Hollow Pike (25 page)

Delilah said very quietly, ‘What if he’s working his way through us, one at a time?’

‘Oh, God,’ Jack cried. ‘You don’t think that’s true?’

Lis continued. ‘Someone stuck that crow in my locker. Look what happened to Laura! I don’t want to end up the same way. We have to find out who’s doing this.’

Jack wrung his hands. ‘Lis, that’s crazy. What can we do?’

‘Is it?’ Kitty replied. ‘We couldn’t do a
worse
job than my dad. He’s clueless.’

‘Please, Jack,’ Lis begged. ‘I want my life back. It’s never going to happen with all this madness going on.’

‘Lis is right,’ Delilah threw in her vote. ‘If we want any semblance of normality we need to find Laura’s killer. Before he, or she, strikes again. Until then,
we’re all in danger.’

All eyes fell on Jack who squirmed under the intense scrutiny. He was scared, and rightly so. Lis was scared too. Petrified. But Victim-Lis was in exile. It was time to fight fire with fire.
‘Come on, Jack. I need you.’

‘Sod it, I’m in,’ he announced. ‘I must be mad.’

Lis took a deep breath, not sure what she’d signed herself up for. It was terrifying, but she couldn’t have another night like this one. What was she meant to do? Hide behind her
friends for the rest of her life? She needed to be by herself without checking every shadow, looking under every bed. This was the only way. ‘Excellent. So . . . where do we start?’

Kitty sat up. ‘I think we need to know everything the police know . . . Dad’s been bringing files home with him. Give it a little while longer and practically the whole case will be
at my place, and then . . . Who’s up for a sleepover at the Chief Inspector’s house?’

That night, once Sarah and Max had returned and her friends had gone home, Lis nervously re-entered her room. Maybe refusing Kitty and Delilah’s offer to stay over had
been premature, but she hadn’t relished the prospect of being a third wheel in her own bedroom.

Lis inspected the open drawers. Why would someone want to rummage through her room? What were they hoping to find? All she had in there was T-shirts. It all seemed so random – or like she
was missing something blindingly obvious. She sighed. She hadn’t mentioned the intruder to Max and Sarah, not wanting to worry them, but worry buzzed incessantly around her skull like a
trapped fly.

Slipping out of her clothes and into her PJs, Lis pulled back the duvet. Tonight was definitely a ‘sleep with the light on’ night. Lis rolled into bed and, as she always did, slid
her hands under the pillow to warm them. Only when her fingers brushed against something hairy, did she yelp and snatch them back. God, what now? First a crow . . . but this felt smaller, like an
insect or something.

Hardly daring to breathe, Lis lifted her pillow. It was just a couple of twigs. Weird. Lifting them closer, she saw it was actually three sprigs of lavender bound together with a tatty black
ribbon. The scent was strong. If it hadn’t been for the ribbon, she’d have assumed this was something Sasha had dragged in from the garden, but paws can’t bind flowers
together.

Only hands can.

The Laura Files

Jack scratched his head, confused. ‘So there were no witches?’

‘We’re not sure,’ said Delilah. ‘The girls were doing
something
in the woods, but they deny it was witchcraft.’

Kitty grinned. ‘It might have been your usual seventeenth-century forest hijinks: Spin the Bottle, I Have Never!’

Jack slung his copy of
The Crucible
to one side. ‘So what was all the fuss about then?’

‘That’s the whole point of the play. When little Betty gets sick, everyone wants someone to blame – so they blamed the so-called witches. It’s about fear of the
unknown,’ Delilah said, chewing her pencil.

‘It’s blagging my head,’ Jack sighed. ‘Do we have to do this now? Can’t we watch a film or something?’

They were all in Kitty’s attic. The four of them lay like caterpillars in sleeping bags, nestled amidst empty pizza boxes.

‘I should be writing my
Crucible
essay . . .’ Lis worried from her prime position on the leather sofa. Two weeks had passed with no further incidents. Boring had never been so
welcome, but she knew she should really attempt homework at some point.

Jack guffawed at that. ‘No thanks. We have ice cream and we have DVDs. Why would we work? We deserve a little down time!’

‘Fair enough.’ Lis caved. ‘I’ll have another bowlful then.’ She lifted the tub from Delilah’s hand.

‘Sod it, shall we just watch
Mean Girls
again?’ Jack suggested.

‘Yes! I vote for that,’ Delilah cried, clapping her hands.

There were similar murmurs of approval from Kitty. Jack slotted the disc into the machine and joined Lis on the sofa.

This feels so good
, Lis thought. After endless hours of worry, it was a blessed relief to be doing the same thing that every other fifteen-year-old on the planet was doing. Of course, as
soon as the house was quiet, they would be doing something else entirely: playing Nancy Drew. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

‘Just gone eleven,’ Dee replied.

‘What time do you think your parents will be asleep?’

Kitty considered the question. ‘Hmm. It won’t be long. But we need to make sure. If we get caught . . .’

Lis nodded. ‘And you’re sure the stuff will be here?’

‘Dad’s been bringing work home every night since Laura died. There’s a
ton
of stuff in his study now.’

‘OK.’

‘Let’s go after the film’s finished,’ Jack suggested. ‘The coast should be clear by then.’

‘Good luck concentrating.’ Delilah rolled onto her front.

Jack pressed
Play
, and Lis tried not to think about the fate that had befallen their very own
mean girl
.

By half-past one the house was silent and dark as the friends emerged from the attic room. Kitty led the way by torchlight as they tiptoed through the sleeping house. They must
have looked so comical, straight out of
Scooby Doo
, but it didn’t seem funny at all. Lis felt acutely sick, although Keith Monroe’s snores reverberating through the walls brought
her some peace of mind.

Clinging to one another in a human train they made it past the bedroom level and edged down the stairs. Kitty indicated they should miss out a creaky step just before the next landing.

Soon they were outside the study. Kitty depressed the handle and oh-so-gently inched the door open. It whined and Kitty cursed it under her breath, stopping as soon as there was a gap big enough
for them to slide through.

Once inside, she shut the door behind them and flicked on a tall corner lamp. The office was a shrine to golf, with clubs, trophies and memorabilia cluttering the space.

‘OK, we’ll need to keep our voices down,’ Kitty said softly.

‘What are we looking for?’ Jack whispered.

In the centre of the room stood a large mahogany desk, piled with Manila folders. ‘These,’ Kitty said, picking up one of the folders. ‘The case files.’

Keith Monroe had apparently been working on the investigation well into the night; three mugs containing the dregs of black coffee surrounded the notes.

‘Don’t mess anything up,’ Kitty warned. ‘If we put things back in the wrong order, we’re dead, and Dad could lose his job if anyone found out.’

Delilah lifted a folder off the pile and handed it to Lis. ‘Knock yourself out, darling.’

Lis found an empty section of floor where she could study her folder. Did she really want to know what was inside? Yes! Taking a deep breath, she flipped the file open. Mistake. The first thing
she saw was Laura’s dead face. Close up. Blue-white skin, eyes wide open, staring into nothing. Mud and gravel studded her face like dirty jewels.

Lis did nothing, said nothing, frozen before the image. God knows how long she stared at the photo. It felt like hours. Laura was achingly beautiful, even in death. Gathering her strength, Lis
turned to the next picture. This one was a wide shot, somehow less personal, but more informative. Laura’s body had clearly been carefully positioned, not dumped. Her arms were crossed over
her chest, her legs laid out straight together. She lay in the centre of a circle carved into the earth. Within the circle, someone had etched a five-pointed star, one point down by Laura’s
feet. A pentagram.

Lis’s mouth fell open. ‘God . . . guys . . . you should see this.’

The others were studying files of their own – Delilah at the desk and Kitty and Jack on the floor like Lis.

‘Keep your voice down! What is it?’ Kitty knelt up to see better.

Lis held up the picture.

‘Oh my God!’ Jack hissed. ‘Who did that to her?’

‘That is some messed-up shit,’ agreed Kitty.

‘She was an offering.’ Delilah held up an even more graphic image from Laura’s autopsy. ‘Her heart was removed.’

Lis realised she was shaking. ‘No!’

Delilah nodded. ‘Witchcraft.’

‘They left that out of the news report,’ Jack said, eyes wide.

‘Can you blame them?’ Kitty whispered. ‘What are they gonna say, “Try not to panic, but a schoolgirl was killed in a satanic sacrifice”?’

Lis shook her head angrily. ‘This is crap! She was murdered. End of. If we go to the police and say “witches did it” they’ll have us institutionalised!’

‘Yeah,’ Kitty said. ‘At least now we know why they did it – some sort of offering.’

Lis’s eyes fell back to the picture of Laura’s face. It wasn’t fair. The fact that someone who thought they were
magical
had done this somehow made it even worse. But
was that it? Was it a witch, or was it someone who just wanted it to
look
like witchcraft? Uh, brainache.

‘Hey, listen to this,’ said Jack, leafing through crisp sheets of paper. ‘They can’t get a solid alibi for Laura’s dad!’

‘No way!’ exclaimed Delilah.

‘It’s always the parents . . .’ mused Kitty.

‘What? You think her dad is a man-witch? Is that even a thing?’ Lis asked.

‘I dunno,’ Jack went on. ‘He says he was staying at some hotel in Birmingham the night she died, but the hotel hasn’t been able to confirm it because he paid with cash.
Or so he says. They’re waiting for CCTV to clear him.’

Could it really be that simple? Laura’s dad killed her? Perhaps it was the most likely explanation. The row on the street that day had looked pretty fierce, but it just didn’t feel
right. Lis remembered the strong, solid father at the police appeal. How could anyone sit in front of a TV camera knowing they’d taken a life?

‘There’s more,’ Jack continued. ‘Mrs Rigg won’t back up his story. He says he rang her that night from Birmingham. She says he’s lying!’

‘If she thinks he killed her daughter, why would she lie for him?’ Delilah said, shuffling through her own file.

‘I’ve got Nasima’s statement.’ Kitty held it up for them to see. ‘Apparently, Laura wrote in her diary religiously, like, every day. The police are convinced that
if her dad was abusing her or something she’d have written about it. They’ve contacted Laura’s parents, but they don’t know where the diary is, and apparently Ms
Dandehunt’s reported that it isn’t at school.’

‘Hmm, so Laura might have written about the murderer?’ Delilah raised an eyebrow. ‘Dear Diary, I think my dad might kill me tonight?’

Lis sprang to her feet, crossing to look at Kitty’s document. ‘It’s possible . . . The day I went to see Laura on the rugby pitch, she was writing in a flowery notebook. I
didn’t think anything of it, but maybe it’s important. What if Laura knew someone had it in for her and wrote about it? We need to find that diary!’

‘What? Are you mental?’ Jack grimaced.

‘I’ve never been more serious. Laura was scared of the copse and she was acting weird at school, right? Maybe she knew something. Maybe she wrote it in the diary.’

Kitty looked up. ‘Lis,’ she said, ‘I know where Laura’s diary is.’

At Laura’s

‘So this is it!’ Kitty slammed a tattered photo album into the centre of the rug on the floor in her attic. The faded pages were the colour of tea where it had been
stored in unforgiving sunlight. Leafing through the cardboard sheets, Kitty rested on a page displaying a single picture.