‘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.’