‘It’s Wendy’s,’ said Edward.
‘The killer’s cloth,’ said Stevie.
‘Stop it,’ Kim hissed.
Edward said, ‘I have to be careful.’ He unfolded the material. Folded within was a tiny brush on a plastic stem, surrounded by black streaks like charcoal. Now he laid it out on the table. ‘Don’t touch. What do you call that thing?’
‘It’s one of those mascara brushes,’ said Kim. ‘I can’t remember what they’re called.’
‘Mate of mine was a make-up artist and that’s a spoolie,’ said Stevie.
‘Right. So anyway, I went to the site of Dr Wrigley’s death. Wendy had a fit of the vapours and sat it out. She was about a hundred yards away doing panic breathing. I found …’ He stopped. ‘Wait, let me show you.’
He pulled out his mobile but the battery was flat.
‘Bollocks. The boss took all my charge, ringing me and shouting,’ said Edward.
A quizzical look crossed Kim’s face.
‘I’ll tell you about that later,’ he said. ‘For now – okay, look at this spoolie and the soot marks. I photographed the tree where – I’m sure it was the tree – where Dr Wrigley’s body was found. He was dead with his legs around it. Shot through the chest. I found, at chest height, a hole in the tree. I’m thinking, did someone miss him first time and fire the bolt into the tree? So I went to Wendy to see if she had a pen or something I could push into the hole. She gave me the spoolie and the silk hankie.’
‘She’s just the type to have the tool you need,’ said Stevie. ‘So primped and organized.’
‘I like her myself,’ said Kim.
‘I wrap the brush in the silk and push it into the hole. It comes out streaked with soot. What does that mean?’
‘Soot?’ Kim repeated, touching the material.
‘Isn’t that just tree shite?’ asked Stevie.
‘Smell it,’ Edward said.
Kim asked, ‘What was the hole for?’
‘I thought I was going to find a broken bolt in there. The killer shot one, missed, hit the tree, shot Dr Wrigley with the second? But it’s not that. A crossbow bolt wouldn’t blast a hole in a tree and go so deep you can’t see it. This was drilled out.’
Stevie held the handkerchief up to her face. She lifted her eyepatch, offering a brief glimpse of the milky pupil and the scarring on the lid. But she said, ‘I know it might sound mad, but I have a bit more close-up sight with this eye now, you know. It seems to operate like a magnifying glass. Let me smell this.’ She held the silk over her face. ‘Powder.’ Her voice was muffled. ‘It’s a smell like caps, do you remember caps?’
Kim put in, ‘Of course. From toy guns.’
‘I thought the same,’ said Edward.
‘I’m remembering something Wendy told me. The doctor’s hobby was making fireworks.’
Edward looked at Kim. ‘Oh! So he would have had some of that powder, surely?’
Stevie now had the whole of the handkerchief over her face. ‘I love the smell of napalm in the morning,’ she said, making the others laugh. She removed the silk quickly. The soot now streaked her cheeks, making her look like a Victorian urchin.
Edward said, ‘I still have no idea what happened here.’
Stevie snapped her eyepatch back into place. Before she could open her mouth, Kim said: ‘Wait. I think I know.’
The others both turned to her. Gingerly, he passed her the soot-marked silk and she took it by a corner. When she held it up against the light from the window – the big glass panes were reflective, or the seats and metal tables in the hotel’s canteen area would melt on a hot day – the black marks seemed to form a shape like a silhouette, the ghost of a man’s face.
Finally, Kim said: ‘My mum has a new boyfriend. I think we should go and see him.’
Stevie said, ‘What the hell would he know about sooty handkerchiefs?’
