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a case. Can you describe him again?’ Callanach asked.

      ‘There wasn’t much to see, I’m afraid. It was dark and cold. He was wearing a long coat, grey or black, a woolly hat and a scarf right up over his mouth. He was all shadows, my darlin’.’

      ‘You noticed a case?’ he prompted

      ‘Yes, a big thing. I hate the sound those wheels make.’

      ‘Can you describe it in more detail?’ Tripp asked, taking a tea cup from the tray.

      ‘It was soft, like a giant rucksack rather than one of those hard ones. Heavy too, by the look of him pulling it. It was black, with lots of zips. Didn’t see any labels, I’m afraid.’

      ‘You seem to remember more about the case than the man, if you don’t mind my saying,’ Tripp commented.

      ‘That’s because I was closer to it. I was bending down as the man came past me, bagging Archie’s doings. My first thought was what shiny shoes the man had. You don’t see many gentlemen that bother these days. Black lace-ups. Not really the best thing in this weather.’

      ‘Anything else, Mrs Yale? Anything at all?’ Callanach said.

      ‘I hadn’t realised I’d seen anything of note.’ She fussed over biscuit crumbs. ‘But there was a faint smell about him. I don’t suppose many would recognise it nowadays, but I’m sure it was mothballs.’

      ‘Mothballs?’ Callanach asked Tripp, not recognising the word.

      ‘You hang them in closets to stop moths from eating your clothes. Not very common any more.’

      ‘L’antimite. You’re sure?’ Callanach double-checked with Mrs Yale as she fed crumbs to the ravenous Archie.

      ‘It was the smell of my childhood, Mother swore by them. We couldn’t afford new clothes during the war, dearie, so we jolly well looked after those we had.’

       Chapter Twelve

      Dr King was nervous. It was ridiculous. He was in his own home. He’d brought these women here through sheer force of will for a higher purpose and he was about to have his first proper conversation with the woman he would mentor into their new life together. She might even bring the still-rebellious Elaine into the fold.

      Jayne would be free of the drugs by now. She’d need food, drink and an explanation. With her extraordinary faith, perhaps she would be more circumspect about how she’d been delivered into his hands. If there was a God, then maybe Jayne had been chosen for him. He put the tray down and unlocked the door. Inside, occupying two beds, were the women who would change his life.

      He’d only planned to take one, researching both to find the most suitable. Always have a backup, that was the thing. Jayne Magee had been his. He’d not anticipated taking them both, not until Elaine had proved so unruly. The reverend would be more docile and able to adapt. He’d felt it when he’d placed her on the bed, taking care not to hurt her whilst restraining her wrists and ankles. Human nature dictated that a prisoner would always struggle hardest when they first woke up. Jayne would rise above it though, he was sure.

      On entering the room, he was assaulted by the most repulsive odour. He gagged, doubling over, tray crashing to the floor, splattering him with melon flavoured protein smoothie. His clothes were ruined.

      ‘I dressed especially smartly to meet you,’ he shouted. ‘Which one of you has done that? Which one … let me see!’ He marched over, glutinous pink liquid aglow from the colour raging in his cheeks as it dripped down his face. He ripped Elaine’s covers back. He had expected, actually wanted, it to have been Elaine but she was in her usual cretinous state, rocking to and fro with her eyes jammed shut.

      It was Jayne then. He pulled her blanket away more gingerly and the stench was unbearable. He ran to a cupboard, grabbed an electric fan and dragged it to her bed. For a moment he questioned his choice to have the room windowless, but it had been the only way. He snapped on gloves from under the sink and began the clean-up operation. She was awake and he knew it, although her head was rolled away from him and she wasn’t speaking. Better that they didn’t communicate until this was over. He had to forgive her. After all, she didn’t yet know who he was, what his plans were. He could be anybody, any lunatic planning to do unspeakable things to her. It would be better when she discovered the truth and could put his actions into context. King finished up, showered, made a fresh tray of food and went back to introduce himself properly.

      The Reverend Jayne Magee’s face was still turned away so he pulled up a chair.

      ‘Jayne, I’m Dr King, Reginald, but perhaps we should remain on formal terms until we’ve progressed. I won’t hurt you, I want you to know that straight away.’

      Jayne was chanting beneath her breath.

      ‘What’s that you’re saying? I can’t hear.’ He leaned over her, trying to see her lips but she strained her face further away. It took him some minutes before he recognised the words. Jayne was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

      ‘That’s what we’re here to debate. The existence and nature of God. It’s one of the reasons I chose you. I read the thesis you wrote during your time at Oxford and I think you’ll find I have some interesting responses for you.’ Still she wouldn’t respond, even after he’d displayed his genuine interest in her. It was becoming tiresome. ‘Turn your head, please. It’s terribly bad manners not to look at someone who’s speaking to you.’ Nothing.

      King had no wish to chastise Jayne so soon after her arrival. It would put her off completely. Having previously thought that Elaine had rendered herself expendable, he realised she might have a new use, one that could speed things along much faster.

      ‘Jayne, you comprehend the fragile quality of human life and how little time we have to spare. I wish to begin a conversation with you’ – the muttered prayer continued – ‘so I shall make you responsible for your companion’s fate. I’m obliged to maintain discipline, Reverend, and I have many ways of doing so.’

      He unlocked the cupboard above the sink, took a needle from the medical kit and walked over to Elaine. She’d been listening, pretending to be in her own world, but listening all the same and she knew something was about to happen. She screamed when he picked up her hand.

      ‘It’s a sterilised needle, so there’s really no need for all this fuss. There won’t be any lasting damage.’ He stuck it slowly beneath the nail of her middle finger, pushing down firmly as she struggled, wondering how it was possible to scream and gurgle at the same time. It was as if she was drowning in the pain.

      ‘Stop it!’ Jayne screeched. ‘Just stop, please.’

      ‘You’re talking to me now, are you?’ he asked, not withdrawing the needle from Elaine’s nail, not until he’d really made his point.

      ‘Yes, I’ll talk, I will,’ she shouted.

      ‘What do you think, Elaine? Have you had enough?’ Elaine spluttered a yes, nodding wildly at him, imploring Jayne to help.

      King allowed himself one more jab into Elaine’s nail bed, gratified by a final shriek to ensure compliance, then withdrew the needle.

      ‘Do you remember what happened?’ he asked Jayne. She shook her head.

      ‘My lips are sore,’ she said, ‘and my neck aches.’

      ‘Chloroform is a bit hard on the skin, I’m afraid, and then I had to sedate you with ketamine while I went to work in case you became distressed and injured yourself. It’s a wonderful drug. It altered your conscious state but allowed me to issue you directions which you were able to follow. You may find you have strange dreams for a few days. And you’ll be dehydrated.’ He collected the tray. ‘Here, drink this.’ She jerked her head away as he held the cup. ‘You need to drink and I’m not so primitive as to want to drug you constantly. The whole point

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