Blood Harvest

56

AT THE CHURCH DOOR HARRY STOPPED, ALLOWING THE three officers to walk ahead of him. The reporters were still hovering. Rushton and the two detectives walked past them without responding to their questions and disappeared inside the Fletchers’ house.
‘Is it true?’
Harry turned. The tall, heavy-set man had appeared like a genie from out of the mist, had maybe even been waiting behind the church for a chance to catch Harry alone.
‘Hello, Mike,’ he said. ‘How are you and Jenny doing?’
‘Is it true? Did they find two other kids in Lucy’s grave? Both with their heads bashed in?’ Mike Pickup was breathing heavily. His face seemed redder than usual and the muscles around his jaw were trembling. ‘Has some sick bastard been using my daughter’s grave…?’
Harry put his hand on the other man’s arm. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s coffee in the vestry.’ Pickup showed no sign of moving. ‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ Harry added. It had the desired effect and Mike allowed himself to be led along the last few yards of path and through the open vestry door.
Harry’s inner sanctum had been invaded. Two police officers leaned against one wall, drinking coffee. Another was examining plans on Harry’s desk. Christiana Renshaw was washing mugs. The vestry had become the incident room.
Harry took a coffee from Christiana and nodded his thanks, then led the way into the chancel. He walked down the steps into the nave and stopped at the first pew. He and Mike both sat down.
‘I’m breaking police confidentiality by telling you this,’ said Harry, ‘because I think you have a right to know.’ The coffee had been brewed some time ago, it wasn’t that hot. Harry took two gulps, to give himself time rather than because he wanted to drink.
‘The remains of three small children were found last night,’ he began. ‘All of them appear to have tumbled from Lucy’s grave when the wall collapsed. One of them has been more or less identified as Lucy, depending upon the DNA sample, which I believe Jenny gave this morning. The identities of the other two aren’t known as yet.’
‘That little lass Megan, from what people are saying,’ said Mike. ‘I took part in the search for her. Didn’t do a scrap of work for two days. I had all the lads out as well.’ He put the mug down on the prayer-book shelf in front of him and fumbled in his pockets. ‘I felt for her parents,’ he went on. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a child.’
‘How’s Jenny doing?’ asked Harry, as Mike removed a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and sat looking at them.
‘She’s been closeted with her dad and old Tobias all morning,’ replied Mike. He tipped the packet upside-down; Harry could hear the soft pat of the cigarettes falling against cardboard. ‘Family confab,’ said Mike, turning the packet the other way. ‘Nothing to do with me, of course. I’m not much more than the hired help.’ He opened the cigarette packet, allowing the contents to fall into his hands.
‘Grief affects people in different ways,’ said Harry, surprised by the bitterness he could hear in the other man’s voice. ‘I’ve heard there’s a special bond between fathers and daughters.’
Mike held a single cigarette between his finger and thumb. As Harry watched, it started to bend. Mike’s eyes were shining. He was taking deep, slow breaths, as though fighting to prevent himself from breaking down. He began shaking his head. The cigarette in his hands was broken, useless.
‘She wasn’t even mine,’ he said. ‘What do you make of that, Harry?’
‘Not biologically yours, you mean?’ Harry asked.
Mike was still shaking his head. ‘Jenny fell pregnant shortly after I met her,’ he said. ‘We weren’t even going out at the time, it was obvious it couldn’t be mine. She never told me who the father was. Just a silly mistake, she said, not even a relationship, except she didn’t want to get rid of it. I kind of admired her for that. But there was no way Sinclair was going to let any daughter of his be a single mother.’
‘So the two of you got married?’
‘Four hundred acres of farmland I got for my trouble. And two thousand ewes. I come from a farming family, Harry, over near Whitby, but I’ve got three older brothers. It was the only chance I’d ever have of getting my own farm. Irony is, I’d probably have married Jenny anyway. I was halfway to being in love with her.’
The mug in Harry’s hands was cooling rapidly, as though Harry was soaking up all its warmth.
‘And you accepted Lucy as …’
‘There was never any question of it. I adored her from the moment I first saw her. And after a while I forgot; I just forgot she wasn’t really mine. I never got over her death. If we’d had more kids maybe. Now, I doubt I ever will.’
The door from the vestry opened and two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, came into the church. They stopped when they saw Harry and Mike, muttered an apology and retreated back into the vestry. Mike watched them go, then stood up. ‘What happened to them, Harry?’ he said, not taking his eyes from the vestry door. ‘What happened to the other two kids? How were they killed?’ Two broken cigarettes lay on the stone floor.
‘The exact cause of death hasn’t been—’ began Harry, getting to his feet and stepping out into the aisle.
Mike turned to face him. ‘Don’t give me that. No disrespect, Vicar,’ he said. ‘You were at the bloody post-mortem this morning. Had their heads been bashed in?’
Harry took a deep breath. This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get drawn in. ‘There was some evidence of head trauma in both cases,’ he began, ‘but we really need to wait—’
‘Like Lucy?’ demanded Mike.
‘The pathologist thought the injuries could be consistent with falls,’ said Harry. Rushton would kill him.
‘Like Lucy?’ repeated Mike.
‘That’s really all I can tell you, I’m afraid,’ said Harry.
Pickup glared at him for a second longer. ‘I’m grateful for your time, Vicar,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’ He nodded at Harry and then set off towards the front of the church. He passed into the vestry and out of sight. Harry’s mobile issued three sharp beeps. He pulled it from his pocket. Evi had arrived at the church and was wondering where he was. He set off in Mike’s footsteps.
‘They’ll be leaving now, I expect.’ The voice startled him. Harry turned to see Christiana watching him. Her voice was like Jenny’s, only softer and sweeter. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her speak before.
‘I’m afraid the police will be here for quite a while yet,’ replied Harry. ‘It’s upsetting, I know. But necessary.’
‘Not the police. The Fletchers.’ She always wore dresses, he noticed. Tailored dresses, in fabrics that looked expensive. They fitted her perfectly and Harry wondered if she made them herself, like she’d made Lucy’s pyjamas.
‘The Fletchers?’ repeated Harry. ‘Why would the—’ He stopped. Christiana’s hair was loose this morning, held back from her face with an Alice band. It was long, past her shoulders, unusual on a woman in her forties. She was standing close to him now, closer than felt really comfortable, as though she didn’t want to be overheard. He could smell the old-fashioned floral scent she wore and was suddenly reminded of the day she’d scattered scented rose petals beneath the gallery.
‘So many little girls,’ she said. ‘Tell them to go, Vicar. It’s not safe here. Not for little girls.’