Panic began to tap its finger on her shoulder. She trawled the silt of her memory, seeking inspiration. Desperate. Determined.

“Let’s head round the back and climb over the fence,” said Bailey, already heading for the garden.

“Wait.” Aster blurted out the words. “I’ve got a genius idea.”

* * *

The display window of Lovell’s shop was a tangle of faded fancy dress costumes and toys that had seen better days. The four teenagers stood in a semicircle on the dead grass that hemmed the pavement, the moon fat-faced and silver. Bailey and Charlie were whispering and laughing. Aster and Marco could not look at each other. Both were ashamed of their weakness.

Across the shop’s door was a link chain secured with a padlock. Dirt smeared the glass. The place felt forgotten and unloved.

“Do you reckon Lovell keeps a gun in here?” Bailey’s breath was warm in her ear, his lips grazing her skin. But it didn’t excite her. It made her feel sick.

She faked a smile. “Maybe.”

“Right.” Bailey rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

Aster had half expected to see a police cordon around the shop, but it was untouched. She did not understand that Lovell was still in custody, that they were trespassing, and that officers were due to return at first light with an extension to the search warrant that had been executed on his house and garden a few hours earlier. That they were contaminating a potential crime scene. Breaking the law. But she knew on the most basic level that what they were doing was wrong.

Charlie unzipped his backpack, slipped on some gloves and produced a pair of bolt cutters. As he did so, Aster glimpsed the teeth of a hacksaw and a coil of rope. He saw her looking. “In case we need to tie the bastard up.”

Aster felt something inside her break.

Bailey was soaking a rag with white spirit. The fumes hit the back of her throat and made her cough. He rattled the matchbox at her. “Want to do it?” Aster shook her head. She might be easily led but she wasn’t stupid. “I think that privilege belongs to you,” she said.

Bailey grinned, wolf’s teeth in the dark.

Marco had moved to the corner of The Avenue and was keeping lookout. “Hurry up,” he said. “Before someone comes.”

“Hold the flashlight.” Charlie handed it to her; it was heavier than she expected. She shone it on the door as he snapped through the padlock and pulled it apart from the hasp.

“Showtime,” he said.

Bailey stood in front of the door, Charlie at his heels. He hadn’t outlined his plan, but Aster suspected he was going to toss the rag into the shop and follow it with a lit match. A warning to Lovell of what they were capable of. Of what was to come.