‘What happens next, Timothy?’
‘Footsteps. Door opens. A man with something white… a laundry bag.’ Tim’s hands twitched.
She held her breath. Nothing about a mask. Or blood. ‘It’s okay, Timothy. You can go back to your safe place now.’
She waited for him to settle.
‘Slow, even breaths, in and out. Arms and legs relaxed.’ She hesitated before taking the plunge, but this might be her only chance.
‘Let’s go further back in time. It’s a Friday night in late August. You’re seventeen years old and working behind the concession counter at the movie theatre. Can you tell me what you see?’
Tim’s face had gone slack. His chest rose and fell.
Erin waited as she listened to him breathe.
‘Friday night. Movie night. Sad girl, frightened eyes… I gave her a soda. The Viking… History Girl, arm around her neck. Rain hitting the roof like stones.’
Erin held her breath, her spine so rigid she was afraid it might snap. At last, a connection. Her brother Graham with his arm around the girl Tim liked.
‘Your shift has ended,’ Erin continued, ‘and you can finally go home. You’ve turned out the lights and locked the door. Now you’re driving home through the rain.’
Tim’s face contorted, his hands clenched.
‘Breathe in, breathe out. Relax your arms and legs.’ She waited. ‘Now you’ve arrived at your home on Easton Road. What do you see?’ She tried to synchronise her breathing with his.
‘House… dark. Everyone asleep.’
‘Your mother isn’t waiting up for you?’
‘No lights. Tired. I lie down on the couch. Thunder wakes me. No lights. Maggie scratching at the door. Who let her out? Poor Maggie. I go to let her in. Something wet on the floor… lightning flash… blood. Blood on the floor. Blood on my hands. Overhead, a shadow. Rustle of wings. Shadow bird. The beak stabs my neck. Can’t breathe.’ He clutched at his throat.
Tim’s eyes snapped open. ‘Face in the mirror. Him.’
39
Matlock, Vermont
August, Present Day
The leaves of the big white oak in Stern’s front yard hung limp in the heat. Erin cut the ignition and stared at the house as the Toyota’s engine pinged and cooled in the silence. Next to her, Lydia released the clasp on her seat belt. Her face looked drawn and her shoulders slumped.
‘Shall I wait here?’ Erin shifted her legs, hot and sticky from the long hours in the car. ‘I don’t want to antagonise him.’
On the drive up, she had told Lydia about her little excursion to Matlock in June. How Stern wasn’t fooled for a minute that she happened to be spending a holiday weekend in the area. ‘What did you expect? You were spying on him,’ Lydia had said. ‘An inexcusable breach of the man’s privacy. Shame on you.’
But Erin didn’t feel ashamed, she felt vindicated, especially in light of recent events.
‘Well, you can’t sit out here,’ Lydia said, as she stepped into the sultry air and dabbed her face with a handkerchief.
As they walked up the drive, Lulu bounded over to greet them.
‘At least it’s not a pit bull,’ Lydia said, holding her skirt away. ‘Plenty of those in my neighbourhood.’
She sidestepped Lulu and pressed the doorbell. But the house looked shut up tight. Lydia pressed the bell again.
When the door swung open in a whoosh of air, Stern stood aside to let them in. He seemed to have aged ten years since the last time they met. Bags hung under his eyes, and the skin on his face was heavily creased, as if he’d just woken up.
‘Are we early? I hope we aren’t disturbing you.’ Lydia smiled kindly.
‘I was going over some papers and forgot the time.’ His voice was hoarse, his expression flat. He pointedly avoided Erin’s questioning look. The ebullient small talk of their first visit was nowhere to be found.
Seated at the table on the back patio, Stern poured iced tea into tall glasses. In the few minutes it took him to fetch the pitcher from the kitchen, his face had cleared. But something had happened in this house. An echo, however faint, of the violence and bloodshed of the murders all those years ago, and Erin was determined to find out what it was.
‘How’s Tim doing?’ Stern stirred a spoonful of sugar in his tea. ‘They won’t tell me anything when I call.’
‘He’s being well cared for,’ Erin said, after a pause. She had no intention of confiding any details.
He waited for her to continue, but Lydia broke in smoothly, her voice modulated, as if speaking to a child. ‘Perhaps you could tell us what happened the other night.’
A yellowjacket hovered near the sugar bowl, and Stern shooed it away. ‘I don’t know where to start.’ He lifted his glass and set it down again without taking a sip. ‘To be honest, I’m completely mystified.’ He stood and walked to the edge of the patio, turning his face towards the barn. ‘Things were going great. Tim seemed happy with the house and his room, and he loved hanging out with Lulu.’
Erin and Lydia exchanged a look.
‘What was your evening routine like?’ Lydia asked.
Stern returned to the table and topped up their glasses from the pitcher. ‘We ate dinner at six. Usually in the kitchen. Sometimes out here if it wasn’t too buggy. After we cleaned up and washed the dishes, Tim would go up to his room with his Sudoku. Mostly, he would turn the light out by nine or ten. I’ve always been a night owl, so usually I—’
‘Did you lock him in his room at night?’ Erin hadn’t meant to cut him off, but she was losing patience.
Lydia gave her a warning look.
‘Lock him in?’ His voice was strained. ‘Absolutely not.’
When he lifted his glass, his hand shook. ‘I did lock my own door, though.’ He addressed Lydia as if seeking absolution. ‘I truly believe Tim’s okay now, but I slept better knowing my door was locked.’
Lydia nodded. ‘That’s understandable.’
‘When I spoke with Tim,’ Erin said, ‘he told me his door was locked, and the window nailed
