Page 155 of The Altar Girls

‘Everyone knows you lot are loaded with gold, frankincense and fucking myrrh, so I don’t for one minute believe you.’ Her face took on an inhuman look.

‘Sit down so that we can discuss this like sensible people.’ He kept his tone even. He had to treat it like a normal conversation. He’d already been the butt of her hysteria on Sunday night and he could do without a repeat performance.

‘Talking hasn’t brought me much good so far.’ But she moved across the room and sat at the table opposite him. He figured the deranged look in her eyes was a reflection of his own at this stage. She presented as a woman who’d lost control. One to be feared.

‘I want to ask you about something,’ he said calmly. ‘I think I know the answer, but I want to hear it from you.’

‘I have no time for games, Keith.’

He shuddered at the intonation she applied to his name. Like there was dog shit attached to it. He slipped out his phone and tapped the photo icon, selected the last image saved and turned the device towards her.

‘Does this look familiar to you?’

‘The detective showed me that. Said it was in Willow’s hands. Did you put it there? Is that why you’ve got the photo?’

‘Inspector Parker thought I might recognise it.’

‘And did you?’

‘I certainly did. And do you know why I did? Because you originally gave it, or one similar, to my mother.’

‘And here was me thinking you were educated and intelligent. Bad me.’

‘Yes. Bad you.’

‘Why are you really here?’ She stood quickly and moved to the sink. Controlled steps.

‘I want to learn the truth.’

He kept his eyes glued to her back. She bent down and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but the hushed silence was unnerving. The hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

‘You don’t know the meaning of truth. You lied to me. You lied to everyone. A man of God, you said. Isn’t it time you met him?’

When she turned around, she was holding a hammer in her hand.

* * *

The Zara who opened the door was completely unlike the grieving mother Lottie had encountered over the last few days, even the woman of earlier today. She looked crazed, her eyes dilated to black. And she was wearing a padded jacket over her clothes, hood up. That was odd in itself, but also odd was the pungent odour filtering out from behind her.

‘We need to talk to you. We’d like to come in,’ Lottie said.

‘You can’t.’

‘Why not?’ Looking over the woman’s shoulder, she noticed that all the doors leading off the hall were closed. She lowered her voice. ‘Is he here?’

‘Who?’

‘Father Maguire.’

‘Why would he be here?’ Zara threw a glance behind her.

‘We think he might be a danger to you. If he is here, nod.’

‘I… I…’ She nodded.

‘You need to come with us and we’ll take care of him.’

‘I can’t. Harper… she…’

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