what Neil always said.
Philip found a gap between two cars that was just wide enough for him to reach the kerb and drew his motorbike on to the pavement in front of his brotherâs house. He gave the engine a quick rev before he switched it off, then kicked down the stand and propped his bike against the brick wall. The machine was an old Triumph that had been carefully restored once, though not by him. The roar of its engine was deep and loud, and people who knew him were usually in no doubt that he had arrived somewhere.
He stared back at the car drivers on the road as he took his time unfastening his helmet, locking it into a box mounted over the back wheel of the bike and fastening a chain through the front spokes. You couldnât be too careful in these parts.
By now, Neil would normally have recognized the sound of the Triumph and left the front door off the latch for his older brother to get into the house. But when Philip walked up the short path he found the door still locked. He rapped the knocker a couple of times, and rang the bell, but got no answer. He knocked again, waited a minute, then backed down the path to look up at the bedroom window, where the curtains were still closed.
Philip glanced at the windows of the houses on either side. Sure enough, the woman on the right was peering at him through her curtains. She didnât like him, or his motorbike. But Neil said she didnât like anybody very much. She hated cars and their drivers even more than she hated bikers.
So Philip gave the woman a little wave, gestured at his brotherâs bedroom, shrugged and grinned. She stared back at him without a smile.
He fumbled in the pockets of his leathers for some keys. Neil had given him a key to the house when Philip had first helped him move to Tintwistle from Withens. The front door opened straight away with the Yale key, which meant it wasnât bolted on the inside. Philip couldnât remember whether Neil used a bolt when he was in the house or not.
In the hallway, with the front door still open, Philip shouted up the stairs.
âNeil! Itâs me!â
He waited a moment.
âNeil! Are you awake?â
There was no answer. Philip went up the stairs, his motorcycle boots thumping on the steps. The walls of the houses in this terrace werenât very thick, and the woman next door would probably be waiting outside to complain about the noise he was making, but he didnât care.
He could see there was no one in the bedroom, though the bed had been slept in. He checked the other rooms and went back downstairs, where he opened and closed all the doors, just to make sure. Finally, he went out into the little back garden and looked at the patch of ground behind the houses where Neil normally kept his car. The VW wasnât there.
Philip looked at the house next door again, and caught a glimpse of the neighbour watching him. He decided to knock and ask her if she knew where Neil was. But when he did, she shook her head at him from behind a security chain.
Slowly, he went back through Neilâs house and stood for a few moments in the sitting room to take one last look round. Everything seemed as it should be. There was nothing out of place, as far as he could see. But Philip picked up a small brass box on the mantelpiece and looked at the ornate pattern beaten into its lid before putting it down again, a couple of inches to the left. He cocked his head and examined it until he was satisfied.
Then Philip locked his brotherâs front door and dug his phone out of an inside pocket. He dialled Neilâs mobile, but it rang without being answered. The second person he called was the Reverend Derek Alton.
I n St Asaphâs Church a few minutes later, Derek Alton found his eyes drawn towards the east window and its stained-glass representation of St Asaph, the obscure Celtic saint to whom his church was dedicated. The saint was depicted carrying hot coals in his cloak without
Philip found a gap between two cars that was just wide enough for him to reach the kerb and drew his motorbike on to the pavement in front of his brotherâs house. He gave the engine a quick rev before he switched it off, then kicked down the stand and propped his bike against the brick wall. The machine was an old Triumph that had been carefully restored once, though not by him. The roar of its engine was deep and loud, and people who knew him were usually in no doubt that he had arrived somewhere.
He stared back at the car drivers on the road as he took his time unfastening his helmet, locking it into a box mounted over the back wheel of the bike and fastening a chain through the front spokes. You couldnât be too careful in these parts.
By now, Neil would normally have recognized the sound of the Triumph and left the front door off the latch for his older brother to get into the house. But when Philip walked up the short path he found the door still locked. He rapped the knocker a couple of times, and rang the bell, but got no answer. He knocked again, waited a minute, then backed down the path to look up at the bedroom window, where the curtains were still closed.
Philip glanced at the windows of the houses on either side. Sure enough, the woman on the right was peering at him through her curtains. She didnât like him, or his motorbike. But Neil said she didnât like anybody very much. She hated cars and their drivers even more than she hated bikers.
So Philip gave the woman a little wave, gestured at his brotherâs bedroom, shrugged and grinned. She stared back at him without a smile.
He fumbled in the pockets of his leathers for some keys. Neil had given him a key to the house when Philip had first helped him move to Tintwistle from Withens. The front door opened straight away with the Yale key, which meant it wasnât bolted on the inside. Philip couldnât remember whether Neil used a bolt when he was in the house or not.
In the hallway, with the front door still open, Philip shouted up the stairs.
âNeil! Itâs me!â
He waited a moment.
âNeil! Are you awake?â
There was no answer. Philip went up the stairs, his motorcycle boots thumping on the steps. The walls of the houses in this terrace werenât very thick, and the woman next door would probably be waiting outside to complain about the noise he was making, but he didnât care.
He could see there was no one in the bedroom, though the bed had been slept in. He checked the other rooms and went back downstairs, where he opened and closed all the doors, just to make sure. Finally, he went out into the little back garden and looked at the patch of ground behind the houses where Neil normally kept his car. The VW wasnât there.
Philip looked at the house next door again, and caught a glimpse of the neighbour watching him. He decided to knock and ask her if she knew where Neil was. But when he did, she shook her head at him from behind a security chain.
Slowly, he went back through Neilâs house and stood for a few moments in the sitting room to take one last look round. Everything seemed as it should be. There was nothing out of place, as far as he could see. But Philip picked up a small brass box on the mantelpiece and looked at the ornate pattern beaten into its lid before putting it down again, a couple of inches to the left. He cocked his head and examined it until he was satisfied.
Then Philip locked his brotherâs front door and dug his phone out of an inside pocket. He dialled Neilâs mobile, but it rang without being answered. The second person he called was the Reverend Derek Alton.
I n St Asaphâs Church a few minutes later, Derek Alton found his eyes drawn towards the east window and its stained-glass representation of St Asaph, the obscure Celtic saint to whom his church was dedicated. The saint was depicted carrying hot coals in his cloak without
Similar Books
