Part 17 (1/2)

He turned the page and spotted names he recognized: Renshaw several times, Knowles and Grimes more than once. There it was again, halfway down the third page. Charles Perkins, aged fifteen, buried on 7 September 1932. An innocent Christian soul. An innocent Christian soul. He looked at his watch again. Three minutes past eleven. Harry leaned back in his chair and glanced round the room. No damp running socks drying on the radiator; the draining board was clear of used tea-bags. He looked at his watch again. Three minutes past eleven. Harry leaned back in his chair and glanced round the room. No damp running socks drying on the radiator; the draining board was clear of used tea-bags.

A sudden noise from the nave made him jump and almost overbalance. He lowered his chair until all four legs were firmly on the ground. No one could be in the main body of the church. The building had been locked when he'd arrived, he'd opened just one door, to the vestry, and that was less than three yards away. No one could have entered without him seeing them. And yet what he'd just heard had been too loud to be the random creaking of old wood. It has sounded like ... like sc.r.a.ping metal. He stood up, crossed the room and opened the door into the nave.

The church was empty, of course, he hadn't expected anything else. It just didn't feel empty. He stepped backwards towards the vestry, his eyes roaming the chancel, looking for movement. He was listening hard. It was almost a relief to close the door. He might as well admit it, he just didn't like this church. There was something about it that made him feel uneasy.

Scared, you mean. This church scares you.

He looked at his watch again. It was ten minutes past eleven and his visitor was indisputably late. Could he wait outside? Not without looking a complete prat, he couldn't. He picked up his mobile. No messages.

He jumped again as a knock sounded on the vestry door.

Evi pulled up behind Harry's car. Using her stick as a lever she pushed herself out of her own. It was a long walk to the vestry door and using her chair was the only really sensible option. Her stick would fold up and slot along the back, the briefcase would sit on her lap, she'd be able to push herself across those smooth old flagstones in a matter of seconds. Faster than many people could run. And Harry would see her in a wheelchair.

She locked the car and began the slow walk up the path. She walked for two minutes, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground, wary of uneven stones. When she stopped for a breather a shadow caught her eye. The sun was throwing the outline of the ruined abbey on to the gra.s.s in front of her. She could make out the tower and the three arches that ran up one side of the nave. She could see the arched gap where a stained-gla.s.s window had once shone. What was left of the window ledge was fifteen feet above the ground. Should someone really be sitting on it?

Using the stick for balance, she turned and looked at the ruin. What in the name of ...

Life-sized figures, wearing real clothes but with heads fas.h.i.+oned from turnips, pumpkins, even straw, filled the ruined church. Evi counted quickly. There had to be twenty or more of the things. They sat in empty window frames, lay across the top of arches, leaned against pillars; one had even been tied by its waist to the tower. It dangled, high above the ground. Unable to resist, Evi took a step closer, then another, taking herself almost within the confines of the church. They were guys, exceptionally well made from what she could see. None of them slumped, lifeless and flattened, the way guys normally did. Their bodies were solid, their limbs in proportion. They appeared remarkably human; until you looked at their faces, on each of which was carved a wide, jagged grin.

Not really liking to turn her back on them, Evi glanced towards the Fletcher house. At least two of the upstairs windows would get a pretty good view of the newly decorated abbey. Tom Fletcher and his brother would have to look out on this when they went to bed.

Her left leg was telling her she'd been still for long enough. She put her stick forward and, glancing back every few seconds, continued up the path.

She was flushed. There was a frown line running vertically down her forehead that he hadn't noticed before. Her hair was different too, sleek and dark, just reaching her shoulders and so s.h.i.+ny it looked wet.

'You should have phoned from the car,' he said. 'I'd have come out to help.'

Evi's lips stretched into a smile but the frown line was still there. 'And yet I managed,' she said.

'So you did. Come in.'

He stepped back and allowed her into the vestry. She made her way across to the two chairs he'd positioned close to the radiator and clutched the arm of the nearest one. She lowered herself slowly and then folded the stick and put it by her side. She was wearing a scarlet woollen jacket with a plain black top and trousers, and she'd brought a soft, spicy scent into the vestry with her. And something of the autumn morning too, a smell of leaves, of wood smoke, a crispness. He was staring.

'I can make coffee,' he offered, turning his back and moving to the sink. 'Or tea. There's even some Hobn.o.bs somewhere. Alice never visits without bringing a packet over.'

'Coffee would be great, thank you. No sugar. Milk, if you have it.' He'd forgotten how sweet and low her voice was when she wasn't annoyed with him. He glanced back. How could eyes be that blue? They were so blue they were almost violet, like pansies at twilight. He was staring again.

He made coffee for them both, listening to rustling behind him as she opened her case and took out papers. Once she dropped a pen, but when he jumped round to pick it up, she'd already found it. The pink in her cheeks was fading. His own face felt far too hot.

He handed her a mug, took his own seat and waited.

Harry looked every inch the priest this morning: neat black clothes, white clerical collar, s.h.i.+ny black brogues. There was even a pair of reading gla.s.ses on the desk.

'Thank you for seeing me,' she began. He said nothing, just inclined his head at her.

She held out a sheet of paper. 'I need to give you this,' she said. 'Alice and Gareth Fletcher have authorized me to speak to you. To discuss as much of their case with you as seems appropriate.' Harry took the paper from her and looked at it. The gla.s.ses stayed on the desk. He was far too young to need reading gla.s.ses anyway. They must just be for effect. After a second or so he put it down and picked up his mug.

'I'm also speaking to several teachers at Tom and Joe's school,' she continued. 'To the headmaster of Tom's old school. And to their GP. It's normal practice when treating a child.'

She waited for Harry to respond. He didn't. 'Children are so affected by their environments that we have to know as much as we can about their surroundings,' she went on. 'About what impacts on their lives.'

'I've become fond of the Fletchers,' said Harry. 'I hope you can help them.'

So different, this morning. So completely unlike the man she'd met.

'I'll certainly do my best,' she said. 'But it's very early days. This is really just a fact-finding mission.'

Harry put his mug down on the desk behind him. 'Anything I can do,' he said, as he turned back.

So cold. A different man. Just wearing the same face. Still, she had a job to do.

'Tom was referred to me by his GP two weeks ago,' she said. 'He was presenting with extreme anxiety, difficulties at school, trouble sleeping, aggressive behaviour both at school and at home and even the possibility of psychotic episodes. Taken together, these are all very troubling symptoms in a ten-year-old boy.'

'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 s.e.xual. 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 p.i.s.s her off, 'is that the family's troubles seem to date from their moving here.'