‘One day though, the servant couldn’t resist any longer. When the king had finished and asked for the dishes to be taken away, the servant took the mysterious silver plate to his own room and, locking the door, he removed the cover. Lying on the plate was a little white snake, its eyes red like drops of blood. Curious, the servant sliced a sliver of snake flesh from it and put it on his tongue. Instantly, the room was filled with strange whispers and hushed conversations. Voices all around – it was the fleas in his bedclothes, the ants under his bed, the birds at his windowsill. They were all talking, talking, and he could understand them. He could understand them all, those little souls.’

Reave cleared his throat, and glanced at the note, which was lying between them on the table.

‘Eventually, the king found out what had happened, and the servant was certain he would be executed for such a crime. But instead, the king took him, alone, into the heart of an enormous dark forest. They rode together for three days and three nights, until they came to a deep hole in the ground. The bottom of it, Heather, was littered with animal bones, and there were many white snakes, slithering across the dirt floor – so many, it was difficult to tell which were snakes and which were bones. “You see the price?” said the king. “For such knowledge as we have, the land demands meat. It demands flesh and blood, for it is always hungry.” And with that …’

‘The king pushed the servant into the pit?’ Heather completed it for him.

Reave stopped. A slow smile spread across his face. His hands were now lying loosely on the table, palms facing the ceiling.

‘There you go, lass.’

Heather swallowed hard. She was beginning to think like him. When the silence between them had spooled into something less than comfortable, she leaned forward on the table. She forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘Was there someone else, Michael, someone you trusted to know how to handle everything? Do you know the person who is murdering these women now? Who was he to you?’

Reave shook his head. ‘I’m telling you my story, Heather, over and over. But I don’t think you’re listening.’

Michael Reave would say nothing more. However, when the two guards moved forward to escort him from the room, his head snapped up, life returning to his face.

‘There will be a funeral? For Colleen? Or have you already …?’

‘It’s on Wednesday,’ said Heather.

‘Are you putting her in the ground?’

It was almost too easy to relax around Reave, to believe he was no longer dangerous, but the eagerness with which he asked the question caused the hair to stand up on the back of Heather’s neck. She picked up the note from the table and slipped it back into her pocket.