‘Well, strictly speaking, just the remains of part of his right leg,’ said Rushton. ‘The rest of him is still in the grave. Ah, thanks, love, very nice.’

Christiana Renshaw had approached, carrying a tray of sandwiches. Rushton helped himself to two. Harry shook his head, then waited until Christiana had moved away to the next group.

‘So someone dug up Arthur’s grave,’ he said, ‘helped themselves to one of his limbs, broke into Gillian’s house that night, abducted Hayley, left Arthur’s leg behind in her cot and then started the fire.’

Rushton chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. ‘You have to admire their nerve,’ he said. ‘Without some trace of charred human remains in the house, the firemen would have been suspicious. Finding nothing would have given credence to Gillian’s claims that her daughter didn’t die in the fire. There would have been a serious search. We’d have found them in the crypt. Arthur’s right leg put paid to all that. We didn’t look for Hayley. Another serious error for me to account for when I meet my maker.’

‘Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve seen the report into the fire. Gillian showed it to me. The fire investigators had no reason to suspect arson.’

Rushton said nothing. He carried on eating but his actions had an automatic look about them. ‘We’ve also had the entomologist’s report back,’ he said after a minute. ‘Goes on at length about egg-laying and hatching cycles, cheese graters, skuttle flies, coffin skippers – sorry, lad, I don’t do bugs. The long and short of it is that he thinks Megan and Hayley joined Lucy in the ground in early September.’

‘About the time the church was reopened,’ said Harry.

‘Exactly.’ Rushton finished his first sandwich and got to work on his second. ‘Whoever was responsible wasn’t prepared to take the risk of the three being found when the new vicar decided to explore the crypt. So they were moved to the graveyard, which is the best place I can think of to stash away a body or two. He or she wasn’t counting on the Fletcher boys and their midnight escapades.’

At the far side of the room, Christiana reappeared. Her tray of sandwiches had been replenished.

‘Christiana knows more than she’s telling us,’ said Harry.

Rushton turned to look at Christiana. She moved slowly, but rather gracefully for such a tall woman. ‘Aye, so you say, lad,’ he said. ‘But when I talked to her she just said who wouldn’t be worried, after two other girls were found to have died the exact way Lucy did. And after Millie Fletcher so nearly went the same way. You have to admit she has a point. And before you ask, she volunteered to give us her fingerprints – they weren’t on the effigy you found, or on the wine decanter Mike brought in back in October.’

‘Oh, you’re probably right,’ admitted Harry. ‘I’m jumping at shadows.’

‘You know I saw her the morning after we found the bodies?’ Rushton said. ‘To ask her to identify the pyjamas?’

Harry nodded.

‘I showed them to Jenny and Christiana. Jenny wasn’t sure – well, she was very upset that day, but Christiana, now, she was quite something. She brought her workbasket out and showed me the patterns she’d used to make the animals, all those years ago. And then she told me the exact colour and reference number of each embroidery silk she’d used. She’s an odd one, but bright as anything in her own way.’

‘Any news on the wellington boot?’ asked Harry, then waited until Rushton had finished his sandwich.

‘Hit a dead end,’ said Rushton. ‘I’d hoped we might be able to pin it down to a particular batch, but no such luck. If we find the boot itself, we can match it, but a lot of people wear wellies around here.’

As Rushton was speaking, Harry caught sight of Gillian again. She raised a glass of colourless liquid to her lips and swallowed most of it. Rushton followed his glance and the two of them watched Gillian make her way towards the drinks table. She reached out, swaying slightly, and took hold of a bottle.

Gillian’s initial reaction to learning that Hayley was indeed one of the three corpses unearthed by Tom Fletcher had been one of jubilation at being proven right: her daughter hadn’t died in the fire, as she’d always claimed. That had been quickly followed, though, by ongoing torment, as she seemed unable to stop herself imagining the final hours of her daughter’s life. Even without talking to Evi, Harry knew that Gillian’s recovery had taken a severe setback.

He took a quick look around the room. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. ‘Will you excuse me?’ he said to Rushton.

The older man nodded. ‘Aye, go on, lad,’ he said. ‘Although, frankly, I’m not sure there’s much you can do for that one.’

‘OK, HERE ARE THE RULES,’ SAID EVI, LOOKING DOWN AT three alert, interested faces in front of her. They were in the family interview room at the hospital. The Fletcher children were sitting opposite her in three miniature, brightly coloured armchairs.

‘In this box there are some funny masks and also some quite scary ones,’ she went on. ‘So as soon as anyone starts to feel scared, or anxious or worried in any way, we can stop. Joe and Millie, if you want to go over to the table and draw, or play with the toys in the box, that’s fine. If you’d rather stay and help Tom, that’s fine too.’

‘I want to draw,’ said Joe.

Evi indicated the low table, already set up with paper, coloured pens and crayons. In the corner of the room sat Alice and Detective Constable Liz Mortimer. Evi had asked them both not to distract the children or make them self-conscious. Behind a large mirror on one wall of the room, DC Andy Jeffries was watching and making notes.

‘OK, Tom,’ said Evi. ‘Are you ready to have a look in the box?’

Tom nodded, looking anxious but also, Evi thought, quite enjoying the attention. Evi lowered herself to the carpet. Kneeling for any length of time was a seriously bad idea, one she’d pay for later, but it was unavoidable in this case. She took the lid off the cardboard box, conscious of Alice watching from under a canopy formed by her left hand, a magazine on her lap. Evi reached inside. ‘I think this one is…’ She peered quickly at the mask she was bringing out. ‘Scooby Doo,’ she said, holding up a cartoon dog’s face.

Tom smiled and visibly relaxed. ‘Can I try it on?’ he asked.

Evi handed it over as Millie wriggled off her armchair and headed straight for the box. Tom put the Scooby Doo mask over his head and turned to look at himself in the large mirror. Alice looked up, smiled and turned back to her magazine. Millie had picked up the box lid and was balancing it on her head.

‘Right,’ said Evi, reaching into the box again. ‘Next one is Basil Brush. Can I try this one?’

‘We’re going to the pantomime tomorrow,’ said Tom. ‘In Blackburn. It’s a school trip.’

The exercise was one it had taken several weeks to set up. The idea had occurred to Evi shortly after Tom had first confided in her about the strange little girl. After listening to his descriptions, she’d explained to the investigation team her theory that someone, probably an older child or young teenager, had been hanging around the house and had even crept inside on at least one occasion, wearing some sort of carnival mask. If they could pin-point the mask used, the police might have some chance of tracking down where and to whom it had been sold. It was a long shot, especially as there was no proof that Tom’s little girl was in any way connected to the attempted abduction of Millie, but it was one the police were willing to try.

Having decided to go ahead, the investigation team had gathered together every party, carnival and Hallowe’en mask they could find in the shops and on the internet. Evi had already discarded some that bore no relation to Tom’s description and had arranged the funnier, less threatening ones so that they came out of the box first.