Chasing the Dark by Sam Hepburn

ground fell away, taking my stomach with it. This was either a sick joke, or some kind of warning – you know, like in the movies when the mob kills someone then sends a truckload of flowers round to the church to make sure everyone knows it was them. I hurled that wreath so hard it bounced off the gate, then I ran over and stamped on it till all that was left was a tangle of wire and a squashy mess of petals. Did it make me feel better? No. It didn’t. And if I hadn’t realised it before, I realised it now. The only thing that was ever going make me feel even the tiniest bit better was catching Mum’s killer.
    I got this tight, prickly feeling on the back of my head. I turned round and caught a bloke watching me from a silver Volvo parked on the grass verge. He was scratching his stubble and talking into his mobile. He must have seen me going crazy. I didn’t care. He should mind his own business. I glared at him. The way he stared back unnerved me. After a bit he pocketed his phone, slipped the car intogear and slid off down the road. I waited for the uneasiness to drain away, annoyed when it hung around like scum at the bottom of the bath.
    I walked back to Mum’s grave and smoothed away the mark left by the wreath. I had to find Yuri. Only he could tell me if the ‘bad people’ trying to silence him were the same ones who’d silenced Mum and Lincoln. And only he could tell me why. But I wasn’t going to find him by hanging around Saxted trashing over-the-top floral tributes. I had to go to London. That’s where Yuri had been headed and that’s where Mum had died. I’d start with the Trafalgar Arms. So what if the thought of walking through that door sent a thousand volts of pain through my guts? There was just a chance that one of the bar staff had overheard what Mum and Ivo Lincoln had been talking about.
    I was dying to go straight up to my room and start packing but Doreen had other ideas. The minute I walked in she sprang out of the kitchen yelling.
    â€˜I just got back from the farmer’s market and what did I find? The house empty and the back door hanging wide open. I knew you couldn’t be trusted.’
    I spun round to check the door.
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with the lock,’ she snapped. ‘Plain thoughtless, that’s what you are. Just like your mother. It’s a wonder we weren’t burgled. Anyone could have waltzed off with the television, all my jewellery, George’s computer and heaven knows what else. And as if that wasn’t enough you’ve been traipsing mud all over the house. Don’t deny it. There were footprints in the hall, onthe stairs and in our bedroom, when I’ve expressly forbidden you to go in there. So what have you got to say for yourself?’
    How about It wasn’t me, Doreen, I’m not that stupid? But she’d never have believed me so I mumbled I was sorry and raced upstairs, praying that Ivo’s laptop would still be there.
    â€˜I haven’t finished with you, young man!’
    I burst into my bedroom. The laptop had gone. It only took one look in the drawers to see they’d been searched by someone who’d been nowhere near as sneaky about it as Doreen. I was sweaty and shaking. Maybe it was kids. Maybe they’d slipped into the house on the off chance and only bothered with the room that had kids’ stuff in it. Yeah, that would explain everything; the mud, the rummaging and the fact that none of Doreen and George’s things had been nicked. There were just two small problems with that. One – I’d definitely locked the door when I went out, and two – there was no sign of a break-in. Whoever had got into Laurel Cottage had made a neat, professional job of picking the lock and gone straight for Lincoln’s laptop. It had to be someone who’d been hanging round the village, waiting for me to go out. The prickle in my scalp flared up again