Lost Souls (19 page)

He sat down. There would be no happy ending this time, no tearful reunion. He put his head back. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

It was seven o’clock in the morning when Laura’s phone rang. I put my head under the pillow, still tired, but then I sensed her become more alert.

When Laura picked it up, her voice still a low drawl, she sounded reluctant. I had fallen asleep before she’d got back last night, and it seemed like her day was starting again already. Laura listened for a while, and then she hung up, fell back onto the sheet. She rubbed her eyes and checked the time.

‘Going in early again?’ I asked. I felt her warm skin against my own and pulled her towards me. I could taste the night’s sleep on her lips and I felt her respond when our hips came together. I was surprised when she pushed away.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

She shook her head and said, ‘Nothing. It’s just work.’

‘Will you cut me into it later?’

She threw the sheet back angrily and climbed out of bed. ‘I thought you wanted off the crime scene for a while? Are you missing the action?’

I watched as her body framed itself against the
sunshine showing through the curtains. Her dark hair shone out bright against the paleness of her back, and when she turned around I could see the faint marks on her stomach, like scratches, her reminders of when she’d carried Bobby. She looked beautiful to me, and, like I always did, I felt privileged to watch her naked. ‘Yeah, because I meet people like you when I do.’

Laura slipped on a dressing gown. ‘I saw you last night, going into that hut.’ Her voice was clipped, sharp.

I didn’t answer, was unsure what to say.

Laura shook her head. ‘You’re making it hard for me.’

‘How come?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Jack,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve given up everything to come up here. I’m in a new job, with new people. This will be a short stay for me if you start interfering.’

‘We’ve got to eat,’ I said lamely.

Laura pulled her hair back and gave a small laugh. ‘So far I’m the only one bringing in real money, and you’re doing your best to stop that. And what about Bobby?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like, isn’t it too soon to be relying on Martha, that maybe we should be looking after him? I go to work, put in long hours to pay the bills, and you just dump Bobby on people he doesn’t know so you can chase some hint of a story?’

‘We had this out last night. You said it was okay.’

‘But I didn’t know then that you wanted Martha to babysit so you could trample all over my case.’ Laura was shouting, her hands on her hips.

‘So that’s it,’ I said, my voice harsher than I wanted it to sound. ‘I get it now. It’s not about Bobby. It’s about me getting in your way.’

Laura didn’t reply. She glared at me.

I stared back. I wanted to say something, but I stayed quiet, wanted to win the argument.

‘“Sorry” would have been nice,’ Laura said bitterly. ‘“I won’t do it again” would have been even better. But you’ll do it again, won’t you?’

Once more, I didn’t reply.

‘I’m going to have breakfast with my son,’ she said quietly, and closed the door.

Sam was drinking from a Styrofoam cup when he went into his office, a hot Americano, good and strong. He stopped when he saw Alison there. She was sitting in his chair.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you think I should be asking the questions?’ she said. Her voice was quiet.

He laughed, cold and harsh. ‘Send Harry down,’ he replied, angry. ‘Or are you his spokeswoman now, as well as his favourite?’

‘What are you talking about? Do you really want me to speak to Harry, after what you’ve been doing? He’ll tell Helena. Do you want that?’

Sam looked confused, didn’t know how to respond.

‘I saw you,’ she said.

He turned red, thought about denying it.

‘I was frightened,’ she continued.

‘Frightened?’

She stood up. Her eyes were cold, filled with contempt.

‘You followed me home,’ she said to him. ‘You waited outside my flat in your car. What else have you been doing?’ She took a deep breath and glared at him. ‘For Christ’s sake, Sam, you scared me!’

‘Well, you tell me something,’ Sam responded, getting angry himself now. ‘Why do you think I would be following you?’

She shrugged theatrically. ‘I don’t know. Why do older men follow younger women around?’

That surprised him. He knew how it sounded, how it looked. ‘No, no,’ he spluttered. ‘That’s not what I was doing.’

She went to walk out of his office. ‘I came here to warn you, to give you a chance. I don’t know what is going on in your marriage, and I don’t want to know, but following me home so that you can gawp at me as I get into the shower will not make things better.’ She stood close to him as he struggled to think of a response. ‘If I see you near my flat again, I will call the police. Or Helena.’

He took some deep breaths. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, stupid even, but he couldn’t think of an appropriate response.

Alison looked at him. It seemed like she was waiting for an answer, an apology or something. When nothing came in response, she stormed out of Sam’s office.

Sam dropped his coffee, felt it hit his shoes. He put his head in his hands. I just need some sleep, he thought to himself. Just some sweet, uninterrupted sleep.

*  *  *

Laura was pouring milk over Bobby’s cereal. I made myself a coffee as they chatted, just new-school talk about Bobby’s new friends. I tried to join in, but when I looked round I saw that Laura was avoiding my gaze.

After a few minutes of silence, I heard Laura ask, ‘So how
is
Eric Randle?’ She didn’t look at me when she said it.

I took a sip of the coffee, felt the caffeine kick me awake.

‘He’s fine. Still a bit shaken by what happened to Jess.’ I knew to go no further on detail around Bobby.

She turned to look at me, waiting to see if I would give anything else up. She kissed Bobby on the top of his head and came over to where I was standing.

‘What’s your game, Jack?’ she asked quietly. ‘You’re running around with a murder suspect.’

‘So he’s a suspect? Can I quote you on that?’

‘Don’t play games,’ she hissed at me, her voice low, trying not to let Bobby hear.

‘But why does only your job matter?’ I whispered back. ‘I’ve got to tiptoe around yours, but you can trample all over mine.’

Laura turned away, and I saw that she had tears in her eyes. I looked upwards and sighed.

I put my arms around her, pulled her back to me and put her head on my shoulder. She was cold at first, but then I felt her sag, and I was aware that she was crying. I buried my face into her hair. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to argue.’

I felt her hand come to my face. ‘I know,’ she said, and then she looked at me, her cheeks streaked. ‘It’s not
just that. I’ve come a long way, given up a lot, and I had to fight to get this far. You know that my father was against me joining the police, and he didn’t want me to come north. Imagine what he’ll say if I have to go back because I messed up.’

‘It wouldn’t be your fault, though,’ I said.

‘He won’t see it like that.’

I stroked her hair, twisted it round in my fingers. ‘Do you really think it would be so awful if I keep chasing the story?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I heard yesterday that you were at Eric’s house. Then I watched you walk into that hut. We’re watching him, and we even lost him for a while, and then it turns out that my boyfriend is his new best friend. There aren’t many ways I can come out looking good in this.’

I knew Laura was right. But Eric had trusted me, and I had to respect that; a journalist never gives up a source.

But then I thought about Eric. He was a suspect. He had told the police he had seen Jess in a dream, and he had told me nothing more than he had already told the police on countless occasions.

‘Have you heard of precognition?’ I asked.

Laura looked confused.

‘Premonitions in dreams,’ I explained. ‘Seeing the future and all that.’

Laura nodded. ‘He’s still spinning that line?’

‘He’s sincere.’

‘Do you believe him?’

I considered for a moment. ‘I believe that
he
believes he dreams the future.’

Laura started to smile. ‘One of my aunts used to say that she did.’

‘You’ve never mentioned that before.’

‘It’s not why I remember her, but she used to tell me that she could see into the future.’

‘And could she?’

Laura shrugged. ‘She never won the lottery, and she didn’t see that stroke coming.’

‘But you knew that
she
believed it.’

Laura nodded slowly. ‘She lived in Devon, so we didn’t see her often. Just Christmas and birthday cards, and an occasional trip to her house. But my father believed in her, still does. I thought he would be more rational than that. You know what he’s like. She would go into a funny trance and mumble to herself, and then she would rush out and write things down.’

‘So if you don’t believe Eric, you’re saying that your aunt was a liar too.’

Laura sighed at that. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Do you know why I was at the hut?’ I asked.

Laura shook her head. ‘We know that Jess went to some kind of club, but nothing more.’

I smiled. ‘It’s a dream club.’

Laura laughed. ‘What is that?’

‘Just like it sounds. They all meet up and discuss their dreams, try and work out if they are premonitions. Jess was a member.’

I went towards the stairs to get dressed, Laura still smiling to herself, when I asked, ‘The meeting didn’t go on that long. How come you got back so late?’

‘They found an old wino with his hand burnt off.
It looked like he’d been tortured. Why don’t you look into that instead?’

‘What was his name?’

Laura started to load the dishwasher; Bobby was quiet as he ate his Ricicles. ‘Terry something.’

I whirled round. ‘Terry McKay?’

‘That’s him. I didn’t see him, but we were asked to drive around, to look for a gang of kids.’

‘They think it was kids?’

‘It’s a possibility, so it was worth checking it out.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Bit of a local sport round here, they tell me, beating up tramps.’

I ran upstairs, my heart racing. That was two violent incidents linked to Luke King. And I remembered the words of Billy Hunt from the night before.
A tramp hanging.
Not quite the same, but it might be close enough.

I could hear Laura calling my name, but my mind was rushing through the facts, drawing all the links together.

There was something going on, and I wanted to be the first one to find out. I felt something like a buzz of excitement for the first time since I’d moved back.

Pete was waiting for Laura as she hurried into the squad room. People had already begun to arrive, a couple of the junior detectives talking over a coffee by the window, but the room looked like it hadn’t really kicked into action yet. Pete was at his desk, leaning back in his chair, two mugs in front of him.

‘Glad you could join us,’ he said, looking pleased with himself.

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘I could say the excitement is killing me, but I think it’s more the early start. So what have you got?

Pete picked up some clear plastic bags and tossed them over towards Laura. ‘We found these in the drawer next to Jess’s bed.’

Laura picked up the bags and sat down. She stretched the plastic tight to try and better see the contents inside. ‘What are they?’ she asked.

Pete exhaled. ‘Diaries, but not quite. They’re a bit weird, like she was jotting down random thoughts.’

He took a drink and then pulled at his lip. He looked bashful, as if he didn’t believe what he was
about to say. ‘It reads like she foretold her own death,’ he said.

Laura closed her eyes for a moment, thinking about her conversation with Jack at breakfast. When she opened them, she tried to look surprised. She began to count the plastic bags in her hand, each with an exhibit reference on one of the corners. There were about twenty in all, but not all contained simple pieces of paper. One held a notepad, like a small journal, and Laura put that to one side.

Pete leaned over and shuffled through the bags, and then put one in front of Laura.

‘You need to read that one.’

Laura pressed the plastic against the paper inside and the handwriting came into focus. It was in blue pen, scruffy and disjointed, different to how Laura had expected Jess to write. Her house had seemed very orderly and neat. This handwriting was jagged, almost as if the person was writing it when she was drunk—or tired.

‘Are we certain it’s Jess’s writing?’

Pete nodded. ‘As certain as we can be.’

Laura pressed the plastic against the paper again and began to read.

‘Cant see, can’t talk, can’t move. All I can see is red. I can hear someone, though, it’s a man, and he is laughing. I’m hurting, and I try to get away, but I can’t move my arms, my legs. I turn my head to try and see, try to open my eyes, but there is nothing there. Just a red mist, but it seems dark, forbidding. I try to scream for help but there is just a noise I don’t recognise.’

Laura looked at Pete, who raised his eyebrows and grinned.

‘What do you make of that?’ he said.

Laura didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to make of it. It all fitted, though. The redness. The ‘can’t see, can’t talk, can’t move’. Just like she’d been found. But what could it mean? Were these fantasies, some kind of strange sadomasochistic games, where people wanted to be tortured? Was Egan right, after all? Was Jess’s death just playtime gone wrong?

Laura didn’t think so. But if it wasn’t that, then Jess had seen something before it happened. And from the conversation that morning, Laura sensed that she knew how.

‘Do you believe in people who can see the future?’ she asked.

Pete shook his head slowly. ‘Not a chance. If you could see the future, you’d alter it to make it better, which would mean that it would be different, so you wouldn’t have seen it at all.’

‘That’s a pretty skewed way of looking at it.’

He grinned. ‘I’m just saying that it’s mumbo-jumbo bullshit.’

Laura pointed at the piece of paper in the bag. ‘So what about that?’

‘There’s more than just that one.’

Laura put the first bag to one side and looked at the one underneath.

‘Help me, help me, help me. No one is coming, no one is helping. I’m sitting down, and I try to stand and I try to move but I can’t. No one can hear me. I can’t see
anything, don’t know where I am, but I can hear footsteps moving around me, feel someone watching me. I struggle, I try to get away, but I can’t. And I’m cold. I feel so cold. And weak.’

‘What the hell is all this about?’ asked Laura.

Pete shook his head. ‘Can’t say I know, but the notebook is just as freaky. Lots of stuff about trains crashing, planes falling out of the sky, things like that.’

Laura reached over for one of the mugs and took a gulp. She ran through what she had just read. None of it made any sense. She looked over at Pete. ‘What would you say if I said that she had actually predicted the future, even her own death?’

‘I’d want to know who had been taking drugs, you or her.’

‘But do you remember what Eric Randle said when we got there?’

‘Yeah, he said he’d had a dream about her.’

Laura nodded towards the plastic bags. ‘And she’s writing down her dreams.’

Pete’s expression didn’t change.

‘Do you remember last night?’ she went on. ‘Those people going into that hut.’

Pete nodded.

‘It was a premonition club,’ Laura said. ‘Weekly meetings to talk about dreams.’ As Pete laughed, Laura asked, ‘Did you recognise one of the people going into the meeting?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Billy Hunt. Local oddball. Got himself into a bit of trouble a couple of years ago, when he fixated on a young girl who worked in a bookshop
in town. He started waiting around for her, turning up when she went out, things like that. She caught him hanging around in the street outside her house one night, just looking up at her bedroom window. She called the cops, and when we searched his house we found videos of her all over the place. He had even filmed her through a gap in the curtains, getting undressed, things like that. He’s got a restraining order now.’

Laura took a long swill of coffee and then put the bags of exhibits into her desk drawer. ‘We’ll go and see Billy Hunt, see what he has to say. He can tell us about their little club. If he thinks he’s a suspect, he might tell us more than we expect.’

Pete stood up. ‘Didn’t you recognise someone there as well?’

Laura turned away and avoided the question.

‘Have you told Egan about these diaries?’ she asked, as she tried to change the subject from Jack.

He shook his head. ‘That’s
your
job.’

‘My job? Why?’

‘Because if I tell him, he’ll dismiss it. He hasn’t got the imagination. However, if you whisper it into his ear, he might just pay attention.’ He winked. ‘Give it a nibble, throw in some sweet nothings, and he’ll do whatever you want.’

That wasn’t advice Laura
ever
wanted to rely on.

As I drove towards Eric’s house, I saw two men in a car further down the street. If it was police surveillance, it wasn’t discreet. At least it wasn’t Laura.

I wanted to ask Eric about Terry McKay. What did
he know? Had he had dreams about him? Had Billy Hunt’s dream been about him? I looked up at the house as I parked my car. It looked just how it had done yesterday, desolate and dark.

I looked around as I walked up the path, and when I knocked on the door it sounded muffled, the sound deadened by the thickness of the board.

I listened for a while, but no one came. I banged on the door this time, but still there was no answer. I looked back down to the men in the car, but I couldn’t see them any more. They were obviously waiting for Eric to come out, not looking for who went in. I turned back towards the door and turned the handle. The door started to swing open.

I looked around, wondering if anyone else was watching. The windows opposite looked empty, no movement behind the nets. It didn’t feel right. A person doesn’t board up his windows to protect his house and then leave the front door unlocked. Nerves crept into my stomach. I pushed the door open a fraction more and stepped inside.

The house was in darkness, no sunlight penetrating the boarded-up windows.

‘Eric!’ I shouted. No response, just my voice as it bounced back at me. I went to the stairs in the corner of the room and shouted again. Nothing.

Something was wrong. I could sense it in the silence, the echoes.

I crept up the stairs, one at a time, ready to apologise when he appeared from one of the bedrooms. But he didn’t.

I looked around. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was clean but bare. One of the bedrooms was empty, nothing there behind the wooden boards. The only light upstairs came from the bathroom, the windows there left uncovered.

Eric’s bedroom was functional. An old self-assembly wardrobe was in one corner of the room, and on the floor was a mattress, a couple of old blankets cast to one side. I noticed a drawing pad on the floor, and some coloured pens next to it.

But no Eric.

I went back downstairs and looked around some more. My mouth had gone dry. The hairs on my arms were up, my hearing straining to pick up any noise as I tried to take in the house, to look for something that had changed.

I walked towards the back of the house, towards the kitchen, through the living room and into the small recess between the two rooms. I went past the small door, and I remembered how Eric had shouted the day before, anxious for me not to go in there. That it was dark, that people had fallen. But as I looked, I felt my breath escape in a gasp. There was a sliver of light.

I reached for the handle and wondered whether I should go down. I was snooping around in Eric’s house. What would he think if he caught me?

But then I reminded myself that I was chasing a story, not making friends, and there was something wrong, I knew that.

I turned the handle and opened the door slowly. The light made me blink, a sudden burst into the dingy house.
There were stairs going down into a cellar, the light from below reflecting brightly off the white walls. I glanced into the kitchen. I noticed a cup on the side, with the string from a tea bag hanging over the edge. It looked like Eric had just abandoned the place.

I paused by the door. If I went down, I could get trapped, the stairs being the only way out. I thought I heard a creak upstairs, but I knew there was no one there. My pulse quickened, and I went onto the first step carefully, waiting for someone to shout out from below. I coughed, just to give Eric a chance to hear me. I went down one step further. My whole body was on the stairs when I sensed the door behind me swing shut. I glanced back at it, worried that it would lock itself. Or that someone would lock it and leave me trapped.

But I had to keep going. I knew that. Something was making me go on, almost as if I was drawn to go down.

I edged my feet down the stairs, as they opened out into a bigger room. The noise of my shoes rustled like I was stepping on sandpaper. I saw something, a shadow. I crept down another step. I saw a foot, someone asleep. One more step and I would be able to see all of the room.

I took another step, my hand against the wall. Then the whole room came into view.

I took a sharp breath, and then I slumped back against the wall. I fumbled for my phone, but then I sat down. I could tell it was no good, that it was no emergency. Too late for that.

There was a boy on the floor, lying down, grey, lifeless. There was no colour to his cheeks, and his lips
looked pale. He was dead. His body looked unnatural, posed. I’d heard about the missing boy on the car radio. As I looked at the figure in front of me, I knew that I was looking right at him.

But it wasn’t just that.

As I looked to one side of the boy, there was a chair, a rickety wooden thing, cast to one side on the floor, as if it had been kicked over. But it wasn’t the chair that grabbed my attention. It was what was swinging above it. Or rather, who.