He kept shouting, ‘Bob, I have to come in right now, okay?’
When he reached the top of the steps he felt his feet slowing. Despite himself and the clear madness of the situation there was still enough time for that old fear to come back. That same dread that had sunk into him every time he passed this house, whenever he used to regularly patrol this part of London. It was that same fear he’d kept hidden from Matt the other night, because he was embarrassed to be so superstitious around him. Like most other people in Menham, Larry feared Barley Street. And him with more reason than most, because after all he’d cut her down, and she’d fallen into his arms and flooded him with cold. He stepped towards Holly’s door, hearing voices from the inside. Calling out and saying Holly’s name over and over.
He took a breath and pushed through the door, one hand gripped into Mary’s. He opened his mouth, ‘Is everybody alri …’ He closed his mouth again. Bob Hodges was saying something and there was the sound of loud scratching like an angry pencil on paper. But it was coming from an expensive-looking audio player with speakers in the centre of the room.
Other than that, the room was empty.
He grabbed the recorder’s plug and yanked it out. Rachel’s voice vanished and another one replaced it.
‘We’ve got him sir, in the back garden,’ the radio crackled again. ‘All under control. He’s got some sort of liquid with him.’
Somewhere downstairs, he could hear shouting.
Mary’s hand slid out of his and she rushed to the window where she grabbed the cardboard. She ripped it away in delight because it was the opening of a gift. The men’s voices drifted in and she closed her eyes. She twirled and hugged herself, dancing along the waves of harmony.
When through the woods and forest glades I wander and hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
He moved toward the window without thinking.
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,
He pulled back the curtain.
And hear the brook, and feel the gentle breeze;
He leant toward the glass to see who was down there and saw what he now knew was the Phoenix Club, carrying candles and holding tiny crosses toward the house, like it was one big, pebble-dashed vampire. And when they looked up at the window some of them gasped to see a figure there, even though it was just him. Like he was the Barley Street ghost.
He stepped back from their gasping gaze and that same old floorboard creaked beneath his feet. The one he remembered when he stood here, when he reached up to cut her down. And Holly was in his ear again, which froze him to the spot. Something stroked the back of his neck, and he wondered if it was her long hair, dangling from the beam and touching him, like it did that morning. Her toes, brushing his stomach, like they did. Her curled, blue hands, bumping against his shoulders. Her feeling so light.
‘Sir,’ Butterfield said through the radio. ‘Did you hear me? We’ve got him.’
He blinked once. Twice. Told himself to get a grip. There was work to be done.
He rushed from the room, pushing past Mary, and not looking back. Refusing to look at the window again, just in case she was there.
They always told him that the first dead body of a child never really leaves you. And they were right.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Keech curved his police car around the corner of Barley Street and into Perry Road, letting the tyres drift a little into a skid. He caught Matt’s eyes at the screeching squeak of rubber on tarmac. ‘One of the little perks of the job,’ he said, then slammed the car back into fifth.
Around him, Matt watched the shops and homes of Menham flick by. Urban, into suburban. Retail park into industrial estate. MOT garage into plumbing suppliers, and then what looked like a scrapyard of old cars.
Keech snuck one last skid out, around an empty roundabout and then they were pulling into Ashburn Drive. It quickly led to a square of connecting roads, surrounded by tall, empty-looking buildings.
He jerked the car to a quick, shoulder-wrenching stop and killed the engine. ‘Behold,’ he yanked the handbrake. ‘The outer rims of infinity.’
They both stepped out and Matt was surprised at how desolate this part of Menham was. It was close to the bypass and far from any shops, houses or pubs. All around were industrial buildings and council offices and a storage place with a few lights on. Most of the buildings were dark and empty now. He saw one with a sign saying Council Offices. As he recalled, that was the former, infamous children’s home.
And in the centre of the buildings was a square of land, about the size of a petrol forecourt with a fence around it and a painted mural of happy children. A sign hung from the wood.
Danger: Subsidence
The vaults.
It was odd, but he didn’t feel like he was standing in London any more. Other than Keech, he couldn’t see a single other person walking these streets. But more than that, the city sounds were extremely quiet. Which struck him as very strange. It was as if the rest of Menham was many miles away and not just down a few streets and turns. This was a sound stage, where the buildings had nothing behind them, so that all life here had a sense of unreality about it.
But then he saw the one other car parked. A BMW.
Just as he clocked it, the driver’s door popped open and two long legs slid out. High heels landed with a click on the pavement.
‘Well, hello …’ Keech said, under his breath.
She didn’t walk towards them both. She strode. ‘Who’s this?’
‘I’m Police Constable Keech, madam.’
She looked down at his earnest, cap-doffing style, the hinge at the hip, and just snorted out
