She swallowed, realizing that hers was the last line to her drowning husband and she’d just pulled it from him. Then she thought of Bart, and damned Sam to Hell. ‘The problem is, it would appear to be impossible for him to have done them. At least not in any sense we can understand.’

‘I don’t understand at all. What are you talking about?’

‘There are elements to these killings that suggest … that would point to a belief in the supernatural.’

Katie watched his face for a second to see if there was a joke involved. Not that she imagined he would joke about this. His face was serious and drawn. Katie let out a breath like a diver surfacing. ‘What do you want me to say here?’

‘Whatever you think.’

‘You’ve lost the place, Craig. Take a holiday.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re misunderstanding me, Katie. I’m feeling my way through stuff that may suggest the killer believes in it, not me. I’m forty-one years old. I still know the creak on the stairs is just the cat going to take a crap.’

Katie Hunt looked at him for a long time and didn’t see a crazy person sitting in her room. She hugged herself again. ‘Tell me about it.’

And so he did. He told her about the absence of footprints, and the dead animals. He told her about Wilber Stonerider and his tale of the talking bird and rat, and gently he told her the detailed nature of the Indian mutilations.

‘Like the rhyme. Jesus.’

She was listening like a child, not upset, but flabbergasted. He told her everything he could and then he stopped.

Katie bit her lip again and studied his face. ‘Why are you telling all this stuff to me? I’m his wife. Something in there might let me help him in court.’

‘If he’s the killer, Katie, you’re not going to want to help him. You’re going to want to see him locked away till he rots.’

The language was wrong, and he regretted it before he’d finished the sentence. The notion of someone she loved being a serial killer snaked a trail of confusion and pain all over her face. She hardened towards Craig McGee like drying clay.

‘What’s this about? What are you telling me? That he’s a fucking wizard?’

The surreal nature of their conversation suddenly struck Craig like a slap and he blinked. He stood up. ‘Men will be round real soon to take a statement. Don’t touch the dog, please. If your husband contacts you at all you’re obliged to pass that information on to us.’

Katie held him in her gaze. ‘You do. Don’t you? You think he’s some sort of shaman?’

‘I’m more interested in what he thinks he is.’

She shook her head and gave a dry hard laugh. Craig winced. ‘How’s your son?’