that.’
Finn came back into the kitchen and sat next to me.
‘Look,’ she said. She was holding a needle between her thumb and first finger. She smiled. ‘It’s all right, Sam. I’m better. Not perfect, but better. Look, Elsie, it’s easy.’ She jabbed the needle into the end of her left thumb, then leaned forward and squeezed a crimson drop on to Elsie’s map. With the eye of the needle she arranged the drop into a fair approximation of an ‘F’. ‘Now for you, Sam.’
‘No, I hate needles.’
‘You’re a doctor.’
‘That’s why I became one, so that I can put needles into other people.’
‘Hand.’ Finn said firmly. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got a new one for you.’ I reluctantly held out my left hand and flinched as she jabbed the needle into the tip of the thumb. She squeezed it on to the paper.
‘I suppose I’ll have to write Samantha,’ I grumbled.
‘“S” will do,’ laughed Finn.
I formed my blood into an ‘S’.
‘Now, what about Elsie,’ said Finn.
‘I’ll use Mummy’s blood,’ she said with finality.
Finn squeezed another drop from my thumb and Elsie smeared it into something that looked like a raspberry that had been trodden on. I contemplated my thumb.
‘It hurts,’ I said.
‘Let me see,’ said Finn. She took my hand and looked at the thumb. There was a dot of red, and she leaned forward and dabbed it off with her tongue, looking up at me with her big dark eyes.
‘There,’ she said. ‘We’re blood sisters.’
Eighteen
‘Sam, Sam, wake up.’
A whisper close to my ear pulled me up through a tumble of dreams to focus on a white face, a whimper of terror. I sat up and looked at the pale-green numbers of my clock-radio.
‘Finn, it’s three in the morning.’
‘I heard something outside. There’s someone outside.’
I frowned in disbelief, but then I heard it too. Something creaked. I was up now, wide awake in the pitch- black chill. I took Finn by the hand and raced down the corridor into Elsie’s room. I picked her up, duvet, teddy and all, and carried her back into my bedroom with her thumb still in her mouth and one arm still out-flung. I laid her on my bed where she muttered, rolled more securely into a ball of duvet and bear and slept on. I picked up the phone. Nine nine nine.
‘Hello, what service?’
I couldn’t remember the number Baird had given me. I almost howled in frustration.
‘I’m at Elm House near Lymne. There’s an intruder. We need the police. Please tell Detective Inspector Baird at Stamford CID. My name is Samantha Laschen.’ Oh God, she wanted it spelled out. Why couldn’t I be called Smith or Brown? She was finally finished, and I replaced the receiver. I thought of the autopsy reports on the Mackenzies and suddenly I felt as if there were insects crawling over my flesh. Finn was holding me tight. What was the best thing to do? My mind teemed with possibilities. Barricade the door to the bedroom? Go downstairs on my own and perhaps delay any intruder long enough for the police to arrive? Suddenly it was only Elsie that I cared about. She hadn’t asked for this, none of this was her responsibility. Would she be safer if I could somehow separate her from Finn?
‘Finn, come with me,’ I hissed.
I had a vague plan of getting a weapon from somewhere but then – too soon, surely, to have responded to my call – there was the sound of car engines, scraping gravel, and flashing lights. I looked out of the window. There were police cars, dark shapes moving around. I saw a dog. I went to Finn and held her close, murmuring into her hair.
‘It’s OK now, Finn. You’re safe. The police are here. You did well, honey, you did very well. You can relax now.’
There were knocks at the door. I looked out of the window. There was a group of uniformed officers on the path and a second group further away. Another car was pulling up. I ran down the stairs, pulling a robe around me, and opened the door.
‘Is everybody all right?’ the officer in front asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Where is Fiona Mackenzie.’
‘Upstairs, with my daughter.’
‘May we come in?’
‘Sure.’
The man turned around.
‘Secure the first floor,’ he said.
Two officers, one of them female, brushed past me and ran upstairs, their feet clattering on the wood.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Bear with us a moment,’ the first officer said. Another policeman ran up and whispered in his ear. ‘We’ve apprehended a man. He says he knows you. Can you come and make an identification?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to get dressed?’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Come this way, then. He’s sitting in the car over there.’
My heart beat almost painfully as I approached the silhouetted figures in the car and then I just had to laugh. It was a dishevelled Danny, firmly pinioned between two officers.
‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘He’s a friend. A close friend.’
The officers let him go with some reluctance. I saw that one of them was holding a handkerchief against his nose.
‘Very well, sir,’ said the other. ‘I should avoid lurking in gardens in the middle of the night, in future.’
Danny didn’t answer. He glowered at them and at me and walked towards the house. I caught up with him at the front door.
‘What were you up to?’
‘My fucking van broke down in the village, so I walked. Somebody grabbed me so I hit back.’
‘I’m glad you came, oh, my God, I’m glad,’ I said and slid my arms around his waist. ‘And I’m sorry.’ A giggle rose in my chest like a sob.
There was another scrape of gravel in the drive behind me. I turned and saw an unmarked car scraping to a halt. The door opened and a burly figure emerged. Baird. He stumbled forward towards us. He stopped and scrutinized Danny blearily.
‘What a bloody shower,’ he said and walked past into the hall. ‘I need some bloody coffee.’
‘Your men were on the scene with improbable speed,’ I said.
Baird was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. Danny was standing in the far corner with a glass of whisky, occasionally topped up from the bottle which he was holding in his other hand.
‘They were in the vicinity,’ Baird said.
‘Why?’
‘I understand that you’ve encountered Frank Laroue.’
