‘I know his parents have been very concerned,’ said Harry. ‘As have I.’
‘I don’t know how much you know about psychiatry, but-’
‘Next to nothing.’
Jesus, would it kill him to smile? Did he think this was easy for her?
‘The normal procedure is to see the child first, to establish some sort of rapport – even trust, if possible. If the child is old enough, which Tom is, I try to get them to talk about what their problems are. To tell me why they think they’ve been referred to me, what’s worrying them, how they think it might be addressed.’
She stopped. Harry’s eyes hadn’t left her face but she could read nothing from his expression.
‘It hasn’t worked too well with Tom yet,’ she said. ‘He’s really quite skilled at saying the minimum he can get away with. When I try and steer him towards talking about the various incidents – with this odd little girl, for example – he just clams up. Claims it was all a bad dream.’
She paused. Harry nodded at her to continue.
‘Then I try to bring in the rest of the family,’ she went on. ‘I observe how they interact with each other, try to spot any tensions, any sign of discord. I also take a full family history, medical and social. The aim is to get as complete a picture as possible of the family’s life.’
She stopped. This was proving even harder than she’d expected. ‘I’m following,’ said Harry. ‘Please go on.’
‘There’s always a physical examination,’ said Evi. ‘Of the referred child and any siblings. I don’t carry it out myself, I find it interferes with the rapport I try to create with them, but Tom, Joe and Millie have all been examined by the GP.’
Harry was frowning. ‘Are you allowed to tell me what he found?’ he asked.
Evi shrugged. ‘They’re fine,’ she said. ‘Physically, they’re all healthy children, with no significant medical issues, all developing normally. I’ve carried out a couple of evaluation tests myself with them. If anything, in terms of speech, cognitive functioning and general knowledge, Tom and Joe seem particularly well developed for their ages. Both would seem to be of above average intelligence. Does that accord with what you’ve observed?’
‘Completely,’ said Harry, without pausing to think. ‘When I met them they were bright, funny, normal kids. I liked them a lot. Still do.’
The Fletchers were his friends. He wouldn’t be able to be entirely objective. She’d have to win his trust too.
‘It might also be worth mentioning that the GP found no evidence of abuse with any of the children. Either physical or sexual. Of course, we still can’t rule it out entirely, but…’
He was glaring at her. Maybe he needed a reality check.
‘When a child is as disturbed as Tom appears to be, it would be irresponsible to ignore the possibility,’ she said, knowing her voice had hardened. Something in Harry’s eyes flickered back at her.
‘The most significant feature of their case, for me,’ continued Evi, consciously trying to lower and soften her voice, even though he was starting to piss her off, ‘is that the family’s troubles seem to date from their moving here.’
Definitely something in his eyes.
‘Tom’s record at his old school was exemplary,’ she said. ‘I’ve spoken to his former GP, his old football coach, even his old scout master. They all report a normal, well-adjusted, happy child. Yet the family moves here and it all goes wrong.’
Harry had dropped his gaze. He was staring at the floor now. He looked sullen. Did he imagine she thought he was to blame?
‘Mental illness in children rarely has a single identifiable cause,’ she said. ‘Anything pertaining to the Fletchers’ new environment could have acted as a trigger, woken up some dormant condition inside Tom. It would be really helpful to know what that trigger was.’
‘Is this where I come in?’ he asked her, glancing up.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re new here too. You’re probably in a better position than anyone to spot a possible catalyst. Can you think of anything?’
Harry took his time. Could he think of anything? The Fletcher family had moved to a town that hadn’t welcomed newcomers for over ten years and where ritual slaughter was an excuse for a good night out. Where whispers came scurrying out of nowhere. And where someone poured pig’s blood into a Communion chalice. Could he think of anything? Would he know when to stop?
‘This is an unusual town,’ he said at last. ‘People here have a way of doing things that’s all their own.’
‘Can you give me any examples?’ Evi had opened a small notepad and held a pencil between the fingers of her left hand. The hair on the right side of her head had been tucked behind one ear. Such a tiny ear. With a ruby stud.
‘The first day I came here I saw the two boys being menaced by a local gang,’ he said. ‘Slightly older boys. Some of them teenagers.’
‘On bikes?’ she asked quickly.
Puzzled, Harry shook his head. ‘Not at the time. Although I have since seen one or two of them riding around on bikes. They can certainly move at speed when they put their mind to it. And they’re agile. I’m sure I’ve seen figures climbing around among the abbey ruins, even on the church roof. We haven’t been able to prove it but we’re pretty certain they were responsible for what happened to Millie Fletcher a couple of weeks ago.’
‘And they were threatening Tom and Joe, that first day?’
Harry nodded. ‘They broke a church window, tried to put the blame on the boys.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time a close-knit community turned on outsiders,’ said Evi. ‘How have people here been with you?’
Harry thought about it for a second. ‘Well, on the face of it, quite friendly. There are some nice people here. But there have been strange things happening.’ He stopped. Did he want to tell Evi about the whispers he heard in the church? About what someone had tricked him into drinking? That a house of God scared him? ‘Nothing I really want to go into,’ he went on, ‘but it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that someone with a rather malicious sense of humour had been trying to frighten the boys.’
‘That’s it.’ Evi was leaning forward in her chair. ‘That’s what I sense from Tom. Fear.’
A silver chain around her neck was glinting in the soft light of the vestry.
‘What’s he afraid of?’ Harry asked.
‘Normally when a child is afraid, we look close to home for the source,’ replied Evi, ‘but there’s no indication that Tom is afraid of his family.’
She was wearing make-up, which she hadn’t been when he’d met her previously. He hadn’t realized quite how beautiful she was.
‘We have a test,’ she was saying. ‘We call it the desert-island test. We ask the child to imagine he’s on a desert island, way out in the middle of the sea, miles away from everything and completely safe. And we ask him to choose one person to be on the island with him. Who would he choose, out of all the people in the world?’
You, thought Harry, I think I might just choose you. ‘What did Tom say?’ he asked.
‘He said Millie. His little sister. When he was asked to choose a second person he chose his mum. Then his dad.’
‘Not Joe?’
‘Joe was his fourth choice. I did the same test with Joe. He said the same thing. Millie first, his mum and dad next, then Tom.’
‘Interesting that they both picked Millie.’
Evi dropped her eyes and turned a page of her notebook. Her dark hair swung down, covering her face. She turned another page and found what she was looking for. ‘Then Joe said something that really puzzled me,’ she continued, glancing back up at Harry. ‘He said, would there be a church on the island, because if there was, he didn’t think Millie should go.’
The radiator didn’t seem to be working as well as it had been. Harry felt his fingers growing cold. They died, didn’t they? The little girls in the church.