‘If you say so.’ He knew from CCTV footage he had been secretly shown how far Carter and Talbot had or had not proceeded in the denied affair.
‘David’s gone…left me.’ The sound of liquid being poured into a glass accompanied these words.
A flicker of hope toyed with his thoughts. A fully concentrated Jane Talbot would be a major coup in obtaining ongoing funding. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?’ He glanced at his watch.
He thought he heard a sob on the other end of the line but the mouthpiece was hurriedly covered.
‘Jane?’ An unfamiliar feeling of genuine concern had permeated his emotions. He was never any good with weeping women. Never any good with women at all in all honesty, which is why he preferred the company of men in all aspects of his life.
‘No, nothing you can do…nothing anyone can do…bloody job! Bloody, bloody job! Good night, Simon.’
‘Would you like me to come ov…’
There was a click and a buzz as the phone on the other end of the line was disconnected. Crozier switched off the phone, took a long, thoughtful sip of his brandy, shook his head and stared out at the night. Before Jane met David she would have ripped out her own tongue before making a phone call like that, especially to him. Now they had split perhaps the Jane of old would resurface. He found himself hoping the rift was permanent.
Then he pulled out his little black book and dialed who was currently his favorite male companion.
Jane put down the phone, staggered across to the sideboard and poured another vodka, splashing in a small amount of tonic to fill the glass. Big mistake, she thought. Phoning Simon. Big mistake. A large mirror was screwed to the wall above the sideboard. She stared at her reflection. She barely recognized the woman who stared back at her. The eyes were bloodshot and bleary, the hair disheveled, the skin pale and insipid, throwing into contrast her flushed cheeks. ‘You look like shit,’ she said to her reflection. ‘No wonder he left you.’ And then she started to cry. Sinking to her knees, she watched the tears wash down her cheeks. It was a mess, an awful, unnecessary mess! The glass slipped from her fingers, spilling the vodka onto the beige carpet. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything anymore. Without any warning whatsoever she vomited, her stomach going into spasm, retching and retching until there was nothing to bring up but sour air.
Almost instantly she was sober, or at least, less drunk than she had been. She hauled herself upright and stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom.
An icy jet of water hit her body and made her gasp, but she gripped the showerhead and directed it into her face, feeling it prickle on her closed eyelids. She stood like that for fifteen minutes, letting the spray blast away the remainder of her drunken self-pity. Finally she added some hot water to the mix and soaped her body and shampooed her hair.
By the time she was drying herself on the pale blue bath sheet she was feeling a little more human.
The clock on her bedside table told her it was nearly midnight. She picked up the phone and hit redial.
‘Crozier.’ The phone took a few rings before it was answered.
‘Simon. You’re still up. Good. It’s Jane.’
‘Oh.’ There was some whispering, and Jane realized Crozier was with someone.
‘It’s all right, before you hang up, I’m sober now. I just wanted to apologize for before. Ringing you like that. Very unprofessional.’
‘Are you okay now?’ There was an edge of sleepiness to his voice.
‘Oh Christ, did I wake you. I’m sorry.’
‘Jane,’ Crozier said patiently. ‘If you’re okay now, just go to bed. You’ll need a good night’s sleep if you’re going to tackle Carter. You’ll need your wits about you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re right. And sorry again.’
She hung up the phone and pulled back the duvet, sliding her legs over the crisp cotton sheet, spreading herself across the king-sized bed, reveling in the space. There were advantages to being on her own. Minutes later she was asleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The lake was a still sheet of glass, broken only by the occasional stream of bubbles from the fish that swam beneath the surface. Robert Carter sat on an old wooden jetty, his legs dangling over the edge, his boots inches above the water. A fishing rod was propped on a wire stand to the left of him, to the right a bait box, its plastic tray filled with hooks, spools of line, spherical lead weights and a polythene container with hundreds of ivory-colored maggots, writhing and wriggling on a bed of sawdust. Hanging from one of the jetty’s stanchions was a keep net, mostly submerged, containing half a dozen perch swimming listlessly in circles: the day’s catch.
He sat, smoking a cigarette, watching the fluorescent orange float bobbing gently twenty yards away, waiting for a fish to strike. The day was the best summer had to offer; a clear blue sky, streaked with thin wisps of cirrus; a gentle breeze tempering the heat of the sun before it could become oppressive. High above him in the trees, jays, thrushes and blackbirds serenaded him with their summer songs and once in a while a kingfisher swooped low over the water looking for its next meal.
The Lake District of England was a beautiful natural wonderland of lake and forest. The different lakes, Ulleswater, Derwent, all had their own unique attraction, and the entire area was a magnet for tourists all through the year.
‘Hello, Rob.’
He hadn’t heard her approach. He didn’t look round. ‘Jane,’ he said. ‘You’re the last person I expected.’ He always knew someone would come for him. Knew there would be at least one more job that only he was right for. His research had given him a pretty good idea what that job would entail.
Jane moved the bait box to one side and sat down next to him. ‘Do you mind?’ She settled herself on the bank and looked out over the calm water.
‘Feel free.’ He flicked the cigarette into the lake and emptied his lungs of smoke. ‘So what brings you all the way up here?’
‘A fool’s errand, I suspect.’ There was a sigh in her voice. She had thought about what she was going to say, tried to plan little speeches, but now she was here, in this beautiful setting, and she had to admit to herself, now she was with Robert, none of her preparations seemed to matter much.
He took another cigarette from the pack and lit it.
‘You still smoke too much,’ she said, though she had a smile in her voice.
‘Sorry, did you want one?’ He offered her the pack.
She took one and leaned in so he could light it with his gold Dunhill lighter. The lighter had been a gift, from her to him. She was surprised he still carried it. ‘Thanks,’ she said, breathing smoke out through her nose. ‘You realize we’ll probably both die of cancer.’
‘Probably.’ He was surprised they had sent Jane.
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ She sucked down the smoke and suppressed a small cough as it caught in her throat.
‘Dying, or cancer?’ His gaze was fixed on the float; he was still avoiding making eye contact. It was starting to unsettle her.
‘Either. Both.’ She had known this wasn’t going to be easy.
He shrugged. ‘Not really. So, what are you doing here?’
She took a breath and came straight to the point. ‘Simon needs your help on an investigation.’
‘Then why isn’t he asking me himself?’
‘He thinks I might have more success.’ All the practiced phrases she had rehearsed in the car were abandoned. Now she was with him she instinctively knew that only honesty would work. She owed him that much.
‘Do you think you’ll succeed?’ He turned and looked at her for the first time.
‘No, I don’t. I think it’s a bad idea, but Simon wants you in on this one, or more specifically, the Minister wants you involved. Simon’s worried that if he doesn’t give him what he wants, the Department will lose his support in Whitehall, and that could be the end of it.’
‘And that concerns me how?’
‘Come on,
Rob, I know you better than that. Once upon a time the Department meant everything to you. It was your life.’
Carter took a drag of his cigarette and shook his head. ‘It was, and then when I screwed up I was dropped like a stone. I owe Crozier, or the Department, nothing.’
‘He thought that might be your reaction.’ She was surprised at the depth of his bitterness.
‘Then he was right. I’m not coming back.’ It sounded final.
She sighed. This was going exactly as she had expected. She tried a different tack. ‘Don’t you want to know what it is we’re investigating?’
He finally turned to look at her. ‘I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me.’ He smiled at her for the first time and she was pleased.
She briefed him quickly. Kulsay, the disappearances, the mystery. ‘Still not interested?’
‘No, Jane, I’m not.’ He pointed to the keep net. ‘Look there.’
Jane looked. ‘What am I supposed to see, apart from a few poor fish that’ve been dragged away from their simple lives by a hook and line.’
He smiled at the implied criticism. ‘Watch them swimming round and around. You’d think they were quite content. Then occasionally one of them will swim deliberately into the net. Do you know why?’
Jane shrugged, not sure where this was going.
‘They’re looking for a way out, for a gap in the mesh. Well, after all this time, I’ve found my gap and now I’m in open water, swimming free, and I have no desire to jump back into the net again.’
She nodded her head slowly and ground out her cigarette on the jetty. ‘A bit dramatic for you, but I get the point. I think I’m wasting my time here. I’d better go.’
He laid a hand on her arm as she began to stand up. ‘Stay a while,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time since we talked. How are David and the girls?’
She sat back down, pulled a stem from one of the reeds growing at the side of the jetty and twisted it in her fingers. ‘The girls are fine. Becoming more beautiful and more of a handful every day.’ She lapsed into silence, staring down at the reed stem twined through her fingers. She’d twisted it around her wedding ring, hiding it from view.
‘And David?’
‘I really don’t know,’ she said, very quietly. ‘He’s left me.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘That’s very sad. I thought you two would be together forever.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘Oh, don’t write us off yet. It’s early days. He only left last night and, to be honest, it’s knocked me sideways. I really wasn’t expecting it. I knew things had been a little sticky lately, but…’
Carter said nothing but slid an arm around her shoulder. She shrugged it off brusquely. ‘Don’t!’
He let his arm drop. ‘Sorry.’
‘No, I’m sorry. That was very rude of me. It’s just that I’m a bit raw at the moment and very edgy. I cried three times on the way up here, and I don’t have to tell you how out of character that is for me.’
‘Hard as nails, you,’ he said with a smile.
‘It’s a facade. Inside I’m marshmallow.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know. Do you want to talk about it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not really, it’s one of those things we have to work out for ourselves.’
He stood. ‘Come on; let’s go back to the house. I’ll make you a coffee.’ He reached down and released the cord tying the keep net to the jetty, letting the fish swim free. Then they walked back through the wood that surrounded Carter’s small picturesque cottage. The path was well used.
In the kitchen he boiled the kettle while Jane sat at the long pine table. ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself, you know,’ she said as she watched him move from the sink to the range cooker.
‘For what?’
‘For what happened to Sian.’
He joined her at the table, pulling out a wheel-backed chair and sitting down heavily.
‘I don’t know what happened to Sian,’ he said. ‘Nobody does.’
‘She might have just taken off. If the manifestations in the house were as frightening as you described in your report, no one would have blamed her for making herself scarce.’
‘True, but I don’t think that’s what happened. According to the official version, don’t forget, there were no manifestations. No one’s had any contact from her since that day. Not her family, not her friends.’
‘What’s your theory?’
‘I haven’t got one.’ He sounded as if he had exhausted every possible avenue.
‘No one’s heard anything from her at all?’ Jane knew people disappeared all the time. It was a recurring nightmare that one of her children went missing and she spent the rest of her life searching for them. She would never be able to accept a loss like that.
He shook his head. ‘Besides, the car was locked. She couldn’t have left the car and locked it after her. I had the key.’
The kettle started to whistle.
‘What really happened the day Sian disappeared?’ she said as he put two steaming mugs of coffee down on the table.
‘You know what I know. You read my report,’ he said defensively.
‘Yes, that’s right, I did. Now I’d like you to fill in the gaps. In the report you said you blacked out for a “considerable length of time.” ’
‘I did. Over four hours.’ He took a mouthful of coffee and swallowed.
‘And nothing happened in that time?’ She tried not to sound doubtful.
‘How would I know? I was unconscious.’ He made no attempt not to sound defensive.
Her eyes narrowed. She looked at him closely. Okay, she knew he had been suspended, but his reaction to Sian disappearing seemed out of proportion to her. He and Sian had worked together a while but there was no logical reason why Carter should seem so devastated. He avoided her gaze by staring down into his mug, swilling the liquid around the cup and watching the light reflecting on its surface.
‘No. You’re bullshitting me, and I’ve known you too long to be taken in by it,’ Jane said.
This was the Jane Talbot of old; perceptive, intuitive and dogged. It’s what made her such a damned good investigator. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
He sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said, finally meeting her eyes. ‘I’ll tell you everything I remember.’
By the time he’d finished, the coffee had grown cold. Jane went across to the sink to fill the kettle again.
‘I think I can understand the symbol of the operating theatre in your vision.’ Jane said. ‘It’s a place of uncertainty, of the unknown, of possible danger. But why should your subconscious be placing such significance on something as mundane as having your tonsils out?’ she said, putting the kettle on the range to boil.
He looked at her bleakly. ‘It’s quite simple really. That was the day I died.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’ Jane said.
Carter took a breath. ‘I’ve had this power, gift, what ever you want to call it, for as long as I can remember. Up to the age of seven it was undefined and fairly random, just the odd flash of precognition, nothing very clear. I was a fairly sickly child; all the usual ailments — measles, chickenpox, mumps — but I suffered quite badly from throat infections. So much so that our doctor recommended I have my tonsils out.
‘I was too young to realize what was really happening, but a few days before the operation I started getting very clear visions. I knew with absolute clarity that if I went in for surgery there was a good chance I wouldn’t survive it. As I said, the odd flash of precognition. I told my parents, but of course they didn’t understand. I was only seven years old after all. They knew I was prone to flights of fancy, as my mother liked to call them. So the operation went ahead.
‘The procedure was routine. The surgeon operating had performed hundreds of tonsillectomies; he could have probably operated them with his eyes closed. But this time it went wrong. In the final stage of the operation, complications developed with the anestheti
c. My heart failed and for several minutes they had to fight to revive me. For those minutes I was clinically dead. They brought me round, of course, but things were never quite the same again.’
‘In what way?’ Jane said. He had never told her this before.
‘It was as if my powers shifted up a notch. The precognition intensified; I started displaying signs of telekinesis, and I also started to see and hear people who were supposed to be dead. The visions were very clear, and sometimes very frightening.’ As he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, Jane noticed his hands were shaking. He blew a plume of smoke up at the ceiling. ‘My mother was something of a crank. She belonged to a Spiritualist church and used to go to regular meetings. When she realized what was happening to me, she called in the church elders, who confirmed that her son really was something very special. After that she embraced my new powers with something like an evangelical zeal. Suddenly she had something of value to offer her church; a currency that she could use to raise her standing, so she started to take me along to the meetings.
‘Not long after that the circus began. Slowly at first; she’d get me to give clairvoyant readings to the other members of the church and, though I say so myself, I was pretty damned accurate.
‘But it was my father who saw the potential for making money out of it. He’d always been something of a wheeler and dealer, always on the lookout for a way to make a buck. He was like that up to the day he died, and I think even then, with death staring him in the face, he was still looking for some kind of angle on it; some way to turn it to his advantage. Well, to him I was like the proverbial goose laying golden eggs. And the next ten years were a blur of séances, readings, palmistry…you name it, all organized by him. Thanks to me they lived very well for a decade. The money poured in and I became something of a celebrity. TV talk shows, radio interviews. Little Bobby Hinton, the psychic wonder.’ He didn’t try to disguise the bitterness in his voice.
‘Hinton?’ Jane said.
‘Carter’s my mother’s maiden name. I adopted it when I decided I’d had enough of living under a microscope. I grew to hate being treated like a performing seal. I knew instinctively that I’d been given this ability for a higher reason and I was sure it was not to be prostituted.’ He paused. ‘Christ, that sounds pompous, but that was genuinely how I felt.
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