‘He’s probably spent his entire life in that house,’ Ben said, ‘with too much money and not enough to do. The man’s lost it.’

‘I know, I know. You’re right. I was just thinking about the other teams that he sent there before us. What really happened to them?’

‘I’ll call the detective after we get our money,’ Ben replied. ‘Don’t worry. He’ll look into it.’

‘And can we call him if that fucker from Tír Mallacht shows up again?’

‘Absolutely.’

Common sense was the best tool for prying out Sparling’s claws. Whether she honestly stood with Ben’s stance or not, she would come around eventually.

What he wouldn’t give to catch the creeper, to parade him in front of her like an episode of Scooby-Doo when the monster is revealed to be just another everyday villain, cursing the meddling kids who found him out.

They had almost arrived at Chloe’s. The evening’s firmament was blushed with pink. The last of its amber wash had retreated over the horizon like a low tide, and the peace of nowhere was usurped by car horns and a din with no distinctive sound. Ben had skirted around the worst of the evening traffic, and now they waited at the last set of lights before turning into her estate, where tall streetlamps burned like blown glass, sweeping the shadows from the pavement below.

It was almost six o’clock. They would be indoors before dark.

19

The shutters adjusted in harmony with the sun. October’s evenings were drawing in, shaving off a little extra light with each passing day. Lara had already sealed the curtains throughout the house and the fire had been fed its meal of timber. Its flames smouldered in Alec’s dark eyes. He was sat, fidgeting with the arms of his chair, deliberating over the day’s proceedings and the identity of the one who had betrayed his trust.

A door opened and closed just as softly. Alec didn’t turn. Lara was ghostly quiet and stepped without imprinting a sound. He knew, however, that she travelled from the door to his chair in approximately six seconds, and so he counted the pendulum’s swing. Lara stood by his side in nine; later than expected. Their uninvited guests had obviously thrown the household into flux. Even the wood was slow to crackle, slapping away the flames like indecent hands.

‘As it’s Friday, Doctor,’ she said, ‘I’ve taken the liberty of preparing a casserole for your evening meal.’

Lara wore a white cotton apron and stood with both hands neatly behind her. The dear girl’s posture was perfect. Her hair was tied back in a bun, accentuating that sublime bone structure and those coffee eyes that swirled in the firelight.

‘Thank you, Lara,’ Alec replied. ‘A fine choice considering the chill in the air this evening. Winter is nearly upon us.’