Chapters (117)
The woman was opening the passenger door and he watched her bend over and reach for something, her legs long and tanned. She straightened up, holding a Kindle. He heard the thud of the door closing and watched her turn her back to him. As she walked toward the side gate that led to her back garden, the belt of her dressing gown snagged on a bush and his eyes followed the vivid slash of red. All at once, he longed to feel the silk against his skin.
He mustn’t.
But a compulsion as powerful as the gravity that weighted his feet to the ground yanked at him, hard and unforgiving.
And Fletcher Parnell moved silently down the stairs and made the second-biggest mistake of his life.
40
40
Tuesday 31st July 2018, 3:15 A.M.
18 The Avenue
Trefor Lovell was awake, too.
In his workshop was a box containing dozens of sets of glass eyes, and he was sorting through them, seeking out a particular color.
When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, a sense of nausea settled on him.
He swore, rose from his chair and headed to the back of the Doll & Fancy Dress Emporium. He ran through his checklist again. A galvanized tin bath, a small bladed knife and six tins of red paint. Powdered chemicals. Sodium chlorate and sulfur. For his latest project. The Internet was truly an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. A crude hand-made shotgun leaned against the wall of the shop.
It was going to be spectacular.
His knees were aching but the pull of the kettle was stronger. Hot chocolate made with water. Never mind the weather. Warm drinks cooled him down.
The dolls’ heads lined up across the shelves of his workroom watched him move about the place. He mock-bowed to them as he waited for the kettle to boil.
Pitiful. That’s how he would describe today’s efforts, too distracted by those feral children to focus on what he was supposed to be doing, which was completing the orders he needed to ship.
Thanks to them, he’d been working most of the night.
He picked up the telephone, dialed the number he knew by heart, but no one answered. That unsettled him.
He spread out several sheets of that evening’s newspaper across his bench, the headlines full of the latest murder. The doll’s eye. The unsullied body. The flawless painted face.
Trefor dipped the tip of his brush into the water to clean it, and the color swirled like blood. But it was too late. He couldn’t concentrate now.
Leaving the lights on, he slipped out into the heat of the night.
41
41
Tuesday 31st July 2018, 3:17 A.M.
25 The Avenue
Olivia Lockwood was walking through the side gate that led from the front driveway back into her garden when she heard a low cough and caught the scent of tobacco smoke.