out the lights. She stood in the dark garage, her hand on the pull-string switch, and stared in jarring, frightened wonder as the luminol lit up like phosphorescence on the wall of an underwater cave. The chemical, activated by the blood entangled in the fibres of Ray’s clothing, glowed blue.

There were splatters on the front of the shirt, more on the boots, and a concentrated puddle on the left leg of the cargo trousers.

Abby felt untethered.

As the blue glow of the luminol faded and the darkness of the garage enveloped her once more, she pictured the man who was driving the Benz that night. He was sobbing, wide-eyed. He was sorry. So sorry. And so was she.

What now? she thought. What the fuck now?

21

THE WIDOW

Annabel Stemple’s son lived on a little-travelled road called Sunset Strip, that cut between Neef Steet and Old Harbour Road. When Kate first started coming to Belport a decade ago, it had been one of the most exclusive areas on the island. Since then, most of the houses that lined the street had been sold off and were in various stages of subdivision. Now it was a world of half-built homes, chain-link fences and big squares of dead land.

Kate followed her GPS to a small house set back from the road across a wild yard shaggy with weeds, dead leaves and fallen branches. There were a dozen paint-chipped gnomes scattered over the lawn, most of them overturned or half swallowed up by nature. The house appeared to be on a slight lean, with grass sprouting from the gutters and one window boarded up with pallet slats.

For a moment she questioned her decision to come here alone, but it would no doubt be a waste of time telling the cops what she’d learned from Chatveer, and she couldn’t stand the idea of Eckman talking down to her again. As for Fisher, he’d go in like a sledgehammer and make everything worse. But the real reason was that she wanted to discover John’s secrets – whatever they were – before anyone else. If she knew the truth, she might be able to protect Mia from it; despite what John had told her, there might still be some monsters better left hidden. There were two cars parked in the driveway: one, an ancient blue commodore, was plastered with bumper stickers. One read, Want to see god? Then keep tailgating me! Another, Vaccines cause adults. Then there were such classics as My other car is a Porsche, Honk if you’re horny and Caution: I brake for nobody. In the middle of it all was a Southern Cross decal. The second car was mounted on cinder blocks and missing both its rear tyres.