Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to his left and went into the long lounge. It obviously went around into an L-shape, no doubt there was a kitchen there, hidden from view, but Jason figured he wasn’t going to have to look in there. He’d found what he was looking for. Oh boy, had he found it. His legs carried him forward—just where the fuck had all this dust come from—across the

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  full length of the sitting room, until he was standing a few feet away from the patio doors. Outside, the perfectly manicured lawn waited for its owner to come outside and tend to its needs. It was going to be waiting an awfully long time, Jason thought absently, as his shocked eyes drifted downwards to the figure at his feet. He shouldn’t have died like this. Not a man like he was. Jesus.

  The emaciated body was curled up under the patio door, its knees pulled up to the chin, the pale, stick-thin legs emerging from a pair of baggy underpants. The face—he couldn’t think of it as Judge Matthews’s face— was turned upwards, its grimace frozen forever in time, the eyes completely red, like some kind of monster’s eyes would be in a kid’s story. He must have burst every blood vessel in his eyeballs. Every single last one. One thin arm was slumped over the head as if he’d been reaching for the door when it happened. Jason took the handle and slid the glass open a little. It was unlocked. So what had the old man been trying to do? Though eager to be out in that cold, fresh, untainted air, Jason reluctantly pulled the door shut again. His hands were shaking, the numbness of his initial shock slowly wearing off. Looking down at the body again, he saw that some of the grayness was caused by the dust, which looked as if it had been rubbed into the skin. Underneath it, Jason could see raw patches of irritation. Just why the hell would he have rubbed dust into himself? What would make him do that?

  With widening eyes, he looked at the house around him, at the dust that covered every surface. This was too organized to be abandoned dirt. So what the hell was it?

  His own words flashed into his head, and his legs started to twitch beneath him as he gazed around in disbelief.

  Maybe I can help. I can come round with a friend and some ant powder and give the house a good going over.

  This wasn’t dust. It was ant powder, and Jesus, he’d given the old man the idea.

  Syracousse. They’re coming from Syracousse.

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  Fear and bile were rising in equal measure as Jason took a step backwards, his eyes beginning to water. Syracousse. Guilt. Blame. Secrets. Just what the fuck was going on here? A low, moan started deep inside him.

  ?Oh, Christ.?

  The clear, crisp voice behind him made Jason stumble backwards, banging his hip painfully into the breakfast bar. The pain rattled exquisitely through him, but he was glad of it. The relief of seeing Daisy there behind him was enough to make him almost giggle. ?Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!?

  She glanced up at him, and then went back to staring at her dead friend. ?Sorry. I just couldn’t wait out there any longer.? She let out a long sigh, a sigh that told of the sadness behind that practical exterior, and Jason wished he could have her grief, any amount of grief, if only it meant a release from the terrible fear that was eating at him.

  Daisy pushed her hands into her coat pocket. ?I’ll go and phone an ambulance. Will you wait with me??Jason nodded.

  ?Then come on then. This is no place for the living.?He followed her out, glad to get away from the madness. He had someone he needed to phone, too.

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  By the time he’d had a quick shower, it was ten o’clock. Rob turned on his laptop and clicked the Word icon, before going to make himself a pot of coffee. The kitchen was warm, and as he waited for the black liquid to filter into the coffee pot, he stared through the window at the frosty land outside. He smiled. There was something comforting about winter weather, especially when you were on the inside looking out. He’d slept in longer than usual, but his rest had been dreamless, and judging by how refreshed he felt this morning, he must have needed it.

  Something else was having a pretty major contribution to his upbeat mood, and that was the kiss he’d shared with Kelly the night before. He was feeling pretty good about that. Who was he kidding? She was the last thing he’d thought about before he’d drifted off and the first thing he’d thought about as he opened his eyes to the tranquillity of all that whiteness upstairs. Even with all that shit she said about the rape; the lights, the locked doors, all the stuff that had gotten hold of a quiet place in

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  his mind and wasn’t letting go, he still felt pretty damned great about the evening.

  Pouring himself a mug of Columbia’s second favorite export, he was grinning like a love-struck teenager, just enjoy it, Black. Enjoy it while it lasts, because no doubt it won’t be long before you fuck it up. Anyway, I thought you weren’t really in a position for any new relationships. Raising an eyebrow at himself, knowing there was probably truth in the thought, he moved back to the wooden table and sat down. The book was slowly taking shape, and it was time to get down to some serious graft. Anyway, switching off from the real world and getting lost in one of his own making, was good for the soul. It was like therapy without the bill.

  Putting his coffee down, he brought his attention to the screen. Weird. It was still blank, with only the small white cursor flashing in the top left-hand corner awaiting instructions. Muttering in frustration, he tried the Enter key, and then pressed the On button again. It shouldn’t have crashed; the sleek model was supposed to be top of the line. Well, top of the line for six months ago anyway, which, he figured, meant by a technofreak’s standards it was now a granddaddy.

  Staring in mounting annoyance at that tiny white flashing line, he got up and shimmied along the wall to the outlet, where he flicked off the switch. Still leaning over he waited for the sound of the machine switching itself off, but the hum continued. Swearing, he yanked the plug out completely. That should fucking do it. He hated any delay to his work, and always feared that the pages he would have written without any distraction would be so much better than the ones he finally got down on the screen. Maybe Michael was right when he’d jokingly called him anal.

  Standing up straight he noticed that the hum was still there, and his anger faded into confusion as he saw the white line still flashing rebelliously against the black. Just

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  what the fuck was going on here? Glancing down by his feet, he checked that he pulled out the right plug, and followed the disconnected cable with his eyes until it vanished into the back of the IBM. Just what the fuck was this? How could it still be on?

  Sitting back down, he wondered whether there was a faulty connection and somehow the computer had switched to battery. But if so, then where the hell was the Windows screen? It didn’t make sense.

  Suddenly, the hum mounted into a high-pitched squeal, and just before Rob expected to see smoke rising from the back, the screen burst into action, the words appearing from nowhere as if someone were typing on his keyboard faster than he could see.

  MAKE HER COME HOME MAKE HER COME HOME MAKE HER COME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME HOME

  The word was filling up the screen, getting faster and faster, too rapid for his eyes to keep up with, and it was as if he could hear it screaming in his head as each word appeared, defying the thought that this was not real, this was not real, and then just before he thought it was going to consume him, the coffee pot on the breakfast bar exploded, sending the hot liquid and glass everywhere, splattering the table in front of him, sending him backwards in his chair, banging his head hard on the wall behind. And then there was silence.

  Slowly sitting upright, his skull throbbing from the impact, he felt the breath trapped in his chest and forced it out. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. Looking at the brown liquid that trickled between the keys of the laptop, he noticed with dazed recognition that the computer had finally turned itself off. He slammed the lid down with disgust, before turning to gaze at the mess that was his kitchen. Coffee had hit just about every cupboard and surface in the room, trickling down the side of the fridge and

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  the stove. The floor glittered with tiny shards of glass. He laughed slightly, a hollow sound. Just what the fuck was going on? What the fuck was going on?

  His heart pounded heavily in his chest as he stood up and went to the coffee machine, his shoes crunching on the broken glass beneath them. He’d just reached it when the phone began to ring, making him whirl round, dangerously close to slipping on the wet floor. He stared at it for a few seconds before carefully picking up the receiver. What now? What the hell now? He didn’t think he could take any more surreal messages. Not now, not ever.

  His voice was slow and cautious. ?Hello??

  ?Rob? Jason.?Exhilaration flooded through his body. Jason. It was Jason. A real, live breathing person. Thank Christ. Thank Christ for that. His relief was only momentary.

  ?It’s Judge Matthews. He’s dead. I found him this morning.?He paused, maybe waiting for a response, but Rob wasn’t capable of giving one and Jason continued, ?I saw him last week, and he said some stuff to me. Stuff about the house, about the four of us. Stuff he couldn’t know.?He let out a sigh, a sigh that echoed Rob’s own fear. ?I think we need to talk. We need to talk about Teacher, and I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow.?

  Gazing at the wreck of his kitchen, Rob fought the urge to giggle. He bit it back before speaking. ?Yeah, you’re right. I think we seriously need to talk. Something just happened here that you wouldn’t believe.?

  Jason didn’t ask what and Rob figured they both had their own fears to fight today. Whatever had happened to the judge, Jason obviously wasn’t ready for any more weird stuff on his plate. Rob knew how he felt. Suddenly, the idea of talking to Jason was very appealing. He didn’t think it was possible for two people to go mad together, and his sanity was something he needed to feel secure in. ?Do you want to come over now??

  ?I can’t. The ambulance has just left with the body, and

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  I’ve got some more stuff to do.?This time his pause was awkward, and when he spoke, Rob knew why.

  ?Can you see if you can get hold of Gina somehow? I think you’ve got a better chance with those solicitors than I do. I’m not sure that we can get to the bottom of this shit without her.?

  Rob’s stomach sank, but in his gut he knew Jase was right. ?I can try.?

  Now that they were in agreement, Jason sounded more confident. Fear was obviously better shared than kept to oneself.

  ?Okay, you do that, and I’ll come over this evening.?

  It was only when he’d put the phone down, that the words flashed in Rob’s head again. MAKE HER COME HOME.

  Pulling a dustpan and brush out from under the sink, suddenly exhausted as his body calmed down, he decided that if that’s what it would take to get this shit to stop, then that’s what he’d do. Make them come home. As he started to clear up the mess, he wondered how much his coming home actually had been his decision. Who or what had made him come home?

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  Shaking off the cold in the tiny hallway, Jack Hollingsworth hung up his granddaughter’s tiny coat and then swallowed it up with his own, before ushering her into the kitchen for orange juice and cookies. As he got their drinks ready, he whistled happily. He loved this time he had alone with Tabby before Kelly got home. He knew that his daughter—and it didn’t seem so long ago that she’d been Tabby’s age—worried that it was too much of a burden on him, and no matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, any fool could see the concern on her face that maybe he was overdoing things. He’d been sorely tempted on several occasions to tell her exactly the same thing, but it seemed that those kind of wise comments were the preserve of the young. He smiled wryly. And so the parent becomes the child. Well, there was still plenty of parent left in this old dog, and the truth of the matter was that he loved looking after Tabitha. Being around her kept him young, and anything that did that with so much charm was all right by him. They sat at the kitchen table, and he watched as the

  153 child in question drank her juice and nibbled on a chocolate digestive. Kelly would kill him if she ever knew how many he let Tabby have, but hey, wasn’t that the kind of thing foolish old granddads were supposed to do?

  He sipped his tea. ?Remember that tomorrow afternoon you’re going to Emma’s house to play after school.?Tabby insisted on calling her nursery ?school.??Your mummy and I have to go somewhere, but we’ll be back as soon as we can.?They’d decided against telling Tabby about the funeral. There were some things that children should only be introduced to when it was relevant to them, and until it was someone she knew, neither Kelly nor himself thought it was necessary to talk to her about death. Children were curious, and Kelly wasn’t happy about the possibility of her baby asking about how CaroleAnne had died. Jack could understand why. If he were honest, he hadn’t wanted to go at all, but Kelly had been adamant. They’d been at school together and no matter what CaroleAnne had done, it would be awful to be buried with no one there to show respect. It had all sounded plausible enough, but Jack figured that Kelly’s insistence had more to do with that other old school friend of hers, the writer.

  Staring at Tabby, he realized that given their tiny family, the first funeral she attended would probably be his. It gave him a vaguely unsettled feeling for a moment, before he brushed it away. It would be the natural course of things, and he had no plans for popping his clogs just yet, no matter how much his hip ached, reminding him that the bottom of his personal hourglass was much fuller than the top.

  Tabby was still nibbling absently at her cookie, and Jack wondered whether maybe she was coming down with something. She’d been very quiet since he’d picked her up. Normally, she’d be chirping away about what she’d done or whom she’d played with, but today she’d barely said a word. It was strange, not like her at all.

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  ?Are you okay, sweetheart??

  She nodded, but as he refilled his teacup he could see her out of the corner of his eye, staring at him warily.

  ?Do you have a secret, Granddad??Her voice was calm and low, and Jack’s hand froze for a second before he carefully put the teapot down.

  He tried to smile a little. ?Everyone has secrets, Tabby. You’ve probably got a couple. Private thoughts you want to keep all to yourself.?

  Shaking her head impatiently, she kept her eyes firmly fixed on his. ?Not that kind of secret. A guilty secret. A shameful secret.?

  Staring at Tabby, Jack felt his throat go dry. The words didn’t sound like hers, they were too old for her, and he wondered angrily who’d given them to her, who’d been speaking to her. Nobody. Nobody knows. Nobody could have told her.

  Lifting his mug to his face to hide his fear, he was unsure of what to say. ?Why do you ask, sweetheart??Under the strength of her gaze, he felt as if he were caught in a game of cat and mouse. It was ridiculous, but that’s how he felt. A game of cat and mouse, and he wasn’t the cat.

  She put the half-eaten cookie down on her plate. ?Have you? Have you got a secret from Mummy and me??

  Jack felt his stomach twist and lurch. It was nothing, just the curiosity of a child hitting a raw nerve, reopening scars, making them bleed a little. It was nothing. She couldn’t know. It wasn’t possible. And it was all so long ago. A lifetime ago. An old secret, a secret dead a long time. There had been a time when it had eaten him up, but not anymore. Now, there was just the ghost of shame that sometimes visited him in the long, sleepless nights of the old.

  He shook his head. ?No, darling. I would never keep a secret from you or your mother. Never.?From behind the steam that rose from his tea, he thought for a moment

  155 that he saw a dark cloud pass in her eyes, a cloud too knowing for such a little girl. He shook off the feeling. That’s your own guilt talking, old man. She couldn’t know. Neither of them could know. And that’s the way he intended it to stay.

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  The inside of the solicitor’s office overlooking Market Square was as bland as the face of the overweight man on the other side of the modern gray desk. Rob had been waiting in reception for twenty minutes by the time the man actually called him in and his already frayed mood wasn’t tempered by the knowledge that he’d been kept waiting for no good reason. No one left the office before he entered, and he severely doubted that this little place had a back entrance to stop important clients from being noticed by the proletariat. No, he knew what game the little man was playing, and he also knew that there were better and more effective ways of letting someone know that they were not impressed by money and celebrity.

  He gritted his teeth and smiled as he held his hand out. ?Mr. Greenslade??The solicitor stood up, revealing that a surprisingly large expanse of stomach lurked beneath that thin, pasty face.

  ?Mr. Black. Pleased to meet you. Sorry to keep you waiting.?He indicated a chair and sat down again before Rob did. This guy would never survive in the big city, and

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  Rob wondered why Gina would have left the management of her affairs in his hands. ?What can I do for you today??His attitude so far may not have been, but his smile was most certainly obsequious. He should be a maitre d’ in a second-rate Italian restaurant, Rob mused, before leaning forward in his chair, eager to get on.