And yet … Faith did feel protective of Kassie and bridled at any attempt to reject her. Not just because the troubled teenager was alone in the world, not even because Faith sensed some kinship with Kassie – she too had suffered from mental health problems during her teens and twenties. It was also because Kassie was such a good listener. Adam was too, of course, but their conversations about Annabelle were so loaded, framed in her mind by her failure to carry their baby to term and the unanswered question of when – if – they would ever try again. Kassie had no investment in their situation, was new to their lives and was content to share Faith’s grief, to share her pain. Which is why she valued her company.
Adam had rolled away and appeared to be asleep now, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, so Faith slipped out of bed and trod softly towards the kitchen. She felt hot and clammy tonight – her mouth was dry and she longed for a cool glass of water. Entering the kitchen, she was about to reach for the tap when she suddenly became aware of a figure sitting alone in the darkness. Swallowing a squawk of alarm, Faith switched on the main light to reveal Kassie at the kitchen table. A glass of milk sat in front of her, as well as the remnants of some cookies.
‘Sorry, couldn’t sleep,’ Kassie said quickly, worried that she had scared Faith.
‘Me neither,’ Faith replied, filling a glass of water.
‘I hope you don’t mind me –’
‘Not at all. Take whatever you like. Honestly, I’ve been living off crackers and cheese these last few days. Can’t face anything else …’
Kassie nodded, but didn’t respond. This was one of her best attributes, the sense that sometimes it was ok not to talk. Tonight, however, something was different. Something was troubling her.
‘Are you ok?’ Faith said, seating herself next to Kassie.
‘Sure.’
‘What did the hospital say?’
‘It’s nothing. Bump on the head …’
‘Did they give you anything? For the pain, I mean? We’ve got Xanax –’
‘I’m fine, honestly.’
Kassie flashed a brief, tight smile at Faith, then took another drink of milk. She looked so melancholy, so deflated, fidgeting restlessly in her seat. The oddness of the situation was suddenly brought home to Faith – the difference in their ages, their lack of knowledge of each other – and she now found herself unsure what to say. So instead she just watched. She had never taken the time to examine Kassie’s face properly but now Faith found real beauty there – the scattering of freckles over her pale skin, the neat frame provided by her rich, auburn hair – but a weariness too, a sense that she had been marked by life. It was a beguiling mixture.
Kassie was now playing with her glass, turning it round and round in her hands. The motion seemed to soothe her a little, but looking up she now caught Faith looking at her and suddenly stopped.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, looking embarrassed.
‘It’s fine,’ Faith replied. ‘Carry on if you like …’
But Kassie didn’t and once more silence descended. Faith couldn’t think of anything to say, yet neither of them was going to be able to sleep any time soon and the absurdity of this irritated her. What were they going to do? She was about to suggest switching on the TV – even at this late hour there might be something on that Kassie would like – when another idea struck her. She hadn’t been planning this, but suddenly it seemed precisely the right thing to do. In fact, she might even enjoy it, the novelty of a new subject. Which is why she now found herself saying:
‘Could I sketch you, Kassie?’
86
‘Drop your chin a little and look towards the door.’
Kassie complied, but still the angle wasn’t quite right, so Faith crossed to her, laying a hand on her chin and moving it fractionally. Returning to her position a few feet in front of Kassie, Faith was pleased to see that the teenager’s look was perfect. There was beauty there of course, a certain bearing, but there was vulnerability and complexity too.
Whenever Faith began a portrait, this is exactly what she looked for. The aesthetics were important, but it was the depiction of a basic truth that was crucial – this was supposed to be a picture of someone’s character. Feeling that she had found this, Faith took up her pencil and began to sketch.
To her surprise, she worked swiftly. A day, two days ago, the pencil would have felt thick and alien in her hand. The subject would not have interested her, moreover, caught up as she was in her own tragedy. But now it seemed easy – the strokes were natural and she actually felt as if she were enjoying herself. Before long, she had a workable outline of the face and a decent first pass at the girl’s petite features. The latter would need finessing of course, as it was in the eyes, the crease of the brow, the attitude of the mouth, that one found character. It would take several attempts, and a deeper understanding of the subject, to get it right, but she had made a good start.
‘I wish I had your colouring,’ Faith said suddenly.
She had always thought redheads looked more exotic and beguiling than other women.
‘I wish I had your style,’ Kassie replied simply.
‘Come on, you look great.’
‘Are you kidding?’
Kassie ran her fingers down one of her tresses, looking self-conscious and dissatisfied.
‘I always cut my own hair and Mom was never very keen on me wearing make-up.’
‘Well, we can fix that,’ Faith responded. ‘Where do you get your colouring from? Is your mom like you –’
‘No, she’s dark. I get it from my grandma. My mom’s mom …’
‘Tell me about her.’ Faith put her pencil down and perched on the edge of her stool.
Often it was a forced, stilted affair to get subjects to open up, to reveal something of their character, their family. But suddenly Faith felt as though she really wanted to know more about this mysterious, melancholic teenager. Kassie, however, hesitated and for a moment Faith thought she was going to refuse, but eventually the teenager responded, weighing her words carefully.
‘My grandma is in a home now – she has dementia – but when she was younger she was very spontaneous. She was heart, not head. She could be tough, harsh even at times, but to me she was always very loving and generous.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Wieslawa. Wieslawa Zuzanna,’ Kassie intoned, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
‘And you’re close to her?’
‘Very close.’
It was said firmly, almost defiantly.
‘She didn’t get on with everyone – well, in fact, with quite a few people – but me and her …’
‘Why was that do you think?’
Kassie paused, seemingly unsure how to respond, so Faith continued:
‘Would you say you’re like her?’
‘Yes and no. She’s a strong woman, much stronger than me. She has been through several tragedies in her life, but she’s toughed it out. Came to the States with nothing, built a home for herself and her children … but she had been touched by her experiences, by her childhood. So she’s often short-tempered, she can be hard on people. And she had her favourites …’
‘Your mother?’
Kassie laughed, but it was not a happy sound.
‘No, not her. Me, yes, but not my mother.’
Faith leaned forward, intrigued now.
‘Why don’t they get on?’
‘Because … they’re opposites. My mother is dutiful, pragmatic, responsible. My grandmother is none of those things …’
‘That happens in families. Different characters, different temperaments …’
‘No, it was more than that,’ Kassie insisted. ‘My grandma … had seen things that made her doubt the wisdom of playing safe, of banking on the future.’
‘The war, you mean?’
‘Of course,’ Kassie replied, nodding. ‘Poland suffered terribly during the World War II. My family was lucky, they got out. They saw what was comi
ng, well, my grandma did at least. Fortunately her parents listened to her, they weren’t as suspicious as my –’
‘How could she have known?’ Faith interrupted.
‘Sorry?’
‘She could only have been a child at the time.’
‘She was nine,’ Kassie confirmed.
‘She was so young. I mean, how could she have possibly foreseen what was about to happen?’
But even as she spoke the answer presented itself to Faith, as if it had been obvious all along. Suddenly all of her conversations with Adam – his agonized, confused responses to Kassie – swirled around her brain. She hesitated to ask the question, but now found she couldn’t resist.
‘Was your … was your grandmother like you? I mean, could she see things? Sense when people would …’
Faith couldn’t complete the sentence, but she didn’t need to. Kassie nodded briefly.
‘I didn’t realize until quite late in her life. I went to visit her in the home and she told me things, things that scared me, but which also made perfect sense. It was only later, when I’d turned them over and over in my mind, that I understood why she’d had her favourites, why she’d given more of her love to those children who would die young, why my mother felt … left out.’
Faith said nothing, her mind struggling to process what she was being told. It was impossible, bewildering, but Kassie spoke as if it were the simplest, most straightforward thing in the world.
‘I remember once she told me about her childhood in Poland …’
Kassie was no longer looking at Faith. It was almost as if she was talking to herself.
‘She often cut school … She hated it, was never very popular. But on this particular day the headmaster caught her, marched her to class, and as she entered the room all the other pupils turned around to look at her. And that’s when she saw …’
Kassie was shivering slightly now, as if suddenly ambushed by emotion. Faith was tempted to reach out and touch her, but held back.
‘She saw that … in less than a year’s time two-thirds of her classmates would be dead. Murdered by the Nazis.’
Kassie wiped a tear away. Faith noticed that her face was even paler than usual.
‘I think that image haunted her …’ Kassie continued quietly, her voice quavering slightly, ‘… for the rest of her life.’
And suddenly Faith understood. The gift that Kassie shared with her grandmother – if it was real, if what Kassie was saying was true – was extraordinary, God-like even. It was as if she had a map of everybody’s life, as if she could shine light into the darkest corners, answer the most fundamental questions. But this knowledge came at a terrible price. It thrilled Faith to think that her instinctive belief in the spiritual world might have some basis in truth, but Kassie’s confessions unnerved her too. The curse of foresight was obviously profound – both Kassie and her grandmother had been drowning in death ever since they were born.
Looking at her sketch once more, Faith seemed to see it clearly for the first time. At last she understood why her subject wore such a haunted expression.
87
The dawn was cold and lifeless, a suffocating blanket of cloud blocking out the sun. Climbing out of her car, Gabrielle Grey took in the dirty grey water as it swirled and eddied its way downstream. The Chicago River had been the making of the city, but today it looked tainted and tired, like blood starved of oxygen. Whether it was this or the chill of the spring dawn which made Gabrielle shiver, she couldn’t say.
Pulling her coat around her, she hurried over to the trailer. Previously the site had felt forlorn, but today it was a hive of activity. Police divers mingled with CSI operatives, while uniformed officers kept intrigued bystanders at bay. In the middle of it all, her nose heavily strapped, stood Detective Jane Miller.
‘I told you to take a couple of days off,’ Gabrielle said accusingly.
‘Doc says it’s just badly bruised and, besides … there was no way I was going to miss this.’
She gestured to the activity behind her.
‘Bartlett inside?’
‘Waiting for you,’ Miller replied, standing aside to let Gabrielle pass.
Smiling briefly at her, Gabrielle entered the trailer. The contrast to her last visit couldn’t have been more striking. Previously empty, the trailer was now well populated, powerful arc lights illuminating every corner. Emily Bartlett, swathed in her forensic suit, was standing by the corner drain, which had now been removed. As Gabrielle approached, she spotted one of Bartlett’s officers in the drain well and suddenly remembered why she had opted to join the Detective Bureau, rather than the forensic team.
‘Sorry to call you so early,’ Bartlett said brightly, spotting Gabrielle’s approach.
‘Two hours of sleep is plenty …’
‘But I thought you’d want to see this.’
She was clutching an evidence bag, which at first sight appeared to be empty.
‘We’ve been in the drain for almost four hours,’ Bartlett reported, handing Gabrielle the bag. ‘To be frank, it’s the cleanest drain I’ve ever seen, plus it empties straight into the river, so you couldn’t really get a better disposal site, especially as the bleach has had time to do its work.’
Gabrielle was taking in every word, but her eyes were now drawn to something tucked in the corner of the evidence bag. Something small and golden.
‘But there is a natural lip in the drain well, where the two halves of the pipe come together. They’ve warped slightly, creating an edge that things can get snagged on and that’s where we found this.’
Gabrielle held the bag a little closer and now she glimpsed what appeared to be one half of a gold cufflink. The chain linking the two ends seemed to have snapped, explaining the missing half.
‘Obviously, we haven’t run forensic tests yet, but look at the underside.’
Already Gabrielle had an inkling of what she might find there, but still her heart skipped a beat as she looked at the bottom of the fractured link and saw two monogrammed initials: ‘J.J.’
Gabrielle looked up at Bartlett, relief etched across her face. Finally, they had found their kill site. The place where Rochelle Stevens and Jacob Jones had spent their last, agonizing hours on earth.
88
He stared at the empty room, confused and alarmed. The bed was unmade, her possessions were scattered on the floor, but there was no sign of Kassie. Turning, Adam headed quickly into the kitchen.
‘Have you seen Kassie this morning?’
Faith shook her head. She was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a cup of coffee.
‘I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not answering her cell phone.’
‘She left before I got up,’ Faith said dully.
‘Any idea where she might have gone? Did she say anything to you yesterday?’
Faith shrugged, but didn’t reply. She seemed far more interested in the contents of her cup than her husband.
‘Try her cell again if you’re worried,’ she eventually offered, rising and crossing to the sink.
Adam was tempted to do just that. He’d hoped to talk to Kassie this morning, to discourage her from attempting to contact Madelaine Baines, to persuade her to engage with the police, but the sight of Faith shuffling around the kitchen made him pause. She still hadn’t looked at him yet and seemed more distant than ever this morning.
‘Look, Faith, I’m sorry about yesterday …’
Adam wasn’t sure it was his job to apologize, but he desperately wanted to restore peace between them. Faith had been doing better the last couple of days, but suddenly looked very fragile again.
‘… if you felt I was unfeeling or unwelcoming to Kassie. Her safety obviously comes first, so she can stay here until we find a better alternative.’
But the words seemed to drift over Faith’s head – almost as if she hadn’t heard them.
‘Faith?’
‘Do we have to talk about this now?’
She was
still hovering by the sink, leaning on the side as if supporting herself.
‘Are you ok?’
‘Just a little tired.’
‘Look at me, Faith.’
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned to face him. Adam was saddened to see how pale her skin was, how dark the rings were under her eyes.
‘Did you manage to sleep?’
‘Off and on.’
‘Were you up in the night?’
‘I’m finding it hard to switch off.’
‘Are you still taking your meds? It’s really important that –’
‘Yes, Doctor. I’m doing everything you told me to do.’
‘Faith, I’m trying to help you,’ Adam replied, stung by her gentle sarcasm.
‘By interrogating me?’
‘By caring for you.’
‘I’ve said I’m fine,’ she said quickly, making to leave.
‘Stay a minute, talk to me …’
‘And say what? What is there that we could possibly say to each other that would make … this any better?’
She sounded beaten, rather than hostile. Adam suddenly felt overcome with emotion – all the sadness of the last few days rushing up on him. Why had this had to happen to them?
‘There’s nothing I can say to make it better,’ Adam replied, sincerely. ‘Of course there isn’t. But if you’re feeling unhappy, I want to know about it. Because I love you …’
To his surprise, his words seemed to cut straight through her anger and she crumpled slightly, tears pricking her eyes.
‘I know,’ she murmured, toying with the cord of her dressing gown. ‘I know and I’m sorry. I just … don’t like being watched.’
‘No one’s watching you.’
‘Like I’m a weak link, a child.’
‘Come on, love, I’m not saying that.’
Adam took a step towards her, but Faith held up a hand to stop him.
‘Please, Adam. I mean it.’
Adam checked his advance.
A Gift for Dying Page 22
