There wasn’t very much I could do to comfort her. I couldn’t give her a hug; I couldn’t tell her that things would look much brighter tomorrow, or that this was just a passing phase. She was dead. That was all there was to it.

I pinched off a headache. When in doubt, be brusque and to the point. I had no words for Clare other than the stark truth. ‘I can’t make this better for you, Clare. I can’t make you undead.’ Not without becoming a freaky necromancer who might destroy the entire country in the process. ‘All I can do is try to bring the person who did this to justice. That’s all I’ve got.’ I gestured downstairs. ‘Blackbeard obviously has plans in place. He spoke to Pete and he set up that booby trap. Whatever’s going on here, he’s nowhere near finished.’

For a beat or two Clare didn’t move, then she tilted up her chin. Her jaw was set and her expression firm. ‘Then let’s see what we can find out.’

Good. That was good. ‘You see if he’s touched anything, been through any of your stuff or taken anything. Even it’s small and inconsequential, it might help.’

She nodded. ‘Trophies. Serial killers like trophies.’

I couldn’t look her in the eye. ‘Yeah, so I’ve heard.’ I licked my lips. ‘While you do that, I’ll go and check out the booby trap and try not blow myself up.’

Not exploding was always on my daily to-do list. Let’s hope today wasn’t going to be any different.

Chapter Eleven

In the end, I took various photos of the booby-trapped door with my phone – at a distance, of course – so that I could show it to both Winter and whoever else decided to appear. Clare mooched around, looking for anything out of place. Apart from the door and the precariously balanced grenade, everything else seemed untouched. It felt like I’d gone to considerable effort to get in here but there was actually nothing to be seen or learned. More to the point, it was even harder to wriggle out than it had been to wriggle in.

By the time I was standing with Winter and Pete, who by now had fully abandoned his bid to destroy Winter’s good looks and appeared to have transformed into our latest cheerleader, I’d had enough. I didn’t think there was any skin left around my hips at all.

‘Here,’ I said, sulking. I passed the phone to Winter. Both he and Pete were far too eager to see the grenade. Boys and their toys. Frankly, it seemed to me as if it was more like the kind of daft – and very crude – thing a kid would do to annoy a younger sibling. Except a kid would use a cup of water or flour or something, not an explosive device.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Pete breathed. ‘What on earth was Clare mixed up in that someone tried to blow her up in her own house? Someone was really desperate to kill her off.’

‘The man who put this here knew she was already dead. He killed her. He did this,’ I said, pointing to the photo, ‘to kill whoever came looking for her.’ I glanced at Winter. ‘In other words, us.’

Winter scratched his chin. ‘We could have been the police or Clare’s family or the damned postman. This trap has been here for a while. Blackbeard might be a witch hater but he didn’t know for sure that the first person through that door would be a witch. I think this was less to do with killing anyone and more to do with knowing exactly when the coven’s disappearance was discovered. We already know he wants to stay anonymous and he’s tried to hide what he’d done.’ He gestured towards Pete. ‘He risked blowing his cover to pretend to be Clare’s brother. He was desperate to hide his murders but he was also desperate to know if – when – they’d been found. Setting bombs across a quiet Dorset town would be one way to make sure you hit the national news.’

‘Either everyone knows or no one knows.’ Pete nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

Winter frowned as he thought it through. ‘I think the best way to deal with this is to make sure that he doesn’t get what he wants. We need to get a media embargo to ensure this is kept quiet. No headlines, no whisper in the papers about serial killers or bombs or missing witches. Effective radio silence. He knows we’re onto him but if we don’t play the game the way he wants, maybe we can gain some leverage. And he might come back to find out why no one’s been to any of the coven’s homes to find out where they are.’ He paused and looked at me. ‘What do you think, Ivy?’

Something Winter had said was gnawing at me. ‘Hmm?’

Winter stilled as he clocked my expression. ‘You’ve thought of something.’

‘It does happen from time to time.’ Not that often, admittedly. I looked at the photo I’d snapped of the door. It included the doorframe and the doormat lying just inside. ‘You mentioned the postman. You said that the postman could have been the next person through the door.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t have had a key but he might have knocked and rattled the doorframe enough to set off the trap.’

I flicked a look at Clare. ‘You’ve not just moved here, have you?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t have a PO box or anything like that?’

She looked confused. ‘No. I get post through the door like most regular people. What…’ her voice faltered. ‘Oh. I see what you mean.’

Pete stared at me. ‘Who are you talking to?’

‘Clare,’ I answered. ‘She’s here.’ He went as white as a ghost, which was kind of funny if you thought about it. I patted him absently on the shoulder. ‘She wishes she’d known you liked her before she died,’ I said. ‘She’d have loved to get to know you better. Maybe go on a date or two. Maybe more. She thinks you’re really good looking.’

‘I didn’t say that!’ Clare burst out as Pete’s skin almost immediately transformed to bright red. It was an improvement on terrified white.

‘Ivy…’ Winter said, clearing his throat.

I nodded. ‘Sorry. It’s quite distracting carrying on two conversations at once. Multi-tasking is not my thing, I tend to have a single-minded focus. Stay on the straight and narrow until a job is done. In fact…’

‘Ivy…’

Oh yeah. I got back to the point. ‘I once stayed inside for ten days straight. Didn’t go out, didn’t talk to anyone, just lay on my sofa with my duvet and my cat.’ I sighed. ‘It was wonderful.’ Both Winter and Pete looked at me as if I were mad. I shrugged. ‘Anyway, by the time I finally ventured outside again, I had to clear a path to the door. There were bills and junk mail clogging up my doorstep. It took ages to open the door and it had only been ten days. Clare Rees hasn’t been home in weeks.’ I jabbed at the photo. ‘Where is her post? Where are the flyers for the local takeaway? Where are her bills? Or postcards? There’s not a single letter lying on her doormat.’

‘I know the postman,’ Pete argued, momentarily abandoning his bid to wheel round and stare at thin air as if he expected Clare to materialise spookily any second. ‘He’s a good guy.’

‘I’m sure he is. I think Blackbeard has had Clare’s post redirected.’

Winter’s brow furrowed. ‘To what end?’

‘Goodness only knows,’ I said. ‘But if I’m right, we need to find out where her letters are being sent and we’ll find him.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘It’s not just booby traps we need to look for at the other coven members’ homes, it’s letters as well. As Clare said, serial killers take trophies. Maybe junk mail is the trophy Blackbeard is after.’ I wrinkled my nose at Winter’s expression. ‘I’m not saying it makes any sense. I’m just saying it can’t be a coincidence that there aren’t any letters waiting for Clare.’

‘Are you telling me,’ Winter said, ‘that you once were too lazy to get up and pick up the post from your own doorstep? For ten days?’

I grinned. ‘And look where that attitude has got us! Halfway to solving a series of tragic and brutal murders.’ Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Clare wincing. ‘We’ll get all the way there, Clare. I promise.’