office were me, Jo and her dad. I hadn’t told my parents. They thought I was going into town to look for new clothes. The only way the Greenhills could know was if they were having me followed 24/7.
I swung around, scanning the pavements behind me as I walked. There was nobody there. I was just being paranoid. If they thought I was
that
much of a threat, and they were as determined to maintain a cover-up as I suspected, they could simply have had me snatched off the street, couldn’t they? The fact that I was still here, free to investigate, must surelyindicate that I didn’t bother them all that much!
No matter which way I looked at it, I kept coming back to the idea that one of the Greenhills was insane and that the others were hiding it. It obviously wasn’t Emma, she wouldn’t have had the strength to overpower someone like the man in the park. Everything pointed to Byron, who had perhaps inherited something from his grandfather Gottfried. A faulty gene? A hormone deficiency? I didn’t know enough about the subject to form a realistic opinion.
Perhaps drugs kept Byron normal most of the time. Perhaps they kept having to change his medication, as the effects of one drug wore off when his system got used to it.
Perhaps this might explain their doping in Priory Mews. Perhaps they used their immediate neighbours as guinea pigs, as if they were lab rats, testing new control drugs so that when Byron – or whoever – needed new medication, it was ready.
That made a nasty kind of sense, didn’t it?
When I got home, I found Mum and Dad in a positively bubbly mood. Mum was hoovering, and Dad was lifting his feet up to let Mum hoover under them.
“Did you buy anything?” said Mum.
“No,” I said.
“You can go in the expensive shops now, you know.”
“I know.”
Mum switched off the Hoover. “How are you getting on with Emma over the road?”
“Didn’t you ask me that already?” I grumbled.
“I’m asking you again.”
“Fine. We get on fine.”
“I’m so pleased,” said Mum, squeezing up her shoulders and face in an ‘ahhh’ gesture. Then she nodded towards the mantelpiece above the gas fire.
There was a large white rectangle of card propped up against one of Dad’s ornaments. I picked the card up and read it twice. It was an invitation, for the following Saturday, November 2nd, to attend the Annual Greenhill Family Halloween Ball at Bierce Priory, Priory Mews, Maybrick Road, Hadlington at 8pm.
RSVP.
Chapter Seven
I don’t know what it was that drew me to keep watch at the back of the house on the night after we got the invitation. It was possibly nothing more than the nagging doubts that were haunting me. More likely, Martin’s advice about gathering evidence was still foremost in my mind, but without any firm idea of how to go about it, simply watching and waiting seemed as useful a strategy as any.
I set up a webcam to watch the front of the Priory from my bedroom. I watched the back, from what was still a spare and as-yet-unused bedroom, on the rear corner of our house opposite my own room. I could see across our back garden, and all the way down the hill to the river. Beyond that was the park and, slightly tucked away to the right, the edge of the Elton Gardens estate.
I kept the lights off, and had a pair of binoculars and a camera with me. The image from the webcamglowed on the laptop at my feet. It was gone eleven o’clock. Mum and Dad had gone to bed, and I sat on an old fold-out chair with my elbows propped up on the window sill.
There were a few lights visible in the park. Lamps lit the cycle lanes that skirted the main lawns, and in the distance was the illuminated sign outside the leisure centre. A sickly glow came from the direction of the estate, the street lights and house lights mingling into a dull, orange-yellow shine. Now and again, you could see a glitter of light reflecting off the black surface of the river. These occasional glitters were all there was to
I swung around, scanning the pavements behind me as I walked. There was nobody there. I was just being paranoid. If they thought I was
that
much of a threat, and they were as determined to maintain a cover-up as I suspected, they could simply have had me snatched off the street, couldn’t they? The fact that I was still here, free to investigate, must surelyindicate that I didn’t bother them all that much!
No matter which way I looked at it, I kept coming back to the idea that one of the Greenhills was insane and that the others were hiding it. It obviously wasn’t Emma, she wouldn’t have had the strength to overpower someone like the man in the park. Everything pointed to Byron, who had perhaps inherited something from his grandfather Gottfried. A faulty gene? A hormone deficiency? I didn’t know enough about the subject to form a realistic opinion.
Perhaps drugs kept Byron normal most of the time. Perhaps they kept having to change his medication, as the effects of one drug wore off when his system got used to it.
Perhaps this might explain their doping in Priory Mews. Perhaps they used their immediate neighbours as guinea pigs, as if they were lab rats, testing new control drugs so that when Byron – or whoever – needed new medication, it was ready.
That made a nasty kind of sense, didn’t it?
When I got home, I found Mum and Dad in a positively bubbly mood. Mum was hoovering, and Dad was lifting his feet up to let Mum hoover under them.
“Did you buy anything?” said Mum.
“No,” I said.
“You can go in the expensive shops now, you know.”
“I know.”
Mum switched off the Hoover. “How are you getting on with Emma over the road?”
“Didn’t you ask me that already?” I grumbled.
“I’m asking you again.”
“Fine. We get on fine.”
“I’m so pleased,” said Mum, squeezing up her shoulders and face in an ‘ahhh’ gesture. Then she nodded towards the mantelpiece above the gas fire.
There was a large white rectangle of card propped up against one of Dad’s ornaments. I picked the card up and read it twice. It was an invitation, for the following Saturday, November 2nd, to attend the Annual Greenhill Family Halloween Ball at Bierce Priory, Priory Mews, Maybrick Road, Hadlington at 8pm.
RSVP.
Chapter Seven
I don’t know what it was that drew me to keep watch at the back of the house on the night after we got the invitation. It was possibly nothing more than the nagging doubts that were haunting me. More likely, Martin’s advice about gathering evidence was still foremost in my mind, but without any firm idea of how to go about it, simply watching and waiting seemed as useful a strategy as any.
I set up a webcam to watch the front of the Priory from my bedroom. I watched the back, from what was still a spare and as-yet-unused bedroom, on the rear corner of our house opposite my own room. I could see across our back garden, and all the way down the hill to the river. Beyond that was the park and, slightly tucked away to the right, the edge of the Elton Gardens estate.
I kept the lights off, and had a pair of binoculars and a camera with me. The image from the webcamglowed on the laptop at my feet. It was gone eleven o’clock. Mum and Dad had gone to bed, and I sat on an old fold-out chair with my elbows propped up on the window sill.
There were a few lights visible in the park. Lamps lit the cycle lanes that skirted the main lawns, and in the distance was the illuminated sign outside the leisure centre. A sickly glow came from the direction of the estate, the street lights and house lights mingling into a dull, orange-yellow shine. Now and again, you could see a glitter of light reflecting off the black surface of the river. These occasional glitters were all there was to
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