Blood Harvest (25 page)

‘Gillian …’

‘She talks to me all the time. I hear her voice, calling “Mummy, Mummy, help me.” It doesn’t matter where I am. In here, asleep, out on the moors, she’s always there, always talking to me. “Mummy, Mummy,” she says, “find me.” She moves things around, here in the flat, leaves little presents for me. Every time I turn round, every time I wake up in the night, I think she’s going to be there, just as she was the last time I saw her, in her Beatrix Potter pyjamas.’

Harry realized he was shaking.

‘She’s with me every day. She’s driving me insane.’

‘Gillian, you know, don’t you, there are no such things as ghosts?’

There was a loud banging on the outside door.

‘Sit down,’ he told her. ‘I’ll go and see who that is.’ She was still holding his hand. She clung on, unwilling to let go, but Harry headed towards the door and she had little choice. Overcome with relief at being away from her, even for a few minutes, he jogged down the stairs and pulled open the door. The middle-aged woman with the dyed-red hair was standing outside.

‘Vicar.’ She inclined her head and stepped forward, clearly expecting him to move aside and let her in. ‘Edith Holcome phoned me,’ she said. ‘She saw you bring Gillian home. Said I should probably get down here.’ She moved forward again.

‘Are you a friend of Gillian’s?’ asked Harry. Had reinforcements arrived after all?

‘I’m her mother. Gwen Bannister. Nice to meet you, Vicar. Don’t worry any more, I’ll look after her now.’

Her mother? Oh, thank God.

‘Well, if you’re sure …’ Had he left anything upstairs? Did it matter? Were his keys in his pocket? Yes.

‘She’s extremely upset,’ he offered, not wanting anyone to go up those stairs unprepared. ‘I think she may need to see a doctor.’

‘I know, I know, I’ve seen it all before.’ The woman had pushed her way past him and was already halfway up the stairs. ‘I lost a child too and did I fall to pieces? We had more backbone in my day.’

Could he go? Darn right he could.

Without looking back, he slipped out of the door and ran across the street to his car. He’d left his coat behind but it seemed a small price to pay. He looked at his watch. If he drove as though all the devils in hell were after him and spent less than two minutes in the shower, he’d still be twenty minutes late. He really had no more time to waste.

So why was he picking up the phone?

Duchess’s hooves were clattering on the concrete of the livery yard when Evi’s phone started to ring. She reached inside the pocket of her coat and glanced at the screen. Oh!

‘Evi Oliver,’ she said, as Duchess edged closer to her box.

‘Hi, it’s Harry Laycock,’ said the voice on the phone. She’d known who it was. His name had appeared on the digital screen. Just the one word: Harry.

‘Oh, good morning.’ Was that right – friendly but with a faint note of surprise? ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘In a bit of a rush. Listen, I’ve been thinking. This bonfire thing. I think you should go. I mean come. Come with me.’

He was asking her out. Was he? ‘You told me you were going nowhere near it,’ she pointed out.

‘I’ve changed my mind. There’s something not quite normal going on up here, Evi, and I need to know what it is. And if you really want to get to the bottom of what’s bothering Tom Fletcher, I suspect you do too.’

She could see him? That night? ‘I’m not sure, Harry,’ she said. ‘It seems a bit …’

‘I could pick you up at six thirty and drive you up there. Help you over the rough ground. Not that you need any help, I fully
understand that. And it wouldn’t be a date, or anything. Strictly professional, you know – work – for both of us.’

‘Thank you, I know what professional means. I was going to say, it seems a bit intrusive. The Fletchers might think I’m spying on them. Maintaining trust is really important when you’re working with a family.’ Oh, shut up, you silly cow, you’re going to talk him out of it.

‘I’ve already spoken to Alice. She’s fine with it. And we’re both invited for supper afterwards but, I repeat, it’s definitely not a date.’

‘Yes, I got that bit too. I quite understand.’ A date with Harry. She was going on a date with Harry. Duchess started backing away from the box, was twisting round on the concrete. ‘Look, you’ve caught me on the hop a bit,’ Evi said. ‘It might be a good idea but I’d have to talk to Alice myself. Can I call you back this afternoon?’

‘Of course. Now I really have to run. I’ll talk to you later.’

He was gone – and what in the name of all that was wonderful was she going to wear?

A
S QUICKLY AS HE COULD,
BUT NOT FORGETTING TO
watch out for anyone who might be lurking, Tom ran through the churchyard entrance, skirted round the ruins, past the church and into the graveyard, then dived behind a stone to get his breath back.

It was four thirty, and a few stripes of orange and pink in the sky showed where the sun had been not five minutes earlier. The cloud cover was thickening rapidly. The light would fade fast now. He hadn’t much time.

He set off again, keeping as close as he could to the boundary wall. If anything happened, he could be over it and in through the back door in seconds. She was fast, Tom knew that, but he was fast too.

At Lucy Pickup’s grave he crouched low again. Someone had left a bunch of tiny pink roses on it and – it looked so sad somehow – a small cream teddy bear with a pink ribbon round its neck. He remembered, then, the reason why the town had its bonfire tonight instead of on November the fifth; November the second was the Day of the Dead. Harry had told them all about it. It was the day when people remembered and honoured all those they loved who were dead now. In Heptonclough people visited their graves, prayed for them, left presents. They honour their dead in Heptonclough, Harry had said.

Tom looked all around. Still enough light. And he was very close to the wall.

Yew trees are no good for climbing, anyone could tell you that. They don’t grow that tall and their branches don’t get thick enough. But this tree had just one strong branch that hung out over the Fletchers’ garden. If Tom was careful, if he didn’t worry about a few scratches, he could make his way on to it.

He had about ten, fifteen minutes. His mother thought he was doing homework and she’d warned Joe and Millie not to come near him. Fifteen minutes might be enough.

Climbing up, Tom was shocked to discover how much of his house could be seen from the tree. He could see Joe crawling along the back of the sofa with his machine gun tucked under his arm. Tom could even see quite a lot of the upstairs rooms too. There was his mum in the bathroom, reaching into the cupboard for one of Millie’s nappies. All of which made him wonder. Did she sit here, on this branch, watching them? Yew trees never lose their leaves. Tucked up in here, if she kept still, she could watch his family for hours and they’d never know.

Round his neck, tucked into his sweatshirt to keep it safe, he had his dad’s digital camera. He knew how to set the flash, how to focus and how to zoom in and out. He’d practised all yesterday evening, taking pictures of Millie dancing around the living room, and then his dad had showed him how to download them on to the computer. Tom was going to wait until the little girl appeared and take photographs. As many as he could. And then they’d have to believe him. If he could show them pictures they’d know he’d been telling the truth. That he wasn’t mad. Best of all, he’d know he wasn’t mad.

In a couple of hours it could all be over.

‘S
O
WHAT
’
S
THE
PLAN,
REVEREND?
KICK
OFF
WITH
SOME
voodoo rites before a spot of ritual sacrifice, quick break for a hot-dog and then zombies rising around midnight?’

‘I don’t think you’re taking this seriously,’ replied Harry, guiding Evi round two girls who were clinging to each other in the middle of the road. One of them had the glassy-eyed look of the seriously intoxicated. Ahead of them a pink and green firework exploded in the sky. For a second, he could see the sparks reflected in the clouds. Then darkness again.

‘Am too,’ said Evi. ‘I did a project in my first year on crowd psychology. I love seeing it in action.’

A boy in his late teens appeared from one of Heptonclough’s numerous stone alleyways and lurched towards them. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth. ‘Godda light?’ he enquired, before looking into Harry’s face. ‘Oh, sorry, vicar.’ He stumbled away down the hill. Evi gave a soft laugh.

The town was more crowded than Harry had seen it before and he’d been forced to park almost a quarter of a mile down the hill. He’d offered to drop Evi off at the church, so that she could wait for him on the shepherds’ bench, but she’d refused and now they’d joined the others who were walking up the hill towards the bonfire field. The night was heavy with the smell of gunpowder and wood smoke.

Every few seconds, people who were able to move faster passed
them. Most turned to nod, wish Harry good evening and stare curiously at Evi. And he really didn’t blame them. In a dark-blue quilted coat the exact colour of her eyes and a matching hat, she might just be the prettiest girl any of them had seen in a long time.

‘What are your professional observations so far?’ he asked.

Evi stretched her neck to look round, then peered up at him. ‘Everything you might expect,’ she said. ‘Kids are excited, so they’re playing up. That makes the parents a bit tetchy – they’re scared of losing them in the dark, so they’ll be over-protective, a bit anxious. That’ll manifest itself as bad temper.’

There was that tiny freckle again, just below her right ear.

‘The older kids will be drinking more than usual,’ she went on. ‘Those old enough to get away with it will be in the pub. The younger ones will have bottles of cider tucked away in dark corners. There’s potential for arguments, even violence, but probably not for another couple of hours.’

If he kissed that freckle, he’d be able to feel the curve of her ear on his cheek, and her hair would tickle his nose.

‘The main problem,’ she said, ‘is that events like this create a certain sense of expectation. Everyone’s waiting for something to happen. People are in a state of anticipation, and if they’re disappointed in some way, then that’s when the trouble will start because they’ll need a vent for their frustration. Are you even listening to me?’

‘Most certainly,’ he said, knowing he was grinning like a fool. ‘Are we still talking about the bonfire?’

The Fletchers left the house just before seven, tucked up in all their warmest clothes. Millie was in her mother’s arms, Joe on his dad’s shoulders and Tom had been told, several times by both parents, that if they lost sight of him for a second they’d cut off his toes. The camera was round his neck.

He’d managed twenty minutes in the churchyard before his mum had appeared at the back door yelling for him. He’d scrambled down the wall and run across the garden, with one hand over the camera to protect it. Once his mother had got the necessary telling-off out of her system, Tom had told her he’d been taking pictures of the sunset for a school project. She’d seemed happy enough. So was
he. It hadn’t been a wasted twenty minutes. Oh no. Not wasted at all.

As they reached the top of the hill, Harry suspected Evi was starting to tire. She was less talkative and her pace had noticeably slowed. Why hadn’t she let him drive her up? And would she bite his head off if he suggested stopping to rest for a moment?

‘Can we sit down for a sec?’ asked Evi.

Cute as a button and stubborn as a mule. She was going to be so much trouble; he really had no business being this happy. He steered her over to the shepherds’ bench and they sat down together. Most of the townsfolk had already turned into Wite Lane. He could hear the roar and crackle of the fire and see a faint orange glow above the buildings. Turning to check uphill, he saw that the bone men had all been removed from around the abbey. Apart from the one that he’d handed over to Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton a couple of hours ago. The one that would be checked for fingerprints and other trace evidence over the next few days. He and Rushton had both agreed to say nothing to the Fletchers until they knew more.

‘Was Alice OK when you spoke to her?’ asked Harry. His busy day had continued and he hadn’t been able to answer the phone when Evi had called him earlier. A short message had told him where to pick her up.

‘Yes, she seemed fine.’ Evi was still breathing hard, her cheeks pink. ‘She seemed pretty certain the children all wanted to go to the bonfire. Tom’s developed a keen interest in photography, apparently, and wants to get some good shots. And one of her friends from the town has promised her that nothing sinister happens.’

‘First time for everything,’ muttered Harry.

‘Sorry?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Nothing, go on.’

‘So we decided that, as long as nothing upsets or scares them, doing things as a family will be good for them. And then she insisted I join you all for dinner. She’s sweet.’

‘Nice to see thee with a young lady, Reverend.’

Harry turned from Evi to see three elderly women, including the one who’d admired his legs earlier. She was looking from him to Evi
with an evil grin on her face. ‘I always says how vicars should be married,’ she finished. That wasn’t a grin, it was a leer. Evi gave a soft snigger at his side and he felt his cheeks glowing. Lucky it was dark.

‘No, no, Mrs Hawthorn,’ he called. ‘Dr Oliver is a colleague. All strictly professional.’

Minnie Hawthorn’s two friends had joined in. All three of them stood grinning at him like something from a pantomime version of
Macbeth.
Witch Hawthorn looked at Evi, then back at Harry. ‘Aye lad,’ she agreed, nodding her woollen-capped head. ‘Ah can see that.’

Tittering, the three of them followed the crowd along Wite Lane, Minnie Hawthorn glancing back at the last second. Did she just wink at him?

‘There’s no fooling the old crones,’ said Harry quietly.