offered.
A heavy silence descended.
It was broken by the ringing of the phone.
Barclay ambled over and picked it up.
‘Jesus Christ’ hissed Talbot. ‘So many fucking leads but nothing to link them, not one concrete piece of evidence.’ He exhaled deeply. Angrily. ‘Three suicides that could be witchcraft murders; all three men are involved on a building project which just happens to involve a warehouse supposedly used as a meeting place for a ring of child abusers and satanists. Seventeen kids taken into care, some showing signs of physical abuse, some saying they were raped by the Devil. Those same kids are now being released back to the families we suspect did the damage to them because we can’t prove otherwise.
Cemetery desecrations in Croydon and a pregnant tart who thinks she’s a witch who’s running to stop her kid being sacrificed.’ He looked at Shanine and Rafferty. ‘Would one of you like to tell me what the fuck is going on because I’ve just about given up.’ He held out a hand to Rafferty. ‘Give me a fucking cigarette.’
The DS handed his boss the packet of cigarettes and the lighter, watching as he lit up and inhaled deeply. He looked at the no smoking sign and blew out a stream of smoke in that direction. ‘Fuck it’ he muttered.
Barclay turned towards him, one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone.
‘Jim, it’s for you’ said the pathologist.
Talbot looked puzzled.
‘She says it’s urgent’ Barclay continued, holding out the phone towards the DI. ‘She insists she’s a journalist. Catherine Reed. She sounds frightened.’
Talbot took the receiver from him.
‘Talbot’ he said.
1 can’t find it’ Cath told him. ‘I can’t find the box.’
‘We’ve been luckier. We found boxes at the homes of all three dead men.’
‘So it is true? They were witchcraft killings?’
Talbot didn’t answer.
‘Talbot, if they killed those other three men then they’re going to kill me’
Cath said anxiously.
‘Unless you find that box’ he reminded her.
‘Let me help her’ Shanine Connor offered.
Talbot looked at the young woman, then at Rafferty, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Where are you?’ Talbot asked.
Cath told him.
‘Just sit tight’ the DI said. ‘There’ll be someone there as quickly as possible.’
Cath sat on the edge of her chair looking down at the phone. Should she call Phil?
He was in Glasgow. A light aircraft carrying sixteen passengers including the French Ambassador had gone down just outside the city, killing all those on board. Terrorism was suspected.
Cross wasn’t expected back until the following day.
He didn’t even know what was going on.
Didn’t even know her life was in danger.
” it was.
She hesitated a second, then dialled her brother’s number. There was no answer. Cath put down the receiver and waited.
Ninety-one
The summons had arrived in an official-looking brown envelope.
Summons.
Frank Reed looked at the headed notepaper and read the word over and over again.
So, at last, the waiting was over.
He was to appear at Hackney Magistrates Court in three days time for a preliminary hearing. After that a decision would be made on whether or not his case went to trial.
What fucking case?
The alleged abuse of his own daughter?
He wanted to shout and scream at the top of his voice, to give vent to the rage and frustration he felt building inside him. A pain which had grown steadily over the last few days, swelling and expanding until he thought the pressure would erupt within him, would destroy him.
Thoughts and emotions whirled around inside his head, too numerous to focus on, too jumbled to consider.
He felt dizzy.
Was there one single word to describe how he felt? One solitary exhortation to express his desolation at the enormity of this situation he faced.
He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the summons, his fingers curled into fists.
At least at the hearing they would be forced to consider his feelings, his views.
There shouldn’t even be a hearing.
They would hear what he had to say and they would understand.
And if they didn ‘t 1
Reed found a vision forcing itself into his already confused mind. A man standing in the dock, in court, facing a jury.
Him.
Jesus, the thought was too much to bear and he tried to push it aside, but it persisted.
He swallowed hard, fear now creeping in amongst his other emotions. It glided easily in beside the anger and the pain.
He got to his feet and wandered through into the sitting room, snatching up the summons as he went.
As he reached for the phone he sucked in a couple of deep breaths, trying to control his rage then, satisfied it was under control, he dialled.
And waited.
The voice at the other end wasn’t the one he’d expected to hear.
‘Can I speak to Ellen Reed, please?’ he said, falteringly.
The voice on the other end told him she wasn’t in that morning.
‘Thank you, I’ll try later …’
The voice told him that Ellen had taken a couple of days off work.
He put down the phone and dialled another number.
It rang for what seemed like an eternity but the answering machine didn’t kick in so he assumed someone was there.
A second later he was proved right.
He recognised Ellen’s voice and, overcome with conflicting emotions, he found it impossible to speak.
When she spoke again it seemed to break the spell.
‘Ellen. It’s me’ he said, trying to keep his voice low.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ she snapped.
‘It didn’t have to come to this. Court. What are you trying to do to me?’
‘I’m doing this for Becky, not you.’
‘You’re doing it for yourself,’ he snarled.
‘Goodbye, Frank’ Ellen said, flatly.
‘No wait’ he said, imploringly. ‘Listen to me, Ellen. All we had to do was talk. It didn’t have to go this far. It’s not too late. You can stop these court proceedings: you started them.’
‘Afraid of what they’ll find out, Frank? Frightened they might uncover the truth?’
He gripped the receiver tightly, his jaw clenched.
