‘Hang on, you want this … demon … you actually want it mad?’ Darrell asked. He sat on the arm of the sofa next to his son. He had been quiet for a while, but Janine could tell he was starting to get worked up. How could he not? With every minute that passed, the idea of a manic demon targeting them seemed to feel even more real to Janine, harder to brush off as paranoia or imagination.

  ‘It’s a necessity, I’m afraid, Mr Morris. You see, we need to know what this is. We need its name. In order to find that out, we have to engage with it, distract it. The more agitated it gets, the more forthcoming it will be. Only once I have its name will I have any power over it, and a chance of casting it out.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ Janine asked, not liking how weak her voice sounded. She had not topped up her wine and was now longing for more. The pressure in the room was unbearable.

  ‘I won’t lie. Yes, yes, it could be.’ Catherine’s voice was low, sincere. It bit right into Janine, who sagged against her husband at the response. ‘The more angry this presence gets, the more risk there is.’

  ‘That’s why we wanted you all together,’ Marcus chimed in, leaning against the fireplace, having evidently finished his set-up. ‘There’s strength in the family unit, something in our favour, but it could go after any one of you, should you be apart when we contact it.’ Marcus’s expression was more stern and his eyes darker. Though he had one hand in his pocket and his stance was casual, he did not look relaxed.

  As one, the candles flickered. Shadows bloomed around the room, hoops of light swirling across the ceiling to cast twisted shadows off ornaments and light fixtures. Everyone fell silent. No windows were open and no breeze had fluttered in. Just as quickly as they had begun to flicker, the flames fell still again and the shadows calmed.

  ‘We’re not alone,’ Catherine announced. Janine felt her heart skip. Anna whimpered, and Catherine put her finger to her lips. The teenager kept quiet but took her little sister’s hand, her eyes wide. Emma used her other hand to angle her soft toy out at the room, as though letting the snowman see for himself what was going on.

  ‘Everyone, stay very still,’ Catherine whispered, holding one hand out as she surveyed the room. Marcus retrieved another wooden cross from his bag on the floor but kept hold of it instead of setting it down like the others.

  Janine watched Catherine closely, studying her body language. The woman was elegant, almost regal, in the flickering light, but there was something unsettling about her that Janine couldn’t name.

  Then Catherine spun so quickly towards the door that Janine jumped.

  ‘Did anyone hear that?’ Catherine asked, her voice a murmur. No one nodded, as though they were scared to move. ‘Marcus, could you check? We need it here but it seems ... hesitant.’

  ‘Or it’s messing with us,’ he responded. He walked across the room nonetheless and slowly opened the door to the hallway, still holding the cross. Janine swallowed as Marcus headed out of sight. She felt like she might pass out, and was fighting the urge to grab her children and flee.

  ‘I need to establish dominance. It needs to come to me, not me to it,’ Catherine explained, not turning to the family but surveying the ceiling, the edges of the room, the darkening corners.

  ‘What’s that gross smell?’ Joe asked. His voice dripped with disgust as he wriggled around on the sofa, his nostrils flaring.

  ‘I don’t smell–’ Darrell started, but the words stopped in his mouth. He sniffed.

  ‘I can – it’s, like, rotten or something. Oh God, it’s here, isn’t it?’ Anna squealed.

  ‘Marcus!’ Catherine called, her voice startlingly loud in contrast to the previous hush. ‘It’s here!’

  Marcus bounded back into the sitting room, cross still in hand. On the shelving unit next to him a photo frame fell over with the sound of cracking glass.

  ‘Did you do that?’ Janine asked, her pulse starting to pound. Marcus shook his head, the cross held to his chest.

  ‘Demon!’ Catherine called out. ‘Your time here is up! You have been tormenting this family for too long, and you need to leave!’ Her voice bellowed, deep and resonating. Janine put one hand up to her mouth, glancing at her husband to check his reaction. He looked as scared as she felt, his mouth slightly open, as though not quite believing the situation. The children huddled closer together.

  ‘The strength of this family is better than you, their love is stronger than you. You will not find what you need here. Leave!’ Catherine yelled. Then she fell quiet. The Morrises stared at her, not sure what to expect. The candles continued to flicker, but Janine thought it was getting darker. She looked from flame to flame.

  ‘Have they…’ she mumbled. Darrell followed her finger, which pointed around the room. The flames had died down to almost nothing, minuscule buds where there had been healthy golden tongues.

  ‘Shit,’ Darrell muttered. Emma didn’t giggle at this curse, only gripped her soft toy tighter.

  ‘Dad?’ Anna moaned.

  ‘Ssh,’ Catherine whispered, again putting her hand out to silence them. They fell quiet, waited. Then they all heard it: a rattling, like an object being moved. Catherine flicked her gaze around the room, then so did the others. All searched for the source of the sound. Anna yelped when the cross on the mantelpiece fell on its side. Everyone stared at it – everyone except Catherine, that is. She pulled a necklace out from under the collar of her blouse to reveal a small silver cross, then she held it up and out to the room.

  ‘What is your name, demon?’ she asked, not yelling any more. The rattling was back. They all stared around the room.

  ‘Oh God,’ Janine whimpered when the cross on the coffee table trembled and fell over, just like the first. Darrell stood up, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He pulled at his collar, taking deep breaths before swigging the last of his whisky. Janine had walked past Catherine to grab his hand when a guttural whine froze her on the spot. Her heart lurched in her chest at the unnatural sound.

  ‘Catherine?’ Marcus said, concern spearing his tone, tilting his head, his eyes wide. Janine turned slowly, not wanting to see the woman but needing to more than anything. She couldn’t help gasping. Catherine stood bolt upright, her arms flat at her side, her legs tight together, but her head was tilted back and she was staring at the ceiling. Everyone went quiet as broken, scratchy words started to tumble from Catherine’s mouth.

  ‘Scarruss … adraam … pracasaasiss…’ The words stretched out from Catherine’s mouth slowly, hissing and rough, reverberating around the room as they got louder.

  ‘Adramelech!’ Catherine yelled in a deep voice that was booming and alien. Emma screamed and burrowed into Anna’s side. Janine wanted to grab her family and run, overwhelmed by the need to get them out of the house and away. Darrell moved closer to the hallway door. Janine thought he had the same idea. His eyes were wide in horror. She met his stare for just a second. Do you believe me now?

  ‘Adramelech? Is that your name?’ Marcus asked the room, closing in on Catherine but looking up and around him. The woman fell silent. Then her head began to turn, ever so slowly, until she was looking at Marcus, her eyes open yet glassy. As one, the three crosses on the shelves toppled over. Without a word, Darrell bolted out of the room into the hallway.

  ‘Darrell!’ Janine went to follow him but Marcus blocked her way, an arm stretched out in front of her.

  ‘Stay with the children!’ he snapped. She jumped backwards, shocked at his aggression.

  ‘Demon, I know your name. I have dominion here; you have no power.’ He began to speak in what sounded like Latin, holding out his cross towards Catherine. As he spoke, the words came faster, spilling over his lips, spittle sprayed and his voice got louder until he was shouting. Janine grabbed for her children, who were bunched up behind her, terrified of what was happening yet utterly unable to act.

  Marcus shouted one last word, then touched the cross to Catherine’s forehead. She dropped to the floor, her body limp. The silence was so sudden that Janine thought for a second she had gone deaf. The kids didn’t move. Marcus didn’t either, except to look down at the woman. The whole room was still, the candles not even flickering.

  ‘Look,’ Joe whispered after a few seconds, pointing to Catherine, whose hand was twitching, fingers tapping softly on the carpet. Like life returning to a corpse, she gasped and sat up, her eyes wide, her hands behind her to steady her.

  ‘What … what happened?’ she asked, her voice dry. She pushed her hair back from her face, breathing deeply. All eyes were on her. Then the unmistakable sound of glass shattering from somewhere else in the house pulled everyone’s gaze towards the hallway. The door was still open, shadows pooling beyond.

  ‘Darrell?’ Janine called, her voice barely a whisper. She took a step towards the door, a hand held behind her, signalling the children to stay put. She called out again, then paused. She had heard something – a shuffling sound, or feet scuffing across the floor. A dark silhouette burst into the hallway, slamming against the wall.

  She screamed. ‘Oh God, Darrell!’ She went to grab hold of him, but something stopped her. Darrell stumbled forward, sliding against the wall, and light fell on his face. His eyes were rolled back, the whites exposed. Saliva frothed around his mouth and dribbled down onto his shirt. A painful growl came from deep in his throat. As Janine stood there, terror-stricken, wanting to take him in her arms but unable to move, Darrell dropped to the floor.

  Her head pounding so much she feared she would pass out, Janine lowered herself, one hand steadying herself, the other touching her husband’s chest. It was still. As the tears broke and her mind screamed out silently, she heard someone behind her. Not turning, her body shaking as she fought to understand what had happened, Janine felt a touch on her shoulder.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Catherine whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  The search for a weapon in the garage was a bust – not that anyone was surprised. Even though it was relatively tidy, the place was brimming with tools, some in their rightful place, many not, and it was impossible to work out what might have been missing. A small lead had been found, in the form of a box, with an indentation in its fabric lining that suggested maybe a knife was meant to be kept inside it. Daniel and Charlie hoped it would prove to be the same knife that had been used to kill Rogan Simmons, but without the weapon itself it was of little use. Daniel suggested that Cassandra could have taken the knife on one of her visits to the garage to see Simmons, but it was just a guess. He had no way of proving this.

  UV lights provided a glimpse of the path Jason Tagoe’s killer took to leave the crime scene. A few drops of wiped-up blood led towards the main door to the building, but no spots had shown up on any of the equipment. The CSIs agreed that whoever had killed Tagoe had most likely taken the weapon with them, no doubt ditching it somewhere later. A perimeter search had been ordered, taking in the streets surrounding the garage, but nothing had been found.

  The body had been taken to the mortuary in Haringey. There was no need for an autopsy, as it was obvious how Tagoe had died. They hoped to find trace fibres, cells or marks – anything to illuminate the case.

  When he left the garage, Daniel found himself even more frustrated than when he had looked down at Rogan Simmons’ body. There was simply nothing solid to go on. Without any suspects, and two victims with no obvious ties to anything nefarious, finding a motive for the deaths was nigh-on impossible, though they would canvass the area and check CCTV. That could give them something.

  After leaving the crime scene, Charlie Palmer was called away to meet another inspector on an unrelated case. That meant Daniel took ownership of the tattoo lead uncovered by Sergeant Amelia Harding. He was not convinced it would lead to anything, but it was currently all they had. He was outside the Costa on Finchley high street a few minutes down from the studio, an iced coffee in hand, enjoying the late afternoon sun that warmed his face, when he heard Amelia call out to him.

  ‘Wake up,’ she said with a grin, pulling her sunglasses up to rest on her head as she came to a stop next to him.

  ‘I’m awake, promise.’ Daniel smiled, shaking the drink at her. ‘Nice and caffeinated.’

  ‘Long day?’ Amelia asked.

  ‘Naturally. And Charlie being called away isn’t exactly helping. Let’s keep this short. If we can find out anything about the tattoo connection, I’ll count it as a win. After you.’ He gestured towards the shop before binning the remains of his drink.

  Amelia nodded and led the way to the entrance of Needlepoint Ink where Charlie and Daniel had been the day before. As Amelia pushed the door open and the bell above it jingled, butterflies flew a loop in Daniel’s stomach. The redhead with the magnetic smile once again sat behind the counter. Her face lit up when she saw him.

  ‘Come for that tattoo after all then, Inspector?’ She grinned. Daniel flushed instantly and Amelia looked confused, raising one eyebrow. He struggled to regain his composure, would have laughed at the thought of being caught in between two women he fancied, were it not for how awkward he was feeling. He paused to calm himself and brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Jenny, right?’ he asked, though he did not need to check her name.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And I’m Sergeant Harding,’ Amelia added, still watching Daniel.

  ‘We were hoping that someone here might be able to help us out with the investigation we mentioned yesterday.’ He pulled his phone from his pocket and found an image of the bird silhouette tattoo Amelia had discovered. ‘Do you recognise this?’

  Jenny took the phone and tapped the image to zoom in. Her smile vanished. Daniel felt a knot start to form in his stomach. Her expression was the type that never came with good news.

  ‘Yeah, actually, I do.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s a signature, only…’

  ‘What is it?’ Daniel urged as Jenny struggled to find the right words. His schoolboy feelings were completely forgotten as Jenny bit her bottom lip. Were they about to strike gold?

  ‘Well, the, er, the artist who did this, Glint, he’s … kind of … dead.’ The words hung heavy in the air, the buzz of the needles in the parlour heightening their impact. Daniel licked his lips, which felt dry and irritated. Their only new lead, and it was literally a dead one?

  ‘Can you elaborate?’ he asked slowly.

  ‘Okay, you know Banksy?’ Jenny said. ‘Who got famous from doing all those street art murals? There’s one not far from here, on the North Circular.’

  Amelia nodded. Daniel narrowed his eyes, not sure where this was headed.

  ‘Well, he got famous because he’s good, obviously, but also because no one actually knows who he is. The mystery of it all makes Banksy super-popular.’

  ‘Surely someone getting a tattoo can see who is doing it,’ Amelia interrupted. Jenny nodded and continued.

  ‘Of course, normally. But Glint did all the work with a curtain in the way, from loads of different studios. And anyone who got a tattoo by Glint would be forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement, whether they actually saw him or not, and his tattoos always came with a signature – that bird. He became pretty well known over the past few years, as much for all the dramatics as being a good artist.’

  ‘And now he’s dead.’ Daniel frowned, still unsure how this could be useful. A dead artist as a link between two murder victims and a weak-at-best suspect was hardly the light at the end of the current gloomy tunnel he felt stuck in.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.’ Jenny swivelled in her chair to type something into the computer on the counter. A few seconds later she invited them to come around the counter and see the screen, which showed a news report. ‘See? There was a fire at a convention in Manchester. Seven people died. Apparently Glint was among them, though it’s never been proven. I mean, how could they? But since then no one has seen Glint. It’s pretty weird, if you ask me, kind of pretentious.’

  Daniel got the sense that Jenny thought the idea of a mystery tattoo artist ridiculous. Her tone seemed more dismissive than before. She was about to close the page when he spotted something in the article.

  ‘Wait, can you scroll down one second?’ he asked. Amelia leant in closer next to him, curious about what he had spotted. He could smell perfume: he wasn’t sure if it was hers or Jenny’s, but he did his best to ignore it. Now was not the time.

  As the article went into more detail about Glint, who was described as a minor celebrity in the tattoo world, Daniel spotted the word ‘fortune’. It seemed that when the enigmatic Glint disappeared, what had happened to his fortune became shrouded in as much mystery as the artist himself. The article eventually dismissed most of the drama and secrecy that surrounded Glint as wild theories, even stating that the tattooist may have used the fire as an excuse to retire, but that no one would probably ever find out the truth. Still, Daniel felt more positive. It may be nothing, but it was interesting nonetheless. Money was always a good motive for murder. They would be on to something if they could connect Glint more solidly to the victims.

  ‘Jenny, thank you, that’s really useful. Amelia, shall we?’ He indicated towards the door. Amelia and Jenny frowned, surprised by the sudden resolution to the conversation.

  ‘That’s it?’ Jenny asked. ‘What did I say?’ She leant forward on the counter and Daniel smiled at her.

  ‘I think you may have found us a possible lead.’

  ‘No way! That’s ace. Glad I could help,’ she answered, her own smile stretching. She was looking directly at him and he swore for a second that they were having a moment, their eyes connected in that extra-special way. Then Amelia tapped him on the shoulder and the bubble popped.

  ‘Detective Inspector?’ she said, before thanking Jenny and heading to the door, the bell chiming above when she pulled it open.

  ‘Thanks again, Jenny,’ Daniel said as he followed his colleague, his head still turned towards Jenny.

  ‘No probs. Hope to see you again soon, maybe for that tattoo? I’m a pretty good artist myself, you know.’ This time her grin was undeniable. When she winked, Daniel had to try hard to stop himself stumbling out of the studio. As the door closed behind him, he glanced back. Jenny gave a little wave through the glass.

 

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