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The house itself was sagging and grey-boarded, one end of its porch collapsed to the marshy ground. As Rust and the Doctor got out of the car, a racket of barking came from behind the house.

Rust looked around, shaking his head. 'You know, it's a shame. Fellow works as hard as Flood ought to have more to show for it.'

'Does he live here alone?'

'He has a wife, but I've never seen her. She's supposed to look like she's about thirteen years old.'

'Is that legal?'

Rust shrugged. 'Flood's trash,' he said, as if that explained everything,

'likely she's older than she looks, like lots of people.' The Doctor gazed abstractedly at the ground. 'Though they do marry young in these parts.

Hey Vern!' he yelled. 'You to home?'

The dogs barked louder, but otherwise there was no answer.

'Darn,' said Rust. 'And me without a search warrant.'

'I could break in,' suggested the Doctor, 'and then you could come in and arrest me.'

Rust laughed. 'Let's consider it done.' He jumped lightly up on the slanting porch and fiddled with the door. It opened easily, and the Doctor followed him into the house.

The interior smelled unclean. Probably, the Doctor thought, this had something to do with the fact that it was piled literally shoulder high with stuff. There was some organisation, he realised as he and Rush went through the rooms: CD players here, DVD players there, VCRs over there, all still in their boxes. Five high-definition television sets had a corner to themselves. There were computer games and sound system components.

Piles of clothes still on hangers, just as they'd been when snatched off the store racks, lay peppered with mouse droppings. It took Rust a few minutes to find the answering machine, which turned out to be sitting on a stack of car radios, messageless.

'I think Flood has a little inventory-movement problem,' he said.

'With all these, erm, goods, can't you arrest him on suspicion of theft?'

'Well, there is that little matter of no search warrant.' Rust stepped over a pile of cellular phones. 'And you'd be surprised how hard it would be to actually prove in court that all this didn't fall off the back of a truck. Plus, I'd rather get enough to hold him for the murder before I actually bring him in.'

In the dirty kitchen they found some evidence of Flood's magical interests.

The shelves were crammed with dog-eared paperbacks on astrology, numerology, spells, voodoo, astral travel, Mu and Atlantis, propped up between cans of tuna.

'Drugstore crap,' said Rust. 'No wonder they threw him out of Death's Door.

My, my' He removed a crumpled receipt from where it was stuck to the refrigerator with a U-Up Pharmacy magnet. 'Look at that. FedEx. To Lyon.

Where one of those rich collectors lives.'

As he copied the information, the Doctor crouched to examine the rumpled, food-encrusted rug by the stove. 'What's this?' He pushed the rug aside, exposing a trap door that, when raised, revealed that a section of the crawlspace beneath the house had been closed off, forming not so much a cellar as a shallow concrete-brick box about four feet deep and eight feet long. It smelled badly of damp. Rust stuck his head down.

'Something here.' He pulled out a flashlight. The Doctor lay on his stomach on the other side of the opening and they both peered into the space. One wall was scrawled with symbols, apparently in nail polish. The Doctor craned closer, nearly falling in.

"Those are - shine the light on that far wall, will you?' The Doctor hung awkwardly, staring at the symbols. 'Those are the same markings as on the charm.'

'You're kidding.'

In a moment, both men were jammed into the small space, examining the wall. The Doctor touched the runes. 'It's hard to tell, but don't these look recent?'

"They are. No mildew. Look.' Rust moved the light to show the other walls smeared with black mould. 'Phew. I need some air.'

He stood up in the trap opening, then hoisted to a seat on the kitchen