‘As long as you’re quick.’

Jennifer clasped her hands together on her lap. ‘I want to know why you’ve changed your mind about helping us with our enquiries.’

Emily jutted her chin defiantly. ‘I lied.’

‘Why?’

‘You said that if I helped then I could stay out of prison, you didn’t say it had to be the truth,’ Emily said.

Jennifer stared in disbelief. ‘I took it for granted you’d know I meant the truth. I certainly didn’t tell you to lie. That’s perverting the course of justice. It carries a prison sentence all of its own.’

‘I wish I never spoke to you, all I get is grief, and for what?’ Emily said, sweeping the messy room with her arm. ‘Look around you, do I look like I’ve made from this?’

‘Do you know what I think? You’ve gotten yourself involved in The Reborners and you’re in way over your head. Why did you join them? Is life so bad that you have to resort to drugs?’

‘The best gift in life is a second chance …’ Emily mumbled, her voice tailing away. She plopped onto the chair, as if the life had left her legs.

Jennifer’s voice softened as she tried to coax out the truth. ‘Do they really help you forget your past? Become reborn?’

‘Things happened when I was a kid … stuff no amount of soap can scrub clean. If I could forget … maybe I could be like the mothers on the telly. I want that, really I do,’ Emily said, her gaze turned inwards.

‘So why are you so scared? Why have they put the frighteners on you?’

Emily fell back into silence as her defences rose.

‘Tell me who they are,’ Jennifer said. ‘This is your chance to do what’s best.’

Emily stabbed her finger to her chest, but the anger in her voice could not disguise the worry behind her eyes. ‘I’ll do what’s best for me.’

Jennifer didn’t normally put words into her witnesses’ mouths but she had to know. ‘Is the coven a front for drug use?’ Mike Stone controlled the network of drug dealers in Haven, and Jennifer would not have put it past him to intimidate Emily into keeping quiet.

Emily rubbed the back of her neck and choked a dry, bitter laugh. ‘You really have no clue, do you? This thing … it’s bigger than both of us. I want you to leave. It’s not doing me any good talking to the cops. It makes people nervous around here.’

Jennifer frowned. ‘If you’re being intimidated you’ve got to tell us.’

‘And what are you gonna do about it? Put a guard on my door twenty-four-seven?’ Emily caught her glance. ‘No. I thought not. Now piss off and leave me alone. I can manage this by myself.’

‘Well don’t do what you did today and open the door without checking who’s there first.’

‘Don’t worry. Next time you come calling I won’t answer,’ Emily said petulantly.

Jennifer shook her head, her patience wearing thin. She thought of Emily’s son, brought up with the stench of booze and cigarette smoke in the air. Bitter memories of her upbringing unleashed a flare of anger. ‘Why don’t you sort yourself out and maybe there won’t be a next time? Look at this place. It’s not fit to raise a child in.’

‘You think it’s so easy, don’t you? With your well-paid job and fancy house. Have a nice husband at home, do you?’ Emily curled her lip in disgust, ‘People like you just don’t understand the real world.’

Jennifer walked towards the front door. ‘I understand all right, but you can’t use what’s happened to you in the past as an excuse to stop moving forward. Just keep yourself safe. Call us if you need us, and don’t go out alone at night, at least until all this calms down.’

Emily turned the latch to let her out. ‘I’m able to look after myself.’

Jennifer recognised the defiance in Emily’s eyes because she owned it herself once. If she had been placed in a children’s home instead of the care of her aunt then things would have turned out very differently. She pulled out her wallet from her jacket pocket and slid out a twenty-pound note. ‘Here. Use it to buy some food for your son.’

Emily’s mouth turned upwards in a half smile. ‘Is this a bribe? Because if it is I want more …’

The colour drained from Jennifer’s face, as Emily tried to tug the cash from her hand. ‘Christ no! I’m not bent. If I thought you believed that …’

Emily snatched the money. ‘All right, keep your hair on, I’m only saying. You don’t get nothing for nothing in my world.’

Jennifer sighed as she stepped over the broken concrete path to her car. There was no helping some people and for Emily it was too little too late. It was a sentiment echoed by the row of sharp-eyed ravens perched on the roof of Emily’s home.

Chapter Four

Bert

The tinny clunk of beer barrels stirred Bert from his sleep as they rolled from the lorry to the pub where he’d abandoned his van the night before. He scratched his beaky nose as he found his bearings. He was used to waking up confused and disjointed. Squinting at the large round face of his watch, he tapped the glass to check it was still working. Nine o’clock? He should have been up by now, boiling the kettle on the gas stove in the back of his van. He rubbed his face as memories from the night before replayed in his mind. Running his fingers through the rim of his hat, he plucked out the wad of cash and smiled as he planned what to do with it. It was not just the money that made him smile. The itching had eased and he felt better than he had in weeks. He imagined suit man’s dead weight stretching the hemp rope as it hung taut over the timber beam. He spared himself another smile. Death by proxy was not as powerful as murder, but it had granted him respite from his ills, at least for today.

He headed for breakfast and a shower in ‘The Truck-Stoppers Cafe’ and then went shopping for a cheap suit. After all, nobody would want their prophecy told by an old man smelling of last week’s refuse. Bert traipsed around the shops for a while, but the young assistant’s stony glare made his hackles rise. As his annoyance grew, he sensed a stirring within. Calm down, Bert reminded himself, for an unguarded thought was a dangerous one. He quashed his temper and counted out the crumpled notes to pay for his off-the-peg suit. Today was a good day. He was out in public, had stayed in control, and everything was on track. Walking down the busy windswept street, he clamped his hand over his hat as the wind tried to whip it away. He hated being out in the open among so many people. If it were not for his plan, he would live alone, somewhere remote. Somewhere like home.

His morning breakfast of a bacon sandwich had earned Bert a serious thirst, and he welcomed the trip to the country pub to quench it. Squeals from a group of females made him pause at the double doors. She’s here, Bert thought as he drove himself onwards to the busy bar, where he laid his cards face down.

Right on cue, the lanky blonde tottered over to the bar. She waved her folded twenty-pound note like a wand at the staff, who were busy serving a coachload of pensioners.

‘Felicity, love, just get me a coffee, it’s too early for booze,’ a croaky voice shouted over the din.

Felicity guffawed, a loud hoarse laugh. ‘You’re having a proper drink, babe, I don’t care what time it is.’

Bert bristled at the sight of the girl, her Prada sunglasses perched precariously on her head. His eyes trailed over the various designer brands draped over her body. Handbag, jewellery, shoes, clothes, not to mention the overinflated breasts on par with her chin. Felicity guffawed again and Bert ground his tobacco-stained teeth. You know what you have to do, he thought as he forced himself to strike up conversation. Painting on a smile, he pointed to the plastic L-plate gaudily hanging from her low-cut pink angora sweater. ‘Getting married?’ he said, the overpowering smell of Chanel No. 5 wafting up his nose.