painted design. Touched it.
‘We thought it was a pentagram at first,’ said Phil. ‘But it’s clearly not.’
‘No,’ Marina said, absorbed, her fingers, eyes following the lines of the design, ‘it’s not. More like a star. But I can see how you could make that mistake. Would be an easy conclusion to jump to… if you weren’t open-minded and imaginative… ’
Phil said nothing. Had she just paid him a compliment?
She pressed her face to the wall. Sniffed.
‘Not paint. Not… ’ She turned to Phil. ‘Has this been analysed?’
‘Not yet. They’ll have taken a sample. Don’t know when we can get results. Any ideas on what it is?’
‘I’m guessing… something of the earth… a plant concoction? Bodily fluids, even? All mixed together? I don’t know… something along those lines, though, I’d guess… ’
Marina straightened up, looked round once more. Crossed to the cage. Examined it closely. Turned, looked behind her at the bench, then over at the flowers bunched round the walls. Then the design on the wall. She began to walk towards the bunches of flowers, taking slow, deliberate steps to get to each one. Her mouth moving all the time, brow furrowed as if performing advanced mathematical calculations.
She stood in the centre of the cellar, stretched out her arms as far as she could, rotated them, straining her fingertips. Half pagan priest, half yoga teacher. Holding her breath as she did so.
Phil watched her all the time. Fascinated. He loved this woman so much it scared him sometimes.
Right,’ she said. ‘Here goes.’
26
The shadows were lengthening in Don and Eileen Brennan’s kitchen. Outside, darkness descended like a grey blanket thrown over the sun.
They sat at the table. Silence between them like a huge block of ice.
A different silence from the next room. Peaceful. Tranquil. Josephina having a nap. The TV off.
Eileen sighed, reached for her tea. It had gone cold. She still drank it.
Don sat unmoving. The sun’s dying rays playing over his face, hollowing out his features, haunting him.
Eileen placed her mug gently down on the coaster. Flowers of the British Isles. A present from a friend’s holiday. She didn’t see the colours. ‘We have to… we’ve got to do something… ’
Her voice thrown out, dying away in the silence.
‘We can’t just let him… go on. Find out what it’s… ’
‘And what d’you suggest we do?’ Don turning, looking at her. Like an Easter Island head come to life. ‘What can we do?’
‘I don’t know. Just… something.’
‘You mean tell him?’
‘Yes, maybe.’ Eileen’s eyes widened. The dying daylight glinting, fearful.
Don shook his head. Pulling back from the dark. ‘I don’t think we could… We couldn’t… Not after what… ’
Eileen sighed. ‘Then what do we do instead?’ she said. ‘Because he’s going to find out, Don. Sooner or later.’
Don said nothing. His face halfway into the darkness.
Eileen leaned towards him. Breaking the ice between them. Her voice as low as the light in the room. ‘He’ll find out anyway. And he’ll know we haven’t told him. Then how will we feel? How will
Don said nothing. Eileen watched him. Gave another sigh. She looked down at her mug once more. Made to drink from it. Remembered it was cold. Replaced it where it had been.
Silence. Darkness descended.
Then a cry from the other room. Josephina waking up.
Eileen looked at the doorway, back to Don. ‘And what about her?’
‘Don’t, Eileen.’
‘What about that poor little girl in there? Doesn’t she have a right to know too?’
‘Eileen… ’
‘What, Don, what?’
Josephina’s cries became louder.
‘I can’t. It’s too… I can’t. And you know it.’
‘Don. He has to know. That’s all there is to it.’
And louder.
Don put his head down, shook it slowly.
More cries. Eileen put her head to one side, eyes never leaving Don. ‘I’m coming, love. Grandma’s coming.’
The cries eased slightly. Eileen stood up.
‘It’s time, Don. And you know it.’
She left the room.
Don didn’t move.
The sun disappeared completely.
27
‘This is just preliminary,’ Marina said. ‘Just so we have something to go on for now. First impressions.’
‘Fine,’ said Phil. ‘Whatever you’ve got.’
‘Right. The boy hasn’t been here long,’ Marina said, turning, staring at the cage.
‘No?’
‘No.’ She pointed. ‘That’s a holding cell. He would have been transferred here. That cage has been like that for a long time. Very long time.’
‘How long?’
‘I’ll come to that. The boy was brought here for… something. Nothing good. This is a killer’s lair. However he dresses it up. It’s a slaughterhouse.’
She closed her eyes, turned on the spot, breathing in deeply.
‘The anticipation… he brings them here to… ’ Another deep breath. ‘He’s building the anticipation for himself. Letting it, letting it… the ritual. Yes. That’s it. It’s all about the ritual. Not just aspects he’s developed in his own mind, though… no… his own fetish, no… ’ Another breath. She dropped to her knees, looking round. ‘Something more than that… ’
Phil didn’t dare to speak. It was almost like Marina was in a trance, receiving communications from the spirit world. He knew how ridiculous that sounded, but still the image persisted.
‘Getting himself in the right place, the right… frame of mind, getting ready to enjoy it, but no. More than that. More. The flowers… Yes… The right… time… ’
She opened her eyes. ‘It’s about time. Ritual.’ She looked round at the bunches of flowers by the walls. ‘The flowers, they’re… it’s… a growth cycle. Living, blooming, dying. Perennials.’ She pointed to the wall. ‘And that design. You were right, it’s not a pentagram, not Satanic. It’s… I don’t know. Some kind of calendar? Could that be it?’
‘With the star shape… ’
‘Overlaying that. But it’s not a pentagram. More a… logo, I think.’ Surprise in her voice.
She closed her eyes once more. ‘But the child… What does that mean? Readiness? Fruition? Is the child part of that growth cycle?’
She crossed to the bench.
