‘The exact cause of death hasn’t been-’ began Harry, getting to his feet and stepping out into the aisle.
Mike turned to face him. ‘Don’t give me that. No disrespect, Vicar,’ he said. ‘You were at the bloody post-mortem this morning. Had their heads been bashed in?’
Harry took a deep breath. This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get drawn in. ‘There was some evidence of head trauma in both cases,’ he began, ‘but we really need to wait-’
‘Like Lucy?’ demanded Mike.
‘The pathologist thought the injuries could be consistent with falls,’ said Harry. Rushton would kill him.
‘Like Lucy?’ repeated Mike.
‘That’s really all I can tell you, I’m afraid,’ said Harry.
Pickup glared at him for a second longer. ‘I’m grateful for your time, Vicar,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’ He nodded at Harry and then set off towards the front of the church. He passed into the vestry and out of sight. Harry’s mobile issued three sharp beeps. He pulled it from his pocket. Evi had arrived at the church and was wondering where he was. He set off in Mike’s footsteps.
‘They’ll be leaving now, I expect.’ The voice startled him. Harry turned to see Christiana watching him. Her voice was like Jenny’s, only softer and sweeter. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak before.
‘I’m afraid the police will be here for quite a while yet,’ replied Harry. ‘It’s upsetting, I know. But necessary.’
‘Not the police. The Fletchers.’ She always wore dresses, he noticed. Tailored dresses, in fabrics that looked expensive. They fitted her perfectly and Harry wondered if she made them herself, like she’d made Lucy’s pyjamas.
‘The Fletchers?’ repeated Harry. ‘Why would the-’ He stopped. Christiana’s hair was loose this morning, held back from her face with an Alice band. It was long, past her shoulders, unusual on a woman in her forties. She was standing close to him now, closer than felt really comfortable, as though she didn’t want to be overheard. He could smell the old-fashioned floral scent she wore and was suddenly reminded of the day she’d scattered scented rose petals beneath the gallery.
‘So many little girls,’ she said. ‘Tell them to go, Vicar. It’s not safe here. Not for little girls.’
57
‘SO WHERE DO YOU THINK THE CHILDREN WERE PLANNING to go last night, Mrs Fletcher?’
‘That’s assuming they were planning to go anywhere,’ Harry jumped in, before Alice could open her mouth. ‘According to Tom, he was trying to rescue his sister.’
Evi watched the blonde social worker look down at the notepad on the kitchen table, gathering her thoughts. ‘Yes,’ the woman said, after a second. ‘From this mythical little girl of his.’ She looked up again at Alice. Her lips were a bright, glossy pink. ‘Have they ever tried to run away before?’ she asked.
‘Again, assuming they were running away,’ said Harry. ‘In my experience, children don’t run away in the middle of the night, especially when it’s pissing it down with rain. They go in the day, usually when they’ve been told they can’t have any sweets or have to tidy their bedrooms, and they rarely get further than the corner of the street.’
‘Exactly how much experience do you have of children running away, Mr Laycock?’ asked the social worker. Evi raised her mug to her lips to hide a smile. This was as far from a laughing matter as it was possible to get, and yet there was something about Harry in pugilistic mode that tickled her.
‘Does anyone want more coffee?’ asked Alice. Nobody answered her. Four mugs sat on the table in front of them. With the exception of Evi’s, which was occasionally being used as a screen, none appeared to have been touched.
The kitchen door opened and Joe appeared. Everyone turned to him.
‘Mummy, I need a wee,’ he said, glancing curiously from one grown-up to the next. His lips twitched in a faint smile when he saw Harry. Alice stood up. ‘Stay downstairs, poppet,’ she said, indicating the door to the rear of the room. ‘Can you squeeze behind Harry?’
‘I want to get my remote-control Dalek,’ answered Joe, not moving from the doorway. His mother shook her head.
‘Not till the policemen have finished, sweetie,’ she said. ‘Is Millie OK?’
‘She’s building a tower with Tom,’ answered Joe. ‘With firewood.’
‘Oh good,’ muttered Alice, as Joe turned and left the room.
‘The upstairs of our house is still officially a crime scene,’ said Alice, to no one in particular. ‘I haven’t been allowed in Millie’s room today. I’ve had to dress her in Joe’s clothes.’
‘They haven’t found any evidence of this so-called break-in then,’ said the social worker. Hannah Wilson, she’d introduced herself as, arriving just seconds after Harry and Evi had knocked on the door of the Fletchers’ house. She was in her early thirties, on the plump side and with generous breasts squeezed inside a low-cut, tight-fitting sweater. A long, single chain of stones lay against her breast bone, emphasizing the depth of her cleavage. For nearly twenty minutes now, Evi had been waiting to see Harry’s eyes fall to it. So far, he’d managed to resist.
‘ Alice ’s husband’s keys were missing,’ Harry pointed out.
‘Keys go missing all the time,’ answered Hannah. ‘You’ll need a bit more than that if you’re going to prove attempted child abduction.’
‘How about two unidentified bodies in the mortuary at Burnley General?’ said Harry. ‘Both pulled out of the Fletchers’ back garden last night. Sorry to be so blunt, Alice.’
Alice shrugged her shoulders and glanced over at Evi. Evi half smiled back, knowing she ought to try and rein Harry in a little. A visit from Social Services was standard procedure following any incident when police were called out and children deemed at risk. If Harry pissed this woman off, it could turn personal. Hannah Wilson might start flexing her own muscles and the Fletcher family would find themselves caught in the middle.
‘Well, we don’t know at this stage whether what the police are investigating outside had anything to do with the family here,’ said Hannah. ‘In the meantime, my sole concern is for the welfare of the children.’
‘So is mine, actually,’ interrupted Alice.
‘And you have to admit Tom’s story doesn’t quite stack up.’ The social worker looked from Harry to Alice to Evi, as if daring one of them to challenge her. ‘Tom’s face is quite badly bruised. If I understood you properly, Mrs Fletcher, he says he got it when the little girl, who was running away with his sister, kicked him.’
‘That’s what he told me,’ said Alice.
‘But from what I understand from his earlier descriptions of the girl, she doesn’t wear shoes.’
Nobody spoke. Evi dropped her eyes to the table, mentally kicking herself for not spotting that first. The kitchen door opened again. It was Tom this time, the purple bruise vivid against the pale skin over his cheekbone.
‘Mum, Millie’s spilled her juice on the sofa,’ he said. Alice sighed and started to get up.
‘I’ll do it,’ offered Evi, rising and picking up a dishcloth. ‘You finish up here, Alice. I’m sure Mrs Wilson must be nearly done by now.’
Evi followed Tom into the living room. She could hear heavy footsteps moving around upstairs and people talking in low voices. Joe was at the far end of the room, peering around the drawn curtains to see what was happening in the garden outside. Millie, looking impossibly cute in a pair of denim dungarees that had been rolled up at the ankles, waved a stick of kindling wood at her and nearly tumbled backwards into the empty fireplace. Tom rushed forwards and caught her before her head could bang against the hearth.
‘Hi, cutie pie,’ said Evi, when the toddler was safely on her feet again. The little girl appeared to have been crying. The skin around her eyes looked red and sore. ‘Where’s this sticky mess?’ Evi asked.