Dead in Time (The Sara Jones Cycle Book 1)

by Terence Bailey

  He smiled understandingly. ‘It was something you needed. Sorry I had to do it like that.’

  Sara heard a car driving cautiously down the bumpy lane and tensed. ‘Get back!’ she whispered. ‘Hide in the stable.’

  Eldon withdrew through the living room, and Sara, drawing on a reserve of nervous energy beneath her exhaustion, nudged aside the curtains. It was Rhodri’s Jaguar. She yelled into the dark living room: ‘Leave through the back door – quickly!’

  She watched Rhodri get out, remove a small travel bag from the back seat, and skip jauntily up the steps. He pushed open the door, and called, ‘Surprise!’

  ‘Rhoddo,’ Sara said, in a tone that belied her shock. She kissed him on the cheek, and he hugged her in reply. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was at the aerodrome in Lancashire,’ he said. ‘I flew in on the company’s morning shuttle from Hampshire, and had someone drive up with my car.’

  ‘Why? There’s an evening shuttle back to Hampshire, isn’t there?’

  ‘For once, I have a weekend free. I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend it than with you.’

  Sara tried to calm her nerves by willpower alone. She turned and filled the kettle.

  ‘I wondered if you’d be asleep,’ he said. ‘But I told myself, nine times out of ten, she’s doing paperwork at midnight.’

  ‘I don’t work nearly that hard,’ Sara said.

  ‘Eight times out of ten, then.’

  Sara filled the teapot with boiling water, and wondered whether Eldon had managed to escape in time.

  Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she saw him enter the room. It was one shock too many, and she nearly swooned.

  ‘Nos da,’ Eldon said nonchalantly to Rhodri in a passable Welsh accent. ‘You must be Rhodri. Sara’s told me so much about you.’ He ignored Sara’s mortified stare, and shook her brother’s hand, staring firmly into his eyes.

  Rhodri blinked, puzzled by the intensity of the young man’s appraisal.

  After a second, Eldon broke contact. He picked up his soggy papier mâché disc from the window sill, then kissed Sara sweetly on the cheek.

  ‘Good night, darling,’ he whispered. ‘Get some sleep. You must be exhausted.’

  Sara and Rhodri drank their tea in the living room, with the new fluorescent light glaring overhead.

  ‘A local boy!’ Rhodri exclaimed. ‘I’d never have believed it. I always thought you were such a snob about these things.’

  ‘A snob?’

  ‘With your penchant for English police detectives and such. And this fellow is so young! Who is he?’

  ‘Just a friend.’ Sara took too big a swallow of her tea, and felt it burn her throat. Rhodri chuckled naughtily.

  She was still breathless with shock and indignation. What had Eldon been playing at? She knew him well enough now to understand he did nothing without a reason, and that he was not prone to practical jokes. Why had he risked revealing himself to Rhodri when he hadn’t needed to?

  ‘If you must know,’ Sara said, ‘I am seeing Jamie again.’

  Rhodri’s face fell. ‘Oh, Sara, no. For heaven’s sake, why?’

  The strength of her older brother’s passion stymied Sara. In a halting voice, she said, ‘We’ve sorted out our differences.’

  ‘Impossible.’ Rhodri shook his head decisively. ‘The biggest difference is, you’re a nice, gentle person and he’s an untrustworthy sod.’

  ‘He is not,’ Sara countered.

  ‘Then why did he visit me behind your back?’

  Sara sighed. ‘He was trying to help. That’s all been straightened out now.’

  ‘Has it?’ he asked sceptically.

  ‘Count on it,’ she insisted. Briefly, Sara told her brother about how the limits she had set allowed them to enjoy each other’s company without conflict. ‘He meant well,’ she concluded. ‘Once he found out I truly didn’t want him doing turning over our past, he stopped.’

  Rhodri raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Sara persevered: ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you trust Ceri’s judgement don’t you? Even she likes Jamie now.’

  ‘Ceri?’ Rhodri asked suspiciously. ‘She doesn’t like anyone.’

  ‘Judge for yourself,’ Sara said. ‘I’ll have them both to dinner tomorrow evening.’

  Rhodri looked startled by Sara’s suggestion. ‘Dinner with the Scotland Yard Inspector?’ he said. ‘I can barely contain myself.’

  ‘Deal?’ Sara asked.

  Rhodri paused, his expression a parody of deep thought. ‘It might be fun at that. Your Inspector is well-meaning, but easily taunted.’ He grinned widely. ‘I like that in a dining companion. I take it you’d rather I not mention tonight’s fellow?’

  Sara hesitated. ‘In fact, I would prefer that,’ she said finally.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied with a chuckle, ‘I’m very good at keeping secrets.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sara spent Saturday morning cooking. She made vegetarian lasagne, a Greek salad, and fruit salad for pudding. While the pasta baked, she and Rhodri took a stroll along the beach. Rhodri wore a pair of leather sandals, and had his chinos rolled up above his ankles. He kicked at pebbles as they strolled, and looked genuinely relaxed.

  ‘You’re wasting your bloody time here in Wales, you know,’ he said for the second time. Sara didn’t mind his advice. Rhoddo had always been opinionated, and enjoyed baiting people. ‘Twenty years ago,’ he added, ‘neither of us could wait to get out.’

  Sara shrugged without concern. ‘People change.’

  ‘That they do,’ Rhodri agreed.

  A strong wave broke on the beach and foamy sea water surged towards their feet. They stepped hastily sideways.

  ‘You don’t belong here any more. You should be in London where people need you.’ Rhodri arched an eyebrow. ‘Poor Andy Turner is absolutely distraught without you.’

  Sara shook her head in fond exasperation. ‘Andy was my patient for over two years,’ she said, ‘and he didn’t make a single bit of progress. Do you know why? Because there’s nothing wrong with him.’

  Rhodri laughed. ‘There is now. He’s working himself into an absolute stupor for me.’

  Andrew Turner had been one of Rhodri’s closest friends since they worked in the same marketing department fifteen years earlier. Now, as CEO of Thorndike Aerospace, Rhodri had awarded Andy’s consultancy huge contracts, and made his old friend rich.

  ‘What’s he working so hard on?’ Sara asked.

  ‘The Hampshire Air Show,’ Rhodri said. ‘It starts Tuesday. It’s a major event in the defence industry calendar. All the big arms contractors build hospitality pavilions for their international customers.’

  Sara smiled ironically. ‘Saudi oil sheikhs, third world despots ...’

  ‘Allies in the war on terror,’ Rhodri agreed cheerfully. ‘The pavilions are really just big advertisements for the company, with all sorts of flashy presentations and high-tech gadgets. In the past, Thorndike hadn’t participated in any significant way; we’ve always sub-contracted from larger aerospace firms. Now, I’m changing direction, and we’re pitching to be the prime contractor on major government contracts.’

  ‘And you need a higher profile,’ Sara said.

  ‘Exactly. So this year, we’re running our own pavilion, and Andy’s company is creating it for us.’

  ‘No wonder he’s exhausted,’ Sara said.

  ‘We need to make an impression,’ Rhodri said, nodding, ‘and Andy knows if he cocks it up, I won’t be pleased. This is so important I’m driving straight to Hampshire this evening.’

  A brother and sister, perhaps seven and five, ran past them in bathing costumes and Crocs. Their footsteps crunched deep into the pebbles. From behind, a mother shouted warnings of caution. Sara could remember similar Sunday afternoons with Rhoddo, and despite their talk of defence contracts and corporate marketing campaigns, she realised she still felt very close to her brother. It was as if the intervening years had
not changed them much at all.

  ‘Andy is trying to win me over with flattery. He’s planned a special presentation for me to open the pavilion on Tuesday. I’m to emerge through clouds of smoke to the “Ride of the Valkyries”.’

  Sara laughed. ‘Andy is nothing if not subtle.’

  By the time they returned home, the mozzarella on top of the lasagne had browned to a lovely finish, and Sara switched off the oven. She uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two large glasses with warm satisfaction, realising that the afternoon was the most enjoyable she’d had for ages.

  By dinner-time, the warm glow of Sara’s afternoon had evaporated, and was replaced by nagging discomfort. Rhodri, Jamie and Ceri sat with her at the table, in deep discussion, but she was easily distracted, staring out the kitchen window as if she suspected someone of spying through it. She told herself there was nothing to worry about – it was simply the topic of conversation that was making her feel this way.

  ‘As far as I can remember, Inspector,’ Rhodri was saying pointedly, with an unflattering emphasis on Jamie’s rank, ‘these are fairly close-knit communities around here. Why has it taken so long to find the killer? Someone must have spotted him.’

  ‘Several people have spotted him,’ Jamie replied, with good-natured patience. ‘Because of his contact with Sara, we had an accurate description three weeks after the first murder, and just days after the last. We can trace several of his movements up until that time; afterwards, he seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘I understand there’s been no killing for nearly a month,’ said Rhodri.

  ‘That’s true,’ Ceri cut in. ‘One possibility is, the offender left the area.’ She frowned. ‘We may not know for certain until a body turns up somewhere else.’

  Rhodri turned his attention back to Jamie. ‘Then I can’t imagine what’s keeping you here,’ he said pleasantly.

  Jamie grinned without humour and speared a cherry tomato with his fork.

  Sara straightened her shoulders and tried to get comfortable. She was beginning to question the wisdom of inviting Jamie to dinner. The fact that he had won Ceri over, she told herself, was no proof that he could do the same with Rhoddo. Now that they were working together, Ceri had a vested interest in liking Jamie. The same did not apply to her brother.

  ‘Ceri and I are keeping busy,’ Jamie said defensively. ‘We’re working together, trying to trace anyone who may have links to the killer ...’

  As Jamie launched into a description of his travails with Ceri, Sara realised that the strain between her brother and her lover had not been what was unsettling her. She felt was as if there was an uninvited presence hovering in the room, watching her. What was it? She tried to relax, and extended her mind ...

  Eldon! she thought.

  A sensation pulsed inside her head, non-verbal but inarguably real. An acknowledgement that her suspicion was correct. Eldon Carson may not have been present physically, but he was in the room.

  ‘Sara,’ Ceri said, responding to her sharp intake of breath, ‘are you feeling all right?’

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked the presence she could not see. ‘Why are you ... wherever you are?’

  Her mind bumped against a sensation like grim laughter.

  ‘I suppose,’ Rhodri said languidly to Jamie, ‘it would be in your interest to choose the least likely candidates to interview.’

  ‘The least likely?’ Jamie asked. ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Well,’ Rhodri drawled, ‘since you want to stay here as long as possible, it would make sense to interview people who would not lead you to the killer.’

  ‘Sara?’ Ceri repeated. ‘Do you want to lie down?’

  ‘What?’ Sara asked, and saw concern on Ceri’s face. Jamie and Rhodri had stopped talking.

  ‘You had your eyes closed.’

  ‘Oh. No, I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to be offensive,’ Jamie said with a stiff smile.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ Rhodri replied. ‘I was teasing you.’

  Inside her mind, Sara heard Eldon chuckle again. She found being observed like this more than simply unsettling – it was intrusive, a violation.

  Go away, she thought sharply. ‘I just got tired for a second,’ Sara explained to the three pensive faces staring at her. ‘I’m all right now.’

  His presence remained, like a high-frequency noise that silently strained the nerves. Suddenly, she felt as though she was the victim of a stalker – something Eldon had not made her feel since she had first descended her stairs to find him sitting in her darkened living room. Recently, they had been behaving almost like friends, but this gesture did not feel friendly. She thought of Eldon’s powerful build, of his willingness to kill ... and was momentarily afraid.

  For the first time, Sara found herself wondering how she would ever get rid of Eldon Carson when the time came. He had made it clear that he wanted to be around her. When he had traded what he had to offer, taught her everything she needed to know, would he go away quietly?

  And what could she do about it if he wouldn’t?

  Sara had just opened the Drop-In Centre for another week, and was arranging chairs when she heard the door downstairs open, close and lock.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, and moved to the top of the stairs.

  Eldon Carson was halfway up the old, wooden steps. ‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped. He rarely ventured outside in daylight, and to appear on the promenade, in her Centre, was foolhardy.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ve locked the door, and put up the “Closed” sign. Just don’t answer the phone.’

  Eldon appeared calm, but his voice was strained, and Sara could sense a flush of angst radiating from him. She looked out the window: the street, wet from the drizzle of this grey day, was quiet.

  ‘What do you think you were doing Saturday evening?’ Sara asked tersely. ‘You frightened me.’

  He looked at her and tried to grin. Sara detected a sadness in his smile, which he was trying to hide. ‘I was watching over you,’ he said.

  ‘Well, I don’t like people eavesdropping on my dinner parties,’ she replied. Frowning, she added, ‘It was creepy.’

  ‘Creepy?’ Eldon laughed sardonically. ‘You’re going to have to get used to things like that.’ He dug into a bag of biscuits. ‘Now that you understand that there are more than one way for a person to be present ...’

  ‘I don’t care how many ways there are, the simple fact was, you weren’t invited! If you have special powers, you also have responsibilities.’

  Eldon poured himself a coffee, and added milk to his cup. ‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ he said darkly.

  ‘Then, at least have the decency to apologise for ruining my evening.’

  He sat on the old, sagging sofa. ‘I didn’t ruin your evening – and if you thought about it for a minute, you’d realise that. What was really bothering you was the distance you felt between you and your friends.’

  Sara shuddered. ‘Not this lecture again,’ she sighed.

  ‘Sara,’ Eldon said, ‘I’ve been there; I know how lonely it is. But trust me: your awareness is expanding. You’re seeing things in a way that would have been impossible for you, even a month ago. That can’t help but throw the beliefs and actions of your friends into a new light.

  Sara stared sullenly at the floor and said, ‘Whatever happened to “Miss Sara”?’

  Eldon paused, startled by the question, then chuckled bleakly. ‘I think we know each other well enough now to dispense with formality.’

  Sara shook her head in surrender, and helped herself to a cup of coffee.

  ‘Your friends are nice people,’ he continued, ‘but they’re not like us.’

  Eldon made an effort to shake off his sombre mood; he lifted his bag from the floor and loosened the straps. ‘I’ve finished your gift,’ he said.

  She looked up. ‘What gift?’

  ‘The one I started making in your kitchen.’ He leapt from the so
fa. ‘I want you to wear it. It’s a reminder of the things you are able to see, and the things you’ll be able to see in time.’

  Eldon pulled a small object from his bag, and held out his hand to Sara. In his palm was a papier mâché disk on a leather thong. She accepted it curiously, and looked down – suddenly flushing with the shock of recognition. Eldon had made a beautiful reproduction of his Eye in the Pyramid design. It was exquisitely smooth, delicately painted and varnished to a soft gloss.

  ‘Eldon,’ Sara stammered, ‘I couldn’t possibly wear this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  The image ... you know what it represents. It’s disturbing.’ In her mind’s eye, Sara saw a fourteen-year- old boy with his throat cut, and the blackened corpse of Navid Kapadia. She handed the pendant back to him. ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I think this is inappropriate.’

  In a flash, Eldon’s eyes hardened and he tugged his gift from Sara’s hand. ‘It’s completely appropriate,’ he countered, his words clipped and harsh. It was the first time he had used such a tone with her. ‘The reason you reject it is what makes it appropriate.’ He shook his head in exasperation and spoke formally: ‘Miss Sara, I have been letting you come to terms with all this at your own pace. That was necessary – but I cannot do it any more.’

  He inclined his head towards the sofa, and snapped, ‘Sit down.’

  Sara stood completely still, her eyes burning into his. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Because it’s time I made you aware of a few truths.’

  Trevor Hughes’ living room was a rubbish tip of unclean dishes, leftover food, beer cans, and full ashtrays. Threadbare floral carpet covered the floor in swirls of brown, orange and lime green. The only new objects in the room were a television set and a series of flags and posters in black, white and red. Jamie sat on the edge of a dirty armchair, grateful that Ceri had not been able to join him. Her reactions to Trevor Hughes might have been a liability.

  ‘Mr Hughes,’ Jamie said, ‘You are a member of a group called Race Riot, is that right?’

  The man hesitated, staring at Jamie with deep suspicion. Jamie’s eyes drifted up to a poster. White Pride Worldwide. ‘It’s a legal organisation,’ he said finally.