Fragile Minds

SATURDAY 22ND JULY CLAUDIE



When I woke, I found I couldn’t breathe – and so I fought to. The panic reminded me of my last day with Ned. I had struggled to breathe then, or maybe I didn’t want to breathe – and I didn’t know where I was, or what time of day it was – or even what day or month or year it actually was.

Two days after Ned died, they found me in the garden. I had taken a great spade apparently, and dug up half the back lawn for some reason. When they discovered me, I had my hands shoved into the earth.

It took such a long time to clean that dirt off.

I think I believed that perhaps I could bring him back, if I dug down deep enough; that I would find him somewhere. But I couldn’t. I didn’t. He was gone. My guffawing son with mischievous eyes the colour of chocolate. Eyes forever shut. I had watched them close the final time and I had wanted nothing more than to die myself.

I had howled to the heavens, and then the heavens howled back. Rain fell, thick and fast. My life was over. Everything I cared about had been stolen from me.

Absolutely beached by my sorrow, I had lain on my bed in the old house for a fortnight without moving, except to the bathroom. My mother and Will and sometimes Zoe and Natalie had forced me to eat; sat with me and talked to me, and through the bleakest hardest time, they had not given up hope. But I had.

A long time after, I realised he was only mine to borrow, my baby. My tiny little boy. Only mine to borrow for such a very short while.

Now I lay in the gloom, fighting for breath, my head throbbing like something was alive inside it, and I thought of my son, the fighter, and I tried to sit up. I couldn’t. I hit my head on something hard. Then I realised my hands were tied.

I laid my head down again. I felt sick, waves of nausea rolling over me, and I needed to think.

There was a noise underneath me; I couldn’t think what it was for a time; and then I realised. It was the whisper of tyres on a road. I was in the boot of a vehicle, and we were moving.





SUNDAY 23RD JULY SILVER



‘Doesn’t get us very far, does it?’ Kenton opened the passenger door in the nursing-home car park. ‘I mean, nice old lady, and all that, but—’ She looked downcast. ‘You know.’

‘No,’ Silver agreed. ‘But it’s better than nothing.’

As they left, Edna Lamont had promised to ask her neighbour to bring photos from home. ‘They will give you a better idea of Rosalind’s appearance, I suppose, though they are all really rather dated now.’

Kenton checked her watch as Silver pulled out onto Abbey Road. ‘It’s nearly two. Lesley Steele should be arriving soon.’

Two Japanese students stood on the zebra crossing immortalised by the Beatles, pulling silly faces for the camera. A sudden breeze blew one girl’s tiny ra-ra skirt up, revealing a lacy thong.

‘Blimey,’ Silver braked just in time. ‘Could have been a Hard Day’s Night.’

Kenton grinned. ‘What – not She loves you, yeah yeah yeah?’





Lesley Steele had arrived earlier than expected, and by the time Silver and Kenton had crossed London again, Craven had got his claws into her already, much to Kenton’s dismay.

Mrs Steele was a small, round woman, a little like two circular loaves of bread stuck one on top of the other. Her greasy hair was pulled back tightly in an old-fashioned bun, and her face was devoid of make-up, her eyes like two tiny bloodshot currants in a lump of raw pastry. But still, despite the extra weight and the tear-stained face, Kenton was struck by how very like her daughter the older woman was.

Craven had made her tea and sat her in an empty office, where he was pretending to empathise with her.

Silver opened the door.

‘Mrs Steele? I’m so very sorry for your loss,’ he said seriously, offering her his hand. Kenton was impressed with his natural manner. ‘Cheers, Derek, I’ll take over now,’ he murmured.

Craven was put out. ‘But I’ve already—’

‘No worries, Derek. If you could get on to the paperwork for pathology, I’d be grateful.’

Craven shut the door very hard behind him as Silver slid into the seat opposite Mrs Steele, Kenton hovering behind him. She remembered not to put her hands in her trouser pockets, though they were itching to go there.

‘Are you able to shed any light whatsoever on the tragic occurrence?’ he asked. ‘Had Meriel been in touch at all recently?’

‘No,’ the woman shook her head. Her expression was hard to read; a mixture perhaps of shame and confusion. ‘We honestly thought she was still at the Academy. We hadn’t seen her for a while. She hadn’t told us any different.’

‘A good while?’ Silver consulted his notes. ‘Over nine months, I believe?’

‘Well, we thought she was having a whale of a time,’ Lesley Steele was defensive. ‘She was bored with our little village; she had been for years. It’s ever so quiet, and she seemed to be living the high life up here. And in the limelight. She never wanted to come home.’ Her face crumpled, and she started to sob quietly. ‘We were so proud.’

Kenton stared at the woman, who was only now starting to realise her daughter would never come home, and she knew where she’d seen Meriel Steele before. Of course, how stupid!

She must have made some sort of noise, because Silver glanced round. Lesley Steele was bowed over the table, her forehead in her hands, tears splashing down onto the formica. Kenton raised her eyebrows at her boss and tried to mouth ‘Sugar and Spice’ but he just shook his head at her.

‘In a minute,’ he murmured.

‘Mrs Steele, it would really help me and any other girls who might also be in trouble—’

‘Trouble?’ the woman said, looking up now.

‘Yes, trouble. I don’t know why Meriel did what she did yet, but I imagine someone else must be involved. It’s our job to find out why.’

‘Yes,’ the woman latched on to this. ‘Yes it is.’

‘So’, Silver was calm, ‘do you know where Meriel was just before she died?’

Lesley Steele flinched at the word. ‘No. Like I said, we thought she was in London.’

‘Did she have a boyfriend?’

‘No.’ Lesley Steele shook her head fervently. ‘I would have known.’

Silver bit back the retort on his lips. ‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Positive.’

‘Was she friends with a girl called Anita Stuart?’

The woman’s face stretched taut. It had been all over the morning news. ‘The one who blew up the bank? I’d never heard of her before. She wasn’t Meriel’s friend. I’m positive.’

‘And she hadn’t told you of anywhere else she had visited recently?’

‘I can’t think,’ the woman was getting flustered now. ‘We spoke so rarely. She was always so busy.’

‘Do you know Sadie Malvern?’

‘That little minx?’ Lesley Steele sat up straighter and dried her eyes on a sodden tissue. ‘Yes, I do. A very bad influence, my husband thought.’

‘We have reason to believe the two girls might have been together before Meriel died.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Can you think of anything at all Meriel said about any kind of outing?’

‘She did tell me one thing,’ Lesley Steele said slowly. ‘About a day trip they did to some film location.’

‘Film location? Can you be more specific?’

‘Somewhere with a long beach that was in a film. Meriel didn’t like it because she had to walk so far to get to the sea.’ Lesley Steele suddenly looked triumphant. ‘It was a Gwyneth Paltrow film, I know that much.’

‘Right,’ Silver looked defeated. ‘OK.’

Kenton saw Lesley Steele out five minutes later whilst Silver spoke to Philippa.

‘Kids are fine, Joe, getting along famously. All good,’ she said cheerfully. ‘One thing though. How long they staying? Because I—’

‘I’ll talk to you later.’ He saw Kenton practically skipping back across the office. ‘Gotta go.’

Silver hung up knowing Philippa would no doubt be cursing him.

‘I knew it,’ Kenton said breathlessly. ‘I recognised Meriel Steele from that club Sugar and Spice, when we went in on Friday. I’ve only just realised. She had totally different hair. A black bob. Must have been a wig.’

‘Right.’ Silver straightened his cuff. He thought fleetingly of Paige.

‘So we’d better get down there, yes?’

‘Yes,’ Silver agreed. He had a heavy feeling in his gut about life right now. ‘Yes I suppose we’d better.’

Stepping through the door, Anne rang his phone again. He pressed Reject.





SUNDAY 23RD JULY CLAUDIE



I must have passed out again because when I came to, we had stopped moving. It was very quiet, wherever we were, and then I heard the sound of footsteps, heavy boots on concrete, and then there was light, just for a second, and I was wincing, screwing up my eyes against the unnatural brightness – and then someone put something over my head.

I struggled desperately, but it was a horrible effort because I was sore and sick and unbalanced because of my tied hands and feet. And then a voice was speaking, and quietening me, a female voice, and then in the background I heard another voice, telling her to bring me in and I thought I’m sure I know that voice, oh Christ I’ve heard it before, but I couldn’t place it. I could hear birds singing and I even heard a cow or a sheep or something farm-like but I was so disoriented that nothing made sense. I was stumbling, and then they took me into a building, and I could smell sweet essential oils – and a familiar acrid smell that I couldn’t immediately place, and then they took the cloth off my head.

‘Where the hell am I?’

‘My poor child.’ The woman with bushy brown hair who held my hands smiled benevolently at me. Her nose was rather like a snout and her eyes were sore and pink, as if she were allergic to something. ‘You don’t look very well. Sit down, please.’

I stared at her, trying to focus, and I felt sure we’d met before but I couldn’t think where. There was a girl with her, standing behind me, so I couldn’t see her face properly. She helped me sit down. I looked around. I was in a kitchen, a farmhouse kitchen by the looks of it, with a flagstone floor that was freezing under my bare feet, and an Aga that was giving off no heat. I had the most terrible pains in my stomach. I tried to lean forward, to somehow alleviate them, but the woman was still holding my hands.

‘Oh gosh, poor Claudie. Sadie, untie her please. We’ve had a long journey. Claudie, my name is Miriam. So lovely to meet you.’

Sadie Malvern. The missing dancer.

She was wearing a long, purple dress, tied with a halter-neck, and she had bare feet, which were filthy. Her pretty, heart-shaped face was totally unmade up, her long blonde curls tumbling over naked shoulders, and she had a rainbow tattooed on her hand.

‘Sorry,’ she smiled at me beatifically as she untied my own hands. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

I was utterly bewildered now.

‘Where am I?’ I croaked, and then I leant forward, and I was violently sick all over her feet.

The woman called Miriam smiled as Sadie leapt back; smiled again at her protestation.

‘Come on, flower. It’s all in the name of love and unity.’ She fetched me a glass of water from the sink. ‘Here.’

I drank greedily. Sadie had disappeared now, and the other woman wiped the floor and my feet, very gently, and then led me to a sofa at the other end of the room. I was freezing cold now, and shaking, and then I saw all the light in the room was moving in slices above me, and I followed the slices, and I felt my eyes growing huge with wonder.

‘What’s happening?’ I said, and she laughed and said ‘Only what’s meant to be happening. What will follow on from last week.’

‘Last week?’ But now I didn’t care really about last week; I simply felt euphoric and like I wanted to hug her. And then I didn’t remember anything any more.





When I woke again, I was lying on something hard and I was in a dark place, a different place, and someone else was in the room too. I tried to focus. After a while I realised it was Sadie moving around quietly, balletically you could say even; she was closing the curtains at the small casement windows, and I said, ‘Why are you here?’ and she looked round at me like I was mad.

‘I’m closing the curtains so you can sleep.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I mean, why are you here. In this place?’

‘Because we belong here.’

‘We?’

‘We are the absolutely good, and the absolutely good belong here.’

She came and stood at the end of my bed now. I tried to sit up, but it made my stomach hurt again.

‘Belong where?’

‘Everywhere.’ Her hands were clasped across her breast as if in prayer. ‘Here, there. Together. Together we will show the world how corrupt it has become. How everyone has begun to live only for themselves. How we have to listen to the corrupters and take the pain; how we have no choice. We must return,’ her pretty face was fierce now, her blue eyes blazing too brightly, ‘we must return to the good place. The right place. We are teaching them a lesson.’

‘We?’

‘We. The Daughters of Light. One by one we fall for our cause – and then we rise to our heaven.’

‘Fall?’

She shrugged. ‘Die, if you like.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I whispered, and tears were gathering in my eyes and I had those terrible griping pains in my stomach again. I felt dirty, like worms were crawling in my veins; like my whole system had been poisoned.

‘Die,’ Sadie repeated. ‘Only it will be the start of eternal life; our saving of the world. We are sent here to die for our cause. I am waiting for my turn. When the Archangel says so.’

‘Archangel?’

‘Michael, Gabriel, call the Divine what you will.’

The Archangels.

‘Whatever you want to call the Divine,’ she shrugged those delicate porcelain shoulders again, ‘we shall follow. You will follow too,’ she patted the coverlet down, and walked to the door. ‘When the time is right. I am sure.’

She blew out the candle.





SUNDAY 23RD JULY SILVER



Who the hell went to watch lap-dancers on a Sunday, Silver wondered as Kenton buzzed the intercom at Sugar and Spice. Sundays were meant to be for family and friends, log-fires, roast dinners and football in the park, too much wine at lunch and Lana throwing the Yorkshire puddings at him, the peas rolling all over the floor, the kids trampling them underfoot as they ran for cover whilst their parents screamed blue murder.

Sundays now were empty, lonely days, reminding Silver only of the disintegration of something, of something he wished he’d worked harder to maintain. Something that had ultimately seemed beyond his control.

He wished he was at home now in New Cross with his younger children. He checked his watch as Kenton buzzed again.

‘Perhaps they’re shut?’ She pulled a face. She thought of her own Sundays as a child, with her parents at the parish church, neatly be-skirted and gloved until she’d rebelled at eleven and worn trousers for the first time. She imagined her mother’s face if she saw this place; she shuddered.

‘They’re not shut,’ Silver indicated the opening times on the wall beside them. ‘They just don’t want to talk to us.’

Eventually a thickset Russian with a crew-cut and a tattoo on his neck let them in. His unpleasant smile displayed two missing front teeth as he led them downstairs. A woman with a mop and bucket was cleaning the stage, and Larry was sitting at a table near the bar with a bespectacled middle-aged man, greying and rather ordinary. By the look of the receipt-books and calculators, they were going through some kind of accounts.

Larry stood and came forward. ‘Now what?’ He held a toothpick in his fat hand, which he rammed into his back teeth. ‘It’s Sunday for Chrissake. Can’t a guy get a bit of peace?’

‘Meriel Steele,’ Silver said coldly.

‘Who?’

There was a discarded Sunday Mirror on the bar. Kenton picked it up and held it in the man’s face. ‘This Meriel Steele.’

Larry actually blanched. It was the first time Silver had seen any reaction from the man at all during their investigation.

‘Ah yeah.’ He removed the toothpick. ‘Meriel. Poor kid. We knew her as Cindy.’

‘Dear Lord,’ Kenton muttered, refolding the horrific image. Was no one here allowed to be themselves?

‘And you last saw her—?’ Silver leant against the banquette behind him. ‘Exactly when?’

Larry shrugged. ‘Probably a week or so ago.’

‘Try Friday. Two days ago. When we were here last.’

‘Right. Well, it’s hard to know. So many of them come and go.’

‘We’ve reason to believe she’s friends with the missing girl. Sadie Malvern. Or Misty Jones, as you apparently know her.’

‘Maybe.’ Larry’s little eyes were darting back and forth now between the police officers.

‘And yet you didn’t tell us that, even though Meriel was dancing that day. It could have been very helpful. Did you employ Anita Stuart too?’

‘Who?’

‘The dance student involved in the Hoffman Bank explosion.’

‘No,’ Larry Bird shook his jelly chins definitively. ‘Absolutely not.’

Silver felt a rush of repugnance for this man, for the whole set-up. Girls were starting to trickle through the bar now on the way to the changing room. They looked so normal – nothing like what half an hour in front of a mirror would help them become. They were wives, daughters, mothers. Sure, some of them were in control – but how many? They were manipulated and used, and they let themselves be because they didn’t know any better, because they needed the money. What was it that Paige had said about pimping them out?

‘In fact,’ Silver stepped nearer the American. He wasn’t the tallest of men himself, but he had a good few inches on the barrel-esque Larry. ‘In fact, you could have prevented her death. So,’ he glanced at Kenton, ‘I want to impound all accounts. I want a list, including phone numbers, of every single girl that has danced here in the past six months. And I want it NOW.’

Kenton suppressed a smile. She’d rarely seen Silver angry, but now he was, it was stark and impressive.

‘Lorraine, get on the phone and get uniform down here—’

‘You can’t do this!’ the American expostulated. ‘There’ll be trouble. My boss is extremely well-connected—’

‘Do you think I care?’ Silver hissed, but he didn’t doubt it. There were reasons why places like this were allowed to get away with working as high-class brothels.

‘Larry,’ the man at the table spoke now, in a low, warning tone. He had a very slight Transatlantic accent that Silver could not place, though he looked terribly British in his attire. ‘Just do what the officer ordered. Get him a list.’

‘And you are?’ Silver looked over at this mild-mannered character.

‘John. John Adamson. I’m just the accountant.’ He smiled a calm rather superior sort of smile.

‘Just the accountant?’ Kenton repeated. ‘So what exactly are you accounting for, Mr Adamson?’

‘Oh, you know, just the usual.’

Silver left Kenton to wrap up the paperwork and headed towards the changing rooms. He knocked tentatively at the door; there was no queue today, he guessed it was too early.

The tall, black girl who had boasted about all the men who wanted her opened the door. She didn’t look so cheerful today, in baggy jeans and Ugg boots. With no make-up or emerald contact lenses, she looked ordinary – drab even.

‘Yeah?’ she gave him the once-over and sighed. ‘Old Bill again is it?’

‘I was looking for Paige.’ He unwrapped a stick of gum.

‘Paige?’

‘Small, redhead. Lots of freckles. Was here last time.’

‘Oh, you mean Rachel.’

‘Surname?’

‘Rachel Johnson, I think. I’ve not seen her.’ The girl frowned. ‘In fact, she left early last night. Didn’t finish her shift.’ She shrugged. ‘Ask Larry.’

‘I will.’ What had the girl said at the hotel the other night? She had been apprehensive, and she had given him information, useless as it had been so far, and he hadn’t taken her fear very seriously. The sinking feeling in his stomach joined the raft of worries there. ‘Cheers, kiddo. If you see her, ask her to call me?’

The girl shrugged again. ‘OK.’

He rejoined Kenton. He didn’t want to flag up his interest in Paige to Larry; he feared he might have done enough harm as it was.

‘Uniform are on their way.’

‘F*cking Jesus,’ Larry muttered and slammed his hand on the bar. ‘Get me a soda,’ he snapped at the bartender. ‘Now.’

John Adamson was wrapping up, calm and quiet in his plain button-down shirt.

‘Look,’ Silver was worried. ‘Can I leave you here, Lorraine? There’s something I want to check out, now.’

‘Sure.’ She glanced at him, the almost-handsome face wearied, the shadows under his hazel eyes belying his energetic air.

‘Cheers.’ He ran a hand through his short salt and pepper hair. ‘Call me when you leave. And if you get an address for a girl called Rachel Johnson, let me know immediately.’

And he bounded up the stairs, out of hell, horribly aware it might be too late already.





Back in the land of the living, Silver tried Paige’s number but it just rang out. Walking back to the car, he phoned through to the station.

‘Can you try to track a number for me? I need the billing address.’ He gave them Paige aka Rachel’s number. ‘It’s urgent.’

He rang Philippa. ‘I’ll be home in an hour. Can we have a chat then?’

Next he rang Anne. ‘I’m sorry,’ he cut across her furious invective. ‘I know you think I’m irresponsible, but I have a duty here too. The kids will be fine with me. Is Ben there?’

‘No,’ she sniffed derisively. ‘He’s always with that Burton lass.’

‘Well,’ Silver grinned. ‘Young love, Anne. You must remember. You and Tony.’ His late father-in-law, a gem of a man. Passed away, thank God, before Lana’s disgrace. ‘You met at school, didn’t you?’

He felt Anne hesitate. He sensed her soften slightly. He took a deep breath now himself.

‘And Lana?’ He felt himself tense. ‘Any word?’

‘She left me another message. Said she’s getting her head together.’ He heard the quaver in Anne’s voice. ‘I’m scared, Joe.’

He was taken aback by her admission.

‘Anne,’ he wished for once that they were in the same room, ‘she’ll be fine. I’m sure. She’s just—’ he watched a young mother in a red sun-dress lean over her pushchair, cooing at her fat-faced baby, ‘she’s never recovered from that day. She’s still dealing with it. Badly, it would seem. And there’s nothing we can do, other than support her, I guess.’

‘I suppose,’ Anne sniffed again, but this time she was fighting the tears. ‘I just – I don’t know what went wrong, Joe. I – I tried so hard.’

‘It’s not your fault, Anne.’ He paused outside the grocers on the corner. ‘And it’s not mine.’ He’d needed to say that for a while. ‘It’s no one’s fault except Lana’s. Lana got addicted, and she got sick. And she made her choices. Now all we can do is help her live with them.’

Silver hung up soon after and walked into the shop; plucked a can of diet Coke from the fridge. He realised at that moment, icy tin in hand, that his life was going to have to change immensely. He paid the money and left.





MONDAY 24TH JULY CLAUDIE



Some time shortly after dawn, a sombre Asian girl opened the curtains and woke me. She presented me with a bowl of runny porridge and a cup of tea, and I forced myself to eat despite the foul appearance of the food, because I felt so weak and light-headed. I hoped it would help.

‘The Archangel, our true Bringer of Light, will visit you soon,’ the girl said joyfully.

‘Who?’ I answered, spooning the thin slop near my mouth and then dropping the spoon in repulsion.

‘I think you will be most pleased to be reunited,’ she smiled. She was quite pretty, but she had a very hairy face, I thought absently; hair grew on her cheeks in swirls beside her ears, joining her hair-line eventually.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I tried to lever myself out of the bed. I stared at her dove pendant as if it would give me clarity, remembering the necklace the intruder had dropped in my hallway. I clutched my own locket. ‘I think I should ring home now.’

But who would I ring? She looked at me with pity, as if she knew there was no one.

‘This is your home now,’ she said.

I flopped back on the bed. I kept smelling that odour I’d smelt on my arrival, and then in my mind’s-eye suddenly I saw the ruined note that Tessa had left with Mason the day before she died. ‘Take’ and ‘necklace’. That was what the smell was: the same as the herbs in the locket Tessa had given me months ago.

Frantically, I pulled at the chain round my neck, chafing my skin as I did so. ‘Take the necklace off’ – is that what she’d written? The smell of the herbs had always been noxious and yet I’d believed, because she’d told me, that they were spiritually good. But looking at these girls and their pendants, I felt a huge shiver go through my body. What if it wasn’t good at all? What if it was very, very bad?





I lay there trying to piece it together. What did they mean ‘reunited’? I felt something around me I could not quite pinpoint; like a thin black shadow that constantly vibrated, and I realised after a while it was fear. They were crazy, that was obvious, but they were so convinced that what they believed was right – and that was terrifying.

Who was the Archangel? Some time during those dark hours, I had a sudden fear it was Will. My beautiful sometime husband whom I had loved so very much, who had been driven from me by our worst nightmare becoming real. And then I thought, that’s stupid, it could never be Will. Never mind that I didn’t really know where he’d been for the past year, that he’d suddenly turned up all angry and sad. He was a good man, if a weak one. Wasn’t he?

And then I remembered Francis, and the way he’d appeared in my flat two nights ago – or maybe it was longer, because time was becoming nebulous; and I shuddered again, and I thought of his zealous belief in the ‘other life’, which I’d ignored for the release his tiny needles brought. I thought about the fact that Tessa had been far closer to him than I’d ever realised, and I wondered why I’d let myself believe in them when they were so obviously not who they proclaimed themselves to be.

And I began to cry, because I saw how lost I had been, and how empty my life had become since Ned had died, and I wondered if this was my punishment for not being able to save him; for giving up on my own life.

With some sense of relief, I remembered ringing that policewoman, so perhaps someone would look for me, someone might realise I was gone.

There was some kind of commotion downstairs. I tried to sit up in bed, but I felt so very weary and like I’d been drained of everything I had.

Then Miriam came in, followed by the Asian girl carrying a projector, and they pulled the curtains shut again and played this against the white stone wall.

‘I’ve missed you, Claudie,’ a voice said. ‘I sincerely hope you’ll stay.’ Then the film cut to a small dark glowering girl, reading from a piece of paper. Anita Stuart.

‘We are getting nearer.’ Anita looked up at the camera, and her eyes blazed with something near mania. ‘We are achieving our goals every day. The world we live in today is a terrifying place, I’m sure you’ll agree. It’s full of people who only care about themselves, and so the answer is to make people sit up and take notice. Before it is too late.’

Now she stopped reading, and started to recite, faster and faster.

‘This world,’ she declared, ‘this mad world we live in where money means everything, this world of the machine and climate change and neon light; this world where we rush, rush, rush,’ her eyes were shining now, and Miriam had sat forward in her chair, ‘this world where no one stops and no one listens – well, it will IMPLODE.’ Anita threw her arms in the air. ‘It is screaming in our faces, and all I have done is taken the evidence and used it to our best advantage because we must purify, we must purify the world.’ There was spittle on her chin. ‘Or we will be left sitting in the debris – or maybe we won’t. Or maybe there will be nothing left of us either.’

‘Hallelujah!’ agreed the women in the room fervently as Anita bowed her head, and the end of the film rattled into nothing.

‘I’m lost,’ I said faintly.

‘Exactly,’ the Asian girl cried with triumph, ‘and we can save you. All the lost souls will be saved.’

‘Oh Christ,’ I muttered.

‘No, not Christ,’ her face darkened. ‘It is not religion. Religion only divides. How badly we have seen that since the days of 9/11.’

‘But – the Archangels?’ I mumbled. ‘Redemption and Daughters of Light?’

‘Merely symbols.’ Miriam stepped forward now, her brown hair tumbling round her face. ‘I am serving my God, Claudie, and it takes what it takes.’

‘Hallelujah!’ repeated her accomplice, rocking in her chair. I nearly told her to shut up, only I feared the consequences.

‘We are sacrificing ourselves to save the world.’

‘And it is your free will,’ I said slowly, ‘or what your orders are?’

‘It is one and the same,’ Miriam said calmly, and I didn’t argue.

Why would you argue with a psychopath?





MONDAY 24TH JULY SILVER



Silver was up at six, having spent the latter part of the evening playing Scrabble – badly – with Molly, Leticia and Matty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a game with his children. What took him aback was how much he enjoyed it – despite all the cheating and misspelling and attempts at swear words. And at least Leticia had deigned to speak to him again now, although there was an awful lot of eye-rolling during the game, and breaking off to text.

Philippa’s son Raymond was away at university, so Molly and Matty had taken over his room. After they’d gone to bed, Silver had sat down at the kitchen table with his landlady and had a long chat over a pot of rather stewed tea. They had agreed that, for a little extra cash, Philippa and her eldest daughter Melody, who was at drama school in central London, would keep an eye on them and that Matty was old enough at fifteen to be left in charge of his little sister if both women were out. Fortunately, Philippa largely worked from home in her capacity as a senior adviser on adoption rights.

‘But they’re gonna get well bored, you know, Joe,’ Philippa had pointed out, shelling peas for tomorrow’s risotto. ‘It’ll be OK for a day or two, a week maybe, cooping them up whilst you’re working. I’ll get Melody to take them out when she’s around, see a sight or two. But,’ she sucked her teeth just like Leticia had the other night at Silver, and sliced a pod neatly with her mauve thumbnail, ‘but then what?’

‘Then,’ Silver put the bastard Beer back in his mental fridge. ‘Then I’m going to have a make a decision or two, P.’

A decision or two that he should have made a long time ago.





Kenton’s text woke him at six:

Call me asap. I know where the retreat is.

‘That location.’ She was babbling when he rang her. ‘It must be Holkham Beach. Gwyneth Paltrow walks across it at the end of Shakespeare in Love. It’s in Norfolk, I think. I couldn’t sleep so I Googled it. Stupid, because we watched it the other night actually—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Me and Alison. And she’d been there, so she knew. Alison. She’d even mentioned it. Good film,’ she finished abruptly.

‘Obviously,’ Silver said dryly, thanking God for the fact that women had such an appetite for celebrity trivia, though he was a little surprised that Kenton was like all the rest. ‘Well done, Lorraine. Get on to Norfolk Constabulary, can you. I’ll see you in an hour.’





Silver arrived at the station around eight to the sight of Craven and Kenton hissing at each other like alley cats, right in the middle of the open-plan office.

‘Listen, missy,’ Craven spat, his domed forehead shiny with sweat. ‘I’ve been in this job for a damn sight longer than you. I don’t need some dykey upstart to come and tell me what to do.’

He was furious, his eyes bulging with anger. Kenton had drawn herself up to her full height, which wasn’t very full, and was squaring her shoulders at her superior.

‘I understand, DI Craven, that you have a problem with me, and it would appear to be a) because I am female and b) because you have trouble with my sexual orientation. Which is nothing—’ she was so angry she couldn’t get her words out, was turning scarlet herself now with badly suppressed fury, ‘absolutely nothing to do with you. Or my job.’

‘Understand this, Kenton,’ Craven leant over her until she started to back away, jabbing his finger in her direction, ‘you don’t teach your father to f*ck. Capiche?’

‘Jesus!’ she exploded. ‘My father? You don’t deserve to be in the same room as my father. Who the hell do you—’

Silver spied Malloy through the door.

‘Right, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said calmly, ‘we need to stop this. Now.’

‘But—’ Kenton spluttered.

‘Leave it, Lorraine.’ Silver turned to Craven. ‘We’ll talk about this later, Derek. I don’t know what your problem with Lorraine is, exactly, but we need to get it sorted.’

‘My problem, DCI Silver,’ Craven spelt the letters out so they dripped with sarcasm, ‘is—’

‘Save it,’ Silver snapped. ‘I’m not interested right now. Let’s just get our heads down and then we can all have a nice group hug later. I want a recap of exactly where we are. Get Roger and Tina over here, now.’

Kenton called them and then sat down heavily at her desk, her scarlet face clashing with her dyed hair. She waited for Silver to give her the nod, and then she began to tick her list off on her square fingers.

‘I’m waiting for Edna Lamont’s nursing home to get back to me re her photos of Rosalind. I’ve spoken to Norfolk Constabulary who are fully aware of the situation and are patrolling the area. But identifying possible retreat locations around Holkham, well, it’s a problem. It’s a hugely popular tourist destination. There are masses of holiday lets, so I’m not sure of the next move.’ She sneaked a glance at Craven to see if he was going to react to her admission.

‘If we can determine what type of retreat it is that might help, but my feeling is it’ll be these mad bastards, the Daughters of Light.’ Silver leant on the desk and eyed Craven, who was still sweating profusely. ‘Derek?’

‘The lab’s formally confirmed the dead girl is Meriel Steele – or what’s left of her.’

Kenton butted in. ‘I think we need to go back to the Academy and try and find out what’s going on down there—’

Craven shot a look of such venom at the young woman that it was surprising she didn’t wither on the spot. ‘I’ve been back down there.’

‘But we’re not any nearer understanding the link, Craven, unless it’s Tessa Leth—’ She checked herself and put her head down. She stared at her knees whilst the younger officers listed their doings for the past day.

‘Right.’ Silver checked his pocket for change. ‘Kenton, fill in the board.’

She stood, whiteboard marker in hand, finally looking more cheerful. In the centre, the Academy was represented by a square; a picture of Tessa Lethbridge on one side, with the name Rosalind Lamont? beneath it. On the other side, she lined up the photos of Anita Stuart and Meriel Steele. Deceased was written beneath them in red letters. Now she moved the picture of Sadie Malvern underneath the word ‘Archangel’, next to which was written Michael Watson? On the right of the board, Sugar and Spice was represented by another square. Meriel and Sadie’s names were also written there. So far, there was no reason to think that Anita had anything to do with the club. What was the link between the Academy and pole-dancers?

‘Derek, was it you who spoke to Anita Stuart’s family?’

‘Yeah. Complete shock and nothing else concrete, apart from a bit of an obsession with that teacher Lethbridge.’ Craven lifted his bulk from the chair and adjusted his trousers, standing splay-legged in the centre of the room. Kenton looked away. She rarely hated anyone, but she hated him.

Silver thought again of Paige’s words about the boyfriend ‘the Prince’, about ‘Archangel’ and Sadie becoming evangelical about the world. F*ck, Silver thought. He thought of Lana and then of Brenda Malvern: he really didn’t need Sadie to die now, on top of everything else.

‘Someone is coercing these girls to do what they’re doing. We know that Sadie possibly had a rather charismatic boyfriend. We know that the Purity Alliance was set up by Rosalind Lamont and Michael Watson. We haven’t tracked either down yet – which is useless.’ Silver pulled his cuffs down, one after the other, straightening them as he thought; as he slowed his brain. ‘So what have we found out so far?’

Roger Okeke, the fresh-faced black DC put on the Archangel research, was dying to speak. He coughed and shuffled his papers. ‘I have done an extensive search on the character—’

‘It’s not f*cking Mastermind,’ Craven muttered.

‘And so far I haven’t found much, I have to admit,’ Okeke dried up, embarrassed.

‘But?’ Silver prompted. ‘It all helps, Roger.’

‘But – well, in the transcript of the anonymous call that Tina took on Friday, the caller says this,’ Okeke looked down to read aloud, “We’re alive and remain and shall be caught up together in the clouds.”’

‘So?’ Craven was determined to be belligerent.

‘So,’ the young policeman was defiant. ‘The whole quote is from the Bible. “We which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.” Thessalonians 4:17. About the Lord speaking in the voice of the Archangel.’

‘Bingo,’ Silver said.

‘Also,’ Okeke was stammering slightly now, with enthusiasm, ‘he mentions the Sons of Light. That’s the name of the Archangels in the Bible.’

‘Hal-e-f*cking-lujah,’ Craven muttered under his breath. Silver was increasingly aware he had a problem on his hands with Derek Craven, a problem that needed sorting.

‘Nice one, Roger. We really need to nail this Watson character. Is he the Archangel?’

Craven sat heavily as Silver continued.

‘Something links these three girls: Anita, Meriel and Sadie. Is it just the mysterious Lethbridge at the Academy? Did she have some hold over them? Tina, can you speak to Lesley Steele again, please. Press her again on boyfriends. We didn’t get that far with her yesterday, poor woman’s so shocked. Then start talking to Meriel’s friends – if she had any; to the other ballet students, to anyone basically. How are we doing with uncovering Lethbridge’s true background?’

Press assistant Jo Reid wiggled past and Silver sensed a loss of concentration from at least three of his team: Craven, whose tongue practically fell out of his head, Okeke and Kenton. Silver watched Reid go and then cleared his throat loudly. Personally he thought her charms were a little – obvious, and she had made it abundantly clear that his own charms hadn’t escaped her.

‘Er – Lethbridge?’ he prodded.

‘I’m waiting to speak to the police in Australia again. I’m expecting a call in the next hour,’ Kenton murmured, tearing her eyes from Jo and thinking rather guiltily of Alison. ‘And I’m waiting to speak to the real Tessa Lethbridge, hopefully this morning. I’ll fill you in as soon as the guy in Canberra calls back.’

Silver could see his boss hovering in the background, on the phone. The Met were taking a serious bashing from the press. They were being accused of responding too slowly to the Berkeley Square tragedy. The families of those still missing were furious that it was taking so long to identify the dead; the police were trapped in a mire of human tragedy and botched bureaucracy. And heads therefore must roll; of this, Silver was more than conscious. He could see Malloy cracking his knuckles again. Never a good sign.

‘Tina, there must be more stuff out there about these Light nutters. Roger, check out the background of that fat American tosser who runs Sugar and Spice, Larry Bird, and I want details of who he answers to there.’

Roger nodded eagerly. ‘No worries.’

‘And someone bloody well trace Michael Watson, for Christ’s sake, even if it is only to eliminate him. Derek, you liaise with Norfolk.’

Craven pulled his plastic cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lumbered off. Silver felt a stab of pity. The truth might be as simple as Craven just not being up to the job; as simple as being left behind by these bright young things.

‘Lorraine, I’ll meet you downstairs in five, all right, kiddo? I want to talk to Lucie Duffy again. I’ve got an idea she knows a damn sight more about Sadie’s disappearance than she’s letting on.’

Having bought himself a can of diet Coke from the machine, Silver took the back stairs to the car park. Halfway down, he took a call from the back room.

‘You wanted an address for a Rachel Johnson?’

Finally.

‘Yes, please.’

A street in Bethnal Green. Silver tried calling her again: still nothing. He had a bad feeling about the little redhead. He had a very bad feeling about the whole bloody matter, right now.





MONDAY 24TH JULY CLAUDIE



I have dreams unlike any I’ve ever had. Afterwards, this is what I remember.

Ned’s hand in mine. Warm hand curled between my fingers. Looking down. Laughing. Safe, inside and out. A feeling I had finally come home.

A day when it all changed. A fall into the pit. A day when coming home meant darkness and a deadening, stabbing loneliness. A day when coming home meant half a bottle of vodka or some pills. A time when I stopped remembering so well. A time when I didn’t exist. A time when I broke from reality, through necessity. Thoughts of death; my own death, all the time.

My husband, crying. My husband, leaving.

My life, empty. Without meaning.





At some point I wake up and I remember what’s missing and I feel like someone has squeezed me out of my own skin. I know I will never be the same again, I will never recover from this deepest hurt, this deepest cut I can never heal; the edges will never join again.

And all the time I feel like this I want to die. I don’t want to be party to this pain, this pain that envelops and suffocates me; this pain that threatens to extinguish everything.

I feel Ned’s hand in mine. I feel his presence and he is there and I will never, never let him go and I will never, never see him again and I am screaming, screaming into the void again.

It is my fault: I let him go. I couldn’t hold on long enough, I couldn’t pull him back from the brink again. I couldn’t save my child. I carry the full weight of a mother’s guilt. It is crushing me.





When I woke properly, sweating and dry-mouthed and shaky, the older woman, Miriam, from the first day was in the room.

‘Where is everyone?’ I croaked, and she smiled and brought me water.

‘Around.’

I drank. The sun was setting through the window, the colours sliding into one another. I stared at the window. There were iron bars on it. It struck me properly for the first time that I was a prisoner here.

‘Why is it so quiet?’

‘They are preparing.’ The woman took my glass and refilled it with water from a cracked china jug on the windowsill. Her hair was like a wiry brown halo.

‘What for?’

She passed me a plate of something. Rice and vegetables.

‘I’m not hungry.’

She frowned. ‘You need to eat. We owe it to the Archangel to keep ourselves strong and fit.’ She looked at me doubtfully. ‘Maybe it will take you some time.’

‘Maybe.’ The rice had a bitter taste. I put it down again. ‘Preparing for what?’

‘For the final divine message.’

‘Right. And what would that be?’

She smiled at me. ‘We will know when we hear it.’

My stomach rolled. I looked again at the plate of food. There were tiny white flecks of powder on the chopped carrots. I looked again. Perhaps I was seeing things.

Tentatively, when she was not looking, I licked a piece of carrot. It was sour and strange-tasting. Of course. How could I have been so dense?

They were drugging me.





MONDAY 24TH JULY SILVER



Silver sent Kenton down to the Academy to question them further about the girls and the lap-dancing club.

‘There must be some link somewhere we’re missing. And we need a confirmed bloody ID on the Lethbridge woman, now.’ He rummaged through the papers on his desk. ‘And who is this joker with her?’ He shoved the photo he’d pinched from Tessa’s flat at Kenton. ‘Let’s clarify everything.’

Kenton pocketed her phone; she had been trying to ring the troubled Claudie Scott again to no avail. Presumably the crisis was over, whatever it had been.

‘I’ll get on to Edna Lamont again; see if she’s got those photos yet. And I’ve emailed a picture of Lethbridge to that Martin woman. Not that I expect her to be much help.’

‘Who?’ Silver looked distracted.

‘The one-time secretary of the Empathy Society whom I met. The sour one.’

Kenton didn’t mention that it had taken some powerful words, all of which she had taken great relish saying, to force even Jan Martin’s email address out of her.

‘It’s private property, not property of the state,’ Martin had started with. ‘It’s an order, and that’s the end of it, or you will be charged with obstruction,’ Kenton had ended with. Martin had eventually capitulated; but not without inflicting several minutes of moaning about infringement of civil liberties and the like on Kenton.

Silly cow.

‘Nice work, Lorraine. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve made this visit.’

Silver put Billie Holiday on the stereo and drove to Bethnal Green. The singer’s mournful tones seemed horribly appropriate somehow.

Paige’s address was a terraced Georgian house on Cambridge Heath Road, smart and fairly genteel-looking, despite a vandalised bus shelter housing various homeless situated directly outside.

A Slavic-looking girl in a pink kimono answered the door.

‘I’m after Rachel. Or Paige.’

The girl looked at him blankly. A skinny man appeared behind her, half-dressed, doing up his shirt buttons.

‘Can I help?’ He pushed the girl to one side. ‘Sorry. Katya doesn’t speak very good English.’

‘I’m looking for Paige – Rachel Johnson? Small redhead.’

‘Oh, Rachel.’ The man glanced up the stairs. ‘I haven’t seen her for a few days actually. This is a house share, so you can imagine. We come and we go. We’re all pretty busy; we’re a bit like ships that pass in the night.’

‘I’d like to check.’

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Well—’

Silver flashed his badge.

‘Sure,’ the man stood aside to let him in. Silver thought he saw a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs protruding from his pocket.

Paige’s room was immaculate; spangled dresses hung on a rail, rows of shoes below it on a rack, higher than the average woman’s; a futon with a flowery duvet and a fluffy polar bear on the pillow. Stripy pyjamas flung on the end of the bed; make-up above the washbasin in the corner. Books on the shelves; Noam Chomsky, a few reference books about Accounting, a big red ring-binder. She was studying for something. A William Boyd novel by the bed. A Miro poster on the wall. ‘Still waters’ Silver remembered her saying, and felt an almost palpable sense of regret.

He hoped to God it wasn’t too late for Paige.





Kenton was eating a KitKat with something akin to fervour when they met up in the foyer of the Academy.

‘I’ve been talking to Mason Pyke, the secretary here.’ She snapped a chocolate finger off and offered it to her boss. ‘She’s a piece of work, I have to say.’

‘No thanks.’ He shook his head at the biscuit. ‘Why?’

‘Oh I don’t know. Gives off air that she knows everything, but actually knows nothing. But Tessa’s mate in that photo is her acupuncturist apparently, and she did tell me Sadie Malvern’s got an ex-boyfriend though. He’s coming up in a minute.’

Two painfully thin students in white tights and running shorts squeezed past them. Kenton looked at her chocolate bar ruefully and then down at her own chunky thighs.

‘Not much hope for me in a place like this.’

‘Not much hope for them if they don’t eat something soon.’ Silver thought of his ex-wife weighing every calorie religiously when they were first married. Still, it wasn’t until after the kids were born that she’d given up food for the pleasures of annihilation.

A handsome boy bounded up the steps now, two at a time.

‘Those fat cows need to eat a few less Big Macs,’ he’d caught Kenton’s words, ‘then I’d stop straining myself on the lifts.’

His eyes were like green glass, chilly and hard. Billy McCorkdale was a pretty, blond, scholarship boy from Manchester with the talent of a young Acosta but a chip the size of Oldham, according to Mason Pyke. If he could rein in the tantrums, he’d go far.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ Silver said mildly, ‘most of these girls look like they need building up a bit to me. So, you dated Sadie last year? You did well – older girl, young lad like you.’

‘Sadie Malvern aka silly bitch,’ the boy shrugged.

‘Why are you so cross with Sadie?’

‘Because. She were a two-timing cow. And cos she let that stupid bitch Tessa Lethbridge tell her what to do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Lethbridge told her she was throwing herself away on me.’ He ran a hand through his blond curls. ‘Look, I know she’s dead an’ all, but Lethbridge properly wound me up. Thought she were so grand, but she were useless. Ask any of the lads.’

‘Can you expand a bit?’

‘Well, she weren’t really ballet, were she, after all that. Don’t surprise me. Her teaching was cack. And she had too many favourites.’

Silver grinned. ‘My teachers always had favourites.’

‘She were no good, if you ask me. She just liked the girls. Mebbe,’ he leered like a naughty schoolboy, his accent thickening, ‘mebbe she were just an old lezzer.’

Silver couldn’t face looking at Kenton.

‘Anyway,’ Billy went on, ‘she told Sadie I’d ruin her career and about a week later, she stopped seeing me.’

‘Why would you ruin it?’

‘Because,’ his voice tightened now. ‘Just because Lethbridge didn’t like me.’

‘And was that the only reason, do you think?’ Kenton tried to keep her voice level.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’ There was a pause. ‘But I think Sadie were seeing someone else,’ he said quietly. It was obvious he’d really loved her. ‘I followed her and Tessa once. They met a bloke downstairs in a wine bar. Older.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Not really. Just old. Grey. Sadie looked well smitten.’ His face closed down again. ‘Silly bitch. Anyway. She got what she deserved.’

Silver’s ears pricked up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look at Sadie now. Getting her tits out for the lads. What ballet dancer would ever do that? It’s an art form, and she’s showing her arse crack to the world.’ Pain was scrawled across his handsome features. ‘Good riddance, I say.’





‘Sour grapes?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Another thing the Pyke woman said,’ Kenton scrunched up the biscuit’s foil as Billy left them, girls’ eyes following him down the corridor, ‘Lucie Duffy’s the star of the show tomorrow afternoon at the Royal Opera House. There’s the premiere of Swan Lake, and then a party; charity event. Big occasion. A few minor royals and the Prime Minister might even be there.’

‘Swan Lake?’ Silver peered over Kenton’s shoulder into a classroom, watching a group of first years practise a complicated sequence of barre work.

‘The dying swan.’

Silver was none the wiser.

‘Odette and Odile? The beautiful swan girl and the evil one, who pretends to be the goodie to get the prince.’

Mason Pyke suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs beside them. In her grey pinafore and knee socks, she looked like an elongated and rather horrifying schoolgirl.

‘I forgot to say, Officer.’ She pulled that letterbox smile at them, flattening her fringe with one hand. ‘You should talk to our physio Claudie Scott again about Tessa Lethbridge. They really were thick as the proverbials and there was something very odd going on last Thursday. You know, the day before the bomb.’ She dropped her voice reverently. ‘As they say, “Cowards die many times before their deaths.”’

‘Well, we’ll talk to Scott now. Where is she?’

‘You can’t actually,’ Mason looked almost pleased, her spindly hands folding her pinafore pleats. ‘She’s not in today. Not sure why – she should be.’

Kenton turned slowly, a look of horror crossing her pleasant face.

‘What?’ Silver asked her.

‘Oh, God. Claudie Scott. That is one coincidence too many.’





By the time she arrived back at the station, Kenton had a message from Natalie Lord, Claudie Scott’s younger sister.

‘I found your number by her phone in the flat,’ she explained rather tearfully when Kenton rang back. ‘And your message on the answer-phone. I’m really worried, Ms Kenton.’

‘DS Kenton,’ she corrected gently. ‘When did you last see your sister?’

‘On Wednesday. Then I popped round on Saturday to leave her a casserole, but she was out. She doesn’t look after herself properly since Ned’s death.’

‘Ned?’

‘Her son. He died two years ago.’ Natalie started to cry properly now. ‘Claudie’s not recovered yet. He was only three.’

‘Oh dear,’ Kenton felt a genuine rush of sorrow. ‘Yes, of course, I remember now.’ She thought of Scott’s slightly bewildered and detached air the day they had interviewed her, of the hands she’d scratched the whole time they spoke to her.

‘And then she was caught in the explosion,’ the sister went on. ‘You know, the one near her work.’

‘Caught in it?’ Kenton didn’t remember Claudia Scott mentioning that. ‘And where do you think she may be?’

‘I feel so daft,’ the other woman’s words were speeding up, coming out garbled. ‘When I came round, I let this man into her flat. Brendan says now I was mad. But he definitely knew Claudia, this man. And I just thought it was her boyfriend.’

‘Who is her boyfriend?’ Kenton frowned. ‘Have you not met him before?’

‘No. Well, I wasn’t very—’ Natalie sought the right word. ‘I wasn’t very approving. She’s still married. Only, after Ned’s death and everything, her and Will, well they, they just sort of fell apart.’

‘So,’ Kenton prodded her carefully back onto the right track. ‘The boyfriend?’

‘He’s an MP. Rafe Longley, his name is. Terribly respectable, I’m sure, but just not – well. You know.’

‘Right. So you hadn’t met Mr Longley.’

‘I chose to ignore it, I’m afraid. And I’m not much good on politics anyway. Don’t know my cabinet ministers from my cabinet makers.’ She seemed almost defensive. ‘I leave that kind of thing to my hubby. Anyway, I did look him up this morning, on the computer, after I went round and Claudie was gone, when Brendan said I was stupid,’ she sniffed, loudly, ‘and I realise now he wasn’t the man I left in the flat. It was someone else altogether.’ She began to wail. ‘Oh, God.’

‘Please, Mrs Lord,’ Kenton was firm. ‘Calm yourself. What makes you think your sister is missing?’

‘Her shoes. She hasn’t taken her shoes, or her bag. Her purse is here. So’s her phone. And her bed—’ Kenton could hardly understand a word now, she was crying so hard. ‘Her bed is unmade. Claudie always, always makes her bed. Even when Ned died, she made her bed. Once she got out of it.’





MONDAY 24TH JULY CLAUDIE



I realised that I had to get out of here. I had to tell someone about this evil; this final ‘divine message’.

I made it as far as the window. The sky seemed vertical almost, it was so immense, and the moon floated, suspended between banks of cloud. All I could see was the perimeter of the farm we were on, and the broad sweep of the land beyond, no buildings, no road. Somewhere, not so very far away, was the sea; I could sense the salt in the air.

I tried the casement window. It opened a little, but not enough to get through, even if I could unscrew the bars. Down in the yard, an old white Golf was parked beside an ancient tractor. I wondered who had the car key.

I tried the door. It was locked.

I sat back on the bed. I read a pamphlet so thoughtfully left for me.


UTOPIA vs. DYSTOPIA? it screamed.

Some people call it brain-washing: this is undoubtedly an evil concept. We come together to celebrate life, and to rid the world of its narcisstic content. We are ruining this planet, this earth, soon there will be nothing left, if we don’t act NOW!!



Narcissistic was spelt wrong.

I thought about the memories that I was struggling with. I had been brainwashed perhaps, hypnotised somehow. I thought of last Thursday night, of coming round in Rafe’s porch. I thought of Rafe.

Rafe.

I had a sudden feeling of absolute horror. He had been at the Academy’s charity event at Sadler’s Wells. He had access to the students. Then I pushed the thoughts away. It couldn’t be Rafe. But I saw the lost souls he’d described; I saw that smooth charm at work, the easy interest he had in everyone; the beguiling way he drew you in.

Rafe couldn’t be the Archangel – could he?

And where did Tessa fit in? Had she been part of this too, a Daughter of Light?

I wondered how many more girls the Archangel had got his claws into. Why?

Why had been a big question in my life since Ned died. Why him? Why us? Why not someone else?

All the days after, it had ricocheted round my brain, that tiny word, until I could have screamed with the pain of it bouncing off the sides. Relentless, small word, banging off my skull.

With growing dread, I contemplated the hours I’d lost the morning of the explosion.

What had I done?





Sadie brought me soup the colour of mud – lentils apparently – and some kind of fresh juice. She sat at the end of my bed until I attempted to eat a little, but again it was largely unpalatable, and anyway, I didn’t trust them now. As soon as I raised the spoon to my mouth, she stood again, and I slid the bowl away.

‘How long have you been here?’ I asked her as she wafted around the room, fiddling with things, as if she were a house-proud mother.

Sadie shrugged. ‘Time is immaterial. It counts for nothing.’

Oh, God.

‘I bide my time and I wait.’ She gazed out of the window. ‘I can sense the sea you know, from here. It is so beautiful. The true universe.’

Something jarred.

‘So, you believe in purity?’

‘Yes.’ She turned back to me. ‘It is our creed.’

‘I see.’ I knew I had to phrase myself carefully. ‘So, if it is your creed, do you think you could explain something to me; something I don’t understand? It would really help me.’

‘Sure.’ She sat at the end of my bed now. On the back of her left hand some kind of intricate flower was drawn in henna.

‘What’s that?’ I pointed.

‘That?’ She looked down and extended her hand towards me. ‘That is the lotus flower. The symbol of pureness.’

‘I see.’ I didn’t see at all. ‘So my question then is. I think you were dancing – dancing at the club called Sugar and Spice?’

‘Sometimes, yes,’ she nodded earnestly.

‘But that – I mean, you can’t call that club a “pure” place? It’s a money-making, sleazy, sexist empire—’ I saw her frown. ‘Sorry. I’m just – I’m not very keen on them. I think they exploit women.’

‘Only if they let themselves be exploited,’ she snapped, her Northern accent suddenly harsh, and for a second I glimpsed a little of what I remembered of Sadie from the Academy.

‘I see.’

‘Anyway,’ she regained her equilibrium quickly, ‘I did it for the cause.’

This girl had been truly brainwashed.

‘For the cause?’

‘Any money I made went to the cause. I give myself wholly.’

‘Who took you there?’

‘What do you mean?’ She looked impatient.

‘Who persuaded you to dance for “the cause”?’

‘Ah,’ she smiled now, slowly. ‘That would be telling. All will become clear, Claudie, all will reveal itself when the time’s right. Now,’ she held out my glass. ‘Drink your juice. It’s good for you.’

I saw myself standing at the bar in Sugar and Spice with the fat man, Larry. I saw myself on my hands and knees being kicked down by an indifferent tattooed Russian called Andrei. Kick a dog when it’s down …

‘You know all those nicknames the Archangel uses,’ I said slowly. Automatically I took a sip from the glass.

‘They’re not nicknames, Claudie,’ Sadie looked sorrowful, as if I had misunderstood, ‘they are the true being.’

‘Right. Whatever. I think I know another one.’ I tried to pull myself up to a sitting position. I was starting to feel a little floaty again myself. ‘The Pied Piper. Right?’

She stared at me with her slanted blue eyes, and shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never heard the Archangel called that. Never. That was Tessa. Tessa brought us to the Archangel. And for that we were grateful. Until she changed her mind.’





MONDAY 24TH JULY SILVER



Claudie Scott’s flat did indeed look like the home of a woman who had left in a hurry. It was rather empty, as if she was merely passing through, and very tidy – except for one kitchen cupboard that had been upended and a carrier bag lying on the floor with just an old receipt in it. There was no doubt that all the everyday things – purse, credit cards, phone, keys, were all still there. She, on the other hand, most definitely wasn’t.

Natalie Lord was waiting for them. She was a tear-stained pregnant mess, wringing her plump hands over and over, her jaunty little silk scarf askew.

‘What can you do?’ she kept asking. ‘My sister’s obviously been kidnapped.’

‘That’s a big conclusion to come to, Mrs Lord.’ Silver led her to a chair and made her sit whilst Kenton, who’d filled him in briefly on Claudie Scott on the way there, started to search the flat. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Well, just look. And the water was still running in the shower when I got here.’

Not much to go on, thought Silver, given that we don’t actually know she’s been taken. But he had to agree, it was one missing female too many.

‘We’ll put her description out immediately, nationwide,’ he soothed Natalie. ‘And we’ll be calling a press conference as soon as possible. But first, I need you to give me some details. Tell me a little about her, and what’s been happening in her life recently.’

‘I don’t really know,’ Natalie sniffed. ‘She’s so private, my big sister. Very independent. Since Ned died, and she and Will split up—’

‘Ned was her son, yes? And Will?’

‘Will Scott. Her husband.’

‘Can you give me details?’ Silver pressed her. ‘Where does he live?’

‘In their old house, I think. In Richmond. He’s been in the States working. Claudie—’ she started sobbing again. ‘Claudie couldn’t bear to be there any more. In that house. She’s been pretty – sick.’

‘Sick?’

‘She’s been under, you know. Psychiatric care.’ Natalie looked apprehensive; embarrassed even. ‘She – had a kind of breakdown when her son died. It’s hard to explain.’

A warning bell sounded with Silver. A grieving mother who’d had a breakdown was not the same MO as the missing dancers. He thought fleetingly of his own wife.

‘Sir,’ Kenton was behind him in the galley kitchen. ‘Look at this. The same as in Lethbridge’s flat.’

She came round the breakfast bar to show him the framed tract she’d just found in the drawer.

THE SUN MAY STILL SHINE

BUT IF YOU DO NOT ACT

SOME DAY SOON

THE END WILL BE THINE



‘Any ideas?’ Silver asked Natalie.

She read it, then shook her head vehemently. ‘None.’

‘Is Claudie the religious type?’

‘Not at all.’ Natalie adjusted her little scarf fussily. ‘In fact, she refuses to ever come to church with me. And believe me,’ her mouth formed a funny little circle of outrage, ‘I have tried.’

I bet you have, Silver thought.

‘Right,’ Silver stood. ‘Let’s get cracking. We’ll give you a lift home, Mrs Lord. And I need details of the husband, the boyfriend and the psychiatrist, please.’





‘Claudie Scott did mention the psychiatrist when we questioned her about Lethbridge,’ Kenton said, after they’d dropped Natalie Lord home. ‘She was fairly reticent, and it had no relevance to anything at the time. But now, if she’s missing, well, maybe the shrink can shed some light on her disappearance. You know, her mood or something.’

‘I don’t care about her bloody mood, Lorraine. We just need to trace these f*cking purity nutters before anyone else disappears off the face of the earth.’ Silver was thoroughly fed up and Kenton was shocked that he’d sworn; it was so unlike him. He banged the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. ‘Why is this investigation moving at a snail’s pace?’

He sounded like Malloy, he realised, but the frustration was killing him, not to mention the pressure from above. He had a horrible feeling that if something didn’t click soon, another girl was going to die. He checked the time. Where the hell had the day gone?

‘Husband or nut doctor?’

‘Husband I’d say. Plus,’ Kenton indicated the Sat Nav, ‘we can pop in at the nursing home en route. Jan bloody Martin’s gone awol though, surprise surprise. She’s not returning my calls.’

‘And what about this Watson bloke? Are we any nearer at all?’

Kenton shrugged. ‘He seems to be a clever guy. He’s covered all his tracks somehow.’

As they pulled into the forecourt of St Agnes’s, a hearse was blocking the drive.

‘Another old dear checks out.’ Silver pulled the glove compartment open and dug around for gum. ‘Come on, Kenton. Let’s get on with it before Malloy’s head explodes.’

The sombre Asian nurse Pritti was following a covered stretcher down the front stairs.

‘Hello again,’ she was so demure. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid Edna passed away a few hours ago.’

Kenton gaped at her. ‘Really?’

‘Was that expected?’ Silver snapped his gum in half rather savagely. ‘It seems a bit sudden.’

‘She had been very sick.’ Pritti shook her head sadly. ‘It’s heartbreaking, of course, but now she will be at one in the clouds.’

‘I don’t suppose she got those photos she mentioned before she died?’ Kenton asked.

‘No, I’m sorry. I don’t think she had the chance to make that call.’ Pritti bowed her head. ‘I was only with her right at the end though.’

She had a strange look on her face. It was almost smug, Kenton was just thinking, when Silver spoke. He was staring at Pritti, who was fiddling with something at her neck.

‘Can you repeat that please?’

‘At one in the clouds?’ Pritti smiled with something close to rapture.

‘Why do you say that? That’s a Biblical quote, no?’ Silver asked her, his eyes narrowing. ‘Are you a practising Christian?’

‘No. But I studied the Bible of course, in school.’

‘What do you know of the Purity Alliance?’

‘Who?’ Pritti said, but a shadow crossed her face.

‘The Daughters of Light?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Beneath her neatly buttoned grey cardigan, the silver dove was just visible.

‘I think you do.’

A look of alarm crossed the nurse’s face. And then another look settled there. She gazed at the policeman and his partner. Her gaze said ‘I am ready’.

‘Kenton.’ Silver felt his pulse accelerate. ‘Speak to the undertakers and to Forensic Pathology now. We need a post mortem on Edna Lamont asap. You know the drill. And take her in.’ He nodded at the nurse.

DS Kenton looked alarmed. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Suspected murder. Put her in an interview room and grill her.’

Pritti didn’t blink, she just stared at her feet.

‘And where are you going?’

Silver put a call through to the station.

‘I want to speak to Claudie Scott’s boyfriend and the husband, before someone else dies.’





MONDAY 24TH JULY CLAUDIE



I hadn’t eaten enough for the drugs to take hold properly this time, but it meant I was empty and weak, too. I slept for a bit in an attempt to raise my strength. Later, when Sadie took me to the bathroom, I concentrated on working out the layout of the house a little better. The narrow wooden stairs were only feet away from my room; I guessed the kitchen was beneath it because I could often hear the low rumbling of voices through the bare floorboards, though never clearly enough to understand exactly what they said.

‘Sadie,’ I heard the woman called Miriam call. ‘I need a hand to prepare the package.’

‘I’ll be down now.’ Sadie was vague, distracted.

‘The package?’ I asked innocently. ‘What’s that?’

‘That,’ she turned to me, ‘is the answer.’

She left the room.

It was dark outside, and I heard the patter of rain beginning.

I didn’t know how many women were in the house, or how hard it would be to escape them, but it was clear to me that if I did not act, a new atrocity was about to be carried out sometime very soon. My hands were untied now and they, apparently, were busy with their package.

I had nothing to lose.

I had to make a break for it.





MONDAY 24TH JULY SILVER



Silver was unimpressed by Will Scott, Claudie’s husband. Weak was the word he’d have used to describe him. Even his face seemed a little feeble – mouth too girlish, sandy hair too long and all on end, his eyes wary.

‘It seems indisputable that Claudie has disappeared,’ Silver informed the man brusquely.

‘Disappeared?’ Scott paled. ‘Are you sure?’

‘It definitely looks that way, I’m afraid. And we need any clue whatsoever to help find her. When did you last see your wife?’

‘I’ve only seen her once in the past year,’ Will Scott was immediately defensive. ‘Last Friday.’

‘And that was because—?’

‘I wanted to talk. I suppose I—’ He trailed off.

Silver waited. He had learnt over time that silence was more likely to encourage people to open up and talk.

‘I suppose I thought perhaps we’d get back together.’

‘But?’

‘But that’s not going to happen. We’ve both moved on.’ He fiddled with his pencil sharpener.

‘I believe Claudie has a new boyfriend.’

‘I don’t think I’m the person to ask about that, DCI Silver.’ Will Scott’s fingertips went white where he was holding the pencil too tight. So he did care. ‘I’ve never met him, anyway.’

‘Claudie’s sister Natalie thinks she’s been kidnapped.’

‘Natalie always did have a sense of the dramatic.’ Will rolled his eyes.

‘Did you think she might be – suicidal?’

Now Will Scott looked really shocked. ‘Claudie? I bloody hope not. No, not now, I don’t think. She’s pretty tough. Even if she has lost it a little.’

Charming, Silver thought.

‘Sorry, not lost it.’ Too late, Scott looked sheepish. ‘You know what I mean.’

Not really, thought Silver. He waited again.

‘I just couldn’t reach Claudia after the death of our son,’ the other man went on. ‘No one could really. It was like she shut down.’

‘Blamed herself?’ Silver asked carefully. He thought of Lana. Perhaps he did understand.

‘I guess. But there was nothing she could have done. He got ill, a rare genetic disorder, nothing could be done – and that was that. Ned.’ Will Scott looked out of the window, his hands clenched tight. Silver gave him a minute before continuing.

‘And the psychiatric help?’

‘I helped find Helen Ganymede just before I left for America. She was recommended.’

‘By whom?’

‘I’m not sure now. There were so many names mooted.’

‘Really?’

‘Whatever you may think of me,’ he met Silver’s gaze now, almost challenging him, ‘I was worried about my wife. Helen’s an expert in her field; she’s even written books about disassociating.’

‘Disassociating?’

‘Trauma causing the brain to shut down. It can lead to something called multiple personality disorder – though I don’t think it ever manifested itself that badly in Claudie.’ He looked thoroughly uncomfortable. ‘But she became very remote, and she lost periods of time.’

‘Lost?’

‘Couldn’t remember stuff. At all.’

‘Right. And when you saw her, did she give any indication she might be planning to go away?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Have you heard of the Daughters of Light?’

‘No,’ Scott shook his head.

‘The Purity Alliance?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Because two girls from the Academy where Claudia works have died in self-propagated incidents. A third is missing, as is your wife. We believe they’ve come under some sort of – cult influence.’

‘What, and you think Claudie might be next?’ her husband scoffed. ‘Pull the other one. She’s hardly a suicide bomber.’

‘I’m rather more afraid,’ Silver said seriously, ‘that she might have found out something that put her in danger.’

‘I see. Well, there was the break-in—’ Will Scott spoke slowly.

‘What break-in?’

‘The night I went to see her. Someone had got into her flat. Nothing was taken, but they wrote something on the wall. From that Ring a Ring o’ Roses rhyme. She didn’t seem very rattled, that’s what I thought was odd. She just scrubbed it off again.’

‘What did he write?’

‘I’ll show you. I took a photo on my phone.’

He reached for his iPhone. Typical, Silver thought. Scott was exactly the type of man to own one.

‘Atishoo Atishoo, We all fall down,’ Silver read. The rhyme, he knew, was written about sickness; influenza, he had a vague inkling.

Promising death.





Craven called Silver just as he was clearing Security at the Commons.

‘Wait till you see what we’ve just got our hands on,’ Craven was more revved-up than he’d been in the past few days. ‘That little bitch’s suicide message.’

‘Whose?’ Silver held his arms up so the guard could swipe him down.

‘Stuart’s. Anita f*cking Stuart. F*cking DVD, just like the Jihadis. Eyes blazing, the whole shebang. Only she’s not doing it for seven bleeding virgins. She’s doing it for the greater good of the world.’

‘Where did it come from?’ Silver was perplexed. Why send it so long after the event?

‘There’s a note with it, guv. From whoever’s pulling the strings. Promising retribution for the destruction of the natural world.’





Claudie Scott did not have particularly good taste in men, Silver thought, as he sat opposite Rafe Longley in his House of Commons office. He could see that Longley was good-looking and from the way he spoke on the phone, undoubtedly charming. But there was something fake about him, and something rather peacock-like. Silver was surprised the man wasn’t a Tory.

‘Sorry,’ said Rafe, hanging the phone up with a smile Silver did not believe, pushing back his thick hair. Forty-something, and trying for thirty-five. ‘Busy busy busy. Only just got back from my constituency.’

‘Which is where?’ Silver enquired politely.

‘Norwich North.’

Silver’s ears pricked up. ‘Norfolk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nice picture,’ Silver indicated a colourful Russian icon on the wall behind Rafe’s desk, absorbing the man’s words.

‘Just something I picked up on my travels. Visiting St Petersburg for work, I believe.’

And no doubt worth a fortune. Longley had an invite on his desk to the Royal Opera House event on Tuesday 25th July, Silver noticed.

‘Ballet fan?’

‘Not really, but the department likes to be – diverse. Martial arts and comedy are more my cup of tea – but it pays to be fair to all.’

‘So you’re in the Culture Department?’

‘If you can call it that,’ the other man joked. ‘Culture! It’s a broad remit these days. Fancy a toilet as art?’

Silver didn’t laugh. He didn’t like Longley, he knew that much already.

‘So. You met Claudie Scott where?’

‘At a do in January. Sadler’s Wells, I think.’

‘How?’

‘Someone introduced us.’

‘Who?’

‘God,’ the other man narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the question, ‘it’s hard to remember. Someone from the Academy possibly.’

Silver was very careful not to show a flicker of emotion. ‘Not the teacher Tessa Lethbridge by any chance?’

‘That odd bod? No,’ Longley shrugged. ‘But I did meet her later, through Claudie. She was very – passionate, shall we say. About ballet – and about Claudie.’

Silver kept hearing this.

‘And you last saw her when?’

‘Who?’

‘I meant Claudie, actually, but you can tell me about Tessa too.’

‘Tragic that she died,’ Longley went for sincere now. Unconvincingly. He had a slight look of a young Blair, Silver observed. ‘Funny old bird. All those lies. I wasn’t entirely surprised, I must say.’

Silver drew his Ace from the pack.

‘Did you know Claudie was missing?’

‘Missing?’ Rafe stared at him. ‘No. Are you sure?’

‘You really didn’t know? I thought you were an item.’

‘We – er,’ guilt crossed his face. ‘We were never really – exclusive.’

‘Exclusive?’ Silver shook his head, pretending ignorance, enjoying seeing the other man squirm.

‘You know. I mean, we went out for a while, but—’

‘Oh, I see.’ Silver was patronising. ‘You mean you had an open relationship?’

‘Well,’ Longley stacked the papers on his desk fussily, ‘maybe open would be describing it a bit – being a little – strong, you know. But Claudie never seemed that interested. In commitment. I mean, she’d been married. Still is married, I think.’

Which was doubtless what Longley liked about her: she wouldn’t get clingy. Amazing what you learnt from asking the simplest questions. Silver felt a sense of satisfaction. Battle of the Alpha males, Lana would say. And Silver loathed infidelity. It had scarred him deeply when he realised his wife had been sleeping with another man, let alone a friend. He would never be able to trust a woman in quite the same way again, he was pretty sure; he hadn’t yet.

‘So when did you last see her?’

‘On Thursday night, I think. Over a week ago.’

‘And what happened then? You split up?’

‘No, not then.’ Longley was increasingly disconcerted, that was obvious. His handsome face didn’t change, but there was a look in his eyes that Silver recognised. ‘I found her unconscious outside the flat, actually. It was a bit scary.’

The look of a cornered animal before it attempts to flee.

‘Unconscious?’ Silver frowned. ‘Is this normal behaviour for Claudie Scott?’

‘No, absolutely not.’ Longley was vehement; finally telling the truth. ‘We were meant to go out to dinner and she never turned up at the restaurant. When I got home, having not reached her on the phone, I found her slumped in my front porch. She suffered terrible migraines sometimes. I just thought she’d taken too much medication and passed out.’

‘So then what happened?’

‘I put her to bed, and in the morning she was fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Well,’ Longley’s discomfort was almost painful now. ‘I say fine, she seemed fine. I left her asleep and probably went to the gym before coming to the House. I do most mornings.’

‘I see. And that was the last you saw of her?’

‘Yes. Oh no – wait,’ he paused for thought. ‘I popped round to see her in the week. Wednesday, perhaps? I felt bad. She’s a lovely woman. Just a bit – damaged.’

‘We’re all damaged, aren’t we, Mr Longley?’ Silver smiled pleasantly. ‘I’d be worried if an adult over the age of twenty-one didn’t have some kind of – what do they call it now? Baggage.’

‘Yes, well,’ Rafe Longley frowned. ‘Claudie more so than most, I’d say.’

‘She lost a child, Mr Longley, I believe. No worse trauma for a parent.’

‘Yes, of course.’ The MP shot his cuffs in a gesture that Silver recognised in himself. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t have kids yet.’

Silver could believe it.

‘Claudia was last seen yesterday afternoon, in her flat, where a man whom her sister believed to be you was waiting for her.’ Silver scrutinised Longley’s face as he spoke. ‘She hasn’t been seen since.’

‘Me?’ Longley stared at him. ‘Sorry – I don’t understand.’

‘Her sister Natalie, having not met you, believed him to be you when he arrived. He was tallish, over six foot, with dark hair, and a beard. He let her call him Rafe. Does that description ring any bells?’

‘No,’ Longley shook his head, looking, to his credit, more than a little upset now. ‘I feel terrible now.’

‘I need any pointers you can give me.’

Longley stood now, clearly agitated, knocking a greeting card on his desk onto the floor. ‘Christ. Poor Claudie. What do you think’s happened to her?’

‘That, Mr Longley,’ Silver gave him the benefit of a half-smile, and picked up the card, ‘is what I need to find out as soon as possible.’

The card showed Raphael’s ‘The Annunciation’, the Angel Gabriel talking to Mary. Silver recognised it from taking Ben round the V&A last October half-term for his history of art A level.

It was signed ‘With thanks from Tessa’.

‘For my namesake,’ Rafe Longley smiled uneasily. ‘The picture. I got her in to have tea at the Commons. You know what these foreigners are like. Old-style crazy.’





Silver left the House of Commons in the drizzle, wondering whether he could take Rafe Longley in, but he had no real evidence other than a few bits of circumstantial. He headed for Helen Ganymede’s house in Hampstead. When he’d called her at nine, she had been understanding about the lateness of the hour.

‘Of course you must come now,’ she said. ‘If Claudie is in any sort of danger at all, I’d like to help.’

Helen Ganymede’s house was the kind of house featured in television comedies about happy families, or adverts about tired, dirty teenagers returning home from Glastonbury to their patient mum. It was large and solid and homely, unlike Helen, who was slight, almost ethereal, her skin pale and lightly freckled, dressed elegantly in a silk shirt and trousers. Silver tried to guess her age, which was hard; older than him, he thought; probably around fifty. For a moment he wondered if they’d met before, but he knew they hadn’t.

She offered Silver coffee, which he accepted gladly. ‘Long day,’ he murmured.

‘What’s happened to Claudie?’ she frowned as she percolated a fresh cafetiere.

‘She’s disappeared. Of her own volition, or because she’s been taken, I’m not sure yet.’

‘Taken?’ Helen looked up, shocked.

‘We’re concerned she may have become mixed up in some kind of cult preying on Royal Ballet Academy students. The two girls who have killed themselves, Anita Stuart and Meriel Steele, there are definite links; and another girl’s missing.’

‘I see.’ Helen pulled her grey hair into a graceful knot. ‘I have been a little worried again recently about Claudie, it has to be said.’

‘Why?’

‘A few things.’ Helen poured the coffee into fine white bone china. ‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Cream would be nice, thanks.’

She opened the fridge. ‘For instance, she had a fantasy about being chased the other day. First time she’s had one of those in a while; probable paranoid delusion. And I’ve been aware the thing with Tessa Lethbridge might be problematic. They were very close. I think Claudie felt – betrayed.’

‘By her mistaken identity?’

‘Yes. Can’t say I blame her.’

‘You knew Tessa?’ Silver watched the cream swirl neatly round the cup.

‘I met her once when she came to see if I would take her on.’ Helen was matter-of-fact. ‘I couldn’t, because she was such good friends with Claudie. It’s unethical, you see.’

‘So you wouldn’t have a feeling about how involved she might have been with this group the Daughters of Light?’

Silver heard the front door opening, and glanced round as Helen lifted a hand in greeting. A man in a flat cap and mac was shaking an umbrella in the hall behind them; he grunted a greeting back.

‘Dog walking waits for no husband, rain or shine,’ she said with a smile, though Silver thought he sensed a new tension in her slight frame. A small spaniel bounced into the room and bounced out again, leaving dirty paw-prints on the gleaming tiles. The man in the hallway called him.

‘Kipper. Here, boy.’

‘No, I can imagine.’ Silver turned back to Helen, who was pulling faces at the mud on her perfect floor.

‘I’ll sort it out in a sec. Sorry, you were saying?’ Helen sipped her own coffee, fiddling with the tiny gold doll on the chain around her neck. ‘Daughters of Light?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tessa certainly never mentioned anything about any group when I met her. It was very brief, of course. Our meeting.’

‘And Claudie?’

‘Claudie might be the perfect victim for a cult. They tend to pick on people who have lost something – or who are just lost generally. You know about Claudie’s son?’

‘Yes,’ Silver nodded. ‘Tragic, poor woman. And I understand this provoked some kind of serious psychological reaction?’

‘Yes exactly,’ Helen looked almost enthused. ‘That’s why she came to me in the first place. Her husband Will sent her, before he left for America. She suffered from severe disassociation when Ned died. Which means that she would split from her consciousness. And that’s what I’m afraid might have been happening again recently. You know, suffering delusions, that kind of thing.’

‘Trauma’s a powerful thing.’ Silver thought of his own wife. He’d love to ask Helen a few questions about Lana now. ‘But she didn’t ever mention the cult?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

Silver’s phone rang. It was Kenton. ‘Sorry, do you mind?’ He stood, moved to the side of the room to answer it, gazing at the banks of framed photos on the sturdy Welsh dresser.

‘Eureka moment!’

He could tell Kenton had been dying to say that for ages.

‘Pritti Vershani has just given up the location of the retreat. It’s a farmhouse on the Holkham estate.’ Kenton was almost breathless. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We’d better get up there. Do you have an exact address?’

‘Kind of. Shall I call Norfolk?’

‘Yes, but I want to be there.’ The adrenaline began to pump into his bloodstream. The thrill of the chase. ‘How long will it take to drive to Holkham?’

‘About two hours apparently, this time of night.’

‘Well, nothing’s likely to happen in those two hours is it?’ He looked out at Helen’s garden, shrouded in darkness, the rain driving at the window now, wondering if he could take the risk of not sending uniform round there immediately. He needed to be there, that was the truth. ‘I’ll pick you up. Anything else?’

‘I finally got hold of Jan Martin. She has confirmed that Lethbridge does look like Lamont.’

‘Right. Any news on Watson?’

‘No, guv.’ Kenton was rueful. ‘He’s a sticking point still.’

‘Good news?’ Helen asked as Silver hung up. ‘Have you found her?’

‘Claudie? Possibly. Not sure yet. Have to go to Norfolk and look.’

‘I wonder—’ she began, then broke off.

‘What?’ He took a final swig of coffee, standing beneath the huge Renaissance print on the kitchen wall. Too many fat little cherubs for Silver’s taste; a huge blue sky and wispy clouds.

‘Should I come with you? Would that help?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He looked at the woman, calculating; he glanced at the photos on the side while he contemplated her words. ‘We have no guarantee that we will find Claudie, of course.’

‘Of course. Oh, but I hope you do. I’d hate for anything to happen to the poor girl.’ Helen’s grey eyes were filled with hope. ‘I’ve become so fond of her. I really would be glad to accompany you.’

‘Come on then, Mrs Ganymede.’ Silver made a snap decision. ‘Let’s get cracking.’ He could ask her thoughts on Rafe Longley as they travelled.

She smiled with relief. ‘Brilliant. Let me just tell my husband, and I’ll be right with you.’