Larry tutted.
Suddenly the other policewoman from before popped her head through the door. ‘Sir? The bird?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I had a look and I really don’t see anything worrying. Looks like a cat got it. Or a rat.’
‘Oh,’ Matt said.
‘You can tell. My little Tinker does that all the time. Brings them in and drops them on—’
‘Fine,’ Larry said. ‘Bag it up properly and we’ll confirm it later.’
Larry walked quickly to the front door, and Matt rushed to catch up. He clicked it open, and they both headed out onto the pavement outside, into the wild wind once again.
‘Matt, this is a pretty whacky theory.’
‘Not nearly as whacky as a dead girl and her demonic black rabbit killing everybody.’
‘Let’s just hope you’re not just reading patterns into stuff that isn’t there …’
Matt smiled. ‘Touché.’
It was moving into late afternoon but this was the last night of October. And even though the sun was still up, Matt could see the early evening starting its sly creep over the buildings. It was moving slow, seeping through the street like a fine, black, barely visible gas. Shadows from the lamp post grew long and spindly in the dwindling, pink light as they both sank into Larry’s car outside Jo’s house. Other dogs were barking now, but were unseen. Larry turned the ignition and immediately Matt saw the street lights flicker into life, one after the other, in a weird domino effect down the long street. Some wild part of his brain was saying that the world was settling itself into place for something to happen. Which he knew was just his brain attaching dramatic significance to unrelated signifiers. The coming darkness, the lights, the howling wind, the shining eyes of pumpkins lit in windows, the fact that tonight was Halloween. There was nothing inherently ominous in these things, and therefore his placing any narrative power on them was pure conjecture and pointless pattern finding.
Still though, despite himself, it felt like something bad was coming.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Larry nudged the car up onto the Barley Street kerb, right outside number 29, where Bob and Joyce were standing at the open boot of their car. The sound of Larry’s engine made the two of them swivel around to look; Bob had some ancient-looking gizmo with dials and meters stuffed under his arm. Like he’d just burgled the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.
Matt and Larry clicked the doors open and stepped out at the same time.
‘Oh, I see … I see how it is,’ Bob said. ‘We’re under surveillance, now?’
‘Where’s Rachel?’ Matt asked.
‘Where do you think she is? She’s right up there … getting things ready.’ Bob nodded at Holly’s window, still covered in cardboard from last night.
‘Mr Hodges,’ Larry said. ‘There’s been a development and it may be nothing, but I think it’d be a sensible idea to postpone your work tonight.’
‘A development?’ Bob raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, we’re all ears … aren’t we, darling?’
Joyce nodded but she didn’t say a word. She was too busy pawing at the dangling talisman round her neck, looking back at the house nervously.
Matt didn’t like the look in her eye, and it sparked his feet to move. ‘Rachel needs to hear it too.’ He pushed through the gate and hurried up toward the door.
‘Hey,’ Bob called after him. ‘What happened to respecting a lady’s privacy?’
Matt ignored him and didn’t bother knocking either. He pushed the door to Barley Street wide open and saw nothing but the empty hall, with its small windows and dull gloom. He thought he heard a soft voice coming from upstairs. He walked up, quietly.
Through the banisters he could see that Holly’s door was shut tight and he wondered if Rachel might be in there. Maybe she’d be kneeling at her sister’s little bed and begging for forgiveness. But as he moved across the landing he heard a gasp from behind him and he quickly spun around. The door to the bathroom was now wide open. Mary Wasson was in there, with what looked like a set of hairpins sticking out from her grey lips which were pressed hard together, and behind her he saw Rachel, her fringe swept back and tied up in two small, infantile bunches. The top she was wearing was an old-looking T-Shirt which looked a few sizes too small for her. It dug into the flesh of her arms. The front had the logo of an old band he remembered called Blink-182. Yet the weirdest part of all was clutched in her hands. A pointed black hat, the type you’d get in a fancy-dress shop, or in the Halloween aisle in a supermarket.
A witch’s hat.
‘Who let you in?’ Rachel quickly grabbed a towel and pressed it against herself, like she was naked, even though she wasn’t. Her face looked wrong too. He’d spotted she usually wore a little make-up, but never as thick as this, never as juvenile-looking.
He frowned. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
Mary beamed at him, and turned back to wedge another hairpin into Rachel’s scalp. ‘Might as well be fourteen again, don’t you think?’
Just to make it clear that Matt and Larry were not invited to stay, they had the entire discussion in the downstairs hallway. Bob and Joyce stood by the banister, leaning elbows against it, while Mary and Rachel sat on the lower steps of the staircase, hands on their knees. It looked like the Wassons were the children and the Hodges were the parents, posing for a bizarre Christmas card shot.
Rachel had pulled a purple dressing gown on to hide her outfit, but she couldn’t cover her hair and make-up, which even Larry frowned at. It turned out that the Hodges had insisted she dress in her old clothes, to recreate the feel of that Halloween night. The night – Joyce had insisted – that had brought ‘the blackness’ on Holly which would lead to her death a week later. Apparently making these kinds of connections would help create a ‘true
