by S M Stuart
We didn’t speak again during the journey home, until I hesitated at the end of the driveway to Seth’s house.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Seth asked. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset you earlier. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Maybe we’re spending too much time together,” I replied. “We seem to be bickering all the time.”
“Dez, we’ve always bickered. Just ’cos we’re a couple now that won’t change, will it? It’s simply part of our relationship – we get annoyed with each other but know that we’ll always be there for each other.”
“Yeah, but recently it’s got worse.”
“No. It’s just recently we’ve had a lot more to deal with. Come on, Dez. We’ll check for messages from Mrs J and see if we can sort out this mess. Once we can move on from finding Mum’s PT, things’ll get better, I promise.”
Seth could always win me round with his confident promises, even if they didn’t always come through. I slipped my arm around his waist and stretched up to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling safe in his strong, warm embrace.
***
Mrs Johnson had responded to our query and was keen for us to get in touch with her. She’d given us her personal contact details and suggested we arrange to meet as soon as possible. I felt guilty for stringing her along but we had to speak to Dale’s PT and the only way was through Mrs J. As I can’t lie to save my life, Seth made the call and, without flinching, continued the subterfuge that we were students looking at developing treatments for brain injuries. It worried me that he seemed so good at it – what if he lied to me, how would I know? Mrs J had a two-hour gap in her diary for the next day and invited us to go down to London – at her expense – to see the Foundation and discuss our proposal. Her enthusiasm for our ‘project’ was heart-breaking. I hoped that we’d be able to repay her in some small way by putting Dale’s attacker in jail for the rest of his life.
“It’ll be fine,” Seth assured me when they’d closed the call. “I’m sure she’ll understand when she hears the full story.”
“I feel so bad raising her hopes like that. What if it doesn’t do any good? She’ll hate us.”
“Try not to worry. Let’s take it one step at a time, yeah?”
My Comms kit was buzzing – Henri calling. I connected the call through Seth’s Holo-Comms equipment so that we had video. The suave Frenchman waved at me from his office in the Paris Judiciary Centre. It was hard to believe he matched my aunt in age – his forty-eight years had been much kinder and he could easily pass for a man of thirty.
“Bonjour, ma cherie,” he said. “’Ow are you today?”
“Could be better.” I wiggled my injured finger at the web-cam.
“Don’t tell me, it was a right-handed knife,” he joked, referring to a time when he’d been visiting many years before. In frustration at not being able to cut an apple at the age of six or seven, I’d complained that the knife I held in my left hand didn’t work because it was right-handed.
“Ha-ha,” I responded, sarcastically. “Never mind the sympathy. Have you got any news for us?”
“But of course!” Henri gave the time honoured French shrug, as though it was an insult to doubt him. “I spoke to Simone moments ago and, although she is still ’aunted by the events of that night, she is willing to talk to you.” He quoted her contact details and reminded me to be careful, both for her sake and ours.
I sat and looked at the information for a long time after my conversation with Henri had finished. Suddenly, it became much more real being so close to contacting a victim’s PT. Especially when, via the killer’s memory, I’d been more connected to Nicole in her last minutes than Simone had. Would she be jealous? Angry that I’d had those final few moments when she’d been cut-off from her own PT?
“Come on,” Seth interrupted my thoughts. “We’d better list the questions you want to ask.”
It wasn’t as easy as the detective shows make it seem. We had some information from the news report so we tried to expand on that. Eventually, we felt we had enough to make a start – maybe more would come naturally out of the conversation with Simone. I made the call via Seth’s Holo-Comms centre but only used the audio connection to allow her some privacy.
“Bonjour?” Simone’s voice was quiet, almost timid, a contrast to Henri’s brash, confident attitude. Having Henri as my only example, I’d expected all Parisians to be self-assured cosmopolitans.
“Bonjour, Simone. Je m’appelle Desirée Hanson. Parlez-vous l’englais?” I couldn’t imagine trying to explain everything in my school French.
“Ah oui. Monsieur Cartier told me you would be calling. It’s about Nicole, yes?”
I looked at Seth and he gave me an encouraging nod.
“Yes, thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Simone. I hope that, with your help, we can discover the identity of the man who killed her and Tomas. Do you feel able to answer a few questions?”
“Please, go ahead,” she replied. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
I looked at the list we’d made and began the interview.
“The reports mentioned that Tomas worked for a Research Laboratory. Do you know which lab that was?”
“It was Laboratoires Lisle. He was researching new drug therapies for psychological problems, especially for those unfortunates who don’t have a … jumeau télépathique … er, in English I think you say Psyche-Twin?”
Unfortunates – ouch, that struck a chord! Although it now seemed a dim and distant past when my own PT connection had failed.
“And Nicole was helping him with her own research as a post-graduate. She was studying the evolution of the PT connection. They enjoyed working together very much. It was how they met and fell in love.” Simone’s voice caught as though she was trying not to cry. She’d answered my second question which had been about Nicole’s studies so I skipped to the next one.
“Thank you, Simone. Do you have access to Nicole’s study materials at all? And, if so, would you be willing to allow me to see it?” I sensed her initial reluctance. It was the last remnant of her unique connection to Nicole. To share it was to sever the tie completely. I was aware of another presence comforting her and I felt even more like an intruder. Simone had connected to a new PT, as sometimes happens when a PT dies.
“I shall forward her notes to you,” she finally replied and, although I had a couple more questions on my list, I didn’t have the heart to ask more of her.
“Thank you very much, Simone,” I said. “You’ve been a great help. I’ll let you know how we get on. May I call you again?”
“Yes, yes. Please do. I hope you find the bâtard and he rots in Hell forever!” Simone’s hatred was startling, coming from her timid, quiet tone.
“We’ll do our best,” I promised.
“Before you go,” Seth spoke for the first time and gestured towards the list, “could you please tell us about your experience on the night of Nicole’s death, if you feel up to it?”
The silence lasted so long that I thought Simone had hung-up on us and I tentatively reached out for her in my mind. Yes, I could still sense her there – she was simply gathering her thoughts.
“It was cold,” she began, “I never like February it always seems to me an unlucky month.” She laughed briefly as though ashamed of her superstition. “Earlier in the day Nicole was worried about something at work, I’m not sure what as it was confidential, but by the evening she seemed better. She was very excited. I could feel it as though I was going to dinner myself. She had a suspicion that Tomas was going to propose but she tried not to think about it too much in case she was wrong. Sometimes she would holo-vid me to get my opinion on how she looked. She was always gorgeous, very beautiful. I’m ashamed to say I was jealous of her good looks and her relationship with Tomas. That night she was so nervous, she just kept chattering to me through our link and, in the end, I became annoyed. I asked her to leave me alone for a while.” Simone’s voice brok
e again and we waited for her to regain control of her emotions. “She was hurt by that and she tried to be quieter. When Tomas gave her the ring, her feelings overwhelmed me and I cried with joy for them. During the meal Nicole was like a warm, happy feeling hovering in my mind but a little after they left the restaurant she disappeared. Our connection was broken … no … it was smothered. As though a thick blanket had been thrown over my head. For a while I couldn’t move, I was paralysed and my heart was racing so fast that I was afraid I would have a heart-attack.”
“It’s all right Simone,” I soothed, as her voice began to rise in panic. “You needn’t go on.”
“Yes, I must. I’m fine. Thank you, Desirée. From that moment I never heard Nicole again. I now believe that the effects I suffered were similar to what Nicole was going through but, at the time, I didn’t realise what was happening. I thought it was me that was ill. If only I’d known, I could have called an ambulance for her.”
Now she couldn’t hold back her sobs and I again felt Simone’s new PT trying to comfort her. She was fortunate to have someone who understood her feelings – her new PT must’ve been bereaved too to be available for the connection at their age. I wondered how many of the connections in my head were lone voices looking for a replacement PT. Not everyone who lost their original PT wanted a new one, not everyone could re-connect. Although we’d had all those months of Tele-Prep with Ms Thorogood, the reality was much harder to handle than the theory.
I swallowed the lump in my own throat.
“Thank you, Simone,” I croaked. “Please don’t blame yourself. I’m sure Nicole knew you would’ve helped if you’d realised what was happening.” I couldn’t tell Simone that I remembered the terror Nicole felt at not being able to contact her but I was convinced that Nicole didn’t blame her PT for the broken connection. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastard.” I made the same promise as I had for the girl left to die in the Weardale forest.
I just hope I can deliver!
CHAPTER 39
Sandridge Magna: 22 April 2106
“It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact cause of the explosion at this point, Marie, but authorities believe that a faulty connection may have allowed gas to build up to such dangerous levels.”
“Surely the building had a current safety certificate, Mahmood?”
“Well, Miss Simpson’s certificate was due for renewal last month but there seems to have been a backlog and her apartment had yet to be inspected. We’re currently waiting for a comment from the Health and Safety Exec on this.
However, Miss Simpson was due to stand in the Sandridge Magna by-election next month and her supporters say that her reluctance to bow to pressure on key proposals made her unpopular in both political and commercial arenas. Her passionate campaigning as an independent candidate was according her a certain notoriety and she didn’t shy away from being a thorn in the side of those she considered to be bullies in society.
It’s not the official line but it seems that foul play might not yet be ruled out.
Back to you, Marie.”
Ellingham: 22 April 2106
“Jonathan. JONATHAN!”
“Whatever’s the matter, Celeste?” Jonathan ran from his home-office into the sitting-room to find his wife shaking and holding her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs.
“Beth – Bethany.” She waved towards the holo-screen and the headline banner. An archive video of Bethany Simpson campaigning for the by-election ran behind the newsreader’s shoulder.
“Oh, my lord!” Jonathan pulled his wife into his arms and struggled to control his own grief. He comforted her while wondering how he could face Matt after this tragedy. Their relationship, once so close, had slipped to an occasional call. A catch-up once in a while, rather than the regular gatherings when Jonathan and Celeste were younger. It happened to many friendships – it was nobody’s fault – but Jonathan felt he should’ve tried harder to keep in touch. Dare he approach Matt and Jade now, almost out of the blue? Would they still think fondly of him or feel he’s just being morbidly curious?
Stop being so self-centred! he thought.
Aye. I was just about to say the same laddie! Claude’s telepathic prompt jolted Jonathan out of his shock.
“We’ll see if Jade or Matt need us over there,” he said. “Will you be alright while I call them?”
“Of course.” Celeste nodded and took a deep breath as Jonathan closed his office door. She was relieved they’d have chance to settle down before their daughter came home from her after-school visit to the Wallises. It was not to be. The front door flew open and two giggling children charged down the hall towards her.
“Mum! Can Seth come here for tea instead? His mum’s got a migraine. She looks really poorly but she says she just needs to lie down … What’s the matter?” Dez’s insistent chatter died away as she saw her mother’s blotchy, tear-stained face. Celeste prided herself on always being perfectly groomed.
Ah! Celeste chose a convenient response to her daughter’s query, “I’ve just had a dreadful sneezing fit, that’s all.” She turned the children towards the kitchen so that they didn’t notice the News showing the macabre holo-vid of a body-bag being removed from a burnt-out building in Sandridge Magna. As Jonathan came out of his office, a glance passed between them. They didn’t need telepathy to communicate after all the years they’d been together. It had helped them in their field work and now she needed his understanding to shield the children. A slight nod told her he’d picked up her meaning and he slipped in to the sitting room to power-off the holo-screen.
CHAPTER 40
Ellingham/London: 7 August 2110
Jeez! What time d’ya call this?
I waved in the direction of the morning alarm sensor. The projection on the wall flashed brightly to remind me that I’d set it for 6am. If I didn’t get out of bed the pressure transmitter would re-set the alarm to ring again in three minutes. Sometimes I hated modern technology!
When I’d mentioned our proposed trip to the big city, Mum insisted that we travel with Dad – he was due in his London office that morning. He still wasn’t too happy about us playing amateur detectives so, although I’d normally kick up a fuss about getting up this early, I tried to be cheerful at the breakfast table and his coolness gradually thawed. Maybe he felt more comfortable knowing that we were keeping them informed of our plans – though I’d only given a vague explanation about how we’d got an appointment with Mrs Johnson, avoiding the underhand method we’d actually used. If some omnipresent authority was keeping score I hoped our motives for lying would be taken into consideration – I’d heard about the road to Hell being paved with good intentions!
Hiding my jaw-breaking yawns behind my hand, I answered Seth’s knock at the door.
“Come in,” I groaned, irritated that he could look so wide awake and handsome whilst I had bed-head and puffy eyes. He grinned and gave me a quick but thorough kiss anyway. He was lucky – I’d just cleaned my teeth!
The journey to London was uneventful – at least I think it was – I slept through most of it! Keeping the voices quiet was now almost at a subconscious level and I only needed to concentrate on reinforcing the room in my head if one of them became too rowdy. I’d been waiting for the memories of another murder victim to surface, but even that phenomenon seemed subdued. Despite the relief, it was like circling a sleeping tiger – afraid that, at any minute, it would wake and attack. I was always wary of dreaming in case it allowed the monster to spring, but with Seth’s arm around me and my head resting on his chest, hearing the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, I dozed peacefully.
As we joined the city commuters jostling down the platform, Dad reminded us to be back at the station by five so that we’d have plenty of time to meet him for the five-fifteen. I told him not to worry and waved him off to be carried along by the determined crowds. Seth and I managed to side-step the throng and walked at a more leisurely pace. Our appointment with Mrs Johnson wasn’t
until ten o’clock so we had a good two hours to fill. We headed for the nearest coffee-shop and studied the interactive A-Z.
“Where are we heading?” Seth asked, leaning closer to me to look at the map.
“The Johnson Foundation offices are south of the river, near Guy’s Hospital,” I replied.
“We’ve got time to spare. Shall we walk down?”
I looked at the clear sky. “Yeah, why not? I can pick out my city home on the way.”
London was still full of ancient architecture – not only the ugly tower blocks of the 20th century but also the old magnificent structures like the Georgian mansions and the Regency crescents. I loved soaking up the history that seemed to radiate from them. I imagined the people and the events they lived through, for which the buildings stood as a backdrop. Only the extremely rich could afford to live in these magnificent homes and I often tried to think of ways that I could become wealthy enough to join them. I was always disappointed! It was probably time I started to think about where I was heading after the Academy. Indeed, our summer break should’ve been endless discussions with Seth about what we wanted to do with our lives but circumstances had changed all that. I couldn’t think about the future when the past was holding onto us so tightly.
We arrived at the Johnson Foundation with three minutes to spare – my numerous architectural diversions having taken up all the extra time we’d had in hand.
“Please scan your ID here,” said the receptionist, indicating an electronic scanner set into her desk. “The security system will register your presence so that we have an accurate record of who is in the building should there be a need to evacuate.” She smiled broadly as though to reassure us that this was never necessary, but I checked the exit route, just in case. “Mrs Johnson is expecting you. Please take a seat.”
I was too restless to sit so I wandered around the room looking at the wall-mounted monitors that were silently scrolling through images of various medical aid facilities around the world. They’d all been set-up or supported by the Johnson Foundation. Pristine clinics and research centres filled with smiling staff, patients and visitors. One image gave me a strong feeling of déjà vu but I knew I’d never been to that centre myself. I must’ve caught it on a monitor when we’d first arrived.