Single Obsession

by Des Ekin

  ‘Down where?’

  ‘In the vaults, of course. I don’t know why she wanted to go down there, but we can’t really refuse anyone on the feast day; it’s part of the tradition.’ He frowned. ‘May I ask if you’re in charge of her? She seemed a bit … distraught and unwell.’

  ‘I’m Dr Emma Macaulay.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re her doctor, then that’s okay,’ said the Reverend Malindi, his features relaxing. He seemed gratified to find a responsible person to pass the problem on to. ‘The trouble is, she won’t come out. She just sits there, swaying and murmuring. She seems most distressed.’

  ‘That sounds like the same woman.’

  ‘Good. I’ll lead the way.’ He marched briskly towards the door. ‘Have you ever been down in our vaults, Dr Macaulay?’

  Emma quickened her stride to catch up. ‘No, but I’ve read about them.’

  ‘So you are aware of what’s down there? I’m just checking.’

  They passed out of the church hallway into the chill of the November night.

  ‘Yes. Mummified bodies. Centuries old.’

  ‘No.’ The Reverend shook his head as he led her around the front of the old church and towards the side. A security light switched itself on. ‘Not mummified. Something much more interesting. The corpses have never been treated or embalmed. They’ve just turned brown and leathery, like Egyptian mummies.’

  ‘I see.’ Emma didn’t want to encourage the conversation.

  ‘So even though they’ve been lying there for up to eight centuries,’ he said, ‘they’re still perfectly preserved. Features recognisable, inner organs intact, fingernails and hair plainly visible.’ He paused in his stride. ‘I’m only telling you all this because some people find it a bit … freaky. Especially late at night.’

  ‘I’m a doctor. I’ve seen dead bodies before.’

  ‘Nobody knows quite why it’s happened,’ the Reverend Malindi mused as they walked on along the side of the church. ‘It’s a combination of things – the temperature stays constant, there are natural subterranean gases, and of course you’ve got the limestone walls that absorb all moisture.’

  He stopped and rubbed his hands against the winter cold.

  ‘People come here from all over the world,’ he said. ‘But most of them are only interested in the Dracula link.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Bram Stoker’s family owned one of the vaults. You can imagine what sort of effect it would have had on a young chap, seeing these “undead” in their coffins. Some people believe that’s what inspired him to create the ultimate horror story.’

  Emma took a deep breath.

  ‘Listen, Reverend Malindi,’ she said, ‘sometime I’d love to come back here and learn all about it, but right now …’

  The clergyman held up his hands. ‘I know, I know. Forgive me, I’m so used to explaining it all to visitors.’ He gestured downwards. ‘Actually, we’re already here.’

  Emma followed his gesture. In the semi-darkness she could distinguish a raised stone hatchway with a sliding metal cover, similar to the entrance to a coal-cellar or a pub basement. Inside, a pale yellow light illuminated an ancient and well-worn stone stairway.

  She leaned over the opening.

  ‘Charley?’

  Silence.

  The last thing Emma wanted to do was go down into the crypt. Even the sight of those downward-leading steps, and the brief glimpse of the gloomy corridor beyond, awakened fears that had lain dormant within her for years.

  ‘Charley. It’s me, Emma.’

  Her voice echoed hollowly in the vault.

  No reply.

  ‘Come on, Charley. They want to lock up.’

  Nothing.

  Emma listened to the silence for a few uneasy seconds, while every instinct told her to turn and run away.

  But she knew she couldn’t do that. She was a doctor; her commitment was to saving life at all times. For all she knew, Charley could be down there unconscious, perhaps OD-ing on drugs. Every minute might count.

  There was no alternative. She had to go down.

  Desperately fighting her claustrophobia, she clambered through the hatch and forced her feet downwards on the cold stone stairway.

  HUNTER jumped out of the taxi, thrust a folded banknote at the driver, and leaped up the police-station steps two at a time. Sauvage met him in the foyer and hustled him upstairs to his office, talking over his shoulder as they walked.

  ‘I want to be totally straight with you, Hunter,’ he grunted. ‘We haven’t had much luck locating Emma. All we know is that she took Charlotte Valentia to see some specialist. They got a taxi outside the hotel and neither of them has been seen since.’

  ‘Wherever she is, she hasn’t got her mobile phone with her,’ said Hunter. ‘I’ve been phoning it for the past half-hour. It’s been ringing out.’

  ‘I know.’ Sauvage flung open the door of his office. Ian Arthur and Mary Smith sat around a tiny desk, each glued to a phone and ticking off items on a long list.

  The Bear picked up another mobile phone and tossed it to Hunter. ‘This is for you. Just in case she phones. I’ve arranged for all calls to your home phone and to your old mobile number to be diverted to that phone unit. Plus, if anyone phones the hotel looking for you, it’ll be directed here too.’

  Hunter nodded, impressed.

  ‘By the way,’ Sauvage asked suddenly, ‘who’s Naomi Scott?’

  ‘She’s a newspaper columnist. An old friend of mine. Why?’ Hunter looked at him sharply. ‘Is she all right?’

  Sauvage nodded. ‘She’s fine. It’s just that we’ve been monitoring your answering machine at home. Naomi Scott left a message for you this morning, apologising for any mix-up. Said she had to fly to Berlin to do an interview, but her boyfriend hadn’t passed on the message to her office, so they didn’t know what had happened to her. Then – and this is where my ears pricked up – she went on to give you the address of Maura Granby’s house in Dublin. What’s her involvement in all this, Hunter?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s really not important.’ Hunter filled him in, briefly. ‘At one stage, I was really concerned that she might have been exposed to danger by her part in all this. So, yes, it’s a big relief to know that she’s safe and well. Now’ – he held out both palms in urgent appeal – ‘can we concentrate on Emma?’

  ‘Okay. Have you any theories as to her whereabouts?’

  ‘I assumed she was taking Charley to the casualty unit at one of the big hospitals. Have you checked that out?’

  Sauvage looked pained. ‘Credit me with some intelligence, Hunter. We’ve tried all the hospitals, both city and suburbs. No written record, no person fitting the description of either woman.’

  Hunter struggled out of his coat and threw it across the back of a chair. ‘She’s in trouble,’ he said tensely. ‘I know it.’

  Sauvage glanced up at him. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because she said she was going to drop in to her sister and see our son Robbie after she’d finished with Charley. But I’ve called her sister, and Emma hasn’t been in touch with her at all. That means something’s badly wrong.’ He paced the office in agitation. ‘Have you talked to the taxi-driver who picked her up?’

  ‘Trying that. The hotel’s regular service is CA Cabs. They’re checking it out for us as we speak.’

  Ian Arthur, who had been muttering into his mobile, suddenly punched the off button. ‘Just done it,’ he said. ‘Taxi-man picked them both up around ten, took them to some holistic treatment centre down near the quays, dropped off the American girl, and drove on out to the airport. He left Emma at long-term Car Park Three. She said she was picking up her BMW.’

  ‘Car Park Three’s a huge wasteland of a place,’ said Hunter. ‘Lots of deserted corners where she could be attacked. We’ve got to check whether she got out safely.’

  Mary, who had started dialling while Arthur was still halfway through his last sentence, nodded. ‘Way ahead of you
, Einstein,’ she said. ‘We’ll have the airport police check the entire park and run through the last hour of video at the exit. What was the reg of her BMW again?’

  Sauvage and Arthur answered at the same time, while Hunter was still struggling to remember the number.

  ‘Okay, in the meantime let’s assume she did leave the airport safely,’ the Bear said. ‘Where would she have gone? Theories, please.’

  ‘She went towards her sister’s house to see her child, but didn’t get there,’ suggested Arthur.

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Or she went back to the hotel to see Hunter. And didn’t get there.’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Back to the holistic treatment centre,’ said Mary Smith. ‘To pick up Charley.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ agreed the Bear. ‘Any other realistic possibilities, anyone? No? Right. Call Uniform, tell them to get a mobile patrol to follow the route she’d have taken in each case. Check every inch. Look for anything suspicious. Now, let’s focus in on this holistic treatment centre. Give me its address again.’

  Ian Arthur told him.

  ‘Jesus. Right in the middle of Kerb-Crawl City,’ said Sauvage. He noticed Hunter’s reaction. ‘Sorry, Hunter, but it’s not the sort of place for a lone woman to be hanging around late at night.’ He was already flicking through the phone book. ‘Let’s give the centre a call. There’s just a chance they might still be in there.’

  Hunter tried to steady his breathing as Sauvage dialled. He heard the holistic centre’s phone ring faintly on the other end. His heart sank as he heard an answering machine cut in.

  Sauvage left a message and shook his head as he replaced the phone. ‘Nobody there. They’ve been closed since ten-forty-five.’ He checked his watch. ‘We need to find out the name of the director. Phone him, haul him out of bed. Get a list of all the staff on duty tonight. Names and numbers. Mary?’

  ‘On it.’ Mary was already dialling. ‘I’ll try the liaison officer at the Department of Health.’

  ‘Good. Ian?’

  ‘Yes?’ Ian Arthur had just got off the phone.

  ‘Get Uniform to check the area around the holistic centre as well. Tell them to talk to the hookers in Benburb Street.’ He turned to Hunter. ‘Those girls have the best intelligence network in the city. If there’s been any attack on a woman in the neighbourhood, they’ll have heard about it.’

  Hunter sat back in a spare chair and rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt out of his depth in this rapid, closely synchronised routine of checks, cross-checks and inquiries. It made his own investigations as a journalist seem amateur and clodhoppingly clumsy. For the first time in his life, he knew he was totally outclassed.

  He sighed with sheer frustration.

  Either Emma was already in deep trouble, or she was headed that way. And he felt totally powerless to help her.

  EMMA found herself standing in an arched stone corridor, six or seven metres long. It was narrow, only about a metre wide, and not much higher than an average human being. A couple of dim bulkhead lights, fighting bravely to light up the gloom, cast eerie shadows along the crusted limestone walls. At the far end of the passageway, Charley Valentia sat cross-legged and motionless on the floor.

  Emma heaved a sigh of relief and hurried forward, her footsteps echoing spookily in the silence of the vault.

  ‘Charley …’

  The other woman did not move.

  ‘This is the way I left her five minutes ago,’ said the Reverend Malindi, who had joined Emma at the bottom of the steps. ‘She hasn’t stirred from that position. Is she okay?’

  ‘Charley?’

  At first Emma thought she was dead, but then she noticed the shoulders rise and fall gently.

  ‘Charley! Are you all right?’

  The eyes opened.

  ‘Yes, Doctor. I’m okay.’ Her voice was sad, hollow, resigned. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Never mind that now. We have to get out of here.’

  Charley shook her head. ‘You have to get out of here, Doctor.’ She nodded towards the shadows. ‘The five of us aren’t going anyplace.’

  Emma stepped forward, her eyes following the direction of Charley’s fixed stare. Then she realised with a sinking feeling that the girl was gesturing towards four corpses.

  To the side of the main passage lay a crypt measuring only about two metres square. Three bodies lay in open coffins, side by side, feet towards the passage, heads receding into the darkness of the tomb. At the rear of the chamber a fourth body lay crossways, arms folded across its chest.

  Emma shuddered. Nothing she had read about these bodies could have prepared her for the macabre reality. They lay as though sleeping, heads slightly turned to the side as though seeking a more comfortable position on a pillow. Despite their brown, leathery skin, their features were still visible, their limbs and fingers clearly discernible, even the fingernails still in place. No wonder they’d given the young Bram Stoker the terrible nightmares that he passed on to the world.

  ‘Charley,’ Emma hissed impatiently. The woman’s attitude was spooking her, her voice grating on her nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. ‘Charley, we have to go now. Now.’ She placed a hand on Charley’s shoulder.

  ‘I told you. I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Why? What on earth are you doing down here?’

  Charley shrugged, her eyes full of tears. She glanced towards the clergyman, who was standing silently by the stair.

  Emma turned to him. ‘Perhaps you’d give us a couple of minutes, Reverend Malindi,’ she said. ‘I’d like to have a chat with Charley alone.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He seemed uncertain. ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’

  ‘Perfectly okay. Just give us five minutes.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll lock up the church. I’ll be back in exactly five minutes.’

  His footsteps clattered up the steps and faded into the night.

  ‘Now,’ said Emma, ‘what’s this all about, Charley?’

  Charley didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Do you see that man at the back? The one lying crosswise with his arms folded across his chest?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s a Crusader. He lived eight hundred years ago. That’s eight centuries, Doctor. Eleven, twelve, thirteen human lifetimes ago. Look at him.’ She pointed at his face. ‘Once he rode out on his charger to the Holy Land, his colours fluttering in the wind. Those same arms you see there would have wielded a broadsword, embraced a lover, held a child up to look at the moon and the stars.’

  ‘Charley … please.’

  ‘The one at the front, to the left, is a nun. They say she lived to be over a hundred years old and died four centuries ago. Those very fingers probably passed rosary beads between them, praying for protection when the Spanish Armada set sail.’

  Emma said nothing.

  ‘We don’t know anything at all about the man on the right,’ Charley continued, ‘but the man in the centre was a thief. He had his right hand cut off for stealing, but he reformed and he may even have ended up as a priest. Here they lie together, Doctor: the Warrior, the Bride of Christ, the Forgotten Man, the Repentant Thief. They all lived their lives in their different ways, as saints and sinners. And they all finished up here together. They all ended up exactly the same way.’

  She fell silent.

  Emma knelt down beside her. ‘Charley,’ she said softly, ‘I know exactly what you’re saying. None of us really understands what it’s all about – why we’re in this world, whether there’s any point to it all. But that’s no reason to crawl into a hole and die, like some wounded animal. Granted, you’re ill – that’s plain to see. But that’s no reason to give up on life.’

  ‘I’m going to die, Doctor. I can’t see a way to do it without giving up on life. Sort of comes as part of the package.’

  Emma shook her head firmly. ‘We’re all going to die, Charley. We just don’t know when.’ She squeezed Charley’s hand encouragingly. ‘The important thing is
to seize every single moment and make the most of it. Live your life to the full, because none of us knows how long it will last.’

  Charley shook her head, unconvinced. ‘That’s easy for you to say.’

  ‘It’s easy for me to say because I’ve seen it happen. I’ve known bitter, disenchanted men who lived to seventy but died in their forties. I’ve known AIDS patients who were able to squeeze twenty wonderful years of life into the thirty-six months they had left. It’s not the quantity of life that matters, Charley – it’s the quality.’

  ‘It’s way too late to start looking for quality now.’ Charley rubbed her eyes tiredly. ‘I seem to have screwed up my life every which way, Doctor. Wasted it, squandered it, thrown it out with the garbage.’

  ‘Don’t say that. It’s never too late.’ Emma’s voice turned quiet, intense. ‘I’ve made plenty of mistakes myself. I loved someone, but because I was so preoccupied with my career, I didn’t even notice he was slipping away from me. It took me until now to realise that life is a balancing act and I’d got the balance all wrong. In the meantime, I lost two priceless years – years I’ll never be able to recover.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Let’s both make ourselves a promise here and now: whatever stupid things we’ve done in the past, from now on we’re going to make each moment of life count. We’re going to seize it and squeeze it, like a … like a big yellow lemon.’

  Charley joined her in nervous laughter. ‘You think we can still do that?’

  ‘I know we can. You’ll just need a little bit of help, that’s all. I’ll make sure you get it.’

  Charley smiled and hugged her.

  ‘Okay, Doctor,’ she said, ‘you’ve sweet-talked me into it.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Take me back to the land of the living.’

  Her timing was perfect. They heard the Reverend Malindi’s footsteps on the gravel outside. Emma checked her watch. Five minutes exactly, just as he’d promised.

  ‘It’s okay, Reverend. We’re coming up,’ she called out cheerfully as they walked towards the steps. But the man was already halfway through the hatch, the lower part of his body descending the stone steps. His right hand grasped a heavy-duty motoring torch.