‘And that’s my fault?’ He’d taken hold of her hand, was tugging at the glove. She could feel his fingers on her wrist. She tried to pull away, he held firm.

‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘But whether it is or isn’t your fault, it’s still your problem. Cheer up, there’s probably a guideline you can refer to. Women have been falling for the curate for centuries.’ The glove was being peeled off her fingers. She caught her breath.

‘Never the right ones,’ he said, his hand closing around hers. ‘And what do you mean, maybe not?’

‘You have a great deal of charm, Vicar. I can’t believe you save it all for me.’

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong. You – and Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton, of course.’ His index finger had slipped inside the sleeve of her jacket. ‘You have such soft skin,’ he muttered.

‘If that child they found last night does turn out to be Hayley,’ said Evi, taking hold of his hand and pulling it firmly away from hers, ‘I can’t begin to predict how Gillian will react. I can’t stop seeing her, not even…’

She stopped. It didn’t really need saying.

‘If the child they found last night does turn out to be Hayley,’ said Harry, leaning back on the bench again, ‘I’m going to have to bury her.’

9 November

‘YOU WERE RIGHT, REVEREND. THEY WERE KEPT IN THE crypt. In the third tomb along from the front. We found traces of hair and blood, from both of them. Other bodily fluids as well. Even a button.’

‘God rest their souls,’ replied Harry.

‘Quite.’ Rushton’s voice down the phone was unusually subdued. ‘Of course, we searched that tomb back when we were looking for Megan and it was empty then,’ he went on. ‘So she was obviously kept somewhere, possibly even in the killer’s own house, while we were searching, then moved after all the fuss died down.’

Harry looked at the clock. Six o’clock in the evening. Was there any point calling Evi? It was four days since she’d even bothered answering the phone.

‘We also found traces of blood in the main part of the church,’ continued Rushton. ‘What do you call it, the nave?’

Harry muttered something.

‘From just underneath the gallery. The stones had been washed clean but we dug some of the mortar out from in between them,’ Rushton was saying. ‘We managed to match it to both girls.’

‘And they’ve been confirmed as Megan and Hayley?’

Rushton sighed. ‘Aye. We got the results of the DNA tests a couple of days ago. Not that any of us really had any doubts. We’re still waiting to hear about the remains in the urn that was given to Gillian Royle. God help us if that’s another missing child.’

‘Quite,’ said Harry. ‘Any suspects?’

‘Several leads we’re following,’ replied Rushton.

Harry waited. ‘What about the effigy I found beneath the gallery?’ he asked when he realized Rushton was going nowhere further.

‘We’ve spoken to the family who made it,’ admitted the detective. ‘They say they went to find it on the night of the bonfire and couldn’t. Claim to have no idea how it could have got into the church. There are a couple of prints that don’t match anyone in the family so they could well be telling the truth. The sweater was Millie Fletcher’s, though, her mother identified it.’

‘Then how?’

‘Stolen from the washing line is our best guess. Wouldn’t have been difficult, that garden’s very accessible. I’ve increased police presence in the town for the next few weeks, we’ll be keeping a close eye on the house.’ He gave another deep sigh. ‘We’re talking to young Tom Fletcher and his psychiatrist about this little girl that seems to have been hanging around,’ he said. ‘We need to track her down.’

‘She must live in the town,’ said Harry. ‘It can’t be that hard.’ Rushton had been talking to Evi. Everyone got to see her but him.

‘Trouble is, young Tom’s imagination is on the powerful end of the spectrum. He talks about this girl as if she’s barely human. We can hardly do a house-to-house search for a monster in human form.’

‘Guess not.’

‘And we’ve identified the source of the footprint found in their garden that night. A wellington, as we thought, size eight, rubber soled, made in France. Unfortunately, several thousand pairs are imported every year and there are more than a dozen suppliers in the north-west alone. It’s going to take some time.’

As soon as he’d hung up, Harry tried to call Evi. He got her answer machine and left a message. Then he walked through his quiet house, opened the back door and went out into the garden. On a damp, moss-covered bench beneath a bare magnolia tree he sat down and tried to pray.

17 December

‘FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, VICAR, I THOUGHT THAT WAS better than the first one. Shorter. Less standing around in the wind.’

Harry turned to see that Tobias Renshaw had crept up on him through the mourners that were gathered in the large hall of the Renshaws’ house. It really wasn’t his day. After Lucy’s second interment, in a new grave, lower down the hill than her first, he’d raced back to the church, cassock flapping, to try and catch Evi before she disappeared – again – and had practically fallen over the gang of journalists lurking by the church door. He really wasn’t in the mood for this obnoxious old bugger. He made a point of looking round the room.

‘I’m not sure Mike is back from the graveside yet,’ he said. ‘I might pop out and look for him. He seems to be taking this quite hard.’

‘Who?’ asked Tobias. ‘Oh, Jenny’s husband. Never really took to him. Always struck me as being on the make. Still, she seems happy enough. How’s the lovely Alice and her charming daughter? I saw them in church just now. Haven’t they come back?’

‘Detective Chief Superintendent,’ said Harry in relief as Rushton appeared behind Tobias. ‘Good to see you.’

‘All right, lad.’ Rushton nodded at him then turned to the older man. ‘Mr R.,’ he said. ‘My condolences.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Tobias. ‘Can I get anyone a drink? You’d think there’d be a hardship fund, wouldn’t you, for when a second funeral becomes necessary?’ Harry and Rushton watched the old man walk away towards a drinks table.

‘He’s harmless enough,’ said Rushton in a low voice.

‘If you say so,’ said Harry, without the energy even to try to hide his feelings. ‘I’ll tell you what puzzles me, though.’

‘What’s that, lad?’

‘Doesn’t everything round here – the land, the farms, all the property – doesn’t it belong to Tobias? He’s the oldest Renshaw, after all. Yet Sinclair always seems to be completely in charge.’

‘It was all made over to Sinclair a few years ago,’ replied Rushton. ‘From what I can remember, Tobias was ready to retire and Sinclair wouldn’t take over unless he was given a free rein.’

Harry could smell smoke and coffee on the other man’s breath. ‘He made his father sign over control?’ he asked.

‘Oh, that sounds worse than it was. It would all have come to Sinclair in the end. The property is – what do you call it? – entailed. The oldest male always inherits. Now then, I’m glad I’ve caught you. A quiet word, if I may.’

As Harry allowed himself to be gently propelled into a quiet corner of the old school room, he caught sight of Gillian watching them.

‘We’ve had the results of the latest DNA test,’ said Rushton quietly. He too had spotted Gillian. ‘You know, the one done on the burned remains Mrs Royle had in her kitchen cupboard? It took longer than we’d have liked, but anyway, it’s back now.’

‘And?’

‘Result. Perfect match to our friend Arthur.’

Harry sighed. There was a bottle of Irish whiskey on the drinks table but it wasn’t even midday and he had a busy afternoon. ‘So let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘The remains Gillian Royle had in her kitchen cupboard all this time were actually those of a seventy-year-old man called Arthur Seacroft who was originally buried next to Lucy.’