around them.
Cath crossed to a litter bin and peered in.
Empty.
Talbot sat on a swing and watched disinterestedly.
One of the children smiled at him and he smiled back.
Shanine pushed the leaves of a bush aside and dug at the earth with the toe of one trainer, disturbing the soil there.
Rafferty was doing something similar next to a newly planted tree.
The playground surface was woodchips, but the pathway surrounding it was concrete flagstones.
As he was taking in the scene around him, Talbot noticed that one of the flags was slightly raised, dark earth spilling from beneath it.
He stepped off the swing and crossed to the paving stone.
The rest of the path was flat, the stones flush.
The one he was peering down .at looked as if it had been prised up.
He hooked his two hands beneath it and lifted, surprised at how easily the stone came free.
Watched by the woman on the bench, he flipped it over, gazing down at the dark earth beneath.
With his bare hands he began to scratch at the dirt like a dog in search of a bone.
It was a matter of seconds before his fingertips touched something cold.
Something wooden.
The others had seen what he was doing and wandered over to join him. Shanine kneeled beside him, pulling more of the earth away.
Rafferty moved closer to Cath as if to reassure her.
Talbot and Shanine pulled the final clods away.
The woman on the bench looked on in bewilderment.
The box was about four inches below the surface.
‘Is that it?’ Talbot asked.
Shanine Connor nodded slowly. ‘Burn it’ she said, flatly. ‘It’s the only way to break the Hex.’
Talbot hesitated.
‘Do it, for Christ’s sake’ Cath urged.
The DI gripped the box in one powerful hand then brought it crashing down onto one of the paving stones.
The wood split, the lid came free.
The contents spilled out into view.
Three thorns. Some dried earth and a dead beetle.
The photo fluttered out, twisted right side up.
Half a photo.
The picture had been ripped in two down the middle.
‘Oh my God’ murmured Cath.
She was staring at an image of her brother.
Frank Reed smiled back from the torn photograph.
‘Why is Frank’s picture in there?’ she gasped.
‘Is that part of the photo that was stolen from your flat?’ Talbot asked.
Cath nodded. ‘But why Frank?’ she whispered, eyes riveted to the torn image.
‘There’s something else’ Talbot said, a note of urgency in his voice. ‘If your brother’s half of that photo is in the box, who’s got the part with you on it?’
Ninety-three
Frank Reed drew the razor slowly across his foamy cheek then rinsed it in the sink.
He splashed his face with water and gazed at the image that peered back from the bathroom mirror.
With the dark shadow of two days’ accumulated stubble removed he looked better. Fresher.
Ready.
If you look like shit, you feel like shit.
He leaned closer to the mirror and stared into his bloodshot eyes. The lids were puffy through lack of sleep.
He splashed his face again, perhaps hoping he could wash away his tired, haggard features.
Reed towelled his face dry and wandered into the bedroom where his navy blue jacket and trousers were already laid out on the bed.
He’d pressed them before showering and shaving.
He wanted to look smart.
He wanted to prove to those who saw him that he was master of this situation.
You can fool them, but you can’t fool yourself.
Standing before the full-length mirror, he slipped on a white shirt, pulled on his trousers, and stepped into a pair of shoes. Then he reached into the wardrobe for his tie. As he did so, he glanced to the other side of the cabinet, and his eyes narrowed.
When she’d walked out on him, Ellen had left a few things: only the odd item of clothing pushed into the back of the wardrobe, but a reminder.
A single white blouse hung there; beneath it a tattered pair of suede high heels, the toes scuffed and dirty.
He bent down and picked up the shoes, pulled the blouse from its hanger.
He dropped all three items into the wastebin in one corner of the room, then returned to the wardrobe to fasten his tie.
He checked himself in the mirror and was satisfied with what he saw.
Reed glanced at his watch.
He had time.
The drive would take him less than twenty minutes.
Becky didn’t leave school for another thirty.
He would be there when she walked out of the front gate.
Waiting.
He walked back into the bathroom and ran a comb through his hair, then he strode back through the bedroom, where he gathered his car keys.
He wondered if Ellen was intending to pick up Becky from school.
Perhaps she’d send Ward to do it.
Fucking bastard.
He gritted his teeth at the thought of his daughter with another man. A man who dared to call himself her father now.
I love him.’
Ellen’s words echoed in Reed’s mind. Discordant syllables.
He wondered when she had stopped loving him. What he’d done to drive her away.
It’s not your fault. She chose to go. You’re not to blame.
He went into the kitchen, glancing down at the summons which still lay on the table. Reed picked it up and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He felt curiously calm. A serenity he’d not experienced for some time had settled over him. Even his anger seemed momentarily quelled.
Again he looked at his watch.
Becky would be leaving school soon. He must be there to see her.
Must be there when she walked from those gates.
Before Ellen or Ward.
He slid open one of the kitchen drawers and looked down at the contents.
