‘Just be quick, a quick jab is all it needs, then take the pole and run,’ the voice said, bubbling within him. Bert’s heart pounded at twice its normal speed.

There was no time to dwell as the bicycle drew near. This stretch of the road was downhill and Lucy was travelling at speed. She was near enough now for him to hear her humming a tune. Bert tried to make it out. If someone was going to die, then the last song they sung should at least be noted. But it was too late for all that now. Rain began to pelt from the skies, and Bert thanked the skies for the blessing of what would cloak him into further obscurity. The voice whispered, reminding him of how he felt the day Lucy humiliated him in front of everyone. ‘Are you going to let people walk over you all your life, Bert? It’s time to be a man, take control. She won’t disrespect you a second time.’ His heart thundering in his ears, Bert jumped from the bushes. Lucy was so busy concentrating on the lorry beside her that she didn’t see the pole catch the spokes of the front wheel of her bike. The motion jerked Bert forward, his arms rattling in their sockets. Clamping his hands on the rain-greased pole, he jerked it back, falling on his bottom onto the edge of the path. Lucy didn’t have time to scream as the front wheel jammed, making the rear wheel of her bike come up. Dismounting its passenger, it threw her into the path of the impatient lorry driver. A horn shrilled and a ker-thunk noise followed as the brakes shrieked, too late for Lucy. Car brakes screeched amidst grinding metal. By the time the drivers got out of their vehicles, Bert was long gone, gasping for breath, snivelling and laughing at the same time and not understanding why.

When he got home and discarded his clothes he felt like he had been through an initiation of sorts. The voice, now satisfied, whispered in its slumber. ‘You’re a man now, Bert. You did good.’

His hometown was shocked, as apart from the bad luck his own family generated, there was not much in the way of deaths in their area. Newspapers reported that it had been raining heavily, visibility was bad as darkness fell, and the young girl just came off her bike into the path of the lorry, who was driving way too close in his impatience to deliver his goods on time. His arrest was little comfort to her parents. The thrill Bert felt at reaching manhood outweighed any doubts in his mind. It was there in black and white, the lorry driver was to blame. By the end of the day, he had relinquished all feelings of guilt. Bert was becoming a master at reconstructing past events to suit himself. A sense of empowerment overcame him as he stretched to full height before the mirror. His eczema had virtually cleared overnight, and he felt like the old days, unencumbered by pain, grief, or feelings of worthlessness.

[#]

Each initiation was Bert’s strongest memory. The first was his earliest recollection, the night he was summoned to the woods. The second was when he lay in the blood of his brother and created a raven onto the soil. The third and final was in his adolescence when he killed Lucy Grimshaw. That was all it took to make him what he was. Many people had crossed his path since then, and with the help of the cards many had come to regret it. He often wondered how he could remember parts of his life so clearly when others were so hazy. He sometimes dreamt of a clinical room, speaking in groups, watching a large-screened television from a paint-chipped wall. The dreams were so vivid he could recall many programmes in his mind when he heard the theme tunes but not how or where he had watched them. Small flashes seeped into his consciousness; nametags waving on clothing, swallowing multi-coloured capsules with thin plastic cups of water that quivered in his hand. But the memories were foggy and the darkness inside him worked hard to keep them repressed. Those memories served only to weaken him. He would have to remain strong for what lay ahead.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The tall electric gates parted to allow Jennifer and Will’s unmarked Ford Focus inside. Will gave a low whistle as they drove past the beautifully manicured garden bordering the long gravel driveway to Christian Bowe’s impressive six-bedroom home.

‘We’re in the wrong jobs,’ Will said as the three-storey house came into view. The large bay windows and solar panels fed from the generous morning sunlight, which beamed down on the English country home. Expansive green fields flanked the gravel driveway, maintaining the privacy of the residents within.

Jennifer glanced up at the old fashioned street lamps that disguised the CCTV domes discreetly hidden within. Several burglar alarms flashed on the outside of the building and all exits appeared to be securely fenced. Christian certainly wasn’t taking any chances with security. Their old Ford Focus appeared sorely out of place next to the red Jaguar as they parked in the driveway. Jennifer ran her fingertips over the shiny paintwork as she walked to the door, knowing it was the nearest she’d ever come to having one.

She was half expecting a butler to answer the glossy red wooden door, but instead she got Christian, red-eyed and gaunt, a sharp contrast to the publicity images splashed across the tabloid magazines.

‘Oh Jenny it’s awful, isn’t it,’ Christian said, before wrapping his arms around her and dropping his head into her shoulder.

Although taken aback by the sudden display of affection, she reciprocated by rubbing his back, allowing him time to catch his breath before breaking away.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m a mess, I know. I … I just don’t know what to do with myself. Please, come inside.’

Jennifer ran her eyes over his baggy clothes. He had lost weight, and his shoulders appeared to have dropped a couple of inches since she had seen him last. His slow lifeless feet dragged across the oak floor as he led her through the double doors to the vast living room. Jennifer wondered if their visit would make things better or worse.

The delicate fragrance of white lilies greeted them as they entered the bright but stuffy room, and Jennifer’s eyes danced over the overflowing vases decorating the window ledge and mahogany sideboards. Her eyes drifted to a portrait hanging over the wide traditional fireplace. Felicity Baron looked stunning in a full-length white gown, her face framed by her wavy blonde hair. Christian was standing behind her, one hand around her slender waist, the other holding her left hand, which was showing off an engagement ring the queen mother would have been proud of.

‘Beautiful, wasn’t she,’ Christian said, his eyes misting over. ‘It was taken at our engagement party last year.’

‘I’m so very sorry,’ Jennifer said, usually one to shy from such acts of grandeur. ‘Thank you for seeing me, I understand your need for privacy at this time.’

Christian waved a hand over the leather sofa. ‘I could do with a friendly face. At the moment, all I get are paparazzi calling me day and night. I didn’t need friends when I had Felicity. But now …’ The words caught in his throat and he gestured towards the sofa. ‘Please, take a seat. I take it this is police business?’

Jennifer nodded solemnly. She glanced around the room as Will tinkered with framed photographs on the sideboard. ‘Are the children about?’

Christian stared into space for several seconds before responding. ‘The children? Oh … they’re with their mother. She’s been cleared by the police, but I expect you know that.’

Jennifer undid her jacket. The room was stifling, and she wondered when was the last time he had opened a window. ‘Yes I was aware. Right now we’re looking into every aspect of Felicity’s case. Part of the investigation involves interviewing family members.’