'Let me get this straight,' he said slowly. 'Katie Drake, together with some family in Essex, are being killed because they -- or, more likely, one of their ancestors - broke some Mormon covenant?'
'Pretty much so, yes,' Foster replied.
'And you think that this might have something to do with the fact that if these people are dead then they can be turned into Mormons?'
He nodded. 'Baptized by proxy'
Harris ran his hands down his face, stretching the skin.
'And an elevenyear-old boy who has been sleeping at your house might be the next victim?'
Foster nodded his agreement.
'But what about Naomi? If the killer is exacting some sort of ecclesiastical revenge, then why wasn't she killed, too? Don't they want to convert her? Why kidnap her and not just kill her there and then? The same goes for this other girl you say's missing. If she's been writing letters to her brother then that would indicate she hasn't been killed.'
Susie offered her theory of the girls serving a purpose.
It might just have been Foster's jaundiced eye, but he appeared to take what she said more seriously. Harris listened intently. When she finished, Foster spoke again.
We know that the victims shared two ancestors who turned up from the States in 1890, who seemed to have run away from something in America. Some kind of atrocity. We found a picture that belonged to Sarah Rowley showing a row of charred bodies, killed in a fire. We don't know what it means but it might be linked to the fact that eighteen of Sarah Rowley's ancestors died on the same day in 1890. We need to find out more. Maybe those two people who fled had something to do with that and their descendants are being made to pay' He paused. 'And the answer to it could be lying in the vault of the main family history library in Salt Lake City.'
Harris's face creased. 'Fat lot of good it is to us there.'
He caught the intensity of Foster's stare and knew immediately what he was thinking. You're proposing I send you out there?'
Foster shook his head. 'No, not me. Nigel Barnes. We send him with an official request from ourselves to access this information. It may lead to more research. He's better placed to do that than I am.'
'I don't feel happy sending a civilian out on his own, Grant.'
'Send a copper who can go with him.'
Harris took another deep gasp of air. He remained silent for a minute, scratching at the back his neck, staring at the wall. He looked back at Foster. 'OK,' he said, nodding. We send them tonight. I need something, anything, to kick start this, to help us find her. Dare I say it, even if she's dead then we'll have a body for evidence and a starting point. Who do you propose we send to accompany Barnes?'
'I have someone in mind.' He turned to leave.
'Grant?'
What?'
Another deep breath. 'Forget the return to work plan.
Work as late and as long as it takes.'
Gary was brought back to Foster's office by a young male detective who wore a look of boredom and distaste. The pair had spent the previous couple of hours in the canteen, or in front of a television, and it was clear it had not been a bonding experience for either. The young cop almost bundled Gary into the office in his eagerness to get away and return to proper work, but not before Foster asked him to wait outside for them. He'd be needed in a second. Gary appeared sullen. But then he mostly did.
What a muppet he was,' he said.
Foster ignored him. 'Look, I'm going to be really busy.
I've sorted out some temporary accommodation for you where you'll be well looked after. More importantly, you'll be safe. You'll have a policeman living with you 24/7.
You won't be able to get out much, which is a shame, but you'll have satellite TV, computers, game consoles, so there'll be ample compensation. It won't be for long.'
'I ain't going,' he said, his jaw sticking out perceptibly.
Foster sighed. Why?'
Gary said nothing.
'Look, you have my word. It's safe. Safer than anywhere else you could be. Safer than my place. Safer than the streets. I wouldn't suggest you go there unless it was absolutely cast-iron certain you won't come to any harm.'
Gary was looking out of the window, at the trees that were bowing obsequiously to the gusting wind. Foster thought he might cry.
'Look, there's an Xbox, a Wii, there's a desktop computer hooked up to the Internet, there's a DVD library with every film you can think of, takeaways on tap. In fact the more I think about it, the more I'd like to be there.'
The boy turned his large, mournful brown eyes on him.
'So why ain't you gonna be there?'
It was only then that Foster understood the kid's reluctance.
For a few seconds, he was lost for words; no pithy comeback or retort. Nothing. A new experience. Instead he stroked his chin.
'I'm not going to be there, Gary, because I need to find the man who kidnapped your sister, kidnapped the girl who went missing last week, the killer of your aunt, your uncle and your cousin, the man who has been following you,' he replied eventually. 'And to do that while having you around is not that easy.' The kid's face grew more mournful. 'Not because I don't want you around, but because of having to ferry you around. Plus it's not safe for you to be with me. Trust me.'
Gary continued to stare at him, barely blinking, but his resistance appeared to be waning.
'In fact, if I know you're not in danger then that will make my job of trying to catch this psycho much easier.
You understand?'
Gary nodded, even tried to force a smile 'Easy, now. You don't want your face to crack.' He went over and ruffled his hair. Gary let him.
Less than a week ago he'd have sunk his teeth into my hand, Foster thought. He smiled. Then he picked up the phone and told Barnes to pack his toothbrush.
8
The main floor was crowded with people -- men and women of various shapes and sizes, backgrounds and ages -- but Nigel immediately recognized the kind. Amateur family historians. There was something about their quiet, unfussy air, the atmosphere of eager expectation as they chatted among themselves, hushed yet excited. Many of them had crossed states, travelled many thousands of miles to be here, either waiting to be collected by a guide or tour organizer or having made their own, independent pilgrimage to the Church of Latter-day Saints' vast central library in downtown Salt Lake City. All of them were seeking insights into their pasts and origins. He envied them in a way. The American experience was an essentially immigrant one. Many would find stories of ancestors who had crossed oceans and risked life and limb in search of a new life, fleeing persecution or hardship, starting afresh in the new world, stories that were less common in the UK.
He stood to one side, watching, detached in more ways than one. He had never travelled further than mainland Europe, so the ravages of jetlag were new to him. He was running on adrenaline, the sense of being close to discovering something of import his only spur after a night of sleep had evaded him entirely. They had left Heathrow the night before, arriving in Chicago at midnight. The only seats were in economy, and at O'Hare airport they had a six-hour wait until catching a dawn flight over the Rocky Mountains to the Mormon capital, swooping in over snow-capped peaks that glistened in the eye-popping winter sun.
His dehydrated skin was stretched taut like a drum and his head felt as if it was half-filled with water. He felt
