by Diane Hester
‘Excuse me?’
‘With Lindsay. I hope you’re not expecting a normal relationship.’
Relationship? Mac sat back. Clearly her parents hadn’t passed on that he was a detective rather than the friend they’d first imagined him to be. ‘Is there such a thing?’
She let out a laugh. ‘You could get a lot closer to one, believe me.’
‘If you’re talking about Lindsay’s psychic abilities, I am aware of them.’
‘Well, you’re all set then. You know what you’re up against.’
Up against? He studied her a moment. ‘You’re older than Lindsay.’
‘By three years, yes.’
‘Then you’d have seen her abilities develop. In childhood I mean. You would’ve witnessed many of what she calls her spells.’
She stared in her coffee. ‘Yes. Too many.’
‘The other day at your parents’ house, you said something about Lindsay talking to dead people. What was that about?’
‘Lindsay had a number of crazy ideas. One was that she could communicate with Pa, our Nan’s dead husband. Of course Nan wanted to believe it was true and encouraged her to do it.’ She gazed into space. ‘When Mum found out, she sent Nan away to live in a home. As if it was her fault.’
‘Sounds like you were sad to see your Nan go.’
‘Despite what Lindsay said, I assure you I loved my grandmother very much. What happened to her was all Lindsay’s fault.’
‘What did happen to her?’
Pam looked away. ‘She died. She couldn’t bear to be separated from her family so she just … gave up living.’
‘And you reckon that was Lindsay’s fault.’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t Nan’s doing, was it.’ She turned more to face him. ‘Let me explain something to you, Mr Macklyn. I wasn’t an exceptional child. I didn’t have any extraordinary gifts or rare talents. Still, every once in a while, like any kid, I’d do something a little special. Straight As on a report card. Best and fairest in a netball game.
‘Yet somehow, those were always the moments when Lindsay created some drama in our lives. She’d have one of her spells and need to be fussed over. She’d say something to a kid at school and our parents had to go meet with the principal. Did you know we had to leave the town we were born in because of her?’
Mac felt a sudden surge of interest. ‘Is that so?’
‘Our parents both had to quit jobs they loved and scrounge for new ones when we got here. I was in the middle of year twelve and had to leave all my friends, not to mention adjust to a new school. As a result I bombed out completely on my exams and had to repeat the year.’
‘Couldn’t your parents have waited a few months until you graduated?’
‘Oh, heavens no. Lindsay was in trouble, we had to get out.’
‘What kind of trouble? Can you remember?’
She let out a huff. ‘It’s not the sort of thing I’d ever forget. Her best friend died. First the girl went missing, the whole town searching for days without finding her. Then Lindsay had one of her visions and saw where she was.’ Her expression darkened. ‘It would’ve been smiles all around except she was dead.’
‘This is Adelle Phillips you’re talking about?’
Her head snapped up. ‘She told you about it? I’m surprised. As far as I knew Lindsay’s never spoken—’
‘And you say Adelle was Lindsay’s best friend.’
‘Her only friend really; she never had many.’
‘But why would the incident force your family to leave the area?’
‘Because of Mr Phillips, Adelle’s father. He went a bit crazy after it happened and came after Lindsay.’
‘Came after how?’
‘It started with him approaching her on the street, asking her questions about how Adelle died. Then he progressed to following Lindsay whenever she went out alone. In the end he was making threatening phone calls to our house.’
‘You think he blamed Lindsay for his daughter’s death?’
‘I know he did. And he wasn’t the only one. Practically everyone in town believed it, including the police, though they could never prove it. Hell, I’d have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen—’
Mac waited, holding his breath. ‘If you hadn’t seen …?’
She let out a sigh. ‘If I hadn’t seen too many things over the years that couldn’t be explained any other way.’ She met his gaze. ‘The one thing I know about Lindsay’s gift, it is genuine. I have no doubts whatsoever on that.’
Chapter 35
Mac left the hospital cafeteria and started up the hall towards the lift. His breakfast of toast and coffee—the first meal he’d had in over twenty-four hours—was sitting like a lump of lead in his stomach.
His conversation with Pamela the night before had stirred up a fresh crop of doubts in his mind. Throughout his long vigil at Lindsay’s bedside, he’d been buffeted by emotions he rarely experienced—anger, confusion, grief—and at times had felt all but overwhelmed.
Yet oddly, at those moments he felt the worst, it was touching Lindsay’s hand that held him together. How could the source of his greatest conflict also be that of his deepest comfort?
In his despair over his mother’s death, Lindsay’s words had been exactly what he’d wanted to hear. What he’d needed to hear. She doesn’t blame you. She knows what you did, you did out of love.
He’d baulked at accepting that message initially, as any reasoning person would, until she’d used the pet name, Beau. A name only his mother had called him. Which no-one else knew. And in his weakened emotional state that had convinced him.
But talking to Pamela had been a splash of cold water in his face. If Lindsay had lied about Adelle Phillips, insisting she barely knew the girl when in fact they had been best friends, how could he put it past her not to lie about other things that served her purpose? Like making him believe in her gift.
And that’s when it hit him. Lindsay played piano at his mother’s nursing home. Wasn’t it possible that, unbeknownst to any of the staff, his mother had briefly regained her power of speech and that she and Lindsay had talked together? Wasn’t that a much more plausible explanation for Lindsay knowing exactly what to say, the name his mother had always called him?
He winced at the thought. Could she really have done it? Not just played with his mind but his heart, using his feelings of grief and doubt for her own ends?
That didn’t sound like the Lindsay he had come to know. Unless he had completely misjudged her. What’s more, despite Pam’s sometimes spiteful account of her sister, she’d stated unequivocally she believed Lindsay’s gift was genuine.
So what was the truth?
At the lift he stopped and punched the call button, then stood rubbing his eyes. He’d witnessed some amazing things himself. There was simply too much he couldn’t explain. He knew in his heart he wanted to believe.
Yet lurking there in the back of his mind was the nagging truth: his mother had died because she’d believed in rubbish like this. How could he ever embrace it fully?
***
Lindsay slid her feet to the floor and slumped against the side of the bed. The wave of dizziness was so strong and sudden she thought for a moment she was going to pass out. Slowly it abated; she opened her eyes.
Someone had left a tray of breakfast on the bedside table. The sight of the stewed fruit, cold buttered toast and congealed oatmeal turned her stomach. She swallowed hard and turned away.
Her clothes lay draped on a nearby chair. She grabbed for her blouse. It slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor.
She held up her hands, frowning at the layers of gauze that bound them. A chill washed over her. The feeling was strangely reminiscent. Like the straps that had once secured her to a bed in a room just like this one. She fought the urge to rip off her bindings and focused on getting dressed instead.
Her hands were throbbing by the time she’d finished putting on her jeans. She didn’t care. Throwing
off the hideous hospital gown, she pulled on her blouse. She couldn’t move more than the tips of her fingers, so buttoning it proved an immediate challenge. She was still only struggling with the second one when she heard footsteps coming up the hall.
***
Mac stepped through the door and stopped. The sight of Lindsay with her blouse hanging open stirred feelings he didn’t want to deal with right now. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Back to my flat. I’m getting out of here.’
‘I thought you were going to wait for Shaunwyn and walk back with her.’
‘I don’t need an escort. Besides, Shaun sleeps late and I’m not staying here another minute.’
He watched her fumbling efforts with her buttons. ‘Have you spoken with the doctor?’
‘Don’t need to, I’m fine.’
Her state of denial both amused and annoyed him. He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. ‘Any more messages for Beau this morning?’
‘What? Who?’
‘Any follow-ups to the ones last night?’
She stopped and looked at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
He took a moment to gauge her sincerity. Was she trying to pretend it never happened? Her current agitation seemed real enough—quaky voice, trembling hands, the same frantic glint in her eyes as she’d had the night before. Clearly the sedative had worn off.
‘Never mind.’
She went back to struggling with her blouse.
‘You should talk to the doctor before you leave, in case there’s some follow-up treatment you need.’
‘Don’t care if there is. I’m not coming back here.’
‘So you’re going to remove your own stitches, are you?’
‘With my teeth if I have to!’ She threw up her hands, forsaking the battle.
Mac stepped forward, gently drew her hands to her sides and resumed buttoning her blouse for her.
She stood, eyes closed, taking deep breaths. A chance for him to study her closely—the sweep of her brows, the fan of her lashes, the curve of her lips. God, she was beautiful.
Her eyes flashed open. ‘I didn’t need to stay here last night. You had no right to force me.’
‘How did I force you?’
‘You let the doctor give me a sedative. I couldn’t very well leave after that.’
‘I didn’t let him. He suggested you needed one; I just agreed.’
‘You took control like you always do.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m a cop. We get to make people do what we want.’
‘Not everyone. And not all the time.’ She jerked away from him. With the last two buttons still undone, she turned for the door, started through it and collided with the doctor on his way in.
‘Ms Cavenaugh?’ The thin balding man looked startled to see her. ‘You’re leaving?’
Lindsay swept past him without a word.
He turned to Mac in deepening concern. ‘I hope she’s not driving. Between the painkillers, sedative and loss of blood—’
‘I’m giving her a lift. Is there anything she needs to do once she gets home?’
‘Just plenty of rest. She could be quite weak for a couple of days. And she has to keep those bandages dry. Here, I’ll write out some instructions.’
***
Out in the car park Lindsay climbed into Mac’s Prado. She’d have preferred to walk—it was only four blocks—but honestly didn’t think she’d make it. She was feeling decidedly weak at the moment. What’s more the morning was bitterly cold and she was shivering already without her coat.
‘Here,’ Mac said, getting in beside her. He slid his jacket around her shoulders then set her handbag on her lap. ‘One of the nurses locked it up for you overnight. There’s some instructions from the doctor in there so be sure you check them.’
His words barely registered. She sat staring down at her bandaged hands. ‘I need to see Ron.’
Mac gripped the steering wheel then checked his watch. Seven forty-five. ‘A bit early, isn’t it?
‘He gave me his home number. Told me I could call him any time I needed to.’
Wasn’t that good of him.
‘I have to find out what happened last night.’ She held up her hands. ‘This is just so— I’ve been through some crazy shit, Macklyn, but nothing has ever come close to this.’
‘You could try talking to me about it.’
She let out a huff. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
The intensity of his stare killed any doubt. His face, though haggard and shadowed with a morning growth of beard, still made her heart constrict.
The words were nearly out of her mouth—there’s nothing between me and Ron Ikeman—before she stopped them. She couldn’t deal with his jealousy now. It was taking all she had just to hold herself together. Besides, if he wanted to know her feelings he could damn well ask.
His mobile rang.
As he pulled it from his pocket she took the opportunity to do the same. Placing her call quickly and quietly, she slipped her phone back in her bag when she’d finished.
Mac was still listening to his caller’s words. ‘Well, did dispatch pass on the message I left that one of the girls was in hospital overnight?’
She turned to look at him, giving up the pretence she wasn’t listening.
‘All right, tell him to call me on this number and I’ll sort it out.’ He disconnected and started the engine.
‘What was that about?’
He piloted the car through the near-empty lot. ‘I’ve got an officer at the front desk of your apartment building monitoring the security log. He’s got a list of every student staying over break and orders to report anyone who doesn’t sign in by midnight.’
‘You mean another girl’s gone missing?’
‘Don’t worry. Clearly it’s you and he just didn’t get the message I left about where you spent the night.’
They reached the exit. He sat staring out the window a moment. ‘You still want to go to Ikeman’s lab?’
Lindsay hesitated. He’d asked so much with that simple question but she just couldn’t give him the answer he wanted. ‘I just called Ron. He said he’d meet us there in fifteen minutes.’
Chapter 36
Mac paced the width of Ikeman’s lab trying to hold his anger in check. He was torn between wanting to whisk Lindsay away to question her himself and hoping this man could somehow help her. The pair had been talking for several minutes, ignoring him completely. Now a lull in their conversation drew his attention. He moved closer.
Ikeman was unwrapping Lindsay’s bandages. When he’d uncovered both hands he sat back, staring at her injuries. It was only the second time Mac had seen them. Cleaned and dressed, they weren’t any easier to look at.
Ikeman spoke to him for the first time. ‘And the murdered girl? Her hands were marked in the same way as this?’
‘The body hasn’t been found yet. In fact, at this stage there’s no proof a murder has even been committed.’
‘Lindsay senses the girl’s dead, isn’t that enough for you?’
‘No, doctor, I’m afraid it’s not.’
Frowning, Ikeman turned back to Lindsay. ‘But in your vision you saw Jennifer break the window with her bare hands.’
‘Yes.’
‘Which would result in injuries similar to these.’
‘I suppose.’
He turned her arms one way, then the other, then gently set them in her lap again. ‘Just a minute.’
From the shelf above his computer he pulled down a large dog-eared volume, flipped through it and laid it open on the desk before her. ‘What do you know of the phenomenon of stigmata?’
Lindsay leaned over the book and grimaced. ‘I’ve heard of it. It’s people manifesting the wounds of Christ.’
‘Of his crucifixion, yes. St Francis of Assisi was the first known case in 1224. Since then there have been several hundred others. Mostly women.’
Mac came closer and studied the pictu
re over her shoulder—a priest standing at his pulpit, arms outstretched, blood dripping from gaping wounds in the centre of his palms. Bloody hell.
‘Some stigmatics display marks on the brow consistent with the crown of thorns,’ Ikeman went on. ‘Others the sword wound to the side. But the majority present with wounds to the hands. In some cases the palms are pierced right through.’
‘What are you saying?’ Mac challenged. ‘That she’s had some kind of religious experience?’
‘No. But … What if it’s something along the same lines?’
‘Like what?’ Lindsay said.
‘Empathy.’ Ikeman sat down before her again. ‘The majority of people feel great pity towards a murder victim, especially one they know. What if you take things one step further and actually share the victim’s suffering.’ His frown deepened. ‘The question is why.’
Mac shook his head. ‘That would be my second question; the first would be how.’ Such thoughts had crossed his mind as well. But hearing this lunatic spout his theories just made him realise how crazy they were.
‘Look, this is ridiculous.’ Mac reached down, took Lindsay’s elbow and pulled her from the chair.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Taking you in for formal questioning.’
‘No, please.’ She jerked her arm free. ‘I have to find out what’s happening to me.’
‘I’ll tell you what’s happening. You’re up to your neck in a multiple homicide. And if it turns out Jennifer has been murdered as well, you’re going to be in it over your head.’
‘But I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve told you everything you wanted to know, everything you asked me.’
‘Everything? Really? What about Adelle?’
Lindsay froze. ‘What about her?’
‘Your sister came by the hospital last night, did I mention that? According to her, Adelle Phillips wasn’t just some faceless classmate of yours. She was a pretty good friend. Your only friend.’
She raised her chin. ‘What if she was?’
‘You told me you barely knew the girl.’
Lindsay swallowed. ‘Yes, all right. I lied about that but—’