To the right and at a right-angle to the old building was a broad patch of torn-up ground, blocks of concrete and broken bricks poking up through the snow to show where an ancillary wing had once stood. To the left and facing its former counterpart was a low, two-story modern wing, flat roofed and adjoining the block, extending out to form one side of what was once a quadrangle.
He pulled up alongside two other vehicles in the otherwise empty parking lot and let his senses flow outwards. With care he probed the atmosphere around the hospital. There came a faint, evasive sense of… something. Try as he might, he could not grasp the nature of it. Withdrawing his mind's touch, he opened his eyes and stared at the hospital—and felt it staring right back at him.
"Hmm!" he grunted under his breath. "Like that, is it?"
Chapter Five
A sign directed him to the reception area located in the Greville Wing, and he walked up to the glass doors. This time there was a security presence in the shape of a uniformed guard sitting in an armored glass barbette. The woman held up her hand and activated a speaker. "May I help you, sir?"
"I'm here to see Caroline Mackenzie and Doctor Burwell," Martin replied.
The guard stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment. "What's the nature of your visit, sir?"
"Caroline asked me to help with a matter arising from the incident the other day."
"I'm afraid you're in the wrong place, sir," the woman said firmly. "All inquiries will be answered by the hospital press office in town. If you don't have their number, I can get it for you."
"Ah, there seems to be some misapprehension here," Martin said. "Caroline asked me to meet her. I'm a friend of the family. Her sister Claudia's my partner."
The guard narrowed her eyes. "Okay. Have you got any ID?"
Wondering, and growing more than a little cold and exasperated, Martin took out his passport, opened it and held it up to the window.
The guard inspected it and nodded. "Wait one."
She picked up a phone, punched a number and spoke. The air of suspicion emanating from her dropped as she replaced the receiver. Waving, she activated a switch and the door opened to allow Martin inside. He passed through the arch of a metal detector and it gave a shrill buzz.
"Please remove all metal items from your pockets, sir, and place them in the tray," the guard instructed.
Removing a quantity of small change, his car keys and cell phone, he managed to pass through the scanner without tripping the alarm again. The guard smiled and gestured for him to continue into the building.
Walking in through the double set of doors, he was met with delightful warmth. At first sight the broad hall was deserted, with piles of cardboard file boxes stacked against one wall and a general air of untidiness accentuated by the scuffed and worn brown carpet. Then a nearby door opened and a middle-aged colored woman carrying another box backed out of a room. Martin hurried to hold the door for her, earning a brief nod of thanks.
The woman set the box down by the others, then regarded him quizzically as she brushed dust off her hands. "Can I help you, sir?" she asked.
"My name's Martin Grey, I'm here to see Caroline Mackenzie."
The woman gave him a thoughtful look. "I don't doubt Celia checked you out at the door, but just to be sure, can you prove it, sir?"
"Do you know her sister, Claudia?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I know her by sight."
"That'll do." Martin extracted his wallet and took out a photo, which he handed to the woman. "This is one of us together; it was taken last week, up in the Catskill Mountains."
She examined it, then nodded and handed it back with a smile. "I hope you understand my caution, Mr. Grey. Although we're closing down, this is still a hospital. We have to be careful for our patients' sake, y' know. Word of Caroline's rescuing the boy reached the press today, and they've been looking for the story."
"I understand."
"I'm surprised she didn't leave a note with me or the guard to say you were coming."
"The guard did call somebody."
The woman nodded. "She'd have called Caroline. Maybe she's busy. Most of our staff has relocated and there's still a lot to do before we close. I reckon she'll be along soon. Take a seat."
Martin took a seat on one of the long benches and waited. Some ten minutes passed before Caroline appeared. She walked over to Martin as he got to his feet and pecked him on the cheek. "I'm sorry I took so long, I was working right over the other end of the building. Thanks, Marjorie!" She waved to the woman, who smiled and nodded back. "Sorry I forgot to leave word Martin was coming."
"That's okay, honey." She held out a visitor's badge. "Don't forget this!"
Caroline clicked her tongue and took the badge, handing it over to Martin, who clipped it to his jacket pocket. "I'll forget my own head next!" she said. A look of vexation crossed her face. "I'm not normally this disorganized."
"Are you okay?" he asked as she led him along a corridor. "If you don't mind my saying so, you look a bit peaky."
"That's a cute expression," she said with a wry smile. "Truth is, I am feeling off-color. It may be the effects of the water I swallowed, or the medicine they gave me to counter the toxins." She touched his arm. "Don't worry, I'll survive."
"I'm glad to hear it." He glanced down at her. "Marjorie told me the press has taken an interest in your story."
"Yeah, and I wish they hadn't." Caroline flushed. "Really, I didn't do anything special. I'll take you to Doc Burwell. I told him you'd be here this morning."
"Is he okay about seeing me? If he's too busy, I can make it another time."
"No, he's fine about it. He's busy, but he said he could probably spare you ten minutes. Here we are."
Martin was led through an empty secretary's office, the books and files all packed up and ready for shipment. Caroline knocked on the door to the main office and opened it when a voice called from within. They entered.
Doctor Burwell was lying on the examination couch reading a professional journal, his feet crossed in a pose of complete relaxation. A tall, slender man with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, he rolled onto his feet with apparent difficulty when Caroline announced Martin's arrival, and came forward with his hand outstretched. His glasses twinkled, matching the good humor in the eyes behind them. "Hi, I'm John Burwell. Good to meet you, Martin."
"Good to meet you too, Doctor. It's kind of you to make time for me."
"Not at all." Burwell waved him to a seat. "I'm fascinated by your work. And you can call me John, since we're not meeting in a professional capacity."
"Certainly."
Martin took in his surroundings. The office had that almost-tidy appearance of a place that was constantly used by a well-organized person. More of the seemingly ubiquitous file boxes were stacked near the door, showing the imminent closure had reached even here. The slatted blind over the broad windows was raised to make the most of the winter sunlight, and he could look out over the grounds toward the river.
Burwell stretched out on the couch again. "Hope you don't mind if I lie here while we talk; I injured my back real bad playing football some months ago, and I still need to rest it now and again."
"Not at all."
"If you don't need me, Doctor, I'll return to my work," Caroline said from the door.
"Sure thing, Caroline. Thanks!"
She smiled at Martin. "Martin, I take my break in about thirty minutes. If you need me, I'll be in the staff lounge."
He nodded. "I'll see you there, Caroline."
Burwell waited until she had gone then pointed at the door. "Now there goes a really nice girl who'll go far in her profession. That incident in the river the other day just confirmed what I thought."
"She's a nice person, although I'm worried about her."
"You mean medically?" Martin nodded and Burwell's lips twitched. "Yeah, thought so. I noticed she was looking unwell when I saw her this morning. The good folks over at Methodist had to give her something t
o counteract the pollutants in the water she swallowed." He waved his hand toward the window. "Time was some parts of that river would burn if you dropped a match into it! The medicine doesn't make anyone feel too good for a few days, but trust me, she'll be fine by the end of the week."
He cocked his head and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the tips. "So, Martin, what of her claim to have seen a ghost? I know the whole story, and have my own views, but what do you think?"
"Caroline is an intelligent, observant individual. I'd say she saw something unusual. The single trail of footprints is significant."
Burwell nodded slowly. "Agreed, she saw something. I'm sure it couldn't have been a patient." He cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe it was a random patch of mist or steam, or even smoke from somebody's furnace drifting through the trees? There're houses over the river from here. From a distance it could look like a white human figure. The boy could easily have imagined seeing a human shape, too, in a patch of mist or smoke. You know what kids' imaginations are like."
Martin spread his hands. "It's something I'll need to check. Physical explanations usually lie at the base of nine out of ten ghost reports." He gave the doctor a guarded smile. "John, I don't go out of my way to find a ghost, or fabricate what isn't there."
Burwell gazed at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "No, I can believe that. So, how do you work on a case?"
"I've several instruments I can use. They'll detect most forms of energy linked to psychic phenomena. At the beginning of a case, I take a number of baseline readings of electrical, magnetic and humidity levels, so any phenomena will show up more clearly when they occur. Mostly I rely on observation and my own impressions at the scene."
"And how can you be sure you're not seeing what you want to see?"
"I know when I encounter the paranormal, Doctor," Martin replied, keeping asperity from his voice. "It's a question of different states of reality. When I see a ghost or spirit, I can tell them apart from a living person or a hallucination, as easy as you can tell the difference between me and Caroline."
"As a psychologist I could argue that you wouldn't know the difference if the phenomena came from your own imagination, reinforced by an account from another person. Basically, how can you use your mind to check on itself?"
"Because I've encountered phenomena and not mentioned anything to others, and they have independently confirmed my own impressions. That degree of separation is all that's required to lay the self-check argument to rest."
Burwell gave a short bark of laughter. "Okay!" he said, holding up his hands. "We'll agree to differ for now. Caroline asked me to let you have the run of the place. I can't quite do that, as some of the buildings are no longer safe to enter. You're welcome to look through this wing of the hospital as long as Caroline's with you; the grounds are open, of course. Let me know if you need anything, but try and keep it to essentials." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "Right, my break's over; got to get back on my head."
He swung his legs to the floor and stood up with a grimace of discomfort. Martin rose too and shook hands. Burwell held the clasp for a moment, looking Martin in the eye. "Martin, I try to keep an open mind about ghosts and so on. I'm skeptical about the paranormal, but then I'm skeptical about a whole load of normal things too. I'd be interested to hear what you come up with, okay?"
"Sure." Martin nodded. "I'll give you a copy of my final report, if you like."
Burwell groaned in mock pain. "Oh, no! Not more goddamn reports!" He waved his hand at a full in-tray on the corner of his desk. "I've got enough of those to keep me unhappy for months."
* * * *
Martin left the office and glanced at his watch. There was a quarter hour to go before Caroline would be off duty, and he took stock of his options. The weather was cold and bright and conditions looked to be stable for a while, so he could investigate the location of Caroline's sighting by the riverside. He glanced at the frost-rimed windows in the corridor. Equally, the weather was cold enough to make exploring indoors an attractive option, but the forecast was for more snow in the next few days.
With an inward sigh, he headed for the reception area and the big outdoors. The desk clerk was at her post behind the long counter when he strolled through. He nodded politely. "I'm going to take a walk along the river for a while, if Miss Mackenzie should ask for me."
Marjorie frowned. "Be careful down there, Mr. Grey. Caroline may not be around to haul you out if you go in!"
He smiled and shook his head. "I promise I'll be careful."
* * * *
The bitter wind stung his cheeks and made him gasp as he emerged from the warmth of the building. Quickly pulling his scarf up around his face, Martin made his way across the parking lot toward the line of trees marking the river and reflected wryly on his decision to live in Indiana with its intense winter cold, so unlike the milder shores of England. Claudia had told him such a cold spell was unusual, but not unheard of at this time of year.
Snow lay deep upon the ground and made walking an effort. Luckily he still had the boots he'd bought in the Catskills during their recent sojourn at the Knight's Lodge resort, and they kept his feet warm and dry as he crunched his way forward. He reflected on the previous case of the ghostly pilot haunting the resort, and made a mental note to check soon with Doug Kenyon of the Gaineseville Gazette as to progress in finding Gerry Maguire's family. The spirit from the sky was owed a decent requiem.
The trees by the river stood stark and bare, their windward sides rimed with ice and driven snow. Cold air burned in his nostrils as he reached the top of the bank, looked with care at the ground to check it was safe, then peered up and down the river.
To his left, a bridge carried the road across the jumble of black mud banks and snow-filled channels of the river. This far from the road the sound of traffic was muted. To the right, the river weaved north for about half a mile in an erratic series of bends and chicanes before turning sharply to the northwest and out of sight. Across from where he stood, the other bank was lined with thin straggling woodland, beyond which he could make out an area of housing.
He walked along the bank at a slow, measured pace, examining the ground. A fresh fall of snow had obliterated any signs of the emergency in which Caroline had played such a part. He noticed the expanse of open ground that Caroline had told him was once a baseball diamond, and took his bearings from it. This time he found the scar in the bank, where nurse, boy and rescuers had reached the river. Standing at the top of the steep incline, he gazed thoughtfully down at the ice, and opened his mind.
A trace of something eventually began to make itself felt. Gently, he coaxed it forth, encouraging the feeling to take shape, even as he kept his defenses up.
A boy, somewhere around eight or nine, innocent—but controlled? Martin probed gently. And something more, a stench of evil, malice, a sense of anger, steering, navigating the boy into the river. Panic! Desperation!
Martin moaned softly, feeling the moment the ice gave way beneath the small booted feet.
A sudden shock—and ice cold fingers closed about him. A scream for help, and someone came. A bright spirit, a sparkling aura, urgent, quick to head into trouble to save others.
"Caroline," Martin said to himself, his eyes closed.
A hand—grasped; strength given. The boy drawn forth from the river. A fierce sense of anger, of a goal denied, dissipating, fading quickly, seeking a hiding place, back at…
Martin opened his eyes, let his senses relax, as he turned around and looked hard at the distant hospital—and became aware of someone watching him from some twenty yards away.
"Hi there!" The man's voice was cheerful, his face equally so.
Martin nodded. "Good morning."
"Nice day for a walk," the man said, walking over to him.
"Yes," Martin replied and checked him out.
The stranger looked young, in his mid-twenties, and wore a heavy duty parka with some kind of logo on the left breast. His trousers
were sensible black corduroys tucked into high hiking boots, and he wore a green hunter's cap with the flaps hanging loose over his ears. The cap also bore a logo. Thick black gloves covered his hands.
He drew closer to where Martin stood near the edge, and glanced at the river far below. "What were you looking at down there?" he asked brightly.
Martin gave him a cool look. "I was just admiring the view. And what brings you here?"
"Oh, just my job." The man cocked his head like a bird and pointed at him. "Unless I miss my guess, you're British?"
"I am."
"I'm Jay Walsh."
"Martin Grey."
Walsh looked at Martin expectantly. Martin cocked an eyebrow. After a moment, Walsh's mouth twitched and he gave a little bob of the head. "Nice to meet you, Martin. I had hoped you'd heard of me, but then, I guess you wouldn't have being British. I work for the Indianapolis Sun." Walsh leaned closer and smiled, as if imparting a secret. "I'm a reporter!"
His face was a heavily freckled oval, seemingly as open and as sunny as the blue skies above. Martin knew on some instinctive level that Walsh could not be trusted an inch. Now that Walsh was closer, Martin could see the logo on his parka and hat. It was a stylized sun rising over a horizon made up of the words "Indianapolis Sun."
"Really? So what brings you here?" Martin asked, turning and walking back toward the hospital.
"A story." Walsh fell into step beside him as if he were an old buddy. "One of the nurses here rescued a kid from the river down there. It makes a great human interest story." He cocked an eye at Martin. "I'll guess that you weren't just admiring the view?"
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