Listening.
Shanine Connor had spoken for the duration of that time, faltering in tears on a number of occasions, getting through a packet and a half of cigarettes.
Talbot had hardly taken his eyes off her during that time.
Cigarette smoke hung like a filthy curtain across the office and the DI got to his feet and opened a window to try and clear it.
He chewed on a mint and returned to his seat.
‘It’s bullshit,’ he said, finally. ‘The whole fucking story is bollocks.’ He looked at Shanine. ‘The only bit you left out was where you keep your broomstick.’
‘I’m not lying’ Shanine began, but Cath interjected.
‘You think she made the story up, Talbot?’ the journalist said, scathingly.
‘Why should she?’
‘Money. How much will your rag pay for shit like she’s just come out with?’
‘I don’t want money’ Shanine said. ‘I came here to stop them killing my baby.’
‘Of course’ Talbot said, scornfully. ‘You don’t want it sacrificed like the other one, do you? Why come here in the first place? Why run from Manchester to London? They’ve got coppers in Manchester you know?’
‘I wanted to get away from the group, I said that. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go’ Shanine protested, looking at Cath as if for support.
‘According to you there are groups everywhere, aren’t there?’ Talbot snapped.
‘At least three in Manchester, didn’t you say? Christ knows how many there must be in a city this size. You took a chance coming down here. Why not go somewhere nice and quiet like Devon, or are there witches down there too?’
Shanine opened her mouth to say something but the DI continued before she had the chance.
‘If what you say about murdering your own kid is true, then you’re bloody lucky we’re not charging you with manslaughter instead of wasting police time.’
‘So you don’t believe any of it?’ Cath asked.
‘What do you think?’ Talbot snapped.
‘So you’re going to ignore all the facts she’s given you?’ the journalist persisted. ‘The similarities don’t strike you as odd, Talbot? The mentions of a warehouse, the use of children, graveyard desecrations, killing animals. And what about this Death Hex? You’ve been investigating three suicides and the only thing stolen from each victim was a photo. Two days ago a photo was stolen from my flat, nothing else. Maybe I’m next.’
Talbot raised his eyebrows and smiled.
Cath turned away from him angrily, lighting a cigarette.
‘What about you, Bill?’ Talbot said, looking at Rafferty. ‘What do you think?’
Rafferty shrugged. ‘I think she could be telling the truth.’
‘Jesus’ Talbot grunted. ‘I don’t believe this. Am I the only one who hasn’t lost his fucking mind around here?’
‘There’s a lot of coincidences, Jim, a lot of similarities with these cases we’ve been investigating,’ Rafferty insisted.
Cath smiled to herself.
‘AH right,’ the DI said, irritably, turning his gaze upon Shanine. ‘Tell me
again about this “Death Hex”.’ He spoke the last two words with contempt.
‘They steal a photograph of the person they want dead,’ Shanine said, sucking on her cigarette. ‘It’s put into a box with three thorns, some cemetery earth and a dead insect, then it’s buried close to the victim’s home.’
‘And what’s this thing called?’
‘A Misfortune Box.’
‘And this is what was done to your boyfriend,’ the DI proclaimed. ‘There’s no possibility he could have just topped himself? Was he depressed? Suicidal?’
‘They killed him,’ Shanine blurted. ‘And they used the Death Hex to do it, to make it look like suicide.’
‘And we’re supposed to believe that Parriam, Hyde and Jeffrey were killed the same way? Forced to commit suicide because of this “Misfortune Box”?’
‘It does tie in, Jim’ Rafferty said. ‘The stolen photos start to make sense if this is true.’
‘And the graveyard desecrations in Croydon’ Cath added.
‘So, who’s responsible? The parents of the abused kids?’ Talbot wanted to know.
‘That’s what you’re supposed to find out, isn’t it?’ Cath said, challengingly.
‘Don’t tell me my fucking job, Reed’ Talbot snapped. He glared at her for a second then turned his attention back to Shanine. ‘This box, how big is it?’
She held her hands about six inches apart.
‘They seal it with black wax’ she told him.
Talbot eyed her suspiciously.
‘What do you get out of this?’ he said, quietly. ‘What difference does it make to you what happened to those three men? Or what happens to her?’ He nodded in Cath’s direction.
‘I just want my child to be safe.’
‘You said that the members of the group were frightened of what would happen to them if they rebelled, if they spoke out against the others. Aren’t you scared?’
‘I told you I was. That’s why I ran’ Shanine insisted. ‘But I’m more frightened for my child. I won’t let them take this one, too.’
‘What if they’ve worked this Death Hex on you?’ the DI said.
‘They might have. But they’re more likely to come looking for me.’
‘Why?’
‘To punish me.’
‘Why not just kill you?’ the DI demanded. ‘If they’re that powerful it should be easy’
‘They’d want to make me suffer for betraying them, and they’d want my baby,’
Shanine told him. ‘They wouldn’t kill me.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Talbot said.
‘Because I ran away once before, not long after my boyfriend was killed’ she told him. ‘They found me. They’ll probably find me this time, too.’
‘What did they do to you last time?’ Talbot asked.
Shanine looked at Cath and the journalist saw tears in her eyes.
‘Well, come on, tell me’ the DI persisted. ‘Make me believe that all this isn’t just bullshit.’
Shanine stood up, tugging at the buttons of her shirt, dragging it open.
Talbot gritted his teeth, his eyes fixed on her torso, her breasts.
‘Jesus Christ’ murmured Rafferty, his gaze also riveted on the young woman.
‘Is that enough for you?’ said Shanine, defiantly, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek.
The flesh from her collar bone as far down as her navel was criss-crossed by scars.
There were several darker marks around her breasts, which Talbot recognised as burns.
Shanine shrugged off her shirt and turned around slowly, and Talbot saw that her back was in an even worse condition.
There was a mark between her shoulder blades, visible through the maze of weals and scars. Darker.
It looked like an A enclosed in a circle. The sign usually associated with Anarchy.
It took him only a second to realise it was a brand.
‘There’re others if you want to look’ she said, undoing her jeans.
Talbot shook his head, reached for the young woman’s top and handed it back to her.
‘Don’t you want to know which ones were done with knives and which ones were done with whips?’ she said, angrily.
The marks on her belly were even more prominent, great red welts which seemed to glisten on the swollen flesh.
‘Get dressed’ Talbot said, quietly.
