‘Is that the man who manipulates minds and can get people to do stuff, or act in a certain way?’
‘Yeah, him.’ I paused for a moment. ‘I think Rochdale must have hypnotised me, or something. He must have. Why else would I follow a strange man into the trees?’
Why else indeed? Did I really believe he’d hypnotised me? Or was it purely down to the curiosity thing? His lack of an aura had me both spooked and fascinated at the same time. Surely it was that I was reacting to, rather than believing the man was an accomplished hypnotist?
I caught Crow studying me, and I was almost certain he knew I was keeping something back. I checked the time.
‘It’s late,’ I said. ‘I should get going.’ It was more than late, it had gone so far past late it was actually early, and the sky was showing the first streaks of dawn.
‘Do you want me to see you home?’ he offered.
‘No thanks, I can manage. And I’m serious about you taking the tracker off my car. You do realise it’s a gross invasion of my privacy?’
‘Fancy some breakfast before you go?’ he suggested, ignoring my comments.
I shook my head. I’d spent enough time in his company already. He’d warned me, and I was taking the warning seriously. There was nothing more to discuss.
Except...
I owed the man my life. It was only right I should help him if I could. Not that I thought I could do anything, but if there was something I could do, then I would. Besides, beneath the hardness, there lay a man who was genuinely worried about his sister. In all honesty, I didn’t have the heart to walk away.
I slid out of the booth. ‘You said you wanted my help?’
‘You’re my only link to Rochdale. Can you let me know if he turns up again?’
‘Okay, give me your phone number.’
‘I’ve got a business card.’ He pulled a battered wallet out from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. ‘I got them printed a couple of weeks ago – thought it looked more professional than scribbling my number on a bit of paper.’
He worked one free and handed it to me. I took it without looking at it, my attention fixed on a photo on the inside of his wallet.
Crow and a woman stared out of it. He had his arm around her, and she was laughing into the camera.
I’d seen the woman’s face before – she was the female police officer who’d visited my house.
Chapter 20
Olivia
I jabbed my finger at the photo. ‘I’ve seen her before.’
Crow froze. ‘Where? When?’
I had a question of my own before I answered his. ‘Is that Meadow?’
‘Yes. Now tell me, when did you see her?’
‘A couple of days ago. She came to my house.’
Crow grabbed the tops of my arms. ‘Why?’
I cried out, a small sound, but it was enough for him to let me go, and he dropped his hands to his sides.
‘Sorry... I...’ He still had hold of his wallet, and it drew my gaze. It was better than seeing the kaleidoscope of reds and black massing around him like storm clouds.
‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine.’ I resisted the urge to rub the tops of my arms.
Crow closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. ‘How was she?’
I shrugged. ‘She seemed fine. I can’t tell; I don’t know her.’
‘Was she—?’
‘Is she a police officer?’ I broke in.
‘What? No.’
‘She pretended to be one. She turned up at my house with another man. Not Rochdale,’ I added, hastily.
Crow asked, ‘Can you describe him?’
Dirty, nasty, grey-brown filled my mind. ‘Not quite as tall as you, mousy brown hair thinning on the top. Fortyish. Weedy, a bit on the pale side; he didn’t look well.’ I didn’t tell him that Meadow looked equally as peaky and ill.
‘What car were they in? Did he drive or did she? Did it look as if he was forcing her to get into it? Do you think he was coercing her? Did she give any sign she—?’
‘No idea; he did; no, no, and no.’
Crow blinked as he processed my answers. ‘What did she want?’
‘They wanted to look at the photos I took that night.’
‘Do you know what they were looking for?’
‘I didn’t then, but I think I do now.’ I waited for the penny to drop.
‘Rochdale.’ It didn’t take long for Crow to come to the same conclusion I’d already arrived at. ‘Did they find any?’ His gaze bore into me, and I couldn’t look away.
‘No.’
‘You deleted them?’
‘Not exactly. The photos are still on my computer; but he’s not in them.’
‘None of them? How come?’ His incredulous tone annoyed the hell out of me. I hated anyone questioning my photography skills.
‘There was only one person I’d actively taken photos of that night,’ I said, with exaggerated patience. ‘If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have captured any images at all. That person was Rochdale.’ I crossed my goose-bumped arms. ‘As it turned out, he had nothing to fear – the lens hadn’t caught him, not even a partial, which in itself was odd, considering I’d been aiming the camera directly at him and it had been in continuous shoot mode.’
I remembered looking at the images after the “police officers” had gone, bringing each photo up on the screen one by one, and scrutinising them carefully, but there still hadn’t been any sign of Rochdale, just an empty space where I knew he should have been. If I closed my eyes, I could visualise him, but when I checked the photo... nothing.
‘Rochdale was there,’ I said. ‘You saw him. I saw him. I took photos of him.’ I caught my lip between my teeth. This next part was harder to accept. ‘I’ve got those photos, several of them, but he’s not in any of them. It’s as if he was never there. Or he’s invisible.’
I waited for Crow to start laughing, but when he didn’t I raised my head and my eyes met his with an odd kind of relief. It was hard work holding a conversation with someone while staring at their feet.
Neither of us said anything for a while.
‘If Rochdale was looking for photos, and Meadow didn’t find any of him, why do you think he turned up here tonight?’ Crow asked.
He had a point. I thought I knew the answer, but I didn’t intend to share. Besides, I’d had enough for one night.
More silence. There was a tremendous amount of thinking going on behind those deep-blue eyes of his
‘I was right,’ he said, after a pause. ‘He really is interested in you. I wonder if you’re his next target, now he’s burnt through all Meadows’ money?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘I’m serious.’
Crow was only half right. It wasn’t my money the man was after (which was good, because I didn’t have any to give) but knowledge. And I damned well wasn’t going to give him that, either.
‘It’s late. I’m knackered. It’s time I got some sleep.’ I walked towards the door. ‘Before I go, I want you to remove the tracker,’ I reminded him.
He accompanied me outside and across the car park. ‘Will you please let me know if Meadow contacts you again?’
‘Of course.’
‘Or Rochdale?’
I nodded and stopped by the driver’s door, car keys in hand, waiting for him to remove whatever device he’d placed on my car. He bent down.
‘Done,’ he said after a couple of seconds, and he straightened up, holding out a small piece of black plastic to show me.
‘Good.’ I unlocked my car and opened the door, uncertain whether I felt better or worse for him having removed the gadget.
You’ll call me if either of them turns up?’ Crow asked, again.
‘Yes.’ I got in.
‘Okay, then. Um... be safe.’
As I drove away, I caught a quick glance of him in the rear-view mirror. He was watching me leave and for some reason, I felt oddly comforte
d. I might not know anything about him, but I had a feeling he had my back.
I also had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of Rochdale.
Or of James “Crow” Robinson.
Out of the two, I knew which man I preferred to meet again, and it was the one cloaked in red.
Chapter 21
Olivia
Secluded places suited me. The more secluded, the better I liked them. Unfortunately, most castles weren't particularly secluded. Not the ones with the fantastic history attached to them. Towns tended to grow up around them, and while the castles themselves may have declined, the towns had usually thrived. This was the case with Abergavenny, a small market town near the Wales-England border on the edge of the wild Black Mountains.
It was pretty enough, with a nice river and was surrounded by lowering mountains.
Courtesy of Google maps and street view, I’d managed to avoid the centre of the town, skirting around the edge of the main street to find the car park, which was only a stone’s throw away from the castle.
There hadn’t been a great deal left of it, but the legend of William de Braose and the Christmas Day Massacre had been enough to warrant a series of photos and a bit of blurb to go with it. As I was composing the piece in my head on the drive home, I wondered if George R. R. Martin had known about this particularly nasty piece of history and had based his “red wedding” on the mass murder which had occurred so long ago inside those ruined walls.
It was late when I pulled up alongside my cottage, the light having bled from the sky hours ago until it was now fully dark. I checked the time – the takeaway place I favoured would be closing soon and I needed to hurry if I intended to order anything.
Gathering my equipment together, I made the call as I locked my car and strolled up the path.
‘Hi, it’s Olivia Parr,’ I said. ‘If it’s not too late, can I have my usual?’
It wasn’t, and I could.
Relieved, because I really didn’t want to cook and I needed something more substantial than toast, I went upstairs to turn on the computer. It was a habit of mine to always back up my work as soon as possible, and if that meant staying up for another hour or two, then so be it. After all, I didn’t have to get up for anything in the morning.
With the camera plugged in, I downloaded all the images I’d taken earlier that evening and as I did so, I caught sight of the folder marked “Oxford”.
Two days had passed since my brother’s swanky event at the Hollifield Hotel, and I hadn’t seen or heard from either Crow or Rochdale since. I was beginning to hope I wouldn’t, that Rochdale had believed me when I’d told him I’d seen nothing that night. After all, it was kind of the truth...
But his lack of aura kept eating away at me.
A part of me was certain I must have imagined it. Another part was convinced I hadn’t; I’d always trusted my own judgement, but now I wasn’t so certain and the details were growing indistinct.
Yet another part of me hoped (prayed?) that this was the start of something new, that Rochdale’s lack of an aura had much more to do with me than with him. Maybe my ability to see colours was beginning to fade, aura by aura, until eventually I would experience the world in the same way as everyone else? Perhaps one day I, too, could be normal.
I wasn’t going to hold my breath. If it happened – great. But the treacherous hope refused to die, so I shoved it to the bottom of my psyche and got on with the more immediate task of downloading several hundred images.
A knock on my front door had me salivating. The last food to pass my lips had been many hours ago and I was now seriously hungry.
I took thirty pounds from my purse. If this was the usual delivery guy, he would be used to my grab and thrust tactic of almost snatching the bag of goodies out of his hand while simultaneously stuffing the money (complete with generous tip to compensate for my rude and decidedly weird behaviour) into his other, outstretched one, all without making eye contact. If I could have persuaded him to leave my meal on the doorstep, I think I might have done so.
I opened the door.
My food had arrived, but the person who’d brought it wasn’t my usual driver. He wasn’t a delivery guy at all.
My gaze slowly travelled up from the plastic carrier bag, which dangled almost nonchalantly from the end of one finger, up and up, past a white silk shirt underneath a dark velvet jacket, and I knew who was bringing me my supper before I reached the cravat.
‘Why?’ I asked, my attention on the emptiness around him, that delicious lack of colour.
Rochdale smiled. The wolfishness of his grin failed to put me at my ease; if, indeed, that had been his intention. He might just as easily have wanted me to be unnerved, and if he had, he’d succeeded.
‘I was already at the gate when the fellow drove up,’ was his explanation.
‘But, what about his money?’ I asked, somewhat stupidly. Surely there were far more pressing and important things I should be asking him? Like, how the hell he knew where I lived?
He cocked his head to the side. ‘Don’t worry about that. I took care of it.’
‘Then, let me reimburse you.’ I waved the notes at him.
His smile grew wider. His teeth really were very white, I noticed, and I guessed he’d probably had a lot of work done on them. He could do with having a bit more, I decided, because his canine teeth were out of proportion to the rest of them. It made him look slightly demonic.
I shook my head to clear it – why the hell was I thinking about teeth? Wondering what on earth was wrong with me, I snatched the bag out of his hand, but my appetite had fled.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he asked.
‘Why should I?’
‘I brought you your supper.’
‘The delivery driver would have done that anyway,’ I countered.
‘I did pay him...’
I narrowed my eyes, mild irritation at having this stranger turn up on my doorstep, morphing into growing anger at his temerity, but under it lay a deep curiosity. ‘I can’t be bought for the price of crispy chicken and vegetable vermicelli.’ My tone was sharp.
‘Don’t forget the fried bamboo shoots and water chestnuts,’ he pointed out.
Against my better judgement, I smiled.
‘You should do that more often,’ he suggested.
‘What? Order Chinese food?’
‘Smile.’ He took a step forward. ‘Well? Are you going to invite me in?’
‘You still haven’t told me why I should.’ It was strange to look him in the eye. I tended to prefer to look at people’s feet.
His own smile faded, to be replaced by a more solemn expression. ‘Because I think we need to talk.’
‘We do?’
Instead of answering, he took another step, until his foot was almost, but not quite, touching the doormat. His eyes captured mine. I tried to look away, to break free, not used to such intimate contact with another human, but I was trapped by the depths in them. Black, bottomless, unfathomable, they drew me in and down, until I couldn’t breathe.
‘Come in,’ I heard myself saying and I shuffled to the side, opening the door wide enough for him to pass.
His smile reappeared, wider than ever – oh, what big teeth you have, grandma – and my heart constricted, the missed beat making me cough, breaking the spell; too late to withdraw the invitation.
I was no wilting eighteenth-century wallflower. I was a grown woman, tough (ish) and independent. If I was attacked, I had no doubt I would fight back. But I was alone in the cottage, and I wasn’t entirely certain I would come out top dog in a fight with Rochdale. He might be slender and not particularly tall, but I wasn’t confident of beating him. And this was the reason I gave myself for not trying to get him to leave right away.
I took one last look at the outside world and closed the door.
Chapter 22
Crow
‘Meadow, what the fucking hell are you playing at?’ Crow took his wallet out of his b
ack pocket and gazed at his sister’s face. She looked so happy, so carefree. What was she now?
Where was she now?
With Rochdale, clearly, but where?
The only way Crow was going to find out, was to keep tabs on Olivia Parr, and he was doing that at a distance. So far, though, she’d done nothing of interest, just a repeat of Carew Castle, but this time in a place called Abergavenny, then she’d gone back to her cottage.
Crow hadn’t even bothered to follow her – he’d simply sat on his sofa at home, with his laptop on his knees and watched as the little red dot trundled along assorted Welsh A roads. He didn’t feel at all guilty for not having taken the tracker off...
He reached for the small tumbler of whisky on the side table next to him and took a sip, the warm richness of the liquid slipping down his throat. He’d only have the one. He only ever had the one.
With nothing else to occupy him, Crow opened up an email and read the newest information provided by his pet hacker.
Olivia’s medical records.
They made for some interesting reading.
Ms Parr hadn’t visited her GP for many years, not even for a supply of contraceptives or for a check-up of any description. Either she was extraordinarily healthy, or she’d had her fill of the medical profession, and from what he’d read of her early life, Crow suspected it might be the latter.
Physically, she’d been a robust child, fit and healthy.
Or put it this way, none of the doctors her parents had taken her to had found any physical reason for her “problem”. And what a fascinating problem it was, too.
Olivia had been diagnosed with synaesthesia, a cross-wiring of the senses. No known cause, no known cure. It seemed that most sufferers simply out-grew the condition, in time. Or did they merely resort to covering it up?
The parents hadn’t been happy with the diagnosis, Crow gathered, from the sheer number of second opinions they’d sought. It seemed that no two professionals could totally agree, but the general consensus was that Olivia had a neuropsychological condition which meant she saw colour in the air around people, commonly known as “auras”.
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