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  “There is another way. Next door’s shed backs onto the side of our garden, like it’s part of our fence, and there’s a loose plank. We can go through their shed, into their garden, then over their low wall into the next garden and so on until the end of the block. See, local knowledge beats criminal experience every time!”

  He smiled at me. “Ok! That’s good. Can you show me?”

  We opened the back door and crept into the sharp outdoor air of the garden. Then I realised we would be visible from the front when we were crossing the grass to the shadows by the shed.

  “Getting across the grass…” I whispered.

  He nodded. “I’ll distract the team at the front. You get to the shed as fast as you can, then stay low and small at the base of it.” He pulled his leather gloves on and his balaclava down, then leant close to me. “Wait for me at the shed, Lucy. Don’t go without me.”

  I nodded, and crept to the corner of the extension.

  Then I heard the familiar hollow thud of a wheelie bin overturning and a cat’s yowl. I sprinted across the grass. I reached the shed wall and crouched down, breathing hard. Not from the run, but from the excitement and adrenaline.

  Where was he? Was he still at the other side of the house, playing skittles with bins? No, he was back at the corner already, looking towards the road.

  I followed his gaze. I saw a car parked in the street and two people who had just leapt out of it. A woman from the driver’s side and a man from the passenger’s side, both looking over to our driveway. The man was shaking his head, speaking into a mobile phone, then he got back into the car.

  The boy was right. There were police outside my house.

  I was shielded from the car by the plants in the flowerbed. But how was that boy going to get across the open grass? Did he want me to create a distraction for him?

  Before I could signal a question to him, he vanished.

  He just vanished.

  Not into a puff of smoke. Not swirling a cloak round himself. Just gone.

  It wasn’t completely dark. I could see the flowerbeds in the front garden, and the patio tables and the fruit bushes at the back. But even though I knew he must be somewhere, I couldn’t see him.

  I spent about ten minutes watching the deep grey shapes for movement or a silhouette, then suddenly he appeared behind me. How had he got there?

  He was good. Scary. But good.

  “You waited. Sensible. Now show me this secret way through the shed.”

  “You show me how you did that!”

  “No. Trade secret. You wouldn’t have the patience to learn. Or the incentive.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you haven’t spent most of your life scared out of your…” He stopped and bit his lip.

  Aw. Poor thing. There must be a hard luck story there, some sort of Jacqueline Wilson family disaster. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking him.

  He grinned. Like he knew I wanted to know. Sod him.

  “Show me the way, Lucy.”

  I ran my hands over the planks at the base of the shed. I don’t play Amazon warriors or spies or cat burglars any more, so I haven’t been in the shed for years. I was hoping Mr Nicolson hadn’t nailed the plank down recently. I’d look like a total idiot in front of this boy if the plank didn’t move. Or if either of us was too big to fit through.

  He was a bit taller and wider than me. More like a leopard than a skinny stray cat. Or a mountain lion, with that blond hair. But even with his leather jacket on, he wasn’t bulky. If I could still fit through, he probably could too.

  Then I found the right plank.

  It’s an old shed. Not a garden centre prefab job, but built from planks nailed together. Clinker built, Uncle Vince says, like a ship, overlapping to make it solid and watertight.

  But the plank third from the ground was only nailed at one corner. It was secure unless you pushed at it but, when we were small, Viv and I discovered we could swivel it up inside the shed. Then it stayed up, friction and the tight nail holding it steady against the upper planks, so we could post ourselves like letters through the gap.

  I pushed slowly and gently. Surely it used to move more easily than this? Then I remembered. When I was about ten and still playing games in the garden, but Viv had pretty much stopped, the nail at the top corner worked loose and the plank kept slipping down and hitting me as I went through. So my big sister crept into the shed and used Mr Nicolson’s own hammer to tighten in the nail again.

  Vivien did that for me. I can’t remember if I said thank you to her. I can’t even remember the last thing I said to her on Monday morning. The last thing I ever said to her…

  “Concentrate, Lucy,” the boy whispered behind me. “Concentrate on this just now. If you get too upset, we won’t be able to find the urn.”

  Was my grief that obvious? Even in the dark? With my back to him? I hadn’t sniffled, had I?

  I put more pressure on the plank and it slid round like the hand of a clock moving from 9 to 12, vanishing inside the shed.

  I didn’t want him to go first, in case he got stuck and blocked my way. So I slid through, head first. I landed awkwardly, just in front of the ancient lawnmower. The shed smelt familiar: sweet grass, old oil and rusty nails.

  I rolled out of the way. Then, in the dim streetlight coming through the shed windows, I watched as the boy’s shape came through like a Chinese dragon, all coils and smooth twists.

  He didn’t land on the floor. I don’t know how he did it, but he didn’t even get his jacket dusty, and he was standing straight while I was still pulling myself up on the handles of an old filing cabinet.

  He turned round and eased the plank down. “Good escape route. You must have had fun when you were wee! Now, when we leave the shed, follow me exactly and don’t say a word.”

  “You’re not the boss,” I objected.

  “Yes I am. How many houses have you broken into?”

  “None. I only break into sheds.”

  “So I’m the boss, because I have more experience. Be quiet and follow me.”

  I didn’t think a background as a burglar was something to boast about, but I decided not to argue. The more information he gave me about his background, the more evidence I’d have against him. So I nodded.

  He pushed the shed door open slowly, slower than a snail moves. He can’t have broken into that many houses if he always does it in slow motion. He laughed softly. “Don’t be so impatient. Rushing leads to mistakes.”

  “Just get on with it, Obi Wan.”

  But I’d worked out how he’d moved invisibly in the garden. It wasn’t magic, he just moved so slowly that anyone looking for him was bored to death.

  Then he slipped out through the door and I followed. We ran round the back of the Nicolsons, over their wall into 27, round their greenhouse and into 25 and 23. Eventually we clambered over the railings onto Swan Road. We crouched on the pavement.

  He pulled his balaclava off and grinned at me. “Scared yet?”

  “That was fun!”

  “It’s even better if you’re being chased. So, which way to your grampa’s?”

  “Oh no. Now you follow me. Now I’m the boss.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Lucy Shaw, 30th October

  Now I was the boss, I started running towards the town centre. I heard him whisper behind me, “Slow down…”

  But I kept running. Actually, I accelerated. It wasn’t my fault if he couldn’t keep up.

  Then he grabbed me.

  He yanked on my sleeve, swung me round and pushed me against the wall. Then he stepped away quickly, like I was toxic or something.

  “Slow down!”

  “Why? Am I going too fast for you?” Football training keeps me pretty fit. Maybe he really couldn’t keep up.

  “Running is too obvious. Witnesses remember people running. Walking is safer, so walk briskly. And from now on, please do exactly as I say, or you’ll get us both arrested.”
r />   Getting him arrested was entirely my plan, but not yet. So I walked. He stayed two steps behind, which suited me. We turned a few corners and crossed a few deserted streets, then as we walked under a streetlight, he stepped in front of me, walking backwards. He looked at me, my face, my hair, my clothes, then he frowned.

  I kept walking, straight at him, faster forwards than he was backwards. He sidestepped and started walking beside me. But not too close.

  “You look different.”

  “From when?” Had he been watching me? Stalking me?

  “From earlier. In the house. Your hair. It’s not as…” He paused.

  Yeah. My hair is getting a bit out of hand. It’s either turning into a political statement, a 70s retro look or a thorn bush, depending on whether you’re my grampa, my friends or my mum. And when I get out of bed, it is wild.

  Now my hair was tied back, I must look different.

  He was still staring. “You look older. How old are you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Fourteen! You’re never fourteen!”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Just turned fourteen?”

  “No, I’ve been fourteen since the summer. Since June.”

  He frowned again.

  Then I got it. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen. As well.”

  “Uh huh. When were you fourteen?”

  He shrugged. “Last month.”

  “September! September the what?”

  “September the none of your business. You don’t want to know anything about me.”

  “Ha! I already know something. I already know I’m older than you!”

  “Not by much.”

  “By enough.”

  “I’m bigger though. Bigger, faster, stronger. And scarier.”

  We’d stopped walking. We were glaring at each other across the width of the pavement. Any minute now we’d be arm-wrestling or seeing who could spit further.

  “You’re not scarier! You should be scared of me. I’m the one you confessed to. I’m the one who can get you arrested.”

  “That’s why you should be scared of me, Lucy.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” I said firmly. I started walking again, towards the centre of Winslow, which isn’t the centre of much. But it’s got shops, a cinema, a library, a police station.

  I turned left and took us away from the centre again.

  “You’re doubling back, Lucy. Are you double-crossing me?”

  “I’m avoiding the police station.”

  “Ok, lead on.”

  Once I’d worked out a different route, I said, “My turn now.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve asked lots of questions. Now it’s my turn. What’s your name?”

  “I can’t tell you my name! I need to find what I’m looking for, then vanish.”

  “You said I could call the police and put them on your trail once you had your secret.”

  “You can try. But I run faster than any middle-aged policeman, and once I’m out of sight, if they don’t have my name, my date of birth or any other personal information, they’ll never find me.”

  “But what can I call you?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You could call me Boss.”

  “No way! Burglar Bill perhaps, or some other codename.”

  He jerked back from me suddenly. Then he laughed. “Ok. Whatever. Call me whatever. I’ll be gone as soon as we’ve found the urn anyway, so you can call me whatever you like.”

  I shrugged and led him safely towards the town centre from the east side, heading for the car park beside the shopping centre.

  I knew I should be leading him straight to the police station. He had killed Viv, or helped someone else kill her. Why wasn’t I turning him in?

  Did I really believe in the big scary man who would attack us all if this boy didn’t take his little secret away? Did I even believe this boy had killed Viv?

  I wasn’t sure what I believed.

  He seemed to have far too much information about our family, and he had skills they don’t teach at school: criminal sneaking about, kicking knives out of people’s hands, second-guessing what everyone was doing.

  He was weird. He was scary. But was he a killer? Despite his confidence and his bossiness, compared to most boys at my school he was polite and reserved. He never even came close to me − except when he was attacking me, obviously − like he didn’t want to invade my space. And he claimed he was protecting my family by taking away this secret.

  Was he dangerous? I didn’t know. So I should stay with him until I had more answers.

  He coughed, to get my attention. “Where does your grampa live?”

  “I’m not telling you until we get there.”

  “I need to know before we get there, so I can look out for another surveillance team.”

  I sighed. “We’re a couple of minutes away. He’s in the flats just up from the library.” I marched on, across the empty car park.

  “Stop!” he hissed.

  I stopped. I didn’t want him to grab me again. “What?”

  “Is your grampa’s flat in that red block on the corner?”

  I nodded reluctantly. We could see the top two floors over the low shopping-centre roof.

  He took the lead. I was following again. I’d given away all my power when I told him where we were going.

  Instead of crossing the open car park, he walked briskly to the shopping centre, then moved slowly under the shadowy cover of the jutting roof. When we reached the corner he peered round to get a view of the street and of Grampa’s door diagonally across the T-junction.

  He nodded and eased back. “Someone’s watching his flat too.”

  “How do you know?”

  He gestured. “Look.”

  I peered round and saw a car, with someone sitting in the driver’s seat, parked on the other side of the road opposite Grampa’s front door.

  I stepped back. “You’re right. But how did you know, before you looked?”

  He stared at me and flexed his fingers in his stupid gloves. “It’s obvious. If they’re watching your house, they’ll be watching his too.” He glanced round again. “This guy’s on his own. Even so, it’s not going to be easy to get in that front door. Is there another door?”

  “There’s a back door. But there might be someone watching the back too.”

  “There isn’t. Em. I don’t think there is. This guy is here alone, waiting for the police who followed your parents to come back. At least, that’s what makes sense.”

  I thought it was a hugely dangerous assumption. But if he wanted to take the risk, that was fine by me.

  “How do we get to the back door?” he asked.

  “There’s a lane further up the street.” I pointed to an entrance before the next block of red-brick flats.

  “That won’t work. The bloke in the car has a clear view of the lane. Are there any other access points to the back?”

  “Access points? Do you mean ‘ways in’? Access points! You’re not training to be a health and safety consultant are you?”

  But he was already turning away from me.

  “Hold on.” He looked round the corner. “He’s on the move.”

  “How did you…?” I was starting to wonder about all the things he knew before he looked, but I didn’t ask any more.

  I knelt down and looked round the corner too. I saw a tall man in a suit shut the car door and walk towards the lane.

  “He’s checking the back,” said the boy. “Follow me.”

  He sprinted along the front of the shopping centre to the flower shop opposite Grampa’s flat. I followed as fast as I could.

  He crouched in the doorway of the shop and gestured for me to do the same. “Just in time,” he grinned, pulling his balaclava down.

  From our position in absolute darkness, I saw the policeman emerge from the lane and return to his car.

  “That was too close,” I hissed once the car door had
thudded shut. “He could have come out when we were still running.”

  “We had time. He went round to check no one was going in the back door. Surely that was obvious.”

  “It wasn’t obvious to me!”

  “That’s why I’m the boss. And the next time he checks the back, we’ll go in the front.”

  Then he shut up. Just closed up. Crouched there, utterly still and utterly silent.

  I copied him. Still and silent.

  We waited.

  Soon my left foot was getting pins and needles. My nose was itchy. My right knee was cramping up.

  But as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see he wasn’t twitching a muscle. Musical statues was clearly another of his criminal skills. So I stayed rock-still too, biting my tongue, clenching my fists, digging my nails into my hands.

  Then he laughed, very quietly.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “It’s not a competition! If you need to move, it’s ok to move. We’re in the dark, he’s in the light. He can’t see us. Anyway, if you get cramp, you’ll seize up when we run. So find a comfier position and stop trying to out-macho me.”

  I flexed one foot at a time and rolled my shoulders. When I wasn’t so uncomfy, I started wondering if the wreaths for Viv’s funeral were already being made up in the shop behind me.

  “Any minute now,” he interrupted my thoughts. “Get ready.”

  Then the policeman got out of the car, walked across the road and into the lane.

  We jumped up and sprinted across the road. When we reached the door I dug about in my pocket for the keys. But the boy grinned at me and pushed the door with his foot. “It’s not locked.” We both stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind us. And I walked up the stairs, not sure if I was protecting my family or betraying them by leading this boy to my grampa’s flat on the first floor.

  Feeling like a traitor, I unlocked the door and let the wolf in.

  CHAPTER 14

  Ciaran Bain, 30th October

  So I walked into the second Shaw house of the night. I hadn’t heard of this family three days ago, now I was on a guided tour of their residences.