The Silent Twin by Unknown Page B

updating them on the police national computer system as ‘Wanted’. But mundane tasks like updating the PNC didn’t bother Jennifer, because as stressed as her job got, it was nothing compared to the repressive mood pervading the Duncan household.
    She pored over an email from her colleague Zoe. Her digging on Blackwater farm had produced some interesting insights about its history. In the 1880s the building had been used as what could only be described as a workhouse. Orphans and unwanted children had tilled the land until an epidemic of scarlet fever wiped them out one by one. Makeshift graves were discovered close to the house, and the remains removed to Haven children’s cemetery, where they were given a proper funeral. Several children were never traced. Jennifer thought of the paraffin lamp, and the sorrow emanating from the woman in the long black petticoat as she gently nursed the sick. Enough sorrow to keep her walking the corridors, tending to her charges long after her death. For a few brief seconds, she had shown Jennifer her world. She only hoped that, having done so, the woman would be able to move on.
    Jennifer scrolled down, her heart skipping a beat as she digested the second paragraph. Zoe stated that in the 1960s, teenage squatters had regularly frequented the house. That in itself was not unusual, but the email contained pictures of the interior after their departure. Pentagrams were crudely daubed on the floors, the carcass of a dead goat was found in the basement, and dozens of half melted candles lay throughout. Jennifer’s stomach heaved as she gazed at the image of an abandoned pot in the filthy living room, animal bones sucked dry, strewn beside a mattress on the floor. Had the teenagers invoked something evil? According to Zoe’s research, the farm had been plagued with misfortune ever since. Suicides, failing crops and dying animals followed over the years and, given recent events, the spate of bad luck wasn’t changing any time soon.
    She clicked off the email, as much to dismiss the thoughts of her earlier encounters as anything else. To allow them to linger would be to give them power, and she had come far too close to such entities in the past to want to go there again.
    She studied copies of the Duncan family’s statements for the third time, trying to glean some clues. Nick had stated that he was at home, clearing rubbish from the outbuildings and throwing it in the trailer on the back of his tractor for burning. At least he hadn’t lit the fire. The thought of going through the charred timbers in search of a body was too grizzly to imagine.
    Joanna had said she was working from home on her computer with Fiona, who was baking cookies in the kitchen. The handyman Radcliffe had stated that he had been helping Nick but had left to attend a job. Jennifer’s thoughts lingered on his van. She had only seen Radcliffe twice, and each time he had seemed keen to avoid her.
    Jennifer dry-washed her hands as an internal clock started ticking in her brain. Hearing Abigail’s voice had heightened the sense of urgency, and she wondered if her DI, Ethan Cole, had been asking too much of her, throwing her into such a harrowing case so soon after the last one. She gave her desk a critical gaze before straightening her monitor, keyboard and mouse mat with strict precision. As long as she was in control, she would get through this. She had to.
    Will’s desk told a different story altogether. Coffee-ringed paperwork lay skewed in an order only he would understand. His computer screen was framed by yellow Post-it notes with illegible scribblings, and a half eaten sandwich lay beside empty sweet wrappers which had not yet found their way into the bin. But her constant source of irritation also brought a wistful longing. She missed their banter, the work-fuelled days, and the satisfaction of a job well done.
    Working with the Duncan family was draining, and deciphering their emotions was like wading