The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,20

wasn’t. I, oh, never mind.’ He realised he was still holding the card. He slid it under his door and then followed Brian up the stairs.

As they reached the top of the first flight, there was a thump at the window, and a shape appeared behind the frosted glass. Jamie jumped, his heartbeat skipping. It was Lennon, Mary’s cat. He poked his head through the gap where the window was open, mewing as he did so, then jumped down onto the stairs and ran up to Mary’s front door.

‘How the hell did he get up there?’ Jamie asked.

‘There’s a fire escape just to the right of the window there. He climbs up it from the garden then jumps across to the windowsill. It’s a death-defying leap, actually. I’ve watched him do it. It’s terrifying. Every time I see it I’m convinced he’s going to miss the windowsill and plummet to his death.’

As they walked up the stairs past the cat, Jamie looked down at him. Lennon rubbed against his ankle. Jamie had a thought, but didn’t say anything.

They went up another flight to Brian’s front door. Brian unlocked the door and they went inside. There was a strong smell of fresh coffee, which was one of Jamie’s favourite smells in the world. As if he had seen Jamie’s nostrils twitching with pleasure, Brian said, ‘Coffee?’

‘That would be great.’

‘The computer’s in there, if you want to take a look.’

‘OK. Is Linda not in?’

‘No, she works Saturdays.’

‘In Boots.’

‘That’s right.’

Jamie went into the room Brian had pointed out. Brian and Linda’s flat was slightly bigger than Jamie’s. It had a larger second bedroom, which Brian had converted into a study. As he stepped into the room, Jamie caught his breath. ‘Bloody hell.’

It was like stepping in to a vampire’s crypt – or a gothic teenager’s bedroom. The walls were painted black, and a black blind was pulled down over the window, blocking out all light. Dyed-black fisherman’s netting was strung across the ceiling. Statuettes of gargoyles sat on dark wood cabinets. Packets of tarot cards lay among piles of books; fat candles protruded from elaborate candleholders, their bases encrusted with dried rivulets of wax. There were pictures of ghosts and witches and demons all over the walls. Jamie quickly realised these were the reproductions of the covers of Brian’s books. One showed a child being held over a cauldron by a green-faced witch. Another showed a vampire bending over a sleeping girl.

‘Boo!’ said Brian, coming into the room behind Jamie. For the second time in five minutes, Jamie jumped.

‘I was just admiring the decor,’ he said nervously waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

Brian laughed. ‘Atmospheric, isn’t it? I have to keep it this way to make sure I’m in the right mood when I’m writing.’ He picked up a book off a pile on his desk. It was called The Creature in the Cradle. The cover showed a pair of red eyes peering out of a cot, and a clawed hand reaching out towards the reader.

‘That was one of my early books, before the latest craze for vampires started.’

‘Wow. I’d have loved this stuff when I was a kid. I was really into monsters and make-believe. I remember watching Doctor Who with a cushion over my face.’

‘At least you weren’t behind the sofa. You can have that if you like.’

‘Are you sure? Thanks. Now, let’s have a look at this problem of yours.’

He booted up the PC and sat down in front of the monitor. ‘It’s a nice system. Must have set you back a fair whack. But you’re having problems with the internet? Is it the router, I wonder?’ He mumbled to himself.

He checked the phone line then pressed a few keys. Within a few minutes he had solved the problem. The router was working fine.

‘What was wrong?’

Jamie sipped his coffee. It tasted as good as it smelled. ‘It was something to do with your WEP key. That was all. Dead easy to sort out. But you’re ready to go online now.’

‘Thank you so much.’

Jamie left him to it. He went back down the stairs carrying his copy of Brian’s book. Lennon had gone, either into Mary’s flat or back out the window. At the bottom of the stairs, Chris was working on the door, planing its edges. Jamie waved at him then went back into his own flat. The thank you card was still lying on the carpet. He carried it in to Kirsty, who was where he had left