“Kissing them.” Deed said.
“Well, it appears now she only has to lay her hands upon them for the deed to be done. Sorry Bobby.”
“Yes, very amusing. So where is she?”
“If I was you, my first port of call would be St Luke’s Church in Manchester.”
Deed turned his back on Joe and walked over to the window overlooking Joe's courtyard garden. Joe could see Deed’s shoulder muscles bunch into massive knots with each step he took. His shoulders rode high as he leaned his fight ready fists against the window ledge. The tendons in his forearms and neck began to bulge. When he turned back to face Joe his jaw was granite.
“Take a break Bobby. You’ve been working non stop since I’ve met you. I thought I was a workaholic, but you beat even me.”
Deed smiled weakly. His green eyes shifted in colour. He shoved his hands hard into the pockets of his jeans and rested against the window sill.
“It’s time to stop running from this. I’ll come with you if you want.” Joe said gently.
Pulling his hands from his pockets Deed pushed himself away from the window ledge restlessly. “How do you know she won’t just run like she did before Joe?”
“There’s no real guarantee, but I’m sensing she wants to see you as much as you need to see her.”
“Are you certain?”
“Nothing’s ever certain Robert. You’ve worked with me long enough to know I wouldn’t spin you a line. Besides, tell me in all honesty you never want to see her again.”
Joe watched the body language of his tall, capable friend. Deed was once more slumped against the window sill and his shoulders drooped. His hands hung neanderthal-like by his sides. He sighed heavily before he spoke.
“I can’t.”
*****
Deed sat on the 16.30 from London Euston to Manchester Piccadilly. He was pretending to read. His mind kept drifting back to the memory of another train journey earlier in the year which had not ended as he had anticipated. Was it really only six months ago? Would this trip be any different?
Joe came back from the toilet with his lips pursed. “Did I mention I hate public transport of any kind, but more particularly trains?”
“No you didn’t Joe. Why are you telling me this now? We could have come up in the car.”
“Ah, but then I would have lost the opportunity to bitch at you repeatedly.”
Deed closed his book with a snap and leaned forward, the beginnings of a heated argument on his lips. He stopped because Joe was smiling broadly.
“What’s got you so tickled?”
“You. It's so obvious you’re not actually reading that book. Half the train knows, and the majority of them are not psychic.”
Deed sat back in his seat. He was so wound up about finding Madi. He thought he had been hiding it well, but clearly he had not. Ever since he had read Sylvia Rose’s e-mail to Joe he had felt as though he was at the edge of a cliff waiting to jump. Thoughts of Madi always left him feeling this way; one minute riding air currents with eagles, the next falling into the abyss. He felt as though his sense of equilibrium was dissolving into a kaleidoscope of confused shapes and colours. What if she doesn't want my help? What if she hasn't been thinking of me as obsessively as I've been thinking of her? What if this is another wild goose chase to nothing? What if my trust in Joe is misplaced? He had accepted the events as presented to him so easily. Was this because he wanted to see her so badly?
Deed knew his doubts clouded his face. He wasn't able to hide his feelings from Joe. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
"Bobby, you're the younger, impetuous brother I never had. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking. I damn sure know what you're feeling, so there's not much to hide."
The tension in Deed’s jaw eased. It was good to have someone to confide in. Joe made it easy. He closed his eyes and swallowed. "I'm sorry. I get so... so damned confused about her. I was in her presence a total of three times Joe. Three times. How the hell can she have affected me so much in so little time? The thing is, I think I love her. I mean, really love her."
With the words finally spoken out loud a peace descended over Deed. He sighed and smiled gratefully at his friend. "I'm really glad I've got you to do this with."
Joe shrugged his shoulders amicably and picked up his newspaper.
Manchester (ii)
Chapter 19
“So she’s in there?” Brian and Garry were sitting in the back of the unmarked surveillance vehicle. Brian hated having to be Ire’s lapdog, but there were consequences if he failed to deliver. Not for the first time in his short career he was cursing the fact he ever got himself into the situation where he owed Terence Ire a favour. The trouble with favours owed to Ire was that they were always favours times infinity cubed.
“Yeah. According to the neighbours she’s been shacked up with this old biddy for over a week now.”
As Brian looked at the pulled curtains hiding, he imagined, the cosy interior of the Victorian semi, he wished he was inside his own house, nursing a beer and watching telly on this miserable winter’s evening.
“Did the neighbours give a positive ID?”
“100% boss. I wouldn’t have called you otherwise. How do you want us to proceed? Should we bring her in? What’s she done anyway?”
“Who knows. Look this is a favour for Terence Ire okay. Just keep her under surveillance. For God’s sake, don’t try to get this collar Gaz. This is Ire’s baby. You know how vindictive he can be.”
Garry gawped as a large breasted girl walking her dog passed the car.
“Gaz, I hope I’m getting through to you. I don’t want you to cock this up.”
“Boss, just relax. All you had to say was this is Ire’s baby. I know better than to mess with anything the terrier’s into.”
Brian breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t let him hear you calling him that he’ll bite your head off.”
“Oh, very good boss.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me a bit about the old girl who owns the house.”
“Well the old bird is some sort of psychic so there are people going in and out of there all the time. I checked her out. She’s even got a website. Would you believe it? The same priest has been seen more than once. Wouldn’t have thought a priest would go for that sort of thing. He stayed in there for hours. Do you think he was talking to God?”
“Good observations Garry!”
“Sorry boss.”
“Just stay on top of things okay. For God’s sake, don’t lose her. Ire went totally mental when we couldn’t find her before. I heard there was some sort of incident at the shooting range. Sometimes I think he’s totally out of control.”
“Somebody should do something about that boss.”
“He’s got too many friends in high places. While that’s the way it is there’s not a lot we can do about it. One day Gaz, one day, he’s gonna do something that’s not gonna be so easy to push under the carpet. But you and me, we may be long dead before that happens. Let’s just do this for him and get back to what we do best eh.”
Garry nodded solemnly. Brian let himself out of the unmarked car and walked round the corner to where he had parked his own car.
Brian's sigh hung in the air and his reluctant fingers hovered over the keypad of his phone until the biting cold forced him to action.
“Ah, the bastard can wait a day or two. She’s not going anywhere.” Shoving his phone back into his pocket he thought. “I’ll say we got a bit swamped and I forgot to call him. It won’t really be a lie.”
Chapter 20
Sylvie and Father Andrew were sat at the half circle table by the window in Joe's hotel suite. When Deed walked past Father Andrew, a faint hint of incense emanated from him and his otherwise composed exterior was betrayed only by the tense steeple his fingers made underneath his flabby chin.
Sylvie was digging around in her cavernous bag. Joe sat in one of the armchairs and Deed finally sat himself down on the chair by the desk. He
realised he was sitting in a far too upright posture. Looking down at his hands resting on his knees, he noticed the knuckles were white. Shame it's not a full round table, four knights of the round table we'd be. Or are we a coven? He felt slightly hysterical and had to stifle an urge to giggle. She's staring at me. Looks like she wants to say something. Get a grip Robert.
Sylvie's gaze slid away and she continued her bag rummage till she found a pen which she placed next to the pad she'd produced earlier. She and Joe appeared to be the only relaxed people in the room. I suppose they have something in common, this... calling they share.
A knock at the door made all eyes turn as one, betraying the underlying current of tension in the room. Sylvie took the tea tray from the waiter, set it down on the table and began to play mum. She put the plate of sandwiches to one side and began sorting out cups and saucers.
You'd think we were just going to have a spot of afternoon tea. It's a wonder she didn't ask for scones and cream.
Sylvie poured and spoke while Joe tipped the waiter and closed the door. “I know we've done the emails but it's nicer to meet in person. I wanted to speak to all of you about the message I received two nights ago before you meet with Madie. Andrew, I think this might be a bit uncomfortable for you.
Father Andrew leaned forward to pick up his tea as he spoke. “First and foremost I’m here for the child Sylvie. She needs our help, that's very clear.
“Thank you Andrew.” Sylvie turned her attention to Joe. “I'm also not sure if I should be the one to speak to her or if you should Mr Carpenter.” As Joe retook his seat with tea cup in hand she continued speaking to him. “I'd be very grateful if you would do an independent reading for Madie. I think this is far too important to be left to the ramblings of a silly old woman.”
Father Andrew interjected. “Oh Sylvie, that’s completely unnecessary.”
“No, Andrew. I’m serious. When you hear the nature of what I have to tell you, you'll agree with me.”
“Mrs Rose, I’m not sure I can help with this case.” Joe’s hesitation was evident in the way he narrowed his eyes and frowned slightly. “My work mainly involves finding missing children. I’ve never spoken to the other side in the way that you do. I don't make contact. In fact it’s something I’ve always shied away from. And please, call me Joe."
Sylvie smiled warmly. She handed Deed a cup and turned towards Joe again. “Only if you call me Sylvie." Joe nodded and Sylvie continued. "All I’m asking Joe is that you tell me your impressions. I’ve told Madie I wasn't able to make any contact with the spirit world. I felt bad lying to her, but I was so disconcerted at the time. Besides, you deal in lost children and there’s a lost child inside her.”
Deed looked from the psychic to the medium with a growing sense of dread. She sounds so ominous. He’d watched Joe at work but realised he was not that comfortable with the easy way in which they talked about readings and ‘the other side’. He put his untouched cup of tea on the desk blotter, feeling completely out of the loop. Hearing Sylvie speak about Madie made him see her so clearly in his mind's eye. He remembered the last time he'd seen her at the train station. She'd looked so small in the midst of the departing crowds. Her lack of size emphasised by the huge impersonal quality of the transport building. Why hadn't he stopped her there and then? Of course he'd been in shock, but what must she have been feeling at that point? I let the detective in me cut me off from my feelings. She must have been so frightened. Even more so now.
There was a lull in the conversation so Deed spoke. “How is she?” He knew the longing for knowledge of Madie rang through his voice but could not avoid his need to know.
Father Andrew and Sylvie looked at each other then Sylvie's lips tilted up as she answered. “Considering the circumstances, she’s doing very well. She’s a tough young lady.” As though she saw the war Deed was having with his twin the policeman, Sylvie continued. “Just love her for who she is and don’t try to justify the reasons for why things are the way they are Mr Deed. She'll be glad you've come when she knows.”
Bloody mediums. It's like you can't think in peace. Stop being so petulant Robert. Deed looked at Sylvie for some time in silence then nodded in simple agreement. He felt a small amount of tension release at the centre of his shoulder blades.
Sylvie's empty cup clattered awkwardly on her saucer and lay at an angle. She righted the cup then massaged the palm of her right hand with the thumb of her left. Three pairs of eyes watched her every move. She cleared her throat as though to speak but then smoothed down the non-existent folds in her skirt. Finally she adjusted the scarf at her throat.
Why's she stalling? It can't be that bad. We already know Madie thinks she kills people.
“The thing is Andrew, Joe, Mr Deed..."
Again that palm massaging thing. Wish she'd just get on and say it.
Sylvie's eyes sort each man's in turn, finally stopping with the one's she was most familiar with. "Andrew, God’s chosen her for this work.”
Before Father Andrew had a chance to speak Deed asked sharply, “What the hell do you mean by that?” Father Andrew was sitting up a little straighter in his chair, Joe leaned towards Deed.
“I think Robert, she means her guides have told her God has sanctioned these deaths.” Joe spoke gently. He looked over to Sylvie for confirmation. Sylvie nodded. Father Andrew placed his cup in his saucer with unusual care and was about to speak but again Deed got there ahead of him.
"Sanctioned the deaths? Sanctioned them! Am I hearing you right?" They seemed so accepting of Madie's ability to kill people that it was hard to grasp. Was that what he'd done - had he accepted the situation as fact?
"Are you saying she's an avenging angel Sylvie?" asked Father Andrew, finally getting a word in.
Sylvie took a deep breath. "Yes."
Deed was up on his feet. "Oh for Christ sake. This is completely insane. An instrument of God! Have you completely lost your mind? This is totally ridiculous. This is the twentieth century not, not... Egypt in the Old Testament." Deed lurched towards Father Andrew. "You're the priest here. Surely this is completely absurd? How can you just sit there and let her say that?"
Father Andrew remained remarkably composed. His criss-crossed hands with tapping thumbs rested on the surface of the table far too calmly for Deed’s liking. The priest looked down at his hands as he spoke. "Mr Deed, my grey hair and wrinkles should tell you I’ve been around the block a bit and I can tell you the world is full of strange and mysterious things. I’ve learnt in my many and various postings to keep an open mind. Not only that, Sylvie is one of my oldest friends and I've seen her say and do things that have astounded me. But she's been more right than she's been wrong young man. And I'm not saying she's right, but I want to hear everything she has to tell before I make up my mind one way or the other. Now you need to settle down. As you say, I'm the man of the cloth and it's my job to be outraged."
Joe stood and moved across the floor to grip Deed’s arm. "Let's hear what Sylvie has to say."
"The God of fire and brimstone." muttered Father Andrew.
Joe looked Deed in the eye. "Bobby, we can't deny something really strange is happening with Madie. She believes she's responsible for the deaths of quite a few men. And, strange as it seems, she might be. If we're going to help her we have to find out what's happening. We've got to help her. Anyone else with knowledge of Madie's beliefs would want only one thing - you know that's true."
Deed clenched and unclenched his fists. How does Joe manage to do that? Somehow he always calms me. Is it the way he says my name? Does it act as some kind of trigger?
Sylvie's voice was consoling. "If it helps Mr Deed, I don't think the dead men were good men. I mean that's the impression I got from my reading."
An awkward silence hung in the room. Joe steered Deed towards the other armchair in the room and waited till he sat down before resuming his own seat. As Deed thought of the six dead men whose faces had once adorned a pin board in his office a list of
their names dangled in the air before him.
Anthony Brockwell
Danny Matthews
Andrew Carson
Maxwell Fraser
Curtis Franks
Calvin Burry
They were Madie’s own sword of Damocles. Bad was not the word for them. The men were the lowest of the lowest. The more he had delved into the possible cause of their deaths the more he had uncovered about their loathsome little lives. No, they were not good men.
Joe seemed to have taken on the role of mediator in the group. “Mmmm. So...she's God’s avenging angel apparently. Sylvie, what exactly did your guides say that made you come up with this conclusion?” Sylvie poured herself another cup of tea. "It was pictures as well as words." She sipped at the hot liquid delicately.
"Pictures. You've never had pictures before. This is new, very new. You should keep me abreast of these new developments."
"Not now Andrew."
Father Andrew coughed lightly, took a sip of his tea and mumbled an apology into the cup.
Sylvie rummaged round in her Mary Poppins bag then remembered the pad was already on the table. She pulled it out from under the plate of sandwiches. "I made notes and a very crude sketch. I'm sorry. I'm not an artist. Really wish in this instance I was. It's the clearest picture I've ever had. I've always been better with voices."
As she sat back with her saucer and cup of tea, Father Andrew and Joe hunched over the sketch on the table. Joe beckoned Deed over and he pushed himself out of the arm chair stiffly. Sylvie had labelled the picture very precisely. The three men's shoulders jostled lightly as they each leaned in and took their turn viewing the sketch from every angle and reading Sylvie's notes. Jesus! Deed’s eyes took in the details of the drawing. He felt the muscles at the base of his skull tighten as he read the annotations. At the bottom of the page Sylvie had written out her conclusions.
Joe moved back to his armchair. "Your notes are very specific Sylvie, but can you explain the whole drawing in more detail?"
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