Free Dead Scared by S. J. Bolton

us why?’ I asked.
    I sensed, rather than saw, Nick Bell shake his head at my side. ‘Even if she survives, she’ll probably remember very little about it,’ he said. ‘We’ll probably never know what happened to her.’

 
    ‘MEG I THOUGHT he was going to come through the kitchen window,’ said Evi. ‘That he would just spring from the tree branch, straight through the glass, and that would be it.’
    ‘Do you want to rest for a while?’
    The two women had reached a wooden seat beneath a rose arbour. Evi put the brake on her chair and her companion, fellow psychiatrist and Cambridge alumna Megan Prince, sat beside her. When Evi had felt the need of someone to talk to about the events of the past year, Megan, who’d been just two years ahead of her at university, had been the obvious choice; known and trusted but not too close a friend. Evi had been seeing Megan weekly for three months. She wasn’t feeling a huge improvement but, as she knew better than most, these things took time.
    As always, Megan smelled of patchouli and Marlboro Lights, a fragrance from her student days that she seemed unable to leave behind.
    ‘I think I broke in here one night,’ said Evi, looking round at the perfect formation of beds, box hedges and grassed walkways. After a day of weak winter sun, frost still gleamed on the thin branches around them and the thorns looked as sharp as steel. ‘With cannabis and cider.’
    ‘On your own?’
    ‘Almost certainly not.’ Evi smiled. ‘But names and faces escape me.’
    ‘Cider and cannabis can do that.’
    Silence fell as both women looked at the six-foot-high brick wall around the garden that Evi wouldn’t have a hope of climbing now.
    ‘Did you call the police?’ asked Megan quickly, as though anxious to get the conversation back on track. ‘On Friday night, I mean.’
    Evi turned back. There was no point dwelling on the past, but avoiding it wasn’t always easy because Megan looked as skinny and as young and dishevelled as she had in the old days. ‘From a locked bedroom,’ she replied. ‘Of course, by the time they arrived there was no sign of him.’
    Megan drew the lapels of her jacket a little closer round her neck and clenched her jaw, as though trying not to shudder. She still never wore enough clothes in cold weather. ‘Him?’ she asked.
    Evi shrugged. She had no idea whether the masked figure in her garden had been male or female.
    ‘The police came pretty quickly?’ Megan asked.
    ‘Yes. Some uniformed constables arrived first, then a detective sergeant a few minutes later.’ Directly in front of her a robin had landed on the stem of a rose bush. It paused and seemed to look directly at her.
    ‘Did they take it seriously?’
    The robin took flight and Evi looked back up again. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t they?’
    Megan glanced down for a second and squirmed, as though the seat were cold, or damp. ‘What did they find?’ she asked.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Evi. ‘No sign of a break-in. No footprints in the garden. No recent fingerprints inside other than mine.’
    A moment of silence, then the moment stretched. When Evi was in the counsellor’s chair, she waited the silences out.
    ‘There’s something you want to say, isn’t there?’ said Megan.
    ‘You won’t like me for doing so.’
    ‘Go for it.’
    Evi braced herself. ‘Is there any possibility someone could have accessed the notes you’ve made during our sessions?’ she asked.
    Megan tucked a loose coil of hair behind one ear. Then, ‘You think someone has hacked into my records?’ she asked. ‘And then that someone broke into your house and used his inside knowledge to scare you witless?’
    Evi pulled her face into an apologetic smile. ‘Doesn’t sound too likely, does it?’ she admitted. ‘But those pranks just seemed so personal. I haven’t discussed what happened last year with anyone but you. No one but you would know I have a phobia about fir cones. Do you remember