Bert smiled, raising one wiry eyebrow in mock surprise. ‘Don’t mind me. Anyway, looks like you’re at an advantage with your guard dog there.’

‘Tinker? He just looks out for me, that’s all. I was planning to stay the night here, it’s a bit rough outside, and I don’t have anywhere to take me dog. Is that OK with you, mister?’

‘Sure. Care to share a drink?’ Bert raised the bottle and George shuffled over, keeping a tight hold of Tinker, whose hackles rose in spiked formation. Head lowered, he emitted a low rumbling growl before stopping to lick his paws.

The atmosphere between George and Bert warmed as they siphoned the whisky. The bottle drained and George looked sorrowfully at the empty tumbler before placing it back on the flask that Jennifer had loaned him. Sitting back against the wall, he interlinked his fingers as he placed them behind his head, wondering what she would bring him tomorrow. The shuffle of cards made him open his eyes and glance in Bert’s direction.

Sitting up, George rubbed his fingerless gloved hands together.

‘I love a game of cards. Do ya play poker?’

Bert shuffled the cards from hand to hand in expert fashion. They were large and feathered, but comfortable in his grasp. ‘They aren’t playing cards, they’re tarot.’

George shuffled nearer on his bottom, giving Bert a look of caution. ‘You should be careful with those, the dark arts aren’t to be messed with.’

‘It’s only a bit of fun. Haven’t you ever had your fortune told?’ Bert said.

Inebriated from the whisky, George gave a little chuckle. ‘When I was thirteen, I had me tealeaves read by a traveller on the common. A big fat lady named Ruby. Sure I was too busy looking at her ample chest to take in what she was saying. God, they could have suffocated me but what a way to go, I would have loved it.’

‘Would you like me to read for you?’ Bert said, forcing a smile.

George gave a little chuckle, the image of Ruby still alive in his memory. ‘Sure, why not.’

Bert laid out the cards in the usual manner and waved his hands over them as the images came into play.

‘What do ya see?’ George said, his eyes flickering from the cards to Bert.

‘I see you started off very differently to what you are now. You were well educated, but left home at an early age.’

George opened his eyes wide in amazement. ‘Well would ya credit it, you’re right, but it’s nothing I like to dwell on now.’

‘You’re very alone: apart from a few kind faces, it’s just you and your dog.’

‘I’m happy on my own. It’s exactly how I want it.’

‘It won’t always be. One day you’re going to return to your past. It hasn’t left you and it never will,’ Bert said.

George frowned. ‘I’ve put all that behind me.’

The candlelight exposed the doubt on Bert’s face as he spoke. ‘But you haven’t, have you? The truth is you have a lot to answer for. You think you’re punishing yourself now, but deep down you know it’s nothing in comparison to the act you’ve committed all those years ago. I can see it, here in the cards.’

‘I only agreed to this to be sociable. I don’t want to talk about it or think about it any more. So if you don’t mind I’m going to sleep.’

Bert turned over the last card. ‘I’m sorry, friend, I can’t stop a prediction once it’s started. You can close your eyes if you wish, but I’m going to finish.’

George folded his arms and shuffled back against the wall.

Bert revelled in the little man’s discomfort. The wind howled mercilessly outside as the rain beat against the path, and he knew George couldn’t bring Tinker out in that. He carried on, ignoring the fact that George had closed his eyes. He didn’t need him to be awake for the reading. Hell, now he had started he didn’t need him there at all. But it was always more fun revealing the ugly truth with the participant present. Bert snickered to himself as he watched his past open up in front of him. Officer Knight would not have been so charitable had she known of his history. It was distasteful to say the least, and he did not need to repeat it aloud. Bert read out his future like he was reading out the news.

‘You will return to your past by seeking out the highest point in Haven. From that point you will jump from the roof as an act of penance.’

George frowned as he opened his eyes. ‘You’ve lost the plot, mister. I’d never leave me little Tinker to fend for himself.’ He rolled the idea around in his head before commenting further. ‘And I don’t agree with suicide. Every day of life is a gift, and it’s a slap in the face to your creator if you bail out without very good reason.’ George gave an imperceivable nod as he agreed with himself. ‘Lots of people are lonely. It’s not a good reason.’

Bert regarded him comically. The reactions were always the same. They ask for the truth then get mad when it’s delivered to them.

‘I read what I see,’ he said, picking up his cards and sliding them into his pocket.

‘Well I wished I never asked now, you’re after putting me in bad form.’

Bert smiled and handed him what was left in his mug. ‘Here, I’m done with this. You want it?’

George nodded gratefully and outstretched his hand to grasp the neck of the bottle.

‘I’ll leave it with you. I’m heading off now, places to go, people to see.’

‘You don’t have to go, mister, I’m not vexed really. I can stay downstairs if you like.’

‘No, it’s not that, this was just a stopgap until the rain eased. I really do have somewhere to go.’

George raised the bottle, ‘In that case, sláinte, and no hard feelings.’

Bert tipped his hat and gathered up his belongings. ‘We’ll meet again I’m sure.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jennifer could tell by the way her sergeant was drumming her pen on her table that Claire did not believe her in the slightest. She had meant to tell the truth but she was too embarrassed when under scrutiny, and the last thing she wanted was to be told off for taking stupid risks.

‘Are you sure nothing else happened?’ Claire asked, lifting the pen and clicking on the head in the most irritating fashion. The clicking seemed to permeate Jennifer’s brain. If it weren’t for the murder enquiry, she would have taken some time off work to clear her head.

‘No, honestly,’ Jennifer said in her most convincing voice. ‘It was a stupid accident. I don’t know what I was thinking, going snooping in the woods when it was so muddy.’

‘Perhaps if you wore some suitable footwear?’ Claire said, pointing at her heels. ‘Although they’ve certainly reduced in height. Seeing someone new?’

Jennifer spluttered on her coffee. ‘How do you relate my heels to being in a relationship?’

Claire stopped clicking her pen and rested it on the table. ‘Experience. My first husband wasn’t much taller than me. He hated being overshadowed. The day after he left, I went out and bought a five-inch pair of red killer heels. They’re still in the back of my wardrobe somewhere.’

Jennifer crossed her legs. She had worn her navy kitten heels because they matched her pinstripe trouser suit. Skirts were off for the next few days, at least until the bramble scratches faded from her legs. ‘I’m afraid you’re off kilter on this one. I’m just being kinder to my feet.’

‘Of course, because you’d be the first person to fill me in, wouldn’t you? Remember, I have no life, I have to get my kicks through you.’

You wouldn’t want to live through me, Jennifer thought, before giving her sergeant a half smile and rising from her chair.

She jiggled her mouse as she powered up her computer. The Rivers mental health institution had finally sent her a picture of Bert Bishop. She clicked the link and gasped as the face of a bristly faced old man stared back at her. His wiry grey eyebrows jutted out over black beady eyes in an intense gaze. The pouches under his eyes combined with the weather-beaten face fitted the witness descriptions exactly. Jennifer put her hand to her cheek, recalling the contours of his bristled jawline when she made contact. There was no doubt about it. This was the face of the killer.