the highest point above the town. Once on the top road, they’d spread out and begun making their way down the moor. They were looking for anything unusual, they’d been told: clothes, toys, a shoe, anything that might suggest Joe Fletcher had passed this way. When they reached the bottom of the field they turned west and did the same thing again, heading upwards this time.

The sky had been thick with cloud. Harry didn’t want to think it could be holding snow, but every time he looked up the lump in his chest seemed to harden. Just before eight o’clock a yellow glow in the east told him the sun was trying to make an impact on the day. He couldn’t even give it points for effort. The wind, mercifully, was light, but the day seemed to be getting colder with every half-hour that passed.

So far the search had been fruitless. Thirty heartbeats had gone into overdrive when one of the Pickup collies had started barking at a clump of rocks. The decomposing hind-quarters of a sheep had been pulled out.

When they’d been on the moor for nearly two hours and the cold was creeping in through even the thickest coat, they heard the steady, insistent humming of a helicopter. None of the searchers could see it above the cloud, but the rise and fall of the engine volume told them when it was coming close, when it was circling away again. After five minutes, Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to cope with the steady assault on his ears. After ten, it felt as if he’d always had the noise in his head. Fifteen minutes after the helicopter arrived, DC Jeffries blew his whistle.

‘The boss is calling us all down.’ He had to shout to be heard above the drone of the chopper. ‘There’s too many people on the moor.’ He pointed upwards to demonstrate his point. ‘The thermal-imaging equipment hasn’t got a hope,’ he went on. ‘We have to evacuate.’

The party turned and headed down to the town.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ Alice was saying. ‘I can’t think of a single thing to say.’

‘Just say whatever’s on your mind,’ said the press officer, a woman in civilian clothing who had been looking after the family since they’d arrived at the constabulary’s headquarters. ‘People will know what you’re going through. This is about letting as many people as possible know that Joe is missing. We want everyone out there looking for him. How are you doing, Tom?’

Tom looked back at her. ‘Fine,’ he said automatically.

She was bending down to him. She smelled of oranges and toothpaste and her green suit was too tight. ‘If anything occurs to you, Tom, feel free to say it,’ she went on. ‘If you have a message for Joe, for example. He may be watching.’

‘Will he?’ Tom turned to his mother. ‘Will he, Mum?’

His mother nodded and Tom felt his throat start to ache.

‘Is it time yet?’ asked Gareth as Tom began taking deep breaths. He couldn’t cry, not on television, not when Jake Knowles might be watching. Except Jake was on the moor, wasn’t he, with his dad and his brothers? Tom had seen them in the church, he’d watched them set off up the road. Jake Knowles was out there right now, looking for his brother.

‘There’s Evi,’ said Alice.

Tom turned round to see Evi wheeling her chair towards them. Funny, he’d always thought of Evi as being pretty. Nearly as pretty as his mum. She didn’t look pretty any more.

‘Vee vee,’ said Millie, from her father’s arms.

‘Evi, thank you for coming,’ said Alice. ‘Do you think you could have Millie? She’ll probably stay with you.’

Evi held up her arms and Gareth put his daughter down gently on to Evi’s lap. Millie grabbed Evi’s hair and started bouncing.

‘It’s time,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton. Where had he come from? He’d been on the moor with the other police. Tom watched him put a hand on Alice’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready, lass?’

Tom’s parents followed the detective through a door and into a large room. There were lots of people sitting on chairs, facing a long table at the front. Lights began to flash as the family took their seats.

The vestry had become a cafeteria. Minnie Hawthorn and her gang of cron- -sweet, good ladies who were desperate to do anything they could to help – had transformed it. Half a dozen kettles were permanently on the boil. Sandwiches were being made and consumed constantly. They were too old to trawl the moors, the women had told him, as though embarrassed by their own frailty, but they could feed those who did; and they could pray for the little lad.

If Harry stayed near them any longer, he’d scream.

In front of the altar, DI Neasden was explaining why they’d had to temporarily abandon the search. When Neasden finished speaking, he’d be expected to lead more prayers. Harry knew he couldn’t stay in the building.

Outside, the helicopter was still circling. Towards the front of the church, standing a little apart, DCS Rushton was talking to Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw. Since Rushton was back, the press conference must have finished. Spotting Harry, Rushton left the Renshaws and made his way over. Suddenly exhausted, Harry sank on to the stone-table grave behind him. Rushton approached and sat beside him. He had a lit cigarette in one hand.

Harry turned to look at Rushton properly. The police officer wore a thick overcoat over his suit, heavy gloves and a green wool scarf. He’d possibly had even less sleep than Harry.

‘Anything?’ asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be but unable to stop himself asking.

Rushton inhaled deeply on his cigarette. ‘Not so far,’ he said, as smoke billowed around his face. ‘Press conference went well. Young Tom was a bit of a star, had the whole room in tears telling his brother he’d tidied his box of soldiers for him.’

Harry dropped his head into his hands.

‘It was exactly what we needed,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got the whole of Lancashire talking about Joe Fletcher.’

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Dr Warrington. ‘Saturday-morning surgery’s always busy.’

Evi forced her lips into a half-smile. She’d raced to get here after the press conference and had sat in the waiting room, watching squirrels run up and down trees in the garden outside, getting angrier as each patient with a cough or an in-growing toenail, not one of them a genuine emergency, was shown through before her.

‘I’ll have to rush you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We tee off at noon.’ There was a book open on his desk. He closed it and reached to put it on the windowsill behind him. He hadn’t looked her in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds.

‘There is a woman in this area who suffers from congenital hypothyroidism,’ said Evi. ‘I need to find her. I think it could be relevant to Joe Fletcher’s abduction.’

Dr Warrington reached over and switched off his computer. ‘Sorry, Dr Oliver,’ he said. ‘You know the rules.’

‘What about up here?’ asked Harry, feeling the smoke of Rushton’s cigarette fill his lungs.

‘Well, the dog handlers went through the church like a dose of salts,’ replied Rushton. ‘Twice. They’ve done the cellars and the churchyard. A couple of times we thought they might have picked something up, but it didn’t lead anywhere.’

‘The boys come into the church quite often,’ said Harry. ‘They were here last Sunday for the service.’

‘Yes, well, that could explain it. We had a bit more luck with the CCTV footage in Blackburn. I’ve just had a call through.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye. I haven’t had chance to tell his parents yet, so keep it to yourself, but the couple we picked up at King George’s were spotted again, getting on a bus in the direction of Witton Park. We spoke to the driver just over an hour ago.’

‘Does he remember them?’

‘Vaguely. He thinks they must have got off somewhere along King Street because they definitely weren’t on board when he approached the park. The bus was just about empty by then.’

‘Any trace of them after that?’

‘Nope. And not likely to be. They could have had a car parked anywhere along that road. The important thing is, this couple haven’t come forward. In spite of their picture being on the news last night and this morning and in today’s Telegraph, nothing.’

‘So you haven’t been able to rule them out?’

‘Quite the contrary. We managed to enhance the image until we could see some sort of sticker on the heel of the child’s shoe. Tom tells us Joe had Spiderman stickers on his trainers. We’ve also been able to pin down the clothes the two of them were wearing. Remember, both were in baseball caps, both wearing oversized coats?’

‘I remember,’ said Harry.

‘Clothes exactly like them can be found in British Home Stores, not half a mile from King George’s. We’ve been through the till receipts and found a transaction of just those four items, almost exactly an hour before Joe was last seen.’

‘Clothes bought specially for the abduction,’ said Harry.

‘It was a cash transaction, sadly, so we’ve no hope of tracing the credit card, but we’re pretty certain now that the couple on camera are Joe and his abductor,’ said Rushton. ‘We’ve got people working on the image, to see if it can be enhanced any more, but we’re not hopeful. Small man, tall woman, could be either.’

‘The footprint you found in the Fletchers’ house on the night of Millie’s abduction could have come from a small man or a tall woman,’ said Harry.

‘Aye, it could. And given that the film footage showed no sign of Joe struggling, it’s likely he went with someone he knew.’

‘So he could be here after all?’

‘Aye, he could. And I’m happy to be proved wrong as long as we find him in time. I’ve got a team doing a house-to-house search. We’re asking people for permission to take the dogs round their homes. We can’t force anyone, obviously, but so far everyone we’ve asked is cooperating.’

‘How long will it take to get round every house in Heptonclough?’

Rushton sighed. He stubbed out his cigarette on the gravestone and then dropped it on the grass. ‘We won’t manage it today,’ he said. ‘But I’ve put a couple of cars on both roads out of town. Everyone leaving is being stopped and questioned. We’re asking permission to search the boots.’

‘Are people agreeing to that?’

‘If they don’t, we want to know why.’

No, it was not going to end like this. ‘Yes, I know the rules,’ Evi said, trying not to snap. ‘I’ve read them three times in the last twenty-four hours, Dr Warrington, so don’t try quoting them at me. It seems to me that in situations where serious harm may occur to a third party, the doctor isn’t just able to pass on information, he’s obliged to.’

Warrington leaned towards her, locking his fingers together in front of his chin. ‘That refers to passing information to the police,’ he said. ‘Get the officer in charge of the case to come and see me and I’ll see what I can do.’ He was bending down, picking up his bag.

‘There isn’t time for that,’ said Evi. ‘Look, I know I’ve sprung this on you and I’m sorry, but I’ve been up half the night working on this.’

He opened his mouth. She wasn’t giving him a chance.

‘I have neither the time nor the energy to be polite, so here’s the bottom line,’ she hurried on. ‘If you don’t help me and Joe Fletcher dies, I will make certain everyone – the police, the General Medical Council, the media, absolutely everyone – knows about this conversation and that you put rules, not to mention golf, before a little boy’s life.’

Silence in the room. Evi was trembling. For a second, she thought it wasn’t going to work, that he would order her out of the room and make an official complaint to the GMC even before twelve noon tee-off. Then he reached out and switched the computer back on.

‘Right,’ he said, not meeting her eyes. ‘What exactly are we looking for?’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I need to find a patient, most likely under thirty years old, suffering from congenital hypothyroidism.’

Rushton’s phone was ringing. He’d stood up, walking quickly away from Harry, his phone pressed against his right ear. Then he turned back, switching it off as he came back. ‘We’ve had a sighting in Great Harwood,’ he said. ‘Walk with me to the car, Harry.’

They set off, drawing curious glances as they made their way along the churchyard path. ‘A lad answering Joe’s description has been seen going into a house,’ continued Rushton. ‘No children are known to live there and the owner is someone we’ve had our eye on for a while. We’re sure he’s a nonce but we can’t prove it. He’s clever.’

‘And you think he’s got Joe?’ asked Harry, in dismay.

‘I hope so, lad. I bloody well hope so. Because this call came within the hour. If it’s Joe, he’s still alive.’

‘Will you tell Gareth and Alice?’

‘Not till we know anything for certain. We should have a car there in ten minutes. They won’t wait for me.’

They’d reached Rushton’s car. The waiting journalists, spotting the detective chief superintendent and sensing the urgency in his manner, came striding towards them. Rushton jumped into his car before turning back to Harry. ‘If I were you, lad,’ he said, ‘I’d get back into that church and do what you do best.’ The car set off, disappearing from sight as it turned the corner.

Knowing he couldn’t cope with journalists, Harry turned and walked quickly back up the hill. People were starting to leave the church and he realized he hadn’t heard the helicopter for several minutes.

Sinclair and Tobias Renshaw, both dressed for the outdoors, had followed Harry and Rushton out of the church grounds. Standing a little behind them, her eyes flicking up to Harry and then back down again, was Gillian.

‘Any news, Vicar?’ asked Sinclair, as Harry drew close.

Harry shook his head. ‘Nothing yet,’ he said. Had Joe spent the night with a known paedophile? What state would he be in, even if he was alive? No, he simply couldn’t start thinking like that.

Alice and Millie had appeared directly in front of him. Hovering at their side was Jenny Pickup.

‘How are you holding up, Alice?’ asked Sinclair, in a voice that surprised Harry with its gentleness. Alice looked up at the tall man as though he’d spoken to her in a foreign language.

‘Has anyone seen Gareth and Tom?’ she asked.

‘They were on Lower Bank Road about half an hour ago,’ said Gillian, stepping closer. ‘They went on to the old railway line with me and a few others. We wanted to check the Collingway tunnel.’

‘They would have come back when the helicopter began its search, though,’ said Tobias. ‘Alice, I wish you’d come back to our house and rest. It’s too cold for the little one to be out.’

‘You should, Alice,’ said Jenny, taking a step closer to her grandfather. ‘Or at least leave Millie there. Dad’s housekeeper will keep an eye on her. You can’t carry her round on your back all day.’

Alice’s eyes were drifting. ‘Thank you,’ she said, to the nearby lamppost. ‘I need to keep her with me. I have to find Gareth now.’

She turned away. More and more people were coming out of the church now. The search was back on.

‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s nothing else to try.’

Wondering how she was going to find the energy to get out of her chair, Evi nodded her head. ‘I know,’ she admitted.

An hour after John Warrington had agreed to help her search for the mysterious Ebba, they’d been forced to give up. They’d run every search through patient records that they’d been able to think of. Only the records of the last thirty years had been computerized, but Warrington had gone into the practice basement and found several boxes of older records. They’d gone back forty years, knowing the chances of Ebba being older than that were almost non-existent, but although they’d found several people suffering from the condition, all had died. In thirty-four years, no one with congenital hypothyroidism, not even anyone with a goitre, had been registered as a patient. They’d racked their brains trying to think of similar conditions and had run several other searches. At last, they’d been compelled to give up.

‘How sure are you that she lives in this area?’ asked Warrington.

‘She must do,’ said Evi. ‘Someone with that condition couldn’t drive.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ agreed the GP.

‘How can someone like that slip so completely off the grid?’ asked Evi, almost trembling with frustration. ‘Why wasn’t she diagnosed as a baby? Why wasn’t she treated? And why, given all her medical needs, do the local doctors know nothing about her?’

Warrington didn’t reply and Evi pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry you missed your game.’

‘I’ll phone our receptionists at home,’ the doctor offered. ‘And a couple who’ve since retired. It’s possible they can remember something, think of something. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.’

‘I’m sinking, Harry,’ said Alice. They’d got as far as the corner of the churchyard and then Alice stumbled. He’d had to reach out to catch her, to stop her and Millie from tumbling to the ground.

‘You’re doing incredibly well,’ said Harry. He put an arm round her shoulders and led her to the wall. Her breathing was too fast. ‘You’re calm, you’re functioning and you’re taking care of your other two children,’ he went on. ‘I can’t imagine what strength that takes.’

‘It’s the worst feeling in the world,’ said Alice. ‘Not knowing where your child is. Nobody can feel like this and stay sane.’

‘You can,’ said Harry, although the truth was he wasn’t sure. He really didn’t like the way Alice seemed unable to focus on anything.

‘I’ll tell you what it’s like,’ she went on, leaning so close to him it felt uncomfortable. ‘It’s like Joe never really existed, that I just imagined him. And now, I really need to see Tom and Gareth because I’ve got this feeling that they’ve gone too. Then I’ll look round and Millie will have disappeared. It’s like someone’s rubbing us out, bit by bit.’

‘Millie is asleep on your shoulder,’ Harry said quickly, realizing that if he stopped talking he might start sobbing. ‘Tom and Gareth are close by, looking for Joe. Alice, look at me.’

She raised her head. He thought perhaps he could have fallen in love with those pale turquoise eyes, had he not already…‘We will find Joe,’ he said. ‘Some time very soon, we’ll find him. I wish I could promise you we’ll find him safe and well, but you know I can’t do that. But one way or another, we will find him. You’ll be able to see clearly again, you’ll be able to grieve, if you have to, and you’ll be able to move on. You’ll never be alone.’

‘Harry, I…’ Turquoise eyes filling with tears. A second pair was staring at him. Millie had woken and was looking at Harry as though she understood every word.

‘You have incredible strength,’ he said. ‘Your family will survive because they have you. You’re its heart. You’re its soul.’

‘I can see why you became a priest,’ said Alice, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘But it isn’t real, is it?’

He thought perhaps the tears were in his eyes, after all. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, although he knew.

‘There’s no faith shoring you up right now,’ said Alice. ‘No direct line to the man upstairs. It’s just you, isn’t it?’

‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘Let’s get you both inside.’

82

EVI WAS IN HEPTONCLOUGH. THE STREETS WERE QUIET again. She pulled her car up to the kerb and got out. If she’d ever been more tired in her life before, she really couldn’t remember. She crossed the pavement and walked up the short path to the terraced house. As she stood on the doorstep waiting, something white floated down and settled on her coat sleeve. The snow that had been predicted all day had arrived.

‘I can’t get an answer from Gillian’s flat,’ she said, when the door opened. ‘I’m worried about her.’

Gwen Bannister sighed. ‘Come in, love,’ she said. ‘You look fit to drop.’

Evi followed Gwen along the floral-patterned hall carpet and into a small living room. The carpet was worn in places, the room hadn’t been decorated in a long time. A television in the corner of the room was switched on.

‘Have you seen her today?’ asked Evi, glancing at the television, wondering if Gwen would turn it off.

‘Sit down, love. I’ll put the kettle on.’

The last thing Evi wanted to do was drink tea, but she sank gratefully on to the sofa. ‘I’m not sure we should hang around,’ she said. ‘I’m really quite worried. When did you last see her?’

‘About two hours ago,’ replied Gwen, after a moment. ‘She’s been helping with the search all day. Then, about five o’clock, when it was just too dark to go on, I saw her chatting to the vicar.’

The television was too loud. Evi flinched as the TV audience started applauding. ‘And did she seem OK?’ she asked.

Gwen shrugged. ‘Well, I think he might have said something she didn’t much like, because she spun on her heels the way she does and flounced off down the hill. Is she definitely not at home?’

‘There are lights on but she won’t answer the phone or the door.’ Evi had waited outside Gillian’s house for fifteen minutes, getting colder and stiffer. In the end, she’d had to try something else.

‘I’ll walk down and check on her,’ Gwen was saying. ‘Will it wait till I’ve had my tea?’

‘Probably,’ said Evi, although she really would have preferred Gwen to go immediately. ‘If you’re at all concerned about her, especially if she isn’t there, I need you to phone me,’ she went on. ‘If she seems basically OK, could you tell her that someone will call her in the morning? A colleague of mine from the hospital. She’s going to be taking over Gillian’s case.’

Gwen frowned. ‘I thought you and she were doing quite well.’

‘We were. I’m sorry, I can’t really go into it. Thank you for your help and please phone me if you need to.’ Evi pushed herself to her feet.

‘I will,’ said Gwen, as she did the same. ‘There’s been no more news on the little lad, then?’

Evi shook her head.

‘His poor mother. Makes you wonder what’s going on up here, doesn’t it? And in church too. I hear they’ve left a constable in the vestry overnight, just in case… well, it doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’

Evi moved towards the door. Gwen was standing in her path but there really was no time for chatting. Evi made a show of looking at her watch and Gwen stepped aside.

‘I should be more sympathetic to Gillian, I know,’ Gwen began, as she followed Evi down the hall. ‘She lost her daughter and two other little girls she was fond of. Course, nobody thought it was anything other than coincidence, what with all the time in between each one. Four years in between Lucy and Megan, then another three before we lost Hayley. And what happened was so different. One fell, one disappeared, one died in a fire. How could we have known they were all linked?’

‘You couldn’t,’ said Evi. ‘Nobody should feel to blame.’ She stopped, three feet from the front door. All linked? ‘Gillian was fond of Lucy and Megan?’ she asked.

‘Oh aye. She did some nannying for Lucy when she was alive. Can you manage that door, love?’

‘I think she told me that,’ said Evi. ‘I didn’t realize she knew Megan as well.’

‘Used to babysit for her. Sweet little lass, she was. The family moved away. You don’t get over something like that, do you? I should have more sympathy with Gillian, I know that. Look, let me.’

Evi watched Gwen reach past her to open the door. She made herself step forward and over the threshold. ‘Thanks, Gwen,’ she said. ‘Keep me posted.’

Outside, Evi leaned against her car. Already a fine dusting of snow was covering the windscreen. She couldn’t lose her head now. Find the link, Steve had said: the victims were not selected at random, there is a link between them. Had she found it? Did she have enough to go to the police?

She drove down the hill, noticing Harry’s car outside the Fletchers’ house. A few seconds later she parked. Ignoring Gillian’s flat, she went to the door of the newsagent’s beneath it. The shop was in darkness. She banged on the door. Was there a bell? Yes, up there in the top left corner. She pressed it for five seconds, waited a second, then pressed it again. At the back of the shop, a door opened. Lights flickered on and someone was coming towards her. Let it be – yes, it was the woman she’d spoken to yesterday.

‘We’re closed.’

‘I need to ask you something,’ said Evi. ‘I was here yesterday, do you remember? I was trying to find Gillian?’

‘I’m not her keeper, you know.’ The woman was in her sixties, plump, short, with straight grey hair.

‘You told me you’d seen her catching a bus,’ said Evi. ‘Do you remember?’

‘I may have done,’ the woman said, folding her arms across her chest.

‘Did you see which bus she caught? Where it was going to?’

‘What is this, Crimewatch?’ The woman’s face fell. ‘It’s nothing to do with that lad, is it?’

‘It might be.’ Evi was desperate. ‘Please, if you can remember, it’s really important.’

‘It wasn’t one of those Witch Way buses,’ the woman said, her bolshie attitude gone. ‘They’re black and red, aren’t they?’

‘I think so,’ said Evi, although she never travelled by bus.

‘Green, that was it. I remember now, because I saw Elsie Miller getting on it and realized she must be going for her monthly hospital check.’

‘And the green buses go to…?’

‘Past the hospital, dropping off in the town centre.’

‘Which town centre?’

‘Blackburn, of course.’

83

‘DEAD TO THE WORLD,’ SAID JENNY, WALKING INTO THE kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, one hand on her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, that was an incredibly stupid thing to say.’

Gareth glanced at his wife. Alice didn’t seem to have heard. ‘We know what you mean,’ he said. ‘They’re both exhausted. Tom walked as far as I did today. And I don’t think Millie’s ever had as much fresh air. Do I need to check the oven, Jenny?’

‘Oh, let me.’ Jenny squeezed her way behind Harry and bent down in front of the Fletchers’ range oven. She opened the door an inch and steam poured out into the kitchen. The smell of cooking meat filled the air and Harry realized he was hungry.

Alice stood up. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she announced, before turning and disappearing through the back door.

Wondering if he were quite so hungry after all, Harry watched as Gareth turned his back on the room and stared outside. The darkness was complete. Harry looked at his watch, more out of habit than anything. He’d long since given up expecting Evi. When he raised his head again, Gareth had turned back to face the room.

‘Jenny, Mike will be forgetting what you look like,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t need to…?’ He left the question hanging. Harry wondered if Gareth wanted Jenny to leave, if he wanted them both to leave. Friends were no use to the Fletchers right now. They couldn’t help, they could only get in the way.

‘I will just nip back,’ said Jenny. ‘We’re staying with Dad tonight so we can get an early start in the morning.’ She looked from Harry to Gareth. ‘They’ll all be back,’ she said. ‘Mike and all the men. Everyone. We won’t give up.’

‘Thanks, Jenny,’ said Gareth. ‘But I think we know by now he isn’t here.’

Harry stood up to see Jenny out. ‘I’ll try and pop back later,’ she said in a soft voice as they stood in the doorway. ‘Just to check. Dinner’ll be five minutes. Make sure they eat.’

He closed the front door and leaned against it. He should go too, he was useless here. At least Jenny had provided food. Nobody would eat it, but she was doing something. Then he heard a noise outside. A car had drawn up, followed closely by a second. Two figures climbed out of the vehicles and approached the front door. He got ready to open it, expecting journalists. What was he supposed to say again? The family are holding up well. They’re grateful for everyone’s support. Please continue to pray for…

Brian Rushton stood on the doorstep, the shoulders of his coat damp with snowflakes. At his side, paler than he’d ever seen her, was Evi.

‘No!’

All heads turned to see Alice in the kitchen doorway. ‘No,’ she said again. Realizing what she was thinking, what the visit from Rushton and Evi probably meant, Harry felt his skin glowing hot.

‘Alice, don’t…’ said Evi.

Rushton was inside the house, shaking the snow off his shoes, steering Harry out of the way, striding towards Alice. ‘Steady down, lass,’ he was saying. ‘We’re not here to give you bad news. News, yes, but not bad news, so just take it easy. Come on, come and sit down.’

‘What?’ Harry mouthed the single word at Evi. Giving him a look he couldn’t interpret, she banged her heels against the doorframe to get rid of the snow and then set off after Rushton and Alice. Harry closed the door and followed them.

‘Let’s all sit down,’ said Rushton. Harry was about to take the last seat next to Evi when he caught her eye. She looked ill. He turned to the sink and ran a glass of water, handing it over without comment. She drank half of it down.

‘Dr Oliver phoned me just over an hour ago,’ said Rushton. ‘We may have made a breakthrough.’

‘You found Ebba?’ asked Harry, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Evi.

She shook her head. ‘That’s not what this is about.’ She looked at Rushton. ‘Do you want to…?’ she asked.

‘No, you go ahead, lass. You explained it very well to me just now.’

Evi’s hands were trembling, she seemed to be making a huge effort. ‘Last night I went to see a colleague,’ she said. ‘He’s had some forensic experience so I wanted to know what he made of everything.’ She paused and took another sip of water. She swallowed and a grimace of pain shot across her face, as though she had something in her throat.

‘Steve made me see that we’re looking for two people,’ she continued. ‘First, this Ebba person, who we think has some idea what’s been going on and who, in her own way, has been trying to warn you. But because she can only really relate to the children and because she frightens Tom, she hasn’t had much success.’ She turned to look at Harry. ‘You already know she hangs around the church. I think she’s responsible for the blood in the chalice that day and for the effigy of Millie that you found. I think she’s been trying to tell you what happens in the church. About the very real risk to Millie.’

Harry sensed Gareth and Alice share a look. He couldn’t remember how much they knew about the weird events in church. He saw Gareth opening his mouth to speak and his wife hushing him.

‘Most importantly,’ said Evi, ‘we’re looking for the person who’s been abducting and killing the little girls. Now, Steve made me see that it’s all linked. The church is important, but so is the town itself. It’s not coincidence that all the victims come from this town. Whoever the abductor is, he or she has a connection with all of them. They were chosen for a reason. I didn’t find Ebba today, but I may have found the link.’

‘And what’s that?’ asked Gareth.

‘Not what,’ said Evi. ‘Who. I think the link is Gillian.’

Tom was awake. Had he been asleep? He thought perhaps he had but he wasn’t sure. Whose bed was he in? Joe’s. The canopy of his own bunk was several feet above his head. There was light in the corridor, and he could hear voices in the kitchen downstairs. Not that late then. Better go back to sleep. Sleep was a world in which Joe was still OK.

A sudden rattling sound. He sat up. That was what had woken him. A series of sharp, clear taps. Someone was throwing stones at the window.

Joe! Joe was back and trying to get in. Tom sprang out of bed and ran across the room. The curtains were drawn. The fabric was rough against his face and he could feel the draught from outside. ‘Joe,’ he whispered.

He could still hear voices downstairs. Harry’s was the loudest, the most distinct. He could hear a woman’s voice too, much softer and quieter. Not his mum though, someone with an English accent. It could be Jenny, she’d been here earlier. Should he call for his parents, tell them he thought Joe was outside, throwing stones up at the window?

But could he do that to his mum? Make her hope Joe was back when really it was just tree branches scraping against the window?

There were no trees anywhere near Tom’s bedroom window.

He put both hands on the curtains and got ready to pull them an inch or two apart. Just far enough to see what was out there. An inch. Nothing but blackness. Two inches. Three.

The girl was in the garden behind the house, staring up at him.

In the kitchen silence fell. Then Gareth pushed himself to his feet. Rushton held up one hand. ‘Mrs Royle should be on her way to headquarters by now,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’m just waiting for a call from DI Neasden to tell me she’s safely in custody. We won’t be able to interview her until the duty psychiatrist is in attendance, but at least we know she won’t be able to harm the lad.’

‘Gillian?’ said Alice. ‘Hayley was her daughter.’

‘She wouldn’t be the first mother to kill her own child,’ answered Rushton. ‘Not by a long shot. To be honest, I was sceptical myself when Dr Oliver called. I’m still not 100 per cent convinced, but there are enough questions that need answering.’ He nodded at Evi. ‘Go on, lass,’ he said, ‘you’ll tell it better than I will.

Evi dropped her eyes to the table, then looked up again. ‘I’ve been worried about Gillian for a while,’ she said, and the words seemed to come out of her reluctantly, as though, even now, she found it hard to break a patient’s confidence. ‘I knew there was a lot she wasn’t telling me, and I also knew there was more going on in her head than grief. I’ve suspected childhood abuse from a number of things she’s said and the behaviour she exhibits, but the first really worrying sign for me was finding out she’d lied about the manner of Hayley’s death. She told me and others that Hayley’s body wasn’t found, that it just disappeared in the fire. That wasn’t true. The firemen found remains.’

‘Which weren’t Hayley’s,’ Harry reminded her. ‘Hayley was taken out before the fire was started.’

‘Yes,’ said Evi. ‘But how could she have known that unless she was involved in Hayley’s removal from the cottage? I think Gillian’s refusal to accept that the remains were Hayley’s was her way of dealing with guilt.’

‘OK, but that’s not enough by itself,’ said Harry, looking up at Rushton, trying to read the older man’s face.

Evi sipped from her glass again. ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said. ‘But I’ve been talking to her mother as well, over the last week or so. Gillian’s father was killed in a car accident when she was three. She was in the car with him. She wasn’t hurt, but when the police pulled her out she was covered in her father’s blood.’

‘Christ,’ muttered Gareth.

‘Well, yes. Enough to have a damaging effect on any child. Gillian’s mother married again and – I have no proof of this, but I think Gillian was abused by her stepfather when she was still quite young. Her early medical history shows textbook examples of symptoms of abuse and she talks about him in a way that is very disparaging and full of sexual references. I’ve had to be very careful when I’ve been talking to Gwen. Obviously, I couldn’t ask her outright if Gillian had been abused, but I could hint around the subject. There was something there, I’m sure of it. Gwen knows more than she’s saying. Then when Gillian was twelve her eighteen-month-old sister was killed. She fell from the top of the stairs at her home and landed on the stone floor. Sound familiar to anyone?’

Harry saw Alice reach back and take hold of her husband’s hand. Neither seemed capable of speaking.

‘It’s worrying,’ said Harry, looking at Rushton again. ‘But isn’t it what you call circumstantial?’

‘Her stepfather found the child, but Gillian was in the house too,’ said Evi, before Rushton could respond. ‘She would have seen the blood, heard the man she hated howling in agony. That could make a disturbed teenager feel pretty powerful.’

‘It’s still speculative, Evi,’ said Harry.

‘That’s what I was saying at this point,’ said Rushton, nodding his head.

‘Gillian’s husband was cheating on her,’ said Evi. ‘I think she killed Hayley to punish him, the way she punished her stepfather by killing his daughter. She kills because it makes her feel powerful. Gillian and her mother were at the Renshaws the day Lucy was killed.’

‘Gwen told you that?’ asked Harry. He thought for a second. ‘Actually, I think I knew that. I think Jenny mentioned it herself.’

‘Gillian helped to look after Lucy sometimes, she was a sort of unofficial nanny,’ said Rushton. ‘And she used to babysit for Megan. Of course, we can’t guess why she would want to kill those two, but as I say, questions need to be asked.’

For a moment no one spoke.

‘Gillian was seen catching a bus to Blackburn early yesterday afternoon,’ said Evi.

Still silence.

‘She knew about the pantomime,’ said Alice. ‘She was round here yesterday morning with Jenny. I told her where the boys would be.’

Treading softly with bare feet, Tom made his way down the stairs. The kitchen door was closed. He could hear several voices behind it. He stepped into the living room and crossed to the window that overlooked the garden. It wasn’t easy, pulling back the curtain, she would be so much closer now, but somehow he managed it.

Two eyes. Large and brown, with crepey, wrinkled skin around them, wrinkles that made her look old and not old at the same time. Two eyes staring in at him, with an expression he’d never seen before. He’d seen her full of mischief. He’d seen her threaten him and Millie. He’d never seen her scared.

‘Ebba.’ No sound came out, his lips were forming the words.

‘Tommy,’ she mouthed back.

He stepped away, allowing the curtains to fall back into place. She rapped softly on the window.

What should he do?

If he yelled for his dad, she’d go. And he wanted her to go. It was bad enough without Joe, he couldn’t deal with monsters too.

Tap, tap, tap. Louder this time. He had to make a decision before she broke the glass.

Silence. He reached out and moved the curtain. She was still there. When she saw him she pointed at the window lock, her hand jabbing up and down. She wanted him to open the window. She wanted to come in.

Not in a million years. He opened his mouth to yell.

She might have Joe.

He didn’t care, he wasn’t that brave, she wasn’t coming in. He shook his head and took a step back into the room. The curtains fell back but didn’t quite meet. He could still see her. He saw her reach down into the neck of her dress and pull something out. He saw her press it against the glass.

She did have his brother. How else could she have got hold of Joe’s trainer?

Tom couldn’t stop himself taking a step closer to the glass. When he and Joe had got their new trainers they’d customized them. They’d put stickers on the heels and swapped laces, so that Tom’s mainly black trainers had red laces and Joe’s mainly red trainers had black laces. A red trainer with a black lace was being pressed against the glass and the remains of a Spiderman sticker were visible on the back of the heel.

She had Joe. That’s what she’d wanted all along, one of the Fletcher children. She’d tried to get Millie and when she’d failed she’d gone for Joe instead.

She was pointing at the window lock again. She really, really wanted to come in. His dad and Harry were just along the hall. If he let her in he could grab her, then yell for the others, he could hold her until they arrived. Once his dad got hold of her, she’d have to tell them where Joe was. Let her in, yell blue murder and hold tight. He could do that, couldn’t he? He could be that brave?

Without giving himself time to think, he nodded at Ebba and held up one finger. ‘Give me one minute,’ he was saying to her, without any idea whether she would understand or not. He ran from the room to where the keys were kept in the hallway. One of them unlocked the windows.

Seconds later, he half expected Ebba not to be there any more, but she was. He put the key in the lock and turned it. As soon as the handle was pulled up, she was tugging at the window, opening it and clambering through, as though she’d done it many times before. He stepped back immediately, because he really didn’t want to go anywhere near that horrible lump on her neck. Before he’d had time to think, she’d dropped to the carpet and was dashing across the room.

He cried out and ran after her, but she stopped at the door and closed it. She was between him and the grown-ups now, but he could still yell and grab hold of her.

Could he?

‘Tommy,’ she said. ‘Tommy, please come.’

The window was open and the cold from outside was flooding into the room. Tom knew, though, it wasn’t the cold making him shake; cold didn’t get you like this, not deep down inside. Ordinary cold made by wind and rain didn’t turn the most secret part of you to ice.

It took the sound of his brother’s voice to do that; Joe’s voice, coming out of this girl’s mouth like a message, like a cry from a place he could never go to, like a…

‘Tommy, please come.’

… like a plea for help.

‘What I don’t get,’ said Gareth, ‘if you’re right, is why she switched from girls to Joe. She’s breaking her pattern.’

‘She is,’ agreed Evi. ‘And I don’t think she was ever really interested in Joe. It was Millie she wanted. I think she took Millie out of the party in September and up to the church gallery, and it was just sheer good luck that Harry and the boys arrived when they did.’ She turned to Harry. ‘But do you remember, she was there? When you and the children came out of the church, she was waiting for you.’

Harry nodded. ‘She carried Millie home. None of us were in any fit state. You think she’d been hanging round just to see…’

‘I think she realized someone was coming and fled,’ said Evi. ‘She just didn’t go far. There was still a chance it would work, that you wouldn’t get to Millie in time. Then I think she tried to take her again, back in November, when Tom and Joe stopped her. Since then, I think she’s been biding her time. Until yesterday.’

‘What happened yesterday?’ asked Alice.

Evi could feel Harry’s eyes on her. ‘Gillian is seriously infatuated with Harry,’ she said. ‘And yesterday-’

‘She saw me kissing Evi,’ interrupted Harry.

Alice looked at her husband, then back at Evi. ‘But what’s that got to do with-’ she began.

‘Harry and I don’t have children,’ said Evi, forcing herself to look Alice in the eye. ‘But Gillian knows we’re fond of yours. I’m really sorry, but I think taking Joe is about punishing us.’

‘She and I had words earlier today,’ said Harry. ‘I really wasn’t in the mood to be patient, I’m afraid. She didn’t take it well. Oh shit.’ He dropped his head into his hands.

‘If Dr Oliver is right, Gillian took Joe from somewhere miles away from here so that we wouldn’t connect it with what happened to the girls,’ said Rushton. ‘Joe knows Gillian. If she’d told him she’d been sent by his mother, there’s a good chance he’d believe her.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Where is Jove?’ he muttered. At that moment, his mobile phone rang. He excused himself and left the room.

Silence fell in the kitchen as everyone strained to catch any part of Rushton’s conversation. They didn’t have long to wait. After less than three minutes, they could hear his footsteps coming back along the hall. The door opened. His sallow skin seemed to have grown paler.

‘Not the best news,’ he said, without entering the room. ‘Jove and his lads found what they thought was a crime scene in Gillian’s flat. Blood everywhere. Turns out she made an attempt on her own life this evening.’

Evi half stood up and didn’t have the strength to make it further. She sank back down again. At her side, Harry had gone very still.

Rushton shook his head, as though trying to wake himself up. ‘Her mother found her and called an ambulance,’ he said. ‘She’s in Burnley General now. Slashed both wrists. In a bad way, by all accounts.’

Evi’s hand was covering her mouth. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered.

‘Is she going to live?’ said Alice. ‘If she dies…’

‘Take it easy,’ said Rushton. ‘I’m going over now. They haven’t been able to talk to her yet, but I’ll see what pressure I can bring to bear on the doctor in charge. And Jove hasn’t been idle. He’s talking to her mother about any connections she and Gillian have in Blackburn – old friends, relatives, places they used to live.’

‘I need to come with you,’ said Evi, forcing herself to her feet.

‘Evi, I don’t-’ Harry began.

‘I’m her doctor.’

‘No disrespect, Dr Oliver, but I doubt you’re top of the list of people she wants to see right now,’ said Rushton, zipping up his coat. ‘If we think a bit of persuasion is needed, we might call upon the vicar. Excuse me now, folks.’

Rushton was leaving. He was wrong, Gillian was her responsibility, she had to go to the hospital. Evi stood up and set off across the kitchen as the front door slammed behind him. She’d made it halfway along the hallway before Harry caught her.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said.

She shrugged his hand off her arm. ‘This is all my fault,’ she said in a low voice, not wanting to wake the children, not wanting Alice and Gareth to hear how seriously she’d messed up. ‘I’m responsible for her welfare and I betrayed her.’

‘You did nothing of the kind.’ Harry, it seemed, wasn’t capable of speaking quietly. ‘Since we met, you’ve gone out of your way to do the right thing. I’m the one who wouldn’t leave you alone, and if anyone’s to blame it’s me. I’m going to the hospital.’

‘Neither of you are going anywhere.’ As Harry turned from her, Evi could see Gareth in the kitchen doorway. ‘And I’ve heard quite enough self-indulgent crap for one night,’ he continued. ‘Now get back in here, both of you, and help us work out where she put Joe.’

Tom stood in the dark living room, listening to the sounds in the hallway, hoping that someone would open the door and see him and Ebba but not quite able to bring himself to call out. Then the front door slammed shut. He could hear Harry and Evi arguing in the hall and then his dad saying something. Then the adults all went back into the kitchen.

‘I have to get my dad,’ Tom said.

The girl’s whole body trembled. She shook her head and looked at the door, then back at him, then at the window. She took a step towards it.

‘He won’t hurt you,’ said Tom, although the truth was he couldn’t say for certain what his dad would do to someone who’d hurt Joe. She took another step towards the window. She was going, they’d never catch her, an entire team of police officers had been searching the town all day and they hadn’t found her. She’d go and his last chance to find Joe would disappear.

Was it seeing her terror that was lessening his? Because although this was one of the strangest experiences of his life – and he’d had a few lately – Tom was discovering that he wasn’t quite as scared as he’d thought he would be. Pretty scared, admittedly, just not… Joe had never been scared of Ebba.

‘Wait,’ Tom heard himself say. ‘I won’t tell him.’ What was he talking about? That had been the plan, hadn’t it? Hold on to her and call for his dad.

But Millie hadn’t been scared either. When Millie had seen Joe’s drawing of Ebba, her little face had lit up, as if she was looking at the picture of an old friend.

‘Tommy come,’ said Ebba, holding out her hand. She was moving towards the window, in a second she would be gone.

He nodded his head. Was he insane? ‘OK,’ he said.

Alice, Evi and Harry were back at the kitchen table. Only Gareth remained standing. He looked at Evi. ‘What’s your take on where she’d put him?’ he said.

Evi shook her head. ‘Forensics really isn’t my thing,’ she said. ‘I’ve never done any criminal work.’

‘No, but you seem to know Gillian better than anyone else. Would she keep him here or somewhere else?’

Evi gave herself a moment to think. ‘We shouldn’t rule this town out,’ she said at last. ‘This is where she feels at home. If she’s planning to take him to the church when all the fuss has died down, she’ll want to keep him somewhere she can get to him easily. If she wants to keep him alive, she’ll have to feed him. And she knows this moor better than anyone. I can’t tell you how many times she’s boasted to me about it. “I know all the best hiding places,” she says.’

‘That’s what I think,’ said Gareth. ‘She’s been here all day. I’ve seen her loads of times. And she doesn’t have a car. She can’t nip in and out of town quickly.’

‘What if she won’t tell them where he is?’ said Alice. ‘If she refuses, we might never find him. If he’s outdoors, he won’t last much longer in this weather. We have to get the police back here. We have to keep looking.’

‘But the whole moor has been crawling with dogs,’ said Harry. ‘They used thermal-imaging equipment. He can’t be on the moor.’

‘The moor is where Gillian feels at home,’ said Evi. ‘It’s the natural place she’d think of hiding him.’

‘If he is still here,’ said Harry, ‘he’s somewhere the dogs and the heat-seekers couldn’t find him.’

Silence.

‘What do you mean?’ said Alice, after a few seconds.

‘Somewhere out of range,’ said Harry. ‘Of the dogs and the equipment.’

‘Water?’ said Gareth. ‘Tonsworth reservoir, that’s less than three miles away. There are buildings near it, where they keep the pumping equipment.’

‘We searched that,’ said Harry. ‘United Utilities opened it up for us. The dogs went in.’

‘Somewhere in the air?’ suggested Evi. ‘I don’t know – in a tree, a tree-house. The dogs wouldn’t find him.’

‘The helicopter would. A big source of heat like a child, even a child’s body – sorry, Alice – would have been picked up by the equipment.’

‘What about underground?’ said Alice. ‘Are there any mines on the moor? Or caves? You know, like in Derbyshire, where they have the Blue John mines.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Gareth. ‘Harry and I were looking at water-resource maps yesterday, I’m sure they’d have indicated any- Oh, Jesus.’

‘What?’ asked Evi. The two men were staring at each other. Then Gareth ran from the room.

‘What is it?’ said Alice. ‘What have you thought of?’

‘Give him a sec,’ said Harry.

They waited, listening to the sound of Gareth fumbling with papers in the other room. Then he was back. He leaned across the table, spreading out a large black and white map. His hand hovered over it for a second.

‘There,’ he said, pointing with one finger. The two women leaned in. Harry stayed where he was. ‘The bore hole.’

‘What’s a bore hole?’ asked Alice.

‘A deep hole in the ground,’ said Gareth. ‘Right down to the water table.’

‘You mean a well?’

Her husband nodded. ‘That’s usually what bore holes are dug for.’

‘Hang on, mate,’ said Harry. ‘I can’t believe that place wasn’t searched. It’s less than half a mile out of town.’

‘But where is it, exactly?’ said Alice. ‘Is it that little stone hut just below Morrell Tor? The one the kids call Little Red Riding Hood’s house? But we’ve seen Gillian there.’

‘I’ve seen her there too,’ admitted Harry. ‘And if she’s been coming and going in the Renshaw house over the years she’d have had plenty of time to steal the key. But it must have been searched.’

‘There can’t be a bore hole in that hut,’ said Alice. ‘Sinclair told me that Jenny and Christiana played in it when they were children.’

‘Bore holes and old wells are usually covered over,’ said Gareth. ‘It’s bloody unsafe to do anything else. But she could have found a way to access it again.’

‘I’m sure it must have been searched,’ said Harry.

‘What’s the range of sniffer dogs?’ said Evi. ‘How deep down a pit would a small child have to be dangling to be out of reach?’

Nobody answered her. Nobody knew. And judging by the looks on their faces, everyone had the same picture in their heads.

‘If he’s far enough underground, maybe the thermal-imaging equipment couldn’t spot him,’ she went on.

‘I need to get up there,’ said Gareth, making for the door.

‘I’m coming too.’ Alice was already on her feet, following him.

Harry jumped up and caught her. ‘You should stay with Tom and Millie,’ he said. ‘I’ll go up. There’s rope in my car. And a harness. We can drive most of the way if we take Gareth’s truck.’ He stopped, a frown furrowing his forehead. ‘The door will be locked,’ he called to Gareth. ‘We’re going to need your tools.’

They heard Gareth cross the hallway and open the front door. Harry turned to Evi. ‘Do you have Rushton’s numbers?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Get on the phone to him. Tell him where we’ve gone and ask if he can send someone up. Don’t take no for an answer. We’ll need fire and rescue too.’ He turned, found his coat on the back of a chair and shrugged it on to his shoulders. Seconds later, he and Gareth had left the house.

84

TOM HAD FOUND HIS TRAINERS BY THE FRONT DOOR AND A yellow hooded sweatshirt behind one of the sofas in the living room. Even so, seconds after he climbed out of the window he was freezing. The stone of the window ledge felt like ice through his pyjamas. Snowflakes began to land on his head and face. He pulled the window almost closed again.

Ebba had taken hold of his hand and was hurrying him across the dark garden. They reached the gap in the wall and she went through first. He followed and they were in the churchyard.

Harry jumped into the truck, the climbing rope on his lap. Before the door was closed the truck was moving, its tyres making fresh tracks in the snow. Gareth swung out of the driveway and started to turn downhill towards Wite Lane.

‘Carry on up,’ said Harry. ‘Up the hill, out of town.’

Gareth was still looking down the lane. ‘Alice and the kids go along Wite Lane to get up the moor,’ he said.

‘Aye, but that way’s steep. I don’t know how far you’ll be able to take the truck.’

Gareth took a deep breath. ‘So what are you suggesting?’ he said.

‘Three-quarters of a mile outside town there’s a farm gate on your right,’ said Harry. ‘I think Mike Pickup uses it to get feedstuff to his animals. We can drive through and approach the cottage from above. The ground’s pretty solid, we should be able to get most of the way there.’

Gareth pressed his foot on the accelerator and the truck moved forwards up the hill. They picked up speed and the flakes whirling in front of them grew larger as they left the town behind.

‘Slow down,’ said Harry. ‘Slower. There it is.’

The truck stopped and Harry jumped down. He ran round the front of the vehicle as it went into reverse. A second later the truck’s headlights flooded the metal farm gate.

Harry pushed the gate open and Gareth drove through. The hut was less than a mile away.

A wave of pure weariness swept through Evi as the vehicle’s rear lights disappeared up the moor. She wanted nothing more than to lie down, close her eyes, let others handle it from here. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I need the phone.’

‘It’s right behind you,’ said Alice. ‘I’m going to check on Tom and Millie.’ Alice ran up the stairs as Evi turned to the phone. It wasn’t there. As Evi headed into the hallway, Alice emerged from Millie’s room and crossed the landing. Evi lifted her hand for attention but Alice didn’t look down.

And then a strangled scream sounded from above. Evi stopped, her heart pounding but her brain refusing to take in the possibility that something else had happened. Something that really wasn’t good, judging by the face of the woman at the top of the stairs.

Tom and Ebba were making their way through the white graveyard. Tommy, please come. Tom knew he’d be hearing his brother’s voice in his head for the rest of his life if he ignored it now.

As they passed Lucy Pickup’s new grave, they seemed to be heading for the church, which was pointless, because the church had been thoroughly searched with dogs and everything, and even if it hadn’t been, they’d have no chance of getting in now. Tom had heard the grown-ups talking earlier. The front door and the door to the roof had been locked and bolted, and the three sets of keys to the vestry door were now with Harry and the police. Plus, a police constable was spending the night in the vestry – just in case.

Either the snow was deadening sound or it was later than Tom had thought because the night was almost completely silent. He thought he heard a car engine starting up, and then the same car speeding away up the moor, but then silence fell again. They’d reached the mausoleum where all the dead Renshaws were put except Lucy, because Jenny, Lucy’s mother, hated it. The police had searched it today, had opened up all the stone coffins to make sure Joe wasn’t tucked away in any of them. They’d searched it and locked it again and Sinclair Renshaw had put a massive great padlock on the door, so why did Ebba have a key to it? They weren’t going to go inside it, were they? He couldn’t go in a tomb at night, not even for…

Tommy, please come.

Ebba had unlocked first the padlock and then the iron gate. It swung open and she stepped inside, as though she wandered into old tombs all the time. Tom stood in the entrance and then took a tentative step forward. They were only in the small, railed courtyard, it wasn’t as though Ebba could get inside the building itse-

Ebba was opening the door that led inside the large stone box. She was beckoning to him, her face screwed up with impatience. She was serious, she really was taking him inside. But the church had been full of people all day. Joe could not be in the church. This was some sort of trap.

Tommy, please come.

Hold on, Joe, I’m coming.

The truck wasn’t moving. Gareth had been trying for five minutes to reverse it away from the small stream that had swallowed up its front wheel, and the two men couldn’t waste any more time. Harry had his climbing rope slung around his neck and a torch in his hand. Gareth had a box of tools in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. The two men began striding over the snow.

Time to kill. Had Ebba known what Gillian was up to, about the murders of the three little girls, about Gillian’s interest in Millie? Had she been trying to warn them?

‘Sorry, mate,’ gasped Harry as they reached the edge of the ruined mill buildings. ‘We should have tried your way.’

Gareth didn’t turn his head. ‘Wouldn’t have made any difference,’ he said. ‘Driving across the moor’s close to impossible on a good day. The snow’s covering everything.’

The two men hurried on through the mill ruins.

If Ebba had been trying to warn them, had her torture of Gillian been a sort of punishment? Mummy, find me. Why would Ebba say that?

Gareth was pointing to his left, where they could just about make out a small building. ‘Is that it?’ he said.

‘That’s it,’ said Harry. ‘Take it easy. There are all sorts of loose stones round here.’

Gareth slowed his pace as they made their way across the remaining stretch of ground to the hut. Already, snow had settled on its roof, making it look even more like a cottage from a fairy tale.

Gillian had broken into the Fletchers’ house on the night of the bonfire? Had tried to abduct Millie? The intruder had worn wellington boots. Had he ever seen Gillian wearing such things?

They reached the door and Harry took a second to get his breath. They couldn’t just go charging in. If there were a bore hole in this hut it would be incredibly dangerous to be there at night. He wondered how long it would take the police to get here. They’d have to come on foot. He looked down hopefully. No lights could be seen making their way up towards them.

He put out his hand and tried the door. As expected, it was locked.

‘Stand back,’ ordered Gareth.

Harry did what he was told. Gareth raised the massive sledgehammer above his head and swung it forward.

Faster than she’d moved for years, Evi made it halfway up the stairs. She took hold of the banister and braced herself. If Alice fell now, she could easily knock them both to the bottom. She watched as the other woman swayed, then reached out to grab the wall.

‘Alice, take it easy,’ she called. ‘Deep breaths. Sit down. Put your head down.’

Alice sank to the floor, staring straight ahead as Evi struggled up the last steps. ‘What is it?’ she gasped, sinking down beside Alice. Christ, she hadn’t known such pain was possible. She was going to faint any minute now.

Alice was already trying to get up again. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I have to get Gareth, go outside, I have to-’

‘Alice!’ Evi took hold of the other woman’s arm.

‘Tom’s gone,’ Alice went on. ‘Tom’s gone too now. I’m losing them all, one by one, she’s taking them all away from me.’

‘Alice, look at me.’

Alice tried to make eye contact with Evi and failed. She was struggling to stand up.

‘Tom can’t be gone,’ said Evi. ‘We’ve been here all this time, the doors were locked. Have you checked the bathroom?’

Alice looked as if she had no idea what a bathroom was. She was in shock. The stress of holding it together for the past twenty-four hours had proved too much and Tom’s unexpected trip to the loo had sent her over the edge.

‘Tom!’ Evi called out. ‘Tom!’ she called again, a little louder, when there was no response. Anxiety growing, Evi struggled to her feet. Her stick was at the bottom of the stairs and the pain in her leg was beyond anything she normally had to cope with.

Alice was moving again, running down the stairs. She pulled open the front door. ‘Phone Gareth, please,’ she begged, turning back to Evi. ‘Tell him to get back here. I’m going to look outside.’

The front door blew wide open as Alice disappeared, and flakes of snow flurried into the hall, melting instantly on the slate tiles. Phone Gareth? Evi hadn’t phoned the police yet. She hadn’t even found the phone. Holding on to the wall, she made for the nearest room. It was Millie’s. The toddler slept on, oblivious to the drama unfolding around her. Evi turned. Tom would be in the house, he had to be.

‘Tom!’ she called, then decided she wasn’t going to try that again. It was just too unnerving to call for a child and hear nothing in response.

‘Tom!’ That was Alice, yelling outside.

Tom could not have gone outside, the doors had been locked.

She turned and made her way to Joe’s room in case Tom was sleeping in his brother’s bed for comfort. She pushed open the door and stood, panting, in the doorway. The room was empty.

Shutting her mind to the pain, Evi walked to Tom’s room and flicked on the light switch. ‘Tom!’ she heard from outside. Alice was behind the house now, calling in the garden.

Evi crossed the room and then clung to the window ledge to get her breath back. She could just about make out Alice, tearing about the garden. Right, she had to look in the bathroom and in Gareth and Alice’s room. Damn Alice, if she hadn’t lost her head, she would have been able to search the upper floor in seconds. It would take Evi precious minutes, when she needed to be talking to the police.

‘Tom,’ she called out, realizing she was crying. ‘Tom, please. It really isn’t funny.’

Tom didn’t answer her, and she carried on along the landing.

Tom was running, terrified he’d lose sight of Ebba and be left alone in the clawing, creeping darkness. He had no idea how big an underground chamber he was racing through, he couldn’t see the walls – not that he was looking; his eyes were fixed on the girl ahead of him.

Every time Tom was tempted to turn back, he made himself think of his brother. Joe, who he sometimes thought had been sent to earth to make his life miserable, who had been a complete pain from the day he was born, who was always getting his own way and who he fantasized about killing at least once a week. Joe, who he really didn’t think he could live the rest of his life without.

A wall loomed in front of them and Ebba shot through an archway. Tom went too, before he had chance to ask himself whether this was a good idea or not. None of this was a good idea, it was probably the worst idea he’d ever had in his life, but the strange creature ahead of him had his brother’s shoe.

She was balancing on an upturned crate and reaching for something in the ceiling. Then Tom saw light shining through. A minute later he and Ebba were both in the church. There was no sign of the police constable, the door to the vestry was firmly closed. Then Ebba was on her feet again and running up the aisle towards the back of the church.

Tom wasn’t in the house. Alice had been right and Evi had wasted precious time. She hadn’t even seen a phone. Nor had she heard anything of Alice for several minutes now. She had to get back downstairs and call the police. They could be here in minutes. She would use her mobile – it was just outside, in her car.

As she approached the front door, it slammed shut, startling her. She took a second to catch her breath. There was still a cold wind blowing through the house. Then the door of the living room blew shut.

She crossed the hall and pushed it open again. The window at the far end of the room was wide open. As quickly as she could, Evi walked across the room and leaned out. There was no sign of Alice in the garden any more.

‘Tom!’ Evi called.

Tom didn’t reply, nor had Evi expected him to. Tom had gone. A clear set of footprints leading across the garden to the churchyard wall, far too small to have been made by an adult, was indisputable proof of that.

Evi leaned out further and looked at the ground more closely. A second pair of prints lay in the snow just to one side of the boy’s. Knowing how much it would hurt, Evi sat on the window ledge, swung her legs up and twisted round until she could lower herself into the garden.

Already the snow was beginning to cover the prints; in less than an hour they might hardly be visible at all. Now, though, they were clear enough. Not very long ago, someone had crossed the garden from the wall and had then turned and retraced their steps, taking Tom along too. Tom’s footsteps were clean and regular, with no indication that he’d been dragged or forced along. Evi peered at the second set of prints. They were adult sized, although not huge, and quite different to the swirled and ridged pattern made by the soles of Tom’s trainers. Evi could see the outline of a large big toe, the curve of an instep. These were the prints of someone who didn’t wear shoes.

Tom had gone with Ebba.

The door gave way on the fourth blow and Harry caught hold of Gareth by the shoulder to stop him racing in. ‘Bore hole,’ he reminded him.

Pushing himself in front, Harry shone his torch all around the small stone hut. It had just one room, about four metres long by three wide. Looking up, he could almost touch the beams of the roof. A large metal ring had been screwed into the central beam. Under their feet was pitch-pine flooring.

Gareth moved in, banging the floorboards with the heel of his boot.

‘Sounds pretty solid,’ said Harry.

Gareth shook his head. ‘This is different,’ he said.

Harry listened as Gareth moved from one spot to the other, banging his foot down hard on each. The difference was minimal.

Harry began moving slowly round the hut, shining his torch downwards, looking for any discrepancies in the boarding that might indicate that the floor could be raised. There was nothing that he could see. Except, eighteen inches in from the door, there was a small round hole in one of the boards. He bent down.

‘What is it?’ asked Gareth.

Harry’s little finger was circling round in the hole. ‘Screw hole,’ he said after a second. ‘I can feel the thread. Something is supposed to screw into here.’ He looked up, shining the torch around, as though whatever was supposed to be screwed into the hole might be lying conveniently by on a hook. ‘Something like that,’ he said, shining the torch directly at the ring in the roof beam.

Gareth glanced up and then moved to the back of the hut. ‘Like this,’ he said, pointing at a similar ring that had been fastened into the rear wall. Several feet below the wall ring was a twisted piece of metal. ‘This is a lifting mechanism. Give me that rope.’

Harry tossed the rope over and watched the other man thread the end through first the wall ring and then the roof-beam ring. Then he brought it over to where Harry was kneeling.

‘This ring’s missing,’ said Harry.

‘Of course it is,’ said Gareth. ‘With the ring here, it would be too easy to access the bore hole. It was probably removed for safety. Or Gillian could have it.’ He dropped flat on the boards. ‘Joe!’ he yelled. ‘Joe!’

Harry couldn’t stop himself shuddering. Gareth was pushing himself to his feet again, reaching out for his tool-box, taking out a sharp chisel and hammer. He pushed the sharp end into the gap between two boards and slammed the hammer down hard. The wood splintered. Gareth banged again and again. Then he stopped, found another chisel and hammer and threw them to Harry. ‘Other side,’ he ordered.

Harry found the tiny, narrow gap and started copying. The wood was old and crumbled easily enough. After hammering through just over an inch of wood, the chisel almost slipped from his hand.

‘I’m through,’ he said. ‘It’s hollow underneath.’ Gareth was already threading the end of the rope through the hole he’d made and aiming it towards Harry. Harry stuck his fingers into the gap, fumbling around until he felt the rope. He tugged and it came.

Taking it from him, Gareth tied the end together and then jumped up and strode to the other side of the hut. He looked at Harry. ‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘Next to the wall.’

Shuddering with every step, Evi was back in the house, intent on getting her mobile phone from her car. As she opened the front door, she had to clutch at the frame – she was going to fall any second now. A dark shape appeared from around the side of the house.

‘Alice?’ Evi called, uncertain. Too tall to be Alice.

‘It’s me.’ A woman’s voice. The figure stepped into the light. Jenny Pickup, Alice’s friend. She’d been here earlier, helping with the children. Thank God.

‘Jenny, Tom’s missing too.’ Evi found herself ridiculously short of breath, every word an effort. ‘We have to get help,’ she managed. ‘He’s gone with that girl he’s been talking about, the one with the hormone deficiency. The one who’s been hanging around the house.’

Jenny frowned for a split second and looked back over her shoulder. Then she stepped forward. ‘Evi, you look dreadful,’ she said. ‘Come back inside. Let me get you something.’

‘We have to call the police. Tom’s missing. I have no idea where Alice is.’

Jenny put a hand on the door, the other on Evi’s arm. ‘Take it easy,’ she said. ‘Get your breath back. The police are on their way.’

‘They are?’

‘Yes, absolutely,’ replied Jenny. ‘I called Brian myself. He said ten minutes. Now, Alice asked me to check on Millie. And you really need to sit down.’

‘You’ve seen Alice?’ said Evi, stepping back because the other woman was so close it seemed impossible not to. ‘Look, Tom is missing, we have to get people looking.’

‘Evi, calm down, they are. Listen to me.’

Evi made herself look at Jenny, at her calm hazel eyes. Something about the other woman’s composure seemed catching. Evi’s breathing began to feel more under control.

‘A group of us bumped into Alice in the lane just now,’ said Jenny, speaking slowly, as though she were the psychiatrist and Evi the hysterical patient. ‘Me, Dad, Mike, one of Mike’s men. They’ve all gone to help her look. Tom can’t have gone far.’ She stopped speaking and ran a hand through her long, blonde hair. It was loose, sprinkled with snowflakes, damp around the crown. ‘Especially if he’s gone with Heather,’ she went on. ‘She hasn’t the energy to go any distance. And the police will be here any second.’

Thank God. What did she have to do now? Check on Millie. Evi turned to the stairs, took two steps forwards and grasped hold of the banister. Behind her, Jenny pushed the front door shut.

‘Heather?’ repeated Evi, turning back as Jenny’s words finally sank in. Heather – pronounced by a two-year-old – Ebba. ‘The girl who took Tom,’ she went on. ‘Her name is Heather? You know who she is?’

Harry pressed himself against the door of the hut and watched as Gareth began pulling on the rope. At first nothing happened, then the length of board the two men had been hammering through started to judder. Another tug from Gareth and then the entire floor, apart from a twelve-inch strip around the edge, started to lift up. It was a huge square trapdoor, hinged near the far wall. Once it started moving it came up easily and within seconds Gareth had raised it until it fell with a dull thud against the rear wall.

Harry stepped forward on to the rough stone of the original hut floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gareth tying the rope and then moving round to join him. Suddenly nervous of the chasm at his feet, Harry dropped to his knees and moved forward on all fours.

A smell that made him think of churches long since abandoned rose up from beneath the ground. He’d expected the bore hole – if indeed they found one – to be perfectly circular. This one had been crudely dug and looked unfinished, the stones around its edge roughly cut and angular. He could see two, maybe three feet down into the hole. After that lay a blackness so solid he could almost have stepped out on to it. By this time, Gareth was kneeling at his side.

‘Pass me the light,’ said Harry, still not taking his eyes off the well. Gareth didn’t move. ‘I need the light, mate,’ Harry tried again. ‘I can’t reach it.’ He prodded the other man on the arm and pointed to where the torch lay on the ground. Like a man moving in his sleep, Gareth turned, reached out and then handed the light to Harry.

Despite the cold, Harry’s hands were damp with sweat. He gripped the torch and moved forwards until he could lean over the edge. The beam seemed to fall like a rock, plummeting away from him into the depths of the earth. Harry saw stonework, roughly held together with crumbling mortar, and could just about make out the clinging slime of some form of vegetation that could exist without light. He thought he might even be able to see water, many feet below. But the only thing he could be sure about was the one thing he couldn’t take his eyes off: the rusting chain, hammered into the wall nearly two feet below the edge and disappearing further than the torch beam could reach.

He glanced round and knew that Gareth had seen it too. Speaking seemed like a ridiculous waste of time and energy. Harry made his way round the well until he could lie down flat and reach the chain.

Jenny was standing just inside the front door. The street lamp outside shone through the coloured hall window, turning her hair a strange shade of purple. Her face, though, was as white as the snow outside. ‘Of course I know who she is,’ she said sadly. ‘We lived in the same house for nearly ten years. She’s my niece.’

For a second Evi thought she might have misheard. ‘Your niece?’ she repeated.

Jenny nodded and seemed to pull herself together. ‘Christiana’s daughter,’ she said. ‘Shall we go up? Alice did make a point of saying we should check on Millie.’

Evi could only stare. She and Harry had talked about isolated farmhouses, cottages way up high on the moor, yet the girl had been living round the corner all this time, right in the heart of the town.

‘Her condition, it’s congenital hypothyroidism, isn’t it?’ she said.

Jenny took a step closer. ‘A direct result of the soil up here,’ she said. ‘It’s been the plague of our family for donkey’s years. If we’d just buy some of our food at Asda it wouldn’t happen.’ She’d reached Evi at the foot of the stairs.

‘But the condition can be treated now,’ said Evi, taking a small step to the side and planting herself firmly in the other woman’s path. ‘It’s picked up on antenatal scans and the baby can be given medication. It’s practically been eradicated.’

Jenny sighed. ‘And yet we have a fine specimen right on our doorstep. I really should check on Millie, you know. Can I get past?’

‘How did it happen?’ asked Evi, not sure why finding out as much as she could about the girl was important, only knowing that it was. ‘Did Christiana refuse treatment?’

‘Christiana was never offered treatment,’ said Jenny. ‘She spent her entire pregnancy shut up in the house and she gave birth with a local midwife who was paid a lot of money to keep her mouth shut. The birth was never registered.’ Her eyes moved upwards to a spot on the landing. Evi resisted the temptation to turn round.

‘How many people know about her?’ asked Evi, hardly able to believe that no one had mentioned the existence of Heather to the Fletchers, especially after Tom had started seeing his strange little girl.

‘Relatively few, I think,’ replied Jenny. ‘Even Mike has no idea she exists, not that he’s the sharpest knife in the box.’

Somehow, Evi had taken a step backwards. She was on the bottom step and was shaking her head. ‘How can that be possible?’ she said.

‘Oh, Evi, you’d be amazed what you can do if you own a town,’ said Jenny, her hand reaching out to the banister. She put it down, inches away from Evi’s. ‘She’s not allowed to leave the house, of course. Christiana spends most of the day with her, reading to her, playing simple games. Christy has endless patience, but if she needs a break, Heather watches CBeebies.’

‘She’s kept in the house all day?’

Jenny nodded. ‘None of the staff ever go upstairs,’ she said. ‘Christiana looks after the upper floors. When everyone has gone home, Heather gets to play in the garden,’ she went on. ‘To be honest, I think one or two people do know about her – as she got older, she got pretty good at sneaking out at night, even in the day sometimes. She’s clearly taken a fancy to Alice and Gareth’s children. But people keep quiet, they don’t want to get on the wrong side of Dad.’

Something was tightening inside Evi’s chest, something that went beyond concern for the Fletcher children. A young girl had been kept a prisoner her whole life – a prisoner inside an unnecessarily damaged body, as well as in her own home. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why on earth would your family break the law in that way?’

Jenny blinked her clear hazel eyes twice. ‘You’re the psychiatrist, Evi,’ she said. ‘Have a guess.’

Ebba unlocked the door at the back of the gallery and began to climb the short, spiral staircase. The wind caught at her hair, spinning it up and around her head like a flag. Tom stopped. It would be madness to go up.

Tommy, please come.

Before he had time to think what to do, Ebba had grasped hold of his hand and was pulling him on to the roof. She dropped to her hands and knees and he did the same. Snow squeaked beneath him as the wind rushed inside his sweatshirt. Ebba was crawling along the edge of the roof, in a sort of lead-lined guttering. To her left, the roof sloped gently upwards; to her right was a four-inch stone edging that wasn’t nearly high enough to offer any sort of barrier if she slipped. Was he expected to go too? He was, because she was looking back, waiting for him. Oh shit.

Tom set off, keeping his eyes firmly on the snow-covered trench he was crawling through. This was insane. There was nowhere on the roof Joe could be hiding. The other three bell towers were empty, you could see that from the ground. You could see the sky right through them. They were heading for the one on the northeastern corner, the one that always seemed to be in shadow because the sun couldn’t reach it. He could see it over Ebba’s shoulder, empty as a selection-box on Boxing Day. He could see stars shining through the gaps between the columns, he could see the movement of clouds, he could see the silver ball of the full moon.

But the moon was behind him.

Evi didn’t have to guess for long. ‘Who’s her father?’ she asked. ‘Is it your father? Is it Sinclair?’

Jenny’s face twisted. ‘Keep going,’ she said.

Evi thought quickly. She knew so little about the Renshaws, only what Harry and the Fletchers had told her. She wasn’t aware of any brothers, just the father: a tall, white-haired, very distinguished looking man, and the…

‘Not your grandfather?’ she said in a low voice, terrified she might have got it wrong, knowing, from the look on the other woman’s face, that she hadn’t. ‘But he’s…’ How old was Tobias Renshaw? He had to be in his eighties.

‘He was in his late sixties when Heather was born. Well into his stride by then.’

‘Your poor sister. What do you mean, well into his stride?’

Jenny’s eyes remained fixed on Evi’s. She said nothing.

‘He abused you too, didn’t he?’ said Evi.

Nothing, just a blank stare.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Evi.

Nothing.

‘How old were you? When it started?’

Jenny gave a deep sigh and then stepped backwards until she came up against the dining-room door. Evi felt as if she could breathe again. ‘Three. Maybe four. I can’t really remember,’ Jenny was saying. ‘There was no time in my childhood when I didn’t know what it was like to be poked and prodded and fiddled with by big, rough hands.’ She turned to look directly at Evi. ‘He used to stand in my bedroom doorway and watch me get dressed,’ she said. ‘He’d come in while I was having a bath and wash me. I’ve never been in charge of my own body, never. Can you imagine what that’s like?’

‘No,’ said Evi truthfully. ‘I’m so sorry. Did he rape you?’

‘At that age? No, he was too clever for that. You rape a four-year-old, someone will spot it. He used to masturbate over me, touching me with one hand, pulling on his, you know, with the other. When I got a bit bigger he made me suck him. I was ten when the rape started. In a way I was surprised it took him so long. I heard him, you see, with Christiana. I knew what was coming.’

Evi’s hands were at her mouth. She was going to fall. She reached out and grabbed hold of the banister again. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell someone? Your parents, your mother, surely she wouldn’t…’ She stopped. Jenny didn’t need to answer. Children didn’t tell. They were told not to and they didn’t. Children did what adults told them to do.

‘Did he threaten you?’ she asked.

Jenny was coming towards her again. She’d been drinking, Evi noticed now. ‘He did more than threaten us,’ she said. ‘He locked us in the mausoleum, with all the stone coffins. Even after my mother was laid to rest there, he’d lock us in. Or he’d carry us up to the top of the stairs, to the gallery in the church, even up to the Tor, and dangle us off the edge. By one ankle sometimes. We had to be good, he’d say, or he’d let go. I know he used to do it to Christiana too; she’s petrified of heights.’

Evi tried to blink away the picture in her head. ‘You must have been terrified,’ she said.

‘I never screamed, Evi, there was no point. I’d just close my eyes and wonder if this was the time, this was the day when he’d let go and I’d feel that rush of air and know it was over.’

She’d been wrong. Evi had accused Gillian and she’d been wrong. She’d sent Harry and Gareth off on a wild-goose chase and now Gillian could be dying, Joe and Tom were missing and Alice – where was Alice?

‘Jenny,’ said Evi, ‘has your grandfather been killing the children? Does he have Joe?’

Pull up the chain. No need to think about anything else. Pull up the chain and pray to the God who’d abandoned him that there was nothing on the other end of it. Don’t look at Gareth, who was close to losing it, could have lost it already. The only really sensible thing was to get the two of them out of there, before one of them got killed, except Harry knew he’d never do it. So pull up the chain, because they’d come this far and now they had to know.

The chain was moving, coming up with each heaving armful, but there was something heavy on the other end. Pull with his right arm, ease it over the edge with the left, don’t think, just keep going. Something was scraping against the side of the walls, something was catching, making it harder to pull up, something was getting closer.

The muscles in Harry’s arms were screaming at him and still he had no idea how much more of the chain there was to come up. Twenty more tugs and he’d have to rest. Wasn’t sure he’d make it to twenty. Ten more, seven more… no more needed. Clipped on to the end of the chain was a large canvas bag with a heavy, old-fashioned zip. Without stopping to think or rest, Harry pulled it up on to the stone floor of the hut, reached out and pulled open the zip.

Eye sockets – empty – were the first things he saw.

Tom blinked. Snow was blowing in his eyes and he really couldn’t see that well. He was definitely looking at the moon, shining through the stonework of the north-east bell tower. He risked turning his head around. The moon was over his shoulder. Two moons? Ebba was nearing the tower now. She scampered up to one side of it and looked back, waiting for him. What was she thinking of? The helicopter had passed overhead several times that day. The small roofs on the top of the bell towers would have stopped the helicopter crew seeing inside the towers themselves, but the choppers had heat-seeking equipment, they would have spotted a warm body. Ebba was beckoning him forward.

The church had been full of people. When the helicopter started its search, the police had brought everyone off the moors and they’d all gone into the church. Nearly two hundred people had been inside when the helicopter was searching. Two hundred warm bodies. Where do you hide a needle? In a haystack. Tom was close enough now to touch the bell tower, to put his hand through the stone pillars that sat at each corner. He reached out and saw the reflection of his hand coming towards him, saw his own face in the mirror-tiles that sat between the stone pillars of the tower, to create a small box on the roof of the church, just large enough to take…

‘Shall I tell you the worst thing, Evi? The worst thing he did to us?’

‘What?’ said Evi, thinking that she really, really didn’t want to know. When was the last time she’d heard Alice calling? Shouldn’t the police be here by now?

‘We have an old well up on the moor. There used to be a water mill there and some cottages for the workers. The buildings are all gone, but the well was never filled in for some reason. We built a stone hut around it to keep it safe. Safe from sheep and stray children. Not safe for us though, not Christiana and me, because he rigged up a harness and a rope, and if we were difficult, if we dared to say no or if we didn’t suck quite as hard as he wanted us to, he’d put us down the well. He’d fasten us in the harness and lower us down. Leave us there, in the dark, for hours. He did it to other children too. Until he left one down there too long and that little game had to come to an end.’

Jenny was too close, Evi had no choice but to step backwards, up the stairs. The minute she did so, Jenny followed her.

‘Jenny, you need help,’ she said. ‘You know that, don’t you? None of it was your fault, but you need help to come to terms with it. He’s damaged you. Christiana, too. I can find you someone who’ll work with you. It will take time, of course it will, but-’

Jenny leaned towards her. ‘Do you really think that sort of damage can be mended, Evi?’ she said. ‘By talking?’

She had a point. Evi just wished she wouldn’t insist on standing so close. ‘Not entirely, no,’ she answered. ‘Nothing can take away those memories. But the right therapist can help you come to terms with it. The important thing now, though, is that we find Joe. Harry and Gareth have gone up to that well. Is that where Joe is?’

Something shimmered across Jenny’s face. ‘They’ve gone to the cottage?’ she said. ‘Nobody’s been up there in fifteen years. We shut it up after…’

‘After what? What’s up there?’

‘Listen to me. Just listen to me.’

Gareth Fletcher wasn’t listening, he was screaming, banging his head against the stone wall of the hut, pounding it with both fists. Already, the skin on his forehead was scraped away, blood running down the side of his nose. Harry grabbed hold of one arm and tried to swing him round. Gareth’s loose fist came hurtling in Harry’s direction. Harry stepped back, dangerously close to the well.

‘It’s not Joe!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘It’s not Joe!’

Was he getting through? Gareth had stopped howling, was leaning against the wall of the hut, his head hidden in his hands.

‘Gareth, you have to listen to me,’ said Harry. ‘This child has been dead for years. Look at it. No, you have to look at it. It can’t be Joe, I promise you, just look.’

Gareth raised his head. His eyes looked unnaturally bright as he took a step towards Harry. Harry braced himself. He was the taller of the two, but the other man was probably stronger. He really didn’t want to get into any sort of physical struggle this close to the edge of a well. He took hold of Gareth by his shoulders and forced him down until both of them were kneeling on cold stone once more.

‘Look,’ he said, opening the sides of the canvas bag. His hands were shaking as he picked up the torch and shone it inside. ‘This child has been dead for years,’ he repeated. ‘Look, you have to look. The flesh has nearly all gone. It can’t be Joe, it just isn’t possible.’

Gareth looked as though he were struggling to breathe. Each breath he took was a great, gasping sob, but he was looking at the bag, at the child inside the bag.

‘Not Joe,’ said Harry again, wondering how many times he’d have to say it before the other man believed him. Whether it really was Gareth he was trying to convince by this time.

Gareth ran a hand over his face. ‘Jesus, Harry,’ he said. ‘What are we dealing with?’

‘Joe!’

Tom blinked the snow from his eyes. He was looking at his brother, curled like a snail in the north-eastern bell tower, trussed like a Christmas turkey with ropes around his wrists and his ankles. Joe, pale as a mushroom, cold as an icicle, but still alive. Joe, shaking like a jelly and staring up at him with eyes that had lost all their colour but were still the eyes he remembered. Joe – here – less than a hundred yards from their house, after all.

Ebba was leaning into the bell tower, tucking a filthy patchwork quilt higher up around his brother’s shoulders, trying to keep him warm.

‘Joe, it’s OK,’ whispered Tom. ‘It’s all right now. I’ll get you down.’

Joe didn’t respond, just stared up at Tom with his translucent eyes. His head was juddering, his limbs twitching. He wasn’t well, Tom could see that. Somehow Joe had survived a night and a day on the church roof; he wouldn’t last much longer. They had to get him down. Tom leaned into the tower, trying to get his hands under his brother’s shoulders. He could reach him, touch skin that felt too cold to be covering living flesh, but when he pulled, Joe stayed where he was.

Tom turned to look at Ebba. She was still crouched on the other side of the box, her over-large hands gripping the edge of the mirror-tiles, staring at him.

‘How do we get him out?’ Tom asked.

‘A child died, Evi,’ Jenny was saying. ‘A little gypsy girl Tobias found wandering around on her own when he’d gone to look at a horse near Halifax. He just left her there, up on the moor, hanging in the well.’

Where the hell were the police?

‘You’re nice to talk to, Evi. You listen. You don’t judge. I’m going to get Millie now.’ Jenny was actually pushing her way past Evi, gently but firmly, manoeuvring herself on to a higher step. Evi turned, kept a tight hold on the banister to stop herself falling.

‘No one would judge you, Jenny,’ she said. ‘You were a child. Did you never think that perhaps you could tell your father what was going on?’

Something glinted in Jenny’s eyes. ‘You think he didn’t know?’ she said.

‘Surely not?’

‘Why do you think he was so opposed to the Fletchers buying this land? He knew they had a daughter. He knows this town isn’t safe for little girls.’

Evi was struggling to take it in. ‘But his own daughters?’

‘He sent me away to school when I was thirteen, just after Heather was born. He couldn’t turn a blind eye after that. It was too late for Christiana, of course, she was too old for school.’

Evi reached out her hand, touched the other woman on the arm. ‘Jenny, we need to tell the police all this,’ she said. ‘They have to stop him before another child gets killed. I should phone them again. Get them here sooner.’ She took a step down.

‘Wait, please.’ Now Evi’s arm was caught in a tight grip. ‘I haven’t told you everything.’

Christ, what more could there be? Evi glanced at the window that overlooked the street, hoping to see the flickering of police lights. ‘What do you need to tell me?’ she asked.

Jenny dropped her head. ‘It’s so difficult,’ she said. ‘I never thought I’d tell anyone this.’

‘How do we get him out?’ repeated Tom. Ebba’s expression didn’t change, or give any hint she’d understood him. Tom turned back to his brother and tried again to pull at least part of him up. Joe wasn’t moving and Tom realized why. The ropes that bound his brother were also securing him to the tower itself.

‘Joe, I have to go and get help,’ he said. ‘There’s a policeman downstairs. I’ll be five minutes, Joe, I promise.’

Joe’s eyes had closed. Leaving his brother in the tower was the hardest thing Tom had ever done, but somehow he made himself turn and crawl back along the roof guttering. He couldn’t hear Ebba behind him and hoped that perhaps she’d stayed to comfort Joe.

He was back at the real bell tower that led down into the church. His foot found the top step and a hand closed around his bare ankle.

The two women were sitting on the stairs. Jenny had sunk down, taking Evi with her. They were both shaking.

‘When did it all stop?’ asked Evi. ‘When you went to school?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘Things got a bit better before that. He’d found someone else to pique his interest, you see. Our housekeeper’s daughter. She was blonde and pretty and very young, just what he liked.’

‘Gillian?’ said Evi. ‘He abused Gillian too?’ Was there something at least she’d been right about?

Jenny shrugged, then nodded. ‘I think Gwen Bannister guessed what was going on,’ she said. ‘She’d never have challenged my grandfather, but she got her daughter out of harm’s reach. More than anyone did for me.’

‘Did he start on you again, after Gillian left?’

‘When I was home from school, yes. And then when I was nineteen, his luck ran out. I got pregnant too. By the time I plucked up the courage to tell Dad, it was too late to get rid of the baby so he talked Mike into taking me on. And he persuaded Tobias to sign over control of the estate to him.’

‘I can’t believe your father colluded with all this. You must have felt so betrayed.’

Jenny dropped Evi’s hands. ‘Evi, men have been selling their daughters for wealth and power for thousands of years,’ she said. ‘You think it all stopped when we got to the twentieth century? But it was good for me too. I got out. And I got Lucy.’

Tobias’s daughter. Lucy had been the incestuous child of her great-grandfather.

‘What happened to Lucy?’ asked Evi in a small voice. ‘How did she really die?’

‘I loved her so much, Evi.’

‘I’m sure you did. Did he do it? Did Tobias kill her?’

‘She was only two when he started to look at her, Evi. She was blonde and gorgeous, just like Christiana and me when we were tiny. I’d watch his eyes going over her body. He could still drive back then, he’d come up to the house all the time. I would never change her or bathe her anywhere near him, but he always seemed to be hanging around her. I knew I couldn’t let it happen again, not to Lucy.’

‘But Lucy was different. She had you to protect her. And Mike.’

‘But I knew how clever he was. I knew he’d get to her in the end. So I started planning ways to kill him. It seemed like the only way. Does that shock you?’

Evi thought she was way beyond being shocked. ‘I think it’s very understandable that you should be so angry,’ she said.

‘I thought about smothering him in his sleep, putting something in his food, pushing him down the stairs, tricking him to come up to the Tor with me and shoving him off. But then, one day, I realized. I didn’t have to kill him to stop him getting what he wanted.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘No. I could kill her instead.’

Tom was being tugged downwards, his back jarring painfully on the stone steps.

‘What the fuck are you doin’?’ said a voice he knew. Two large hands grasped his waist and pulled him down more steps. ‘Back off, let us get down,’ the same voice instructed. Tom heard several pairs of footsteps retreating behind them and then he was in the church gallery once more.

‘Joe’s on the roof,’ he managed. ‘In the other bell tower, the one that everyone thinks is empty, but it’s not. He’s in there and he’s freezing and we have to get him down now.’

The four boys stared back at him, as if they’d captured an alien that had suddenly started giving them orders.

‘Your brother?’ Jake Knowles was the first to speak. ‘The one we’ve been looking for all day?’

‘On the roof?’ repeated Jake’s older brother, whose name Tom couldn’t remember.

Tom looked back at the four faces and felt like his heart had stopped beating. ‘You did it,’ he said. ‘You put him there.’

The older boy’s face twisted. ‘What the fuck do you think we are?’ he said. ‘Fuckin’ psychos?’

‘He’s actually up there?’ said Billy Aspin. ‘Alive?’

Tom nodded. ‘He’s tied up,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t get him out. I need to get my dad. What are you doing here? If you didn’t put him there, why are you here?’

‘We followed you in,’ said Jake. ‘We saw you and that Renshaw cretin running through the graveyard and we followed. Got fuckin’ lost in that cellar. Where’d she go?’

‘We have to get help. There’s a police…’ said Tom, realizing he had no idea what had happened to Ebba.

‘Come on,’ interrupted the eldest Knowles boy. ‘Let’s see what he’s on about.’

Evi felt like she was burning up. Funny, she’d heard patients talk about feeling terror many times. None of them had ever told her how hot it was. Or how it seemed to throw your brain into slow motion. Jenny? Jenny was the one who’d been after Millie the whole time. No, that couldn’t be right. She’d misunderstood something. She was overtired.

‘And the really ironic thing was, Tobias did love her.’ Jenny was clutching Evi again, making it impossible for her to move. Her face was flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright. Evi had to get up somehow. Then what? Upstairs, to Millie’s room, or outside to the phone?

‘He was absolutely devastated,’ Jenny went on. ‘I made him watch, you see. I knew he was going to the church – he was churchwarden for years – and I followed him there with Lucy in my arms. I climbed up to the gallery and then I shouted for him.’

Sweat was trickling down between Evi’s shoulder blades. The police weren’t coming. Jenny hadn’t called them. And why did she have to be so close?

‘I’ll never forget it,’ she was saying. ‘He came out of the vestry and I was dangling her from her ankles, the way he used to do to me, and she was screaming and screaming and I could see him shouting at me, yelling at me to stop. He started running forward and I let her go, just like that.’

The smell of the woman was almost worse than the heat: alcohol and perspiration and exotic flowers. Evi knew it was going to make her retch if she didn’t move. Hands down, push hard, ignore the pain; she had strong arms, it would work.

‘It took so long for her to fall,’ Jenny went on. ‘I had so much time to think, to realize it was always meant to be this way, that I would destroy him in the end, because of what he did to me.’

Do it now. Evi rose up, was caught and dragged back down.

‘He almost made it.’ Jenny was whispering into her face now. ‘Almost caught her. But she slammed down hard on those flagstones and the blood, the blood just went everywhere, it was like I’d dropped a bubble of it. I thought some of it was going to reach me up in the gallery.’

Evi swallowed hard and fought the temptation to hold her breath. She had to keep breathing. If she held her breath, she’d faint.

‘I’ve never had any pleasure from sex, Evi, not once – how could I?’ Jenny was saying. ‘This orgasm business people get so worked up about, I have no idea what they’re talking about. But that day, seeing all that blood and watching him start to scream, I can’t tell you the pleasure I felt. I almost fainted away, right there and then, it was so intense. And the sound of the thud when she hit the tiles, like a ripe fruit bursting open, I could hear that over and over again in my head, and all the time the blood was spreading out from around her. I could see it oozing out in waves, while her heart struggled to keep going.’

Evi knew she couldn’t scream. No one but Millie would hear her.

The two men were running down the moor, their torch beams aimed at the white ground below their feet. Through the beech wood, past the abandoned water mill, over the stream. Once Gareth had seemed himself again, a sense of panic had swept through Harry. They had to get back. It was all he could think of – getting back.

It had been forty minutes or more since they’d left the house. The police should have joined them by now. There were police cars on the roads into Heptonclough, they weren’t more than five minutes from the Fletchers’ house. If Evi had phoned them when he and Gareth had set out, they would have arrived by now. They hadn’t, which meant she hadn’t phoned. Something else had happened. It was worse now, worse than just Joe, the mayhem that Gillian had unleashed. They had to get back.

His mobile was in the pocket of his jeans. He could stop, call the police himself, phone the house. But to do that he’d have to stop running.

They’d reached a stile. Harry climbed up, jumped down and set off again, hearing Gareth doing the same thing behind him. They were in the harvest field, just above the town. Another hundred yards and they’d be passing the site of the All Souls’ Day bonfire. They reached the fence and Harry vaulted over. Past Gillian’s old cottage, the cobbles slippery with snow, buildings rising up on either side now. Gareth was breathing heavily by his side. They came to the end of the lane, had just turned into the main road when the church bell began to ring.

‘He dragged me away, of course,’ said Jenny. ‘Back to the house. We both changed our clothes and then we started the search for her. He wouldn’t go back to the church, though, he couldn’t face her again. I had to do that.’

Think now, stay calm. The police weren’t coming, but Harry and Gareth would be back. They’d have made it to the cottage by now, found whatever they had to find, they’d be making their way home. Evi just had to stay calm. Stop this woman from doing any more harm. She had to keep her away from Millie. If only it weren’t so hot.

‘And then,’ said Evi, forcing herself to relax back on the stair, to breathe deeply. ‘Was it over then? When you’d punished him? Did you find…’ Jesus, what the hell was she supposed to say? ‘Did you find peace?’ she tried.

Jenny nodded. ‘For a while, yes,’ she said. ‘It was as though I’d taken back control over my life, can you understand that?’

‘Of course,’ said Evi, telling herself to speak slowly, the way she always did with an overexcited patient. ‘Control is very important,’ she said. ‘We all need that.’

‘I missed her desperately, of course. I still do. I never really got over it.’

‘No,’ said Evi, fighting a temptation to look at her watch, and an even stronger one to throw back her head and howl. ‘I don’t think parents ever get over the loss of a child.’

‘But I felt as though a chapter was closed, that I could move on again.’ Jenny’s eyes narrowed. She looked down at her watch, but the gesture was too quick for Evi to see the time. ‘It’s getting on,’ she said. ‘Come on, I’ll help you up the stairs.’ She stood and bent down, taking hold of Evi under the arms. Evi braced herself, but the other woman was strong. She was hoisted up and then Jenny’s arm was around her waist.

‘Come on,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m sure I heard her crying just now.’

‘Millie’s fine,’ said Evi. ‘But Jenny, this is really important.’

Jenny paused but kept a tight hold around Evi’s waist. ‘What?’ she said, and her voice had hardened. She was losing patience.

‘It’s just… the other girls,’ said Evi. ‘Megan, Hayley. Why did they have to die?’

Jenny tilted her head to one side. ‘After Lucy died, I was the one in charge,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Whenever Tobias stepped out of line, if he started paying inappropriate attention to young girls, I could stop him. Come on now, one more step, and another.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Evi. ‘I find stairs so difficult. Can we rest for a second? So he started to abuse Megan? Even after what happened to Lucy?’

Jenny’s hold on Evi relaxed a fraction. ‘Oh, I’m not sure it ever got that far,’ she said. ‘I could just see him looking at her, going out of his way to be nice to her mother. I wasn’t having it, not after losing Lucy. I wasn’t having him forgetting her and just taking a fancy to another one.’

‘So you killed Megan?’ asked Evi. ‘And Hayley? You tried to kill Millie too?’

Jenny looked at Evi as though she were simple. ‘I’d already killed my own child,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s difficult, after that, to kill someone else’s?’

‘Then why Joe?’ asked Evi, when Jenny seemed about to turn away and head back up the stairs again. ‘Your grandfather wouldn’t be interested in him. Why did you take him? You did take him, didn’t you?’

‘Evi, he was starting to taunt me.’

‘Joe?’

‘My grandfather. You have no idea what an evil old devil he is. He kept cracking jokes about how the Fletchers had more security than the crown jewels, that Millie was never out of her mother’s sight, and he was coming here just about every day, sitting for that stupid portrait, and I knew he’d be playing with Millie, getting her to sit on his lap, stroking her legs, his fingers getting higher and higher, and forgetting all about Lucy. I couldn’t let that happen.’

‘But Joe? What has-’

‘I knew the only way Alice would take her eye off the ball was if one of her other kids went missing.’

Evi felt like she’d been slapped. ‘Joe was a decoy?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘Sweet lad,’ she said. ‘He came with me without arguing. I told him his sister had had an accident and his mum wanted me to take him to visit her in hospital. Couldn’t half fight though, once the penny dropped. I had to knock him out to get him-’

‘Where? Where is he?’

‘Somewhere they’ll never find him. They didn’t find Megan, they won’t find Joe. Evi, can you manage another step?’

Jake Knowles’ oldest brother stepped past Tom and started to climb the staircase again. ‘He’s tied up,’ insisted Tom. ‘You can’t get him out.’

The boy reached his hand into his jeans pocket and brought out a thin strip of metal about five inches long. His thumb twitched and a long, silver blade shot out. ‘No sweat,’ he said, as he disappeared into the tower. One by one the other three followed. Jake was the last. His foot on the bottom step, he turned back to Tom. ‘Come on,’ he said, before disappearing.

Tom followed, not sure if this were better or worse. Joe needed a grown-up, not these four idiots. Even if they managed to get him out, they’d be as likely to fall off the roof with him as bring him down. Ahead, Jake was climbing out on to the roof. Tom scrambled up the last few steps and peered out.

‘Dan’s almost there,’ said Jake. Tom looked across the roof. Jake’s brother, Dan, was just a few paces away from the north-eastern tower. The middle brother was just behind him. There was no sign of Ebba.

‘He’s here!’ shouted Dan, who had reached the opposite tower and was bending inside it. ‘I’ve got him.’ The second brother had arrived at the tower too now. Tom could see two denim-clad bottoms sticking up towards the night sky as both boys leaned inside. Then first one and then the other began to straighten up.

‘Will’s got him,’ said Jake. ‘He’s pulling him out, look.’

Jake’s other brother had both arms around Joe’s middle and was tugging him out of the tower. The patchwork quilt got left behind and Joe’s pale naked body gleamed like a shell in the moonlight as he and Will Knowles tumbled on to the roof. Then Dan Knowles bent and lifted Joe. Carrying the small boy in his arms like a baby, he began to walk back along the guttering towards Tom, Jake and Billy. As he neared, they could hear him shouting something that sounded like, ‘Well, mell, ding-dong bell, ring the ruddy bell, you wazzocks.’ Jake understood a second before Tom did and then both boys were tumbling down the staircase, fighting each other in their effort to be the first to unleash the bell rope and give the first tug.

Clang. The old bell shuddered in protest at being roused from sleep so late at night. Clang. Louder now, getting its confidence back. Clang. Tom half wanted to let go of the rope and put his hands over his ears, but he didn’t because tugging on that rope and ringing that bell felt so good. Clang. Get out here, everyone, get out and see Joe being carried across the rooftop. Joe, OK after all, Joe, coming home. He couldn’t wait to see his mum’s face.

‘Jenny, you can’t go in that room.’

‘And I’m going to be stopped by a cripple? I don’t think so.’ Jenny stretched up on tiptoe, looking over Evi’s shoulder. ‘Stone floors in the hall,’ she said. ‘Do you know what it sounds like, when a child’s skull breaks on stone? A bit like an eggshell cracking, only amplified a thousand times. You’ll hear it – maybe.’

‘Where is Joe?’ demanded Evi.

Jenny was walking backwards along the landing, her hand reaching out for the handle on Millie’s door.

‘Does Heather know where he is?’ asked Evi.

For the first time, Jenny looked uncertain. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Are you sure?’ said Evi. ‘Because I think she knows all about you. I think she’s been trying to warn people, in her own way. She’s been trying to make friends with Joe, Tom and Millie, to talk to Harry. She’s even been trying to tell Gillian what happened to her daughter.’

‘She’s a brainless idiot.’ The handle was turned, the door pushed two inches open.

‘She came for Tom tonight,’ said Evi. ‘Why would she do that, so late in the evening, unless she knew where you’d put Joe?’

Jenny thought for a moment, then she shrugged. ‘It makes no difference,’ she said. ‘He’ll be dead by now.’

Evi took a step forward. ‘You know what really pisses me off, Jenny?’ she said. ‘You’re a complete fake. You’re pretending you’re doing all this because Millie is your grandfather’s next victim. Well, bullshit. He’s probably barely been near her. He almost certainly didn’t touch Hayley either, or Megan. You said yourself he was never allowed near Lucy. You’re killing these girls because you like it.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I saw the look on your face when you told me about Lucy’s death. You enjoyed it.’

‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ Jenny was turning away.

She had to stop her, had to give her something to focus on other than Millie. ‘Your grandfather, everything that happened to you in the past, it’s just the excuse now. You’re doing it for fun.’

‘You have no idea.’ Jenny was in the bedroom, making her way across the carpet.

‘I’m a psychiatrist,’ called Evi. ‘I’ve been dealing with twisted bitches like you for years. Now get away from that cot.’

Jenny was coming towards her. She was out of the room in moments; a second more and her hands were around Evi’s throat and the two were staggering backwards, past the stairs.

‘Ever wondered what it would be like to fly, Evi?’ Jenny hissed in her ear. ‘You’re about to find out. They’ll think you slipped with little Millie in your arms and fell down the stairs. Only old Tobias will know the truth.’

Evi’s windpipe was being crushed. The pathologist would know she’d been strangled. Small comfort. The banister was digging into her back, it hurt like hell but it was supporting her weight. She brought her good leg up and kneed the other woman hard in the crotch. Jenny grunted and her hold slackened, but she was a woman after all and it hadn’t done too much damage. Evi twisted round and tried to get a grip on the banister but found herself being lifted off her feet, forced over the top of it.

Before she could brace herself, her hips had gone over the edge and she was close to falling. She grabbed out, one hand caught hold of the banister but her legs were lifted high, she was being pushed and something was banging at her hand, stamping on it, and she had no choice but to let go.

It seemed to take a long time to reach the slate floor.

They’d stopped ringing the bell. The three boys climbed inside the tower. Did they still have Joe? Yes, there he was, wrapped up in the patchwork quilt again, his face pressed against Dan Knowles’s chest, still bound tight with thin, nylon rope, still shaking, still alive.

Dan Knowles, who seemed to have grown during his brief time on the roof, looking more like the young man he’d be in a year or so than a teenage bully, was at the bottom of the steps, climbing into the gallery. His brother Will followed, then Billy, just as the sound of a heavy door being opened echoed around the church.

‘Hello!’ shouted a loud Geordie voice.

‘He’s up here! We’ve got him!’ called back Dan Knowles.

‘Joe!’ yelled Tom’s dad.

‘Dad!’ screamed Tom.

‘Police! Everybody keep still!’

The two groups met on the balcony stairs, Gareth Fletcher and Dan Knowles almost colliding. The small, shivering parcel was passed from one to the other and Joe gave a quiet moan as his father’s arms closed around him. Higher on the steps, over his father’s head, Tom’s eyes met Harry’s. Then the vicar turned, pushed his way past the bewildered-looking police constable, and ran from the church.

Evi was barely conscious. She was very cold. An icy wind was blowing all around her. Snow was falling softly on her face and the world was growing dark. Was she back on the mountain? No, in the Fletchers’ house. That was Millie she could hear, howling like a banshee. The front door was open and a man was standing not three feet away from her. Brown leather shoes, damp patches around them on the stone. Something in his left hand, long and thin, fashioned from metal, something she thought she recognized, but it seemed so out of place that she really couldn’t be certain.

‘Put her down,’ said a voice. Too late, thought Evi, I already fell.

‘Oh, I will,’ replied a woman’s voice from high above them.

‘Don’t take another step,’ said the man. ‘And put that child down.’

‘You’re not serious,’ replied the woman.

The thing the man was carrying was lifted up until Evi could no longer see it.

‘It’s over,’ he said. ‘Put her down.’

A silence, when the world seemed to pause; then a footstep and an explosion of sound. Evi didn’t hear the second gunshot, but she felt its vibration flutter through her body and she saw the blinding flash of light. Then nothing more.

Harry heard the first shot as he jumped over the wall and dodged his way around Alice’s car. He caught a glimpse of Alice herself, racing towards the church, but there was no time to stop. He saw the open front door and the tall form of Tobias Renshaw standing in the doorway, pointing a rifle at himself. A second later the old man’s head exploded in a mass of bone and blood. Harry leaped over the corpse before it had completely settled on the ground.

A sharp cry caught his attention. Millie, awash with blood and tiny pieces of grey matter, was standing at the top of the stairs. The prone body of a woman lay across the upstairs landing. At the sight of someone she knew, the toddler stepped forward, dangerously close to the edge of the top stair. Harry ran up the stairs and picked her up. Then he turned. At the foot of the stairs, not three feet from the body of Tobias, lay a young woman in a violet sweater. As he watched, a snowflake settled on her black lashes. Her eyes were as blue as he remembered.