The Aura (24 page)

“I’ll probably lose you again,” Jack said. “Will you come into the office in the morning? We can chat then. I’ll square it with Alan for you to come back to work. I’ll be in at eight thirty. Let’s talk then.”

“All right, as long as you’re sure Alan won’t try to throw me out. He wasn’t very happy today. Oh, and there is one thing. I need to go to the police station at eight tomorrow, just to look at a sketch. I’ll come straight to the office afterwards, but it may be a little later than eight thirty. I promised Inspector Clarke I’d go in.”

The train must be fording a river, judging by the gurgling and whooshing noises on the line. I heard a muffled ‘okay’ before the call died. I felt better for having talked with Jack. I knew he could persuade Alan to let me come back. Alan could be aggressive and strident, but Jack seemed to get what he wanted most of the time.

My feelings of rejection alleviated by Jack’s call, I embarked on a thorough clean out of my closet and the kitchen cupboards. When everything was shipshape and orderly, I decided to go shopping for a special dinner for Josh. Checking my watch, I realized I could beat the commute rush if I left at once. A high quality supermarket was just a couple of Tube stops away; I always enjoyed exploring the aisles of organic food and fresh produce there.

An hour later, with two full bags in hand, I headed home. It was on the escalator going back up to street level that I began to feel uneasy. Without the usual crush of commuters, the Tube station was so quiet that I could hear the rhythmic pulse of the machinery that moved the escalators. Perhaps it was the calm that heightened my other senses; the faint prickle on the back of my neck as though someone had stroked a finger across my skin. Turning quickly, I saw a young couple a few steps below me, entwined and oblivious to all but each other. Behind them, a man in a dark wool coat rested his fingers lightly on the moving handrail and appeared to be reading the advertisements on the walls. His studied absorption in the posters seemed artificial but, although I watched him for a while, he didn’t turn his head to look at me. I must be imagining things.

I passed through the turnstiles in the windswept entry hall and took the exit on to the high street, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck against the sudden blast of cold. There were plenty of pedestrians about, and the shops were busy. I stopped to look in the window of a shoe store, eyeing a pair of brown leather boots I’d been thinking of buying. In the glass, I saw the man from the escalator walk past me. I turned my head to watch him. He was quite tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair. He was moving slowly. Now I was sure he was following me. I reached for my cell phone, dialed Inspector Clarke’s number, and heard a recorded voice, telling me to leave a message.

In the time it took me to listen to it, my heart rate had slowed and my breathing had returned to normal. The man in the overcoat had disappeared into the crowds, so I left a short message for Inspector Clarke, asking him to call me back when he had time.

Walking home, I decided I was overreacting. Still, when I reached my building, I stopped and looked around before opening the front door, then slipped inside and pushed the door closed behind me. With no sounds to reassure me that anyone else was home in the downstairs apartment, my heart thudded against my ribs as I climbed the stairs. The dark shadows at the end of the hallways were suddenly full of imaginary assailants. I almost ran up the last flight of stairs, grocery bags in one hand, keys at the ready. Once I was in my apartment, I did a quick tour of the rooms, even swishing the shower curtain back in the bathroom. I’d always had a vague fear of what might lurk in a curtained-off bath, probably from watching Psycho so many times.

Certain that I was alone and that no one had followed me, I chided myself for being a coward. I was still trying to decide whether I was making too much of the man in the black coat when my phone rang. “Aunt Kate? It’s Aidan.”

“Aidan, sweetheart, it’s so good to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry. I’m still on IV fluids and ice chips, but tomorrow they’re going to let me have some real food. And they might let me go home by Friday, which would be brilliant because I want to watch the Chelsea match on television. It’s really boring here.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter listening to Aidan recount his memories of coming out of surgery, the details of the hospital routine, and the loud snoring noises emanating from the other patient in his room. He said his school friends had made a huge card for him and sent it with a bunch of balloons.

“And Dad keeps coming in and staring at me like he’s never seen me before. Can you tell him to stop doing that? It’s creepy.”

I laughed. “No, I don’t think I can. You had us all very scared there for a while, kiddo. Your dad’s just happy that you’re alive and well.”

“Dad said things could have been pretty bad if it wasn’t for you, Aunt Kate. That you were the one that got the ambulance to come. So thanks for doing that. Lucky you got me this cell phone, huh?”

“Yes, that was lucky.”

“OK, I have to go. The nurse is here to change my IV. Will you come and visit soon? Maybe this weekend?”

“Of course. I can’t wait to see you. Maybe we can watch the soccer together. Love you.”

“Yeah, bye.”

I stared at the blank screen on my phone for a full minute after Aidan hung up, reliving the terror I’d felt when I saw the aura, the panicked trip to the emergency room, and the overwhelming relief when Aidan came out of surgery and the aura was gone.

After unpacking the groceries, which kept me occupied for all of two minutes, I set about preparing dinner. The cell phone rang again; this time it was Inspector Clarke.

“Kate. Are you all right?” There was a sharp edge of urgency in his voice. I felt guilty about alarming him.

“Yes, I’m fine. I thought I was being followed, but now I’m not so sure.”

Clarke made me describe the man and said he’d look into it.

“For now, keep your door locked.”

“Of course. Is there anything new?” I asked. “Any leads on who Rebecca’s boyfriend might be?”

“Nothing concrete. We found wire transfers into Rebecca’s bank account at the beginning of each year for sums that would cover six months’ rent. So that explains how the boyfriend was paying for the apartment. But the remitting bank is based in Switzerland and we don’t have a name for the account holder. I’m working on it but it could take days – if not weeks. It’s well nigh impossible to deal with the Swiss when it comes to disclosing information on bank accounts.”

“Do you think he’s deliberately obscuring the trail of money?” I asked. “To hide something?” This was a lot more elaborate than I’d imagined.

“Possibly. It could be some rich guy who’s paying for the rent out of untaxed money. My people are working on it.” He paused. “You’re sure you’re okay? You sounded a little rattled when you left that voicemail.”

“I’m fine. I panicked. Maybe I’ll see you in the morning when I come in to look at the identikit picture.”

“Maybe. It depends on how much murder and mayhem the night brings. If I don’t see you, be sure to call me. I’m hoping you will recognize the man in the sketch.”

I promised I’d call.

Thinking about Rebecca and the boyfriend, I went to find the drawing of Rebecca’s room that I had kept and stored in a drawer in the kitchen, I stared at it for ten minutes while I made and drank some tea. Nothing new jumped out at me. I just kept running through the same scenario in my head. Rebecca and her boyfriend had argued, he’d held her by the wrists, trying to reason with her, and then, angry, had pushed her away. She’d fallen on to the glass table, and lay bleeding on the shards of glass. Then what? With frightening lack of compassion, the boyfriend had waited for her to die, ignoring her effort to pull herself up, not helping her, not calling for an ambulance. And then he’d added the props of the wineglass and wine bottle in an attempt to provide a reason for her fall.

He must have known that the police could check for alcohol in Rebecca’s system, so the window dressing was just that, a red herring. But why? To give him time to run away? To leave the country? Was that what had happened? I pondered the enigma of Edward, who travelled frequently and didn’t seem to exist except in a few mentions of his name. No photos, little evidence of his presence in the apartment. I wished I’d been more pushy, got more details from Rebecca.

I thought back to my conversation with the Williamses. There was something nagging at me, little tugs at the edges of my brain, trying to attract my attention. But I couldn’t pin it down.

Thoughts of Rebecca and the boyfriend dissolved when the doorbell rang. It was Josh. “Can I come up? It’s tipping down out here.”

I buzzed him in and heard him bounding up the stairs. He was earlier than I expected, but that was fine with me. “I heard about Alan putting you on leave,” he said before he’d taken his coat off. “Everyone wants you to come back. We’re missing you.”

“Even Ben?” I asked with a smile.

“Okay, everyone except Ben. He’s so insecure that nothing would make him happier than being the last one left on the payroll. Then he could be confident he’s the best.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Poor Ben.”

I told him about the call from Jack while we made dinner together and drank some wine. I lit some candles and set them on the kitchen island. We’d just sat down when the doorbell rang.

“Now what?” I said, not moving to answer it.

Josh looked at me inquiringly. “Shall I get it?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I’ll do it.” I didn’t tell him that my first thought had been that it was the sandy-haired man in the black wool coat. In fact, it was Inspector Clarke.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said, when I opened the door. “I didn’t want you to think I was dismissing your concerns about being followed.”

“Thank you. I’m fine, though.” There was an awkward silence and then I stepped aside to let him in. I saw him take in the scene: Josh, the bottle of wine, the candles. His shoulders stiffened and I could feel a coolness fill the air between us.

“I didn’t realize I was interrupting your dinner,” he said, taking a step back towards the door. “I’ll see you at the police station tomorrow.”

“Would you like to stay for a glass of wine?”

His mouth twitched as though he were trying to force a smile and failing. “No, that’s very kind, but I’ll be going.”

I closed the door and leaned against it, feeling guilty for no reason I could explain, as though I’d been caught cheating.

“Who was that?” asked Josh.

“Inspector Clarke. He’s investigating Rebecca’s death.” I sat down and took another bite of food.

“I didn’t know detectives made house calls,” Josh said drily.

“He’s just doing his job,” I said. I put my hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you before, but he’s worried that Rebecca’s boyfriend might come after me. So he was just checking up on me to make sure I’m all right.”

His look of concern touched my heart. “Are you in danger?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but Clarke is being cautious. Because Rebecca was so secretive about who she was seeing, the police haven’t been able to track him down yet. The Inspector is worried that if the boyfriend thinks I know who he is, he’ll consider me a threat. I know, it all sounds a bit melodramatic.”

“Maybe, but if there’s any risk at all, you have to take it seriously.”

“Perhaps that’s what the threat to Nick is as well?”

“What?”

“If the boyfriend thinks you might expose who he is, then it’s possible he thinks Nick might know enough to identify him as well.”

“But why Nick and not Gary? Gary doesn’t have an aura.”

“You said that Nick claims to have seen the boyfriend on the stairs a few times? Maybe Gary wasn’t there, and didn’t ever see him. So he’s not a threat.”

I put my fork down. “Josh, if that’s the case, and Nick’s aura means he’s in danger from this man, then maybe I was right about being followed. Perhaps I have an aura too?”

Sliding down from the counter stool, I hurried to the bathroom and stared into the mirror, turning my head slowly trying to catch a glimpse of moving air. I’d checked before, of course, but this time I did it with intent. Josh came in and stood behind me. “Can you see anything?”

“No, but that might not mean it’s not there.”

Turning around, I leaned into Josh. I felt better for having his arms around me. “What did you mean about being followed?” he asked.

I told him about seeing the sandy-haired man at the Tube station.

“I’m going to keep an eye on you until the police work out who this boyfriend is,” he said. He hesitated. “If that’s okay with you, of course? I came prepared this time and brought a toothbrush. And a clean shirt.”

That made me laugh. It felt good to be happy. Memories of the man in the black coat evaporated. We picked a movie, sat together on the couch, Josh’s arms around me. Watching it, I was able to forget, for a couple of hours, about the aura, even about Rebecca. We brushed our teeth in the bathroom together while Josh related snippets of the day’s activity at the office. Later, in bed, he turned off the lamp. Within minutes, I was asleep.

I woke to see the clock’s red numbers showing that it was three in the morning. I’d been dreaming of Rebecca again, and Toby, and Sophie, weird dreams where they were all together. My heart pounded; the adrenalin had thoroughly wakened me. I lay on my back, listening to Josh’s soft breathing, thankful he was there. I slid closer to nestle up against him. He smelled good, like fresh air in the mountains on a clear spring morning. A thought traversed my brain; something to do with scent. I couldn’t quite grasp it. Then I remembered. It was the scent of aftershave. The smell of Amouage, the aftershave I’d seen in Rebecca’s bathroom cabinet.

The person who’d been wearing the aftershave was Peter Montgomery. I gently turned back the bed covers and padded across the carpeted floor to find my purse. I hadn’t cleaned it out for days, so I was sure Montgomery’s business card was still in there somewhere. Clutching the bag, I tiptoed along the dark hall to the living room. The moon was still blanketed by cloud, and only a faint glow from a streetlight bled into the room. Fumbling in the darkness, I pulled out the card and sniffed it. Yes, there was the faintest hint of the scent. I used my cellphone to illuminate the card, which read Peter E. Montgomery, CEO, followed by a list of qualifications that indicated a lifetime of achievement and showed no lack of ego.