‘I know. But I know you, and I know you’re suffering. And I could ease that pain, even if it doesn’t seem like it today. Surely finding out the truth about Mary would put her spirit to rest? What’s stopping you?’

‘That if it is him, then I’m guessing I’ll be next.’

Chapter 30

Carry Tomlin drove to a remote wooded area south of Keswick, and towards Thirlmere. The address she’d been given was a campsite at the foot of the Helvellyn range. The road on Thirlmere’s eastern shoreline was dotted with car parks, and was a popular starting point for those wanting a short, sharp, tough climb to the summit of the majestic Helvellyn. Most walkers used Glenridding as a base, and meandered through the rolling valleys of Birkhouse Moor to get to the iconic peak; fewer used the road next to the Thirlmere Reservoir. She had no idea if her contact was a hiker, a camper or simply using the location because of the sensitivity of the subject. A public place was commonly the preferred site for a clandestine meeting with a nervous informer. It meant that if the volunteer changed his or her mind, then they could walk away without being coerced or making a fuss. She’d had dozens of prank calls about her recent articles, but this one seemed genuine, and the caller appeared to know much about the occult and the prevalence of various groups around north Cumbria. Carry couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by, and she gladly agreed to meet the stranger.

It was a perfect Lakes day and she hummed to a pop song on the radio. For her age, her career had begun a startling upward trajectory recently, and she was loving every minute of it. It was a chance conversation with a university lecturer that had got her started on the topic of the occult and its links to crime. She was fully aware that the vast majority of covens (that was the official word for a gathering of Pagans) were peaceful, spiritual and non-threatening entities. However, there was growing evidence to suggest that the dark arts were making a comeback due to the godlessness and chaos of modern life. There was a real feeling that spiritualism was lacking in the world, and a few notable figures had begun looking for alternatives to organised religion. It was estimated that nineteen covens existed in Cumbria alone and her whistleblower had told her that Mary Hales was a member of one of them.

It was the kind of lead that makes one’s palms sweaty and the heart race. If true, the news could potentially make for a ground-breaking article of journalistic content in the possession of no one else. She’d tried to interview other members of Mary’s coven, without success.