THE ATMOSPHERE AT SCHOOL WAS despondent on Monday morning. During break time, in the staffrooms, teachers drank tea in silence. Girls huddled like penguin chicks in corners. Some boys slid a ball around in half-hearted play while others, led by Shawn, gathered in a little gang, faces serious and angry.
Ava was puzzling over what had been mentioned on Midlands Today about the mysterious barking dog and the man in a bear costume who were in the same area on the same night Bryan’s body was dumped. People had come forward to say there had been a fancy dress party on the Egghill Estate not far from the place the costumed man was seen, and one man had turned up as Yogi Bear, but he had insisted he hadn’t been anywhere near the Lanes on that night and his fellow partygoers were his alibi.
Ava had been toying with a theory since she’d seen those bites on Mickey’s and Bryan’s bodies, and since she’d discovered that Banlock Farm had been a dog-breeding facility. She had played out other hypotheses in her mind because she didn’t want to believe what she truly believed in her heart what the killer might be. She needed to say it out loud and the only person she trusted to share her findings with was John. She needed to see John. When the bell rang out, the pupils lined up. Ava felt a nudge in her back and turned to find Shawn.
‘Some of the lads from around are going to trash the Old Nonce’s house tonight,’ he whispered. ‘This lad from Turves Green figures we should be like those Glaswegian kids who hunted down the Gorbals Vampire back in the day. We should be out there, getting the bastard.’
Ava frowned. In the early 1950s, a rumour had bounced around every playground in Glasgow that a seven-foot-tall monster with metal teeth had killed two boys. The children had gone out into the night to hunt for it, searching the largest cemetery, armed with clubs and sticks. They never found it because it had been just gossip, yet Ava had always found the children’s courage remarkable anyway. ‘But the Gorbals Vampire was a myth.’
Shawn winked at her. ‘Not the part where the kids went hunting with weapons and dogs. Tom’s dad thinks it was the Old Nonce who killed Bry and he wants in on the fight. He and a bunch of his mates are going to get stuck in too.’
A witch-hunt, thought Ava: a lynch mob. Shawn was usually immune to rumours and hearsay. She supposed it was because he was devastated over Bryan’s death too and he wanted action, to do something. But she wouldn’t be able to convince Shawn or Alan Shelton to not terrorise a suspect – they were too far gone.
‘Please be careful,’ said Ava, and it sounded lame even to her own ears.
As the line shuffled forward, Shawn said, ‘Tom’s not coming back to Colmers, Ava. The family is leaving Birmingham after Bry’s funeral.’ Ava had suspected the Sheltons would leave, but it was still an awful blow. Shawn knew because he and the Shelton boys were close, and their mothers were friends. She could think of nothing to say in response to this extra bad news.
‘But he gave you the best goodbye present,’ he added, nudging her again.
‘What?’ she said.
He gently touched her lip with a fingertip. ‘This scar. I wish I had it.’