Silencing the Dead Will Harker (free ebooks for android TXT) 📖

her. It’s hard to admit, but I’m not the dutiful daughter my sister was. Anyway, I’m sorry but I can’t find Thorn’s contact details in any of Gennie’s papers.”

“Never mind,” I told her. “Thank you for looking.”

“Do you think he could be in danger?”

“I think…” I raked fingers through my curls, inadvertently catching the hot tenderness of my head wound and wincing. “It’s possible. Another quick thing before you go. Did your sister continue to wear her gloves even after the podcast?”

“Funny you ask,” Evangeline said. “That was one of the last conversations I ever had with her. Even though by that stage she’d accepted she didn’t have any psychic powers—certainly not the touch ability of psychometry—she said she’d become accustomed to wearing them. Why do you ask?”

I thought of the bloodstained bag Cloade had tossed into the river. Gennie must still have been wearing the gloves when her hands were removed by the killer. And then there was the almost total absence of her fingerprints in her own home. She must have practically slept in the things.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Thank you again, Miss Bell.”

I glanced at the time. 4:16 am. Even if it wasn’t the early hours of the morning, I knew that banging on Everwood’s door and demanding Thorn’s address wouldn’t go down well, especially with his PA. There was only one option. I plucked up my phone again and hit dial. This time the voice that answered was sharp and alert.

“Thorn fits the victim profile almost too well,” I said, having updated Tallis on my discoveries. “He’s a solid link between Genevieve and Darrel Everwood, he was a psychic himself before becoming a celebrity publicist, and without him, Gennie might never have reached the level of fame she did.”

“OK,” Tallis said. “Let me look into it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have any news.”

“Thanks. And there is one more thing before you go.”

“If this is about that drink, I’m a real ale man,” he chuckled. “But it’ll have to wait until we’ve caught our killer. In any case, I should probably tell you that I’m—”

“No, it’s not that,” I said. “Sorry, I was just going to say that Darrel Everwood appears to have had a dramatic change of heart. He’s no longer afraid of Purley Rectory or the consequences if this live Halloween broadcast goes to hell. I spoke to him earlier and his mood was practically manic. Someone called him the night before last, and from the sound of it, they’ve shared a psychic revelation that will astound the world.”

“Really?” Tallis yawned. “Well, that should bump up the ratings.”

“I think it was the killer,” I said. “Toying with Darrel just as he used Genevieve’s gloves to toy with Christopher Cloade.” I thought about what Evangeline had said regarding the taking of her sister’s hands, the murderer thereby denying her power of touch-telepathy, and then the marking with blood of the Fool card in Tilda’s tent. “He enjoys laughing at them,” I went on. “Mocking what he sees as their absurd beliefs. Desecrating their altars, dismembering talented limbs.”

“Sounds like someone who despises all faith and spirituality,” Tallis said suggestively.

“Gillespie.” I nodded to myself. “Perhaps.”

“So you think someone is setting Darrel up for a fall live on-air? Promising him a big reveal and then making him look ridiculous in front of the entire nation?”

“I hope it’s only that,” I said.

“What a case,” Tallis sighed. “Well, I’ll get straight onto tracking down Sebastian Thorn. In the meantime—”

“Yes, inspector. I’ll keep my nose clean and report back anything I find.”

“Very public-spirited of you. And from what I’ve seen so far, completely out of character. Do try to play by the rules, won’t you, Scott? After all, it’s not just your balls on the line, it’s my career.”

This was the part of an investigation I had never coped with particularly well. Developments were in the hands of others. All I could do was sit and wait. I settled back onto the bed, tried to grab another couple of hours rest, and found myself rolling into the scent of Haz’s pillow. I grunted, sat upright, threw the thing away from me, and then instantly, and absurdly, regretted it. I don’t how many minutes I lost, staring at that pale shape snagged on the edge of the settee. Tomorrow, I’d wash all of the bedding, exorcise what lingered of Harry Moorhouse from the trailer, and then phone him to say goodbye.

It was still dark outside. Nevertheless, I couldn’t sit there any longer. Pulling on my coat and boots, I shut the trailer door behind me and headed into the trees that encircled the clearing. Just like on the night Haz, Webster, and I had walked the perimeter, the forest stretched out around me, cold and unmoving. Not even the branches stirred. Thick, gnarled limbs, that to a certain mind, might have been carved by God Himself for the sole purpose of hanging witches.

I walked aimlessly, my footfalls muffled by damp leaves. It wasn’t until I saw the ocular window blinking back at me that I realised I’d reached the rear of the house. Was there a light at that window? With the moon reflected on the pane, it was difficult to be sure. What I could definitely see as I moved around the side of the building, however, was the hunched form of Miss Rowell hurrying to the steps of Darrel Everwood’s trailer. She kept casting furtive glances over her shoulder, as if the spirits whose home she tended were spying on her. Or perhaps even egging her on. I had concealed myself at the corner of the rectory just as the housekeeper stooped to leave her gift on Everwood’s topmost step. She then scurried back to the safety of the house, a strange smile on her lips.

I came out of the shadows and headed for the trailer. I could see Miss Rowell’s gift perched on the step, pink and eerie in the moonlight. Even before I noticed