As Roger switched off the engine, they heard a scream, then a man’s voice, followed by more screaming which shattered the suburban quiet; even here the note of hysteria was clearly discernible, with its message of anguish.

Lissa Meredith was out of the car before Roger. She ran to the gate, which stood open, and flew along the yellow gravel path to the front door. The grey-haired woman stared apprehensively at her and at Roger. By the time Roger reached the porch Lissa had opened the front door and disappeared. The screaming became louder, the distorted voice made words sound like raw wounds.

“It’s your fault, it’s your fault, I hate you! I hate you, I could kill you! Get out of my way, get out, get out!”

Roger went into the hall, closed the door, saw Lissa halfway up the stairs and two people — obviously the Shawns — at the head, on the landing. Belle was struggling wildly in her husband’s grasp.

4

HYSTERIA

BELLE SHAWN wore a dressing-gown, wide open; beneath it, a pair of filmy pink pyjamas. Her hair was blown about as if caught by a high wind; she was kicking at Shawn and trying to wrench her arms free. As Lissa neared them, she got one hand away, and her fingers clawed at her husband’s face. Pain made him relax his grip, and Belle pulled herself free, turned and rushed down the stairs — and saw Lissa for the first time.

She screamed: “Ricky’s gone, Ricky’s gone I Fetch the police, he won’t Fetch the police!”

She almost fell down the next few stairs, and when she was a step above Lissa, Roger could see the distortion of her face; the wild expression, the lips stretched so tautly across the large white teeth that it was like looking at a hideous mask.