Prologue
Fifteen years ago
“Lindsay Horne was strangled,” Harry muttered, reading out loud from the newspaper. “Although from the description here, it sounds more like she was garroted.”
“What does garroted mean, Dad?” Jack asked from the other end of the breakfast table. He’d been in the process of cutting the top off his boiled egg, but he’d paused for the latest news.
“Don’t they teach you anything at school these days?” Harry asked, not looking up from the paper.
“Nothing useful.”
“Well,” Harry continued with a sigh, “if you garrote someone, it means you -”
“Shush, you two,” Audrey hissed, setting a jug of meal between them. “Can’t you find something more palatable to discuss while we’re eating? I mean literally, that poor murdered girl is the only topic of conversation you can think of?”
“It’s the talk of the town,” Harry drawled, turning to the next page. “It’s interesting.”
“But what does garroted mean?” Jack asked again. “Is it different to strangled?”
Harry glanced at him. “Garroted means -”
“Don’t,” Audrey whispered, tapping his shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen.
“I’m just telling the boy!”
“Harry! Don’t!”
Sighing, Harry waited until she was out of the room before leaning toward Jack. “You wanna know something else?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “When the girl was found, she was naked.”
“Seriously?” Jack replied, his eyes widening with shock.
“Naked in a dewy field. You know how early in the morning, there’s dew on the grass? You’ve seen that, right?”
Jack nodded.
“Well, there was dew on her flesh too. All over. Imagine that for a moment. All those little beads of water, all over her. And if the wind blew gentle on her, the beads would’ve wobbled slightly. Maybe even some of ‘em ran down onto the cold, wet grass below.” He paused. “It’s something to think about, isn’t it?”
Jack stared, stunned by the information.
“Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?” Harry continued, leaning back. “I remember seeing Lindsay around from time to time. Hell, I remember when she was born, that’s how bloody old I’m getting. You could always tell she was gonna be a knockout, and I’m not saying that in a weird way, just a matter-of-fact way. It’s not even a sexual thing, it’s more of an aesthetic consideration, and I’ve always prided myself on being an aesthete. I actually remember thinking one time, not that long ago, that Lindsay Horne could end up in Playboy or Hustler. Instead, it’ll be all those crime magazines.”
Jack swallowed hard. “But Dad -”
“Quiet,” Harry hissed, as Audrey returned with a basket of bread. He put a finger to his lips, as if to seal the conspiratorial pact between them.
“I know you two were whispering about something,” Audrey said sternly as she set the basket down. “I don’t think it’s right to be talking about things like that, certainly not at the breakfast table. Jack, when your brother and sister come through, I don’t want to hear a word of it, do you understand?”
“It was Dad who was talking,” Jack replied.
“Snitch,” Harry muttered.
“Anyway,” Jack continued, “it’ll be all over the internet by now.”
“And that’s another thing I don’t like,” Audrey continued. “You kids spend far too much time on that internet.” She turned to Harry. “I think we should get it taken out. Disconnect the computer in the office.”
“Can’t,” Harry replied. “There’s a lot of useful stuff on the internet. I like it.”
“I know you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’ve seen your browser history, darling.”
“And what’s a browser history when it’s at home?”
“It’s a list of all the web-pages you’ve visited.”
“Where’d you get that from?” he asked, clearly horrified by the idea.
“I have my ways. I just think we should get rid of the
Fifteen years ago
“Lindsay Horne was strangled,” Harry muttered, reading out loud from the newspaper. “Although from the description here, it sounds more like she was garroted.”
“What does garroted mean, Dad?” Jack asked from the other end of the breakfast table. He’d been in the process of cutting the top off his boiled egg, but he’d paused for the latest news.
“Don’t they teach you anything at school these days?” Harry asked, not looking up from the paper.
“Nothing useful.”
“Well,” Harry continued with a sigh, “if you garrote someone, it means you -”
“Shush, you two,” Audrey hissed, setting a jug of meal between them. “Can’t you find something more palatable to discuss while we’re eating? I mean literally, that poor murdered girl is the only topic of conversation you can think of?”
“It’s the talk of the town,” Harry drawled, turning to the next page. “It’s interesting.”
“But what does garroted mean?” Jack asked again. “Is it different to strangled?”
Harry glanced at him. “Garroted means -”
“Don’t,” Audrey whispered, tapping his shoulder as she headed back to the kitchen.
“I’m just telling the boy!”
“Harry! Don’t!”
Sighing, Harry waited until she was out of the room before leaning toward Jack. “You wanna know something else?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “When the girl was found, she was naked.”
“Seriously?” Jack replied, his eyes widening with shock.
“Naked in a dewy field. You know how early in the morning, there’s dew on the grass? You’ve seen that, right?”
Jack nodded.
“Well, there was dew on her flesh too. All over. Imagine that for a moment. All those little beads of water, all over her. And if the wind blew gentle on her, the beads would’ve wobbled slightly. Maybe even some of ‘em ran down onto the cold, wet grass below.” He paused. “It’s something to think about, isn’t it?”
Jack stared, stunned by the information.
“Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?” Harry continued, leaning back. “I remember seeing Lindsay around from time to time. Hell, I remember when she was born, that’s how bloody old I’m getting. You could always tell she was gonna be a knockout, and I’m not saying that in a weird way, just a matter-of-fact way. It’s not even a sexual thing, it’s more of an aesthetic consideration, and I’ve always prided myself on being an aesthete. I actually remember thinking one time, not that long ago, that Lindsay Horne could end up in Playboy or Hustler. Instead, it’ll be all those crime magazines.”
Jack swallowed hard. “But Dad -”
“Quiet,” Harry hissed, as Audrey returned with a basket of bread. He put a finger to his lips, as if to seal the conspiratorial pact between them.
“I know you two were whispering about something,” Audrey said sternly as she set the basket down. “I don’t think it’s right to be talking about things like that, certainly not at the breakfast table. Jack, when your brother and sister come through, I don’t want to hear a word of it, do you understand?”
“It was Dad who was talking,” Jack replied.
“Snitch,” Harry muttered.
“Anyway,” Jack continued, “it’ll be all over the internet by now.”
“And that’s another thing I don’t like,” Audrey continued. “You kids spend far too much time on that internet.” She turned to Harry. “I think we should get it taken out. Disconnect the computer in the office.”
“Can’t,” Harry replied. “There’s a lot of useful stuff on the internet. I like it.”
“I know you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I’ve seen your browser history, darling.”
“And what’s a browser history when it’s at home?”
“It’s a list of all the web-pages you’ve visited.”
“Where’d you get that from?” he asked, clearly horrified by the idea.
“I have my ways. I just think we should get rid of the
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