The Aura

by Carrie Bedford

  “Thanks for seeing me,” I said.

  “Not a problem. I got you a coffee. I hope it’s what you wanted. How are you doing?”

  How was I doing? I couldn’t begin to answer that question. Every night, I dreamed about Rebecca, strange disjointed dreams that left me sweating and breathless. We’d been together in a car, driving in circles around the Campanile in Florence. Swimming in a deep blue pool with eerie black shapes lurking at the bottom. Climbing an infinite number of stairs to the top of a massive building that looked out over a city that wasn’t London. In all of them, Rebecca was smiling, laughing, talking. Every time I woke up, I lay still for a minute, waiting for the images to fade, bracing myself for reality to seep back in.

  But Rebecca’s death was just one layer in my own personal Russian nesting doll of misery. The auras, Francesca, Sophie, the conflict at the office. There was no respite.

  Clarke said, “So, you left me a message and said you had some questions?”

  “Yes, I was drawing some pictures of the scene at her flat, the way I remembered it. There were a couple of things I noticed that I wanted to check with you. The main anomaly was the wineglass.”

  Clarke’s eyes narrowed, green lasers pointing at me. “Go on.”

  “There was a broken glass in Rebecca’s hand,” I said. “If you’re falling, you wouldn’t keep hold of something in your hand would you? You’d let go of it. Or if not during the fall, then afterwards. If she was trying to get up, she wouldn’t hold on to the glass.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair. “What makes you think she was trying to get up?”

  “The bloody handprint on the front of the sofa,” I said. “As though she’d tried to grab at the sofa to pull herself up. That means she didn’t die instantly when she hit the table.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Only that I truly believe someone else was there with Rebecca. I don’t believe it was an accident.”

  Clarke was quiet for a long time. “I’m going to bring you up to date with the details we know,” he said. “First of all, you may be right. It’s possible that the wineglass and the bottle were placed there after she fell.”

  His words fell like stones into the surging torrent of my thoughts, adding to the tumult of emotions eddying around in my head. Edward, if he was the killer, was a cold-blooded bastard.

  “So you do believe it was murder,” I said. I was relieved that the police were starting to investigate. At the same time, I was horrified. Accidents happen, and it would have been impossible for me to protect Rebecca twenty-four hours a day. But murder should have been preventable. I’d known enough to fear that the boyfriend was a danger, but not enough to stop him from killing Rebecca. I really hadn’t taken the aura prediction seriously enough. My hand shook when I picked up my coffee, so I put the cup back down on the red formica table.

  “What else did you find out?” I asked.

  “The autopsy…” he stopped when he saw me flinch. “The examination showed that Rebecca had bruises on both wrists as though someone had held them tightly – very tightly, in fact.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. “Her boyfriend? They must have had a fight.”

  “We don’t know who was there,” said Clarke. “And we can’t jump to conclusions that it was this boyfriend.”

  “But who else could it have been? There was no sign of forced entry at the door. Rebecca must have known the person and let him in.”

  “Or her.”

  “Her?”

  “We have to look at all the options,” he said. “But for now, let’s pursue the idea of this boyfriend. I have a question for you. Is there any chance that the boyfriend knows who you are?”

  I was confused. “We’ve never met, I told you that.”

  “But would Rebecca have talked to him about you?”

  A feeling like cold water sloshed around in my stomach. “I don’t know. Why? Am I in danger?”

  Clarke shook his head. “I don’t think so, to be honest, but I’d rather address the possibility than ignore it. If he has any reason to think that you know who he is, he might conceivably consider you as a threat.”

  I took a minute to digest that.

  “I see,” was all I managed to say. “So this changes everything? You’re officially looking for a murderer now?”

  “Possibly. There are shades of grey, especially with a situation like this one. She wasn’t stabbed or strangled, so it’s not a clear-cut case of unlawful killing. No evidence of premeditation. We have a long way to go before we know what we’re looking at.”

  “And you’re heading the investigation?”

  He nodded. “I am.”

  “Good.”

  He grinned. “Good?”

  “Well, first, I’m glad that you’re in charge. I mean, I trust you, you know. And secondly, I’ve thought all along that this wasn’t an accident, so I’m relieved that it’s going to be properly investigated. Whoever did this to her needs to be found and punished.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said. “I was wondering about her job at the Montgomery Group. What did that entail?”

  “Her title was Financial Director. She was really good at math, so it makes sense she’d end up doing something with finance.”

  “It sounds like a high-level job for a young woman just a few years out of college,” Clarke said, spinning his empty cup on the table in front of him.

  “I think she was director for just one unit of the Montgomery Group,” I said. “The New Development Group, or something like that. Still a good position for her, but perhaps not quite as high level as it sounds. I’m sure someone at the company could give you more details.”

  “Do you want another coffee?” Clarke stood up. “I’m going for a refill.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t even tasted the first one, hadn’t realized I’d finished it.

  When he came back, Clarke was silent for a while. I heard the clink of cups from the counter and a radio spitting out rap music. The cafe was empty apart from us.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said about watching out for Rebecca,” he said finally. “Did you have a reason to think she was in danger? I know you said not, but in the light of our new findings, I’d really like to know what it was that made you believe there was a threat of some kind.”

  I was aware of him watching me closely. His green eyes rested on my face and his body was motionless. His stillness was calming, and seemed to invite my confidence. I wanted to tell him about the aura, about the deaths, about the danger to Nick. I ran my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. I felt my lips part, the words starting to form and then I closed my mouth. I couldn’t tell him any of it.

  “I can’t really remember what I said. I was upset, you know, about finding her body. I didn’t have any reason to think that she was in danger. The only thing that ever crossed my mind was that she was secretive about the boyfriend. Also, that when she talked about him, she didn’t seem happy.”

  Clarke took a swallow of his coffee, his eyes still on mine as he drank.

  “I wish you could tell me the truth, Kate,” he said, putting the cup back in its saucer. “It might help me work out what happened to your friend.”

  It’s not fair, I thought. Even if I were to tell him about the aura, and even if he believed me, which he wouldn’t, what good would it do? I had a useless ability to see that someone would die, but had no idea of where, when, or how. What was the point? Anger welled inside me. I felt my hands curl into fists. Clarke noticed, his eyes flicking from my hands to my face and back again. What did he see? Guilt? Did he think I was involved somehow? I felt the rage ebb away, replaced by fatigue and despair. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t do that under the scrutiny of those inquisitive green eyes.

  “Tell me again what time you left the restaurant,” he said. “What was it? Indian?”

  “Chinese. I left at about two o clock.”

  “And where did you go after that?”

  “Back home.
”

  “Did anyone see you? Was anyone with you?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  He seemed to take forever to answer. “I’m just doing my job,” he said. “And you are hiding something, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not,” I said, even though it wasn’t true. “And I want to find whoever did this just as much as you. In fact, I went to the Montgomery Group building to see if I could find Edward, the boyfriend.”

  Clarke’s eyebrows shot up.

  “And?”

  “Well, I thought it was possible that Rebecca would have met her boyfriend through work. I knew it was a long shot, but worth a try. She said he works in technology. I found one employee who works in the IT department. His name is Ted Stevens. But there’s no way he’s Rebecca’s boyfriend, believe me.”

  Clarke leaned forward across the table. “Kate, it’s not your job to go looking for people. Leave that to me. You have no idea how this man might react if you do find him.”

  Chastened, I nodded, loosening the scarf around my neck. Either the little cafe was overheated or I was.

  He pushed his cup away, leaned forward, palms flat on the table.

  “I’m sorry about Rebecca. I’m sorry you found her body. I know how traumatic that can be. The best thing I can do now is find out who was with her when she died. If you know anything at all that would help me with that, I’d like to know.” He paused, leaned back. “Remember you told me about Rebecca being a dancer? That was information I couldn’t have known, but it made me understand that an accidental fall was possible, but perhaps less likely. So please think about it and call me if you know anything else that might help.”

  He pushed his chair back and stood up, put on his coat and scarf. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He walked out, jangling the bell over the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The bar Nick had suggested was an upscale cocktail place in Mayfair that specialized in martinis. Mirrors behind the bar reflected shelves of bottles with colorful, arty labels and trays of inverted martini glasses. The crowd was young, around my own age, but I felt old and out of place among the well-dressed, upper class patrons. A brief silence greeted the arrival of a celebrity, a minor Royal who frequently graced the pages of the tabloids, and then the volume immediately rose again.

  Nick arrived, debonair in a long black wool coat unbuttoned over a pink striped shirt. Several women watched admiringly as he walked past. I stared too, but not for the same reason; his aura was still there, moving fast around his dark glossy hair. Taking the stool next to me, he ordered two vodka martinis, and we touched glasses. I drank wine more often than cocktails; the sharp taste of the liquor took my breath away.

  “So, how are you doing?” he asked. “God, it’s been a tough week. I can’t get over finding Rebecca like that. Poor girl.”

  “Have the police been in touch with you? Asking for more information?”

  “Yeah, that detective, what’s his name? Clarke. Good-looking guy.” He laughed. “He called me, said he had some questions and could we meet. But I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t had time yet. Tomorrow I plan to do it, although I can’t work out why. It was obviously an accident.”

  “It wasn’t. At least, that’s not what they think now. Rebecca had a lot of bruising on her wrists, as though someone had held her very tightly. And they think that someone, presumably the boyfriend, put the broken wineglass in her hand after she fell. To make it look as though she’d been drinking.”

  Nick put his glass down and stared at me. “No way. Murder?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, but that’s what Inspector Clarke told me. So they are looking for this Edward person. Your picture ID of him will be helpful.”

  Nick groaned. “Oh shit. I completely forgot to do that today. They said it would take a couple of hours. I meant to go, but I’ve been swamped at work. Did I tell you about the shoot I’m setting up for…? never mind. I’ll find time soon.”

  He checked his watch. “I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t stay long. Gary’s waiting for me and we have dinner plans.” He smiled. “And he’d be very jealous if he knew I was out drinking with a pretty girl.”

  “But I thought you were…” I stopped, and he laughed.

  “Bi, sweetheart. Either way works for me.”

  I grinned at him. His laughter was infectious.

  “Ah, I can see how that would make Gary a little insecure.”

  “Gary makes insecurity into a career. If it were an Olympic sport, he’d win the gold medal. But I love him, and mostly I avoid doing anything to feed his anxieties. But he is pretty easy to wind up.”

  He took a swallow of his martini.

  “What about you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

  I shook my head, feeling the faint buzz of the alcohol. “Not right now.”

  “So what was it you wanted to talk about? I got the impression there was something particular, not just a drink to chat over the lurid details of a murder? Do you think Rebecca’s folks are really happy for me to keep Caspian? I’d give him to them if they want him.”

  “Her mother’s allergic,” I said. “So they’d be grateful if you continued to look after him.”

  Nick looked relieved. It was endearing that he really cared about the cat.

  “I’ll thank them when I see them at the funeral. Is there a date yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  I took a big gulp of my martini; it was time to talk to Nick about the aura.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I began. I described the moving air and what I thought it meant.

  “Rebecca had one, before she died.” I said. “And you have one, Nick. Which means that you’re in danger from something. Maybe connected to Rebecca’s murder, maybe something completely different. An accident. perhaps. But I want you to be careful.”

  Nick drained his glass, leaned over and took my hands in his.

  “They say the good-looking guys are always gay, and the beautiful girls are always crazy. Good to see you’re fueling the myth. Really, Kate? Auras that predict death?”

  He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Thank you, I think, for the warning. Now I really have to go.”

  “Nick, I’m sorry.”

  Ignoring me, he stood up, put a couple of banknotes on the bar, and pulled on his coat.

  “I’ll see you at the funeral,” he said. “And I mean Rebecca’s, not mine.”

  I stayed at the bar for awhile after he’d gone, hearing the chatter and laughter of the crowds behind me. When an older man in a business suit took Nick’s vacated stool and leered at me, I finished my drink and left.

  On the way home, I noticed auras over the head of one man on the street and another on the train, but I willed myself to ignore them. I’d seen quite a few in the last week in London, on the Tube and in restaurants. I’d become adept at not noticing them and, after a while, succeeded in passing by without a second thought. Like homeless people. Everyone knew they were there, but didn’t really see them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When I arrived at Leo’s house on Friday evening, the street was bathed in a soft, warm light that made the red brick houses glow. When I rang the bell, Leo appeared with an apron on and tongs in one hand. He gave me a peck on the cheek, and I followed him through the kitchen to the small garden beyond. The smoky fragrance of grilled meat permeated the air. The weather had surprised everyone yet again by turning warm, very unusual for this late in October.

  “Where are the boys?” I asked.

  “At the soccer field, playing with some friends. It’s the first time it hasn’t been raining for weeks, so they’re making the most of it. They have to be back by seven.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes.”

  We exchanged news about work, and Leo told me about their week in Italy.

  “How’s Dad doing?” I asked.

  “Francesca’s death hit him pretty hard,” he replied, turning sausages with the tongs. “I know you had reser
vations about her, but it was nice for him to have her company. I think he’s going to be lonely, although Paolo will spend more time there. Dad’s talking about writing a book on gardening.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” I said, wrestling with the corkscrew and one of the bottles. “Maybe I could offer to take photos for the book. I’d love an excuse to brush up my camera skills again. I’m planning on going out to see Dad see in a couple of weeks. My big project at work will be finished by then.”

  The thought of the project reminded me of Rebecca. I felt my throat clogging up. I finally got the cork out of the bottle and poured two glasses of wine.

  “Cheers,” I said as we clinked glasses. The front door banged, and the house resounded with the din of feet on the wood floors and the raised voices of the two boys. Leo checked the time. “Right on the dot,” he said. “Not even one minute late.”

  He went to the kitchen door. “If your shoes are muddy, take them off,” he yelled. “And wash your hands!”

  He came back and took a seat at the wrought iron table next to me. “They’re good kids,” he said. “Aidan’s half-term report was really excellent. His grades went up. Gabe’s not so much. He’s a bit of a dreamer. He likes to draw, like you.”

  “Well, he’s only ten,” I said. “Plenty of time to work out what he wants to do. I seem to remember Dad saying that you were a late bloomer and look where you ended up!”

  Leo smiled, but shook his head. “I think I’d wish for something more for the boys. Academia can be frustrating. So much pressure to publish. I’d like to see them go into engineering or something useful where they can make the world a better place. You’re helping, being an architect, designing green buildings and making sure we don’t let big construction put too many blots on the landscape.”

  “Not as green as I’d hoped,” I said, and took a sip of wine. “Money always wins out over good intentions. It costs more to build green, and not everyone is convinced of the value. A lot of people just don’t care about the long term. But I don’t want to talk about work on a Friday night.”