Blood Harvest

‘Not that one,’ muttered Joe, talking to his soldiers this time. ‘Everybody knows about that one. I meant the other ones.’

Harry was back down on his knees again. ‘Which other ones?’ he asked. ‘Joe?’

Joe looked up at him again. He was the sweetest-looking boy Harry had ever seen, with his pale freckled face, blue eyes and red hair. But there was something in those eyes that didn’t look quite right.

‘Is nobody in this house hungry?’ yelled Alice.

Harry got to his feet. ‘We have to go, buddy,’ he said, pulling Joe to his feet and steering him towards the door. On the landing a noise behind them made them turn. The door to Tom’s room was pulled open. The room beyond was in darkness, the curtains drawn. Tom appeared in the doorway, crossed in front of them and walked heavily down the stairs. It was the first time he had ever ignored Harry.

‘Mummy, after lunch can we do the lanterns?’ said Joe.

Alice was leaning across the table, cutting Millie’s chicken into smaller pieces. She glanced at Tom and then at Harry. A frown line had appeared between her eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure, sweetie,’ she replied. ‘Not everybody likes Hallowe’en. We can’t upset the vicar.’

‘I’m fine with pumpkins,’ said Harry, watching Alice look nervously back at Tom. ‘I’ll give you a hand if you like, Joe,’ he went on. ‘Although, given how talented your mum and dad are, I’ll probably be a big disappointment.’

‘We do trick-or-treating on Hallowe’en,’ said Joe. ‘You can come with us if you like.’

‘Actually, Joe, I haven’t promised anything yet.’ Alice was looking at Tom again. Her eldest son’s plate hadn’t been touched. ‘What do you think, Harry?’ she said, turning to him again. ‘Is Heptonclough likely to celebrate Hallowe’en?’

‘Oh, I’d put money on it,’ Harry replied. ‘Everything OK, Tom?’

‘Tom has to go and see a special doctor,’ a

‘What?’ said Harry.

‘Joe, that will do,’ said Gareth at the same time.

‘Tom had a bad dream,’ explained Alice quickly. ‘We got home late and the lane was very noisy. It was our fault for leaving him in the car.’ She turned to her eldest son and ran a finger along the back of his hand. ‘Sorry, angel,’ she said. Tom ignored her.

‘Come on, Tom,’ said Gareth, ‘eat some lunch.’

Tom’s chair clattered loudly on the wooden floor as he pushed it back and jumped to his feet. ‘It wasn’t a bad dream!’ he yelled. ‘She’s real and Joe knows who she is. He lets her into the house and when she kills us all it will be his fault and I bloody hate him!’

He’d left the room before either of his parents had time to react. Alice stood quietly and followed him. Gareth drained his glass and poured himself another. Joe was looking at Harry with big blue eyes.

Half an hour later, Harry left the Fletchers’ house. After sending Joe and Millie off to play, Gareth had told him about the previous evening. Neither he nor Alice had ever seen anything of the girl that Tom continually talked about. Alice was taking him to the doctor in the morning.

The sky was threatening rain again as Harry walked down the drive. He stopped as he reached the family car. Someone had washed part of it. The driver’s door and bo

34

16 October

THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR STARTLED HIM, EVEN THOUGH he’d been expecting it. Harry got up and turned down the music. As he stepped into the hallway he could see two tall figures behind the glass of his front door.

Mike Pickup, Je

‘Good evening, Vicar,’ said Mike Pickup. ‘This is Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton.’

The detective gave Harry a brief nod. ‘Brian Rushton,’ he said, ‘Lancashire Constabulary. Pe

‘Good to meet you,’ said Harry. ‘Please, come in.’

His visitors followed him into the study. Harry bent to remove the slumbering ball of ginger fur from one of the armchairs and then waited until both his guests had taken seats. The study was the largest room in his house. It was where he worked, received visitors, and sometimes held small prayer meetings. Thanks to the presence of two large Edwardian radiators, it was also the warmest room in the house; and invariably, where he found the cat.

He put the animal on the floor and gave it a shove under the desk. ‘Can I get you both a drink?’ he offered. ‘I have Irish whiskey,’ he went on, indicating the bottle already open on his desk. ‘There’s beer in the fridge. Or I can put the kettle on.’

‘Thank you, no,’ said Pickup, answering for both. ‘But don’t let us stop you. We won’t take up too much of your time.’ He stopped, clearly waiting for Harry to sit down. The detective chief superintendent, who was in his late fifties and whose dominant features were his narrow, slate-coloured eyes and heavy dark eyebrows, was slowly looking around the room.

Harry took the chair nearest the desk. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see the cat reappear and leap on to the arm of the detective’s chair.

He started to get up again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll get rid of him.’

‘No, you’re fine, lad. I’m used to cats.’ Rushton held up one hand to keep Harry in his seat. ‘Wife has two at home,’ he said, switching his attention to the cat. ‘Siamese. Noisy little buggers.’ He reached up to stroke the cat behind its ears. The responding purr sounded like an engine being fired up.

‘I, on the other hand, am not used to cats,’ said Harry. ‘That one seems to have adopted me.’

Rushton raised his enormous eyebrows. Harry shrugged.

‘Maybe it’s part of the fixtures and fittings of the vicarage,’ he explained. ‘Or just an opportunist stray. Either way, it was waiting for me when I arrived and has been refusing to leave ever since. I haven’t fed it, not once, it just won’t go away.’

‘Does it have a name?’ asked Rushton.

‘That bloody cat,’ answered Harry truthfully.

Rushton’s lips twitched. Mike Pickup cleared his throat. ‘Vicar, thank you for seeing us at short notice,’ he said.

Harry inclined his head in his churchwarden’s direction.

‘The truth is I only heard from Brian less than an hour ago myself,’ Pickup continued. A glance was exchanged between the two men, then Pickup turned back to Harry. ‘Brian and I are old friends,’ he said, as Harry hid a smile. The tomcat was curled up on the officer’s lap, purring like a traction engine as Rushton’s large hand ran the length of his body.

‘Mike came to see me last Sunday evening,’ Rushton said. ‘After the incident during the harvest service.’

‘Je

‘I see,’ said Harry.

‘Brian phoned me this evening to tell me the results,’ continued Mike. ‘It was pig’s blood, which is pretty much what we expected. We slaughtered a number of animals on the Saturday and, as you may know, when a pig is killed the blood is drained and saved. It’s used for making black pudding. Someone must have got hold of some – it wouldn’t have been hard – and then found their way into the church.’