White nodded and looked at the young man who had brought them up, now hovering by the door. ‘Thank you, Tom, that’s all for now.’

Tom, no more humanized by the use of a first name, bowed his head and backed out of the room.

‘I hope my assistant was gracious,’ White said when the creaking footsteps faded. ‘He doesn’t say much, but he’s an impeccable aide.’ He backed up and perched on the corner of his desk. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘Fascinating building,’ Hawkins observed, keen to feel him out first. ‘It must be almost priceless in this postcode.’

A courteous nod. ‘It’s Grade Two listed, so it’s draughty, and the floors creak like you wouldn’t believe, but we’re very lucky. We’ve been going almost thirty years, and when we started, rents weren’t what they are now. We’re not for profit, so we wouldn’t be able to afford it today, except for one of our wealthier benefactors. He passed eighteen years ago, sadly, but when the will was read, we learned that not only had he owned this property, he’d also left it to the cause.’

‘How generous.’ The word CULT flashed through Hawkins’ mind. She pushed it away. ‘What is it you do here?’

White took a long, considered breath, letting it out before he answered. ‘We … reach out to those looking for answers to the unexplained.’

‘That’s rather cryptic, isn’t it?’

Their host’s head dipped in accord. ‘Perhaps, but we have no secrets. We simply help others find answers to the questions mainstream society finds it easier to ignore, in the hope that our own understanding will advance in the process.’

‘Then I hope we aren’t wasting your time,’ Hawkins said. ‘I understand you’re CEO of the Paranormal Society.’

‘And founder.’ He paused. ‘Where are my manners? Can I get you something, coffee or tea?’

‘No thanks.’ She spoke over Chris, who looked as if he was about to accept. ‘This won’t take long.’

‘Fine.’ White stood and drifted across to straighten a picture of a lightning storm that hung between the two windows, before turning back. ‘Fire away.’

Hawkins produced a photograph of the latest victim and handed it over. ‘Do you know this man?’

White considered the picture. ‘I don’t think so. Who is he?’

‘Glenn Baker. He’s a member of your society.’

‘I see.’ He handed the picture back. ‘I’m afraid we have over two thousand members. Our paths may have crossed at an event or two, but I don’t believe we’ve met, per se. Is he in trouble?’

‘Not any more,’ Hawkins said. ‘He died yesterday.’

White blinked three times. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Was there … family?’