A noise at the door disturbed my thoughts and woke Josh. Wyatt snapped to full alert but stood aside when he saw the couple in the doorway; a petite brunette dressed in tailored pants and a loose floral blouse, carrying a basket of fruit and a couple of magazines, and a man who could only be Josh’s father. He had the same lean build, long legs, and light eyes.
“How’s my boy today?” he asked, striding across the room to pat Josh gently on the shoulder.
“Don’t touch his arm,” exclaimed the woman, depositing the gifts on the bedside table. “It must hurt. Does it hurt, sweetheart?”
“Mum!” Josh succumbed to the kisses she planted on his forehead.
“Hi, Dad,” he grinned. “This is Kate.”
I wheeled my chair back towards the bed, and Josh’s mother leaned over to give me a hug.
“You poor girl.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Josh told us some of what happened when we came in last night, but not everything. He was still coming round from the anesthetic. Are you all right, my dear? It must have been terrifying for you. Just look at the bruises on your face.”
“Mum, not too many questions. Kate’s still tired. I can tell you more…”
He was interrupted by the arrival of another woman, carrying a box of chocolates and a helium balloon that said Get Well Soon.
“Aunt Tilda. What a surprise.” Josh threw a quick look at me and pulled a face.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting the whole tribe,” he whispered.
“I should go actually,” I said. “I need to get showered and dressed before Leo comes.”
“Please don’t leave because of us,” said Josh’s mother. “I’m sure Josh would rather have you here than us anyway.”
“Mum, really…” Josh started.
“Truly, I don’t want to keep my brother waiting. It was lovely to meet you all.” I leaned over to squeeze Josh’s hand. “I’ll talk to you soon. Take care of yourself.”
Wyatt took the handles of the wheelchair. “I’ll take you back to your room,” he said.
I turned to wave goodbye to Josh but he was hidden by the figures of his parents and his aunt. I wondered how long it would be before I saw him again.
An hour later, I sat in the lobby of the hospital, waiting for Leo. In the shower, I’d been able to examine the bruises on my legs and torso, explosions of color against my pale skin. The hot water had woken me up, but hadn’t dissolved the hazy, disconnected feeling I’d had since the attack. I looked at the people around me. Two of them had auras. I felt sad for them.
I was already missing Josh. Tears pushed at my eyes. I tried talking to Wyatt to distract myself but he answered in polite monosyllables. I wondered if he was impatient to get back to his real job, which probably didn’t involve babysitting weepy women. Then I saw Leo coming towards me across the lobby. Happy to see him, I smiled and waved.
He bent to kiss me on the cheek.
“We have to stop meeting in hospitals,” he said. “It’s becoming a bad habit.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The next day, I slept in late, watching television with Aidan, who was still off school recuperating. My pain had quickly diminished to a pervasive stiffness and soreness. I took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, missing a call from Inspector Clarke. When I called him back an hour later, I only reached his voicemail.
That evening, Leo arrived home a little earlier than usual, loaded with bags of groceries. “Olivia’s coming for dinner.”
“So I’m the third wheel on a date? I’d be happy to take my dinner upstairs and stay out of the way.”
“Rubbish. I want your opinion. See if you like her. Oh, and she’s interested in talking with you about your experience with the aura.”
“You told her about it?” I was astonished. “And she still wants to meet me? Your crazy sister?”
“It might be helpful,” he said. “She’ll understand it better than I can. We’ll let the boys eat and watch television in Aidan’s room.”
I thought about changing for dinner but the effort seemed too much. Instead, I kept on my grey sweatpants and black cardigan and pulled my hair up into a ponytail.
I regretted not trying a little harder when Leo’s guest arrived. Olivia wore an ivory silk dress and leather flats. Her glossy black hair was cut in a sleek shoulder-length bob with heavy bangs that grazed perfectly arched eyebrows and kohl-lined eyes. Gold bangles encircled her arm. She certainly didn’t look like a psychology professor, not my vision of one at least.
As we sat in the living room, I sipped my wine and looked at Olivia over the rim of my glass.
“I’m happy to meet you, Kate.” Her voice was soft and velvety. “I’m very sorry about the assault. That must have been a ghastly experience.”
“Thanks,” I said, shifting in my chair. I didn’t do well with overt sympathy. It made me feel as though I was fake, unworthy of the attention.
“From what Leo has told me, you’ve had a rough few weeks. I hope you don’t mind that he told me about the aura.” She leaned forward. “It’s fascinating.”
Gabe poked his head round the door. “Can I get something to eat? I’m starving.”
He slipped through the living room and into the kitchen, where I heard the fridge open and close, followed by the clink of plates. I hoped he hadn’t heard Olivia’s comment about the aura. I waited until he walked back with a plate piled high with cheese, ham and a packet of chips. Leo didn’t comment on the quantity of food. I realized he was looking at Olivia. He had a wistful expression on his face, which meant I should be nice to her. I didn’t want to mess up any chance he had of being with a partner again. Even one that seemed to be channeling her inner Cleopatra.
When Gabe’s footsteps on the stairs faded and Aidan’s bedroom door slammed shut, I told Olivia about the aura sightings. Before I knew it, I was pouring out the whole story of Rebecca, her murder, and the attack in my apartment. Olivia appeared to be listening intently, sipping her wine from time to time.
“And this all started after you saw your mother in Tuscany?”
“Yes, I have to believe that there’s a connection, but I don’t understand it,” I said.
“I think it’s something to do with Toby,” said Leo suddenly. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet.
“What about Toby?” asked Olivia.
“Kate, you told me that Mum mentioned Toby when you, er, talked with her?” he said, looking with embarrassment at Olivia. “This is all beyond the scope of comprehension for my fact-based mind.”
Leaning forward, Olivia looked at me questioningly. “Did she?”
I nodded. “She said she was with Toby now and happy. Something like that.”
“Leo told me what happened to Toby.” Olivia paused, leaned back in her armchair, and crossed one slim leg across the other. “He also said that you apparently shouldered the burden of guilt for his death. Did you? Do you feel that it was your fault that he died?”
“Yes,” I said. The word came out far louder than I’d intended.
Leo put his glass down on the coffee table. “But it wasn’t, Katie,” he said quietly. “You said often that it was your fault, even to the point of making Mum and Dad angry with you for keeping on about it. You must remember? At the funeral, you told the vicar that you’d killed Toby. Caused quite a stir, I have to say.”
“I was supposed to be watching him. It was my fault he drowned.” I picked at a loose thread on my cardigan and watched the wool unravel, leaving a small hole in the black fabric. My skin showed through, white as ice.
“You were only ten years old!” Leo exclaimed. “And don’t you think Mum and Dad felt they were the ones at fault? For leaving Toby with Mrs. Parry, for not being there when it happened? They tore apart every decision, every action, and they lived with “what if?” every day after that one. Kate, they took complete responsibility for what happened. And so did Mrs. Parry. She suffered from depression for years, you know.”
I tried to speak but my throat had c
losed up. Leo patted me on the knee.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want to upset you, but it’s important for you to know that Mum and Dad never blamed you, ever. I know they never talked about it all very much and maybe in that they were at fault, but I know how much it upset them to remember. We all fell into the habit of silence.”
He glanced at his watch, and stood up. “I’m going to finish getting dinner ready.”
When he’d left the room, Olivia seemed happy to sit quietly sipping her wine. After a while, she put the glass down. “Kate, from what I understand from Leo, you blame yourself for your mother’s death too.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. It was all too raw and painful to even think about.
“I’m sorry, Olivia, but I can’t discuss that.”
Olivia shrugged, a slight upward movement of one silk-clad shoulder. “That’s okay. I’m sorry if I’m interfering. I’ll go and help Leo get dinner ready.”
She stood up, smoothing imaginary creases from her dress with the palms of her hands. I watched her. So graceful, self-confident, just the kind of woman Leo deserved.
“I appreciate your trying to help,” I said. “Perhaps some other time when I’m feeling a bit more stable.”
“Of course. I can understand how difficult it must be for you. I hope you can at least feel some comfort in the fact that you saved Aidan?”
I looked up at her. “I suppose so.”
“That’s good.”
She turned towards the kitchen.
“Olivia,” I called her back. “Why do you think I can see these auras? What have they got to do with Toby and my mother?”
Olivia adjusted one of her bracelets, turning it around her wrist. “My opinion is that your mother’s death triggered a revival of guilt about Toby. Add to that your conviction that you were to blame for the car accident that killed your mother, and you were buried under an avalanche of remorse. Think of the way your mother appeared to you, in a car that caused you injuries. That was no coincidence. It’s almost as though you wanted to be the one that had been killed by the car, not your mother.”
My skin chilled, and my heart fluttered as though in despair.
“You don’t believe I saw her up there?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure you did. Encounters with loved ones who have passed on are not as unusual as you’d think. But I believe you conflated the run-in with the car and the encounter with your mother in your mind.”
The room was quiet apart from the clink of dishes in the kitchen.
“The auras?” I asked. “What about them?”
“Not everything can be explained in the context of what we think of as the real world,” she said. “There are mysteries we can’t explain with science, although we have a pretty good stab at them. There’s a scientific basis for energy fields around us, for example. Some people can see them, the vast majority can’t.”
“Will I always be able to see auras? Will they go away?”
A frown passed over her face. “I don’t know. I should go help Leo with the cooking,”
Leaning back in my armchair, I thought about what she’d said. From the kitchen came the clatter of crockery and a low murmur of voices. When my cell phone buzzed, I noticed it was a London number. It was probably Inspector Clarke.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Kate, how are you?”
It took a minute to place the voice. It was Peter Montgomery.
“Fine,” I said, my automatic reply to the question, a typically British response. I’d once had a friend from Russia who took the question literally and would launch into a detailed description of her health and mental status in response. But a monosyllabic answer seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
“Can you give me a couple of minutes? I have some questions,” he said.
“Questions about what?” I couldn’t imagine any reason why he would want to talk to me. “If it’s about the project, I don’t know anything. I haven’t been at work for a week.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
I stood up and stretched my legs, which were cramped from sitting down.
“I want to talk about Rebecca,” he said. There was something in the way he said her name that made me know indisputably that he had been her lover.
“You were the last one to see her,” he continued.
I paused, my skin prickling. I could be talking with a murderer. I probably shouldn’t be talking with him at all, but I was curious. “I wasn’t the last one to see her,” I said. “As far as I can tell, you were. You must have been there when she died.”
There was a pause so long that I thought we’d been cut off.
“I wasn’t there,” he said finally. “Why would you think I was?”
I hesitated. I shouldn’t say anything to tip him off.
“Listen, never mind,” I said. “I really can’t help you because I don’t know anything. I should go.”
“No, please. Give me a minute. I need to know what happened to her.”
“Ask the police. I’m sure they’ll be glad to talk to you about it.”
“The police? Why are they involved? It was an accident, from what I heard, wasn’t it?”
Damn. I really shouldn’t have said anything. “I don’t know. I should go.”
“Wait. There’s something else. It’s important. I need to know if she made up her own mind to break things off, or if you had anything to do with it. Did you encourage her to leave me?”
“Of course not. I didn’t even know who you were. She told me her boyfriend’s name was Edward.”
I thought I heard a sigh. “Just something we came up with to keep everything under the radar. It’s my middle name. She couldn’t go around telling anyone she was dating someone called Peter. They would have guessed it was me. That doesn’t matter now. I can’t believe she left me. It was on the Saturday morning before… before she died. She told me she was embarrassed that she was living off my money, tired of not being able to tell anyone about us. She told me she needed time to think things through, that she could see our relationship was going nowhere and it was time for her to start living her own life. And that she was going to Italy with you.”
“I didn’t tell her to do anything,” I said. “I’m hanging up now.” I ended the call, sank down on a chair, catching my breath. My heart pounded. I needed to call Clarke right away to let him know that Peter Montgomery had been Rebecca’s boyfriend. It seemed incredible. Irrationally, while I dialed Clarke’s number, I thought of how upset Alan would be when he found out his most important client was a killer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The following morning, I sat in a meeting room in the Oxford police headquarters. Inspector Clarke was on his way from London, apparently; he wanted to hear first hand about my phone call with Montgomery even though I’d made a statement to a WPC the evening before. Through the glass walls of the room, I watched a group of about ten men and women writing up reports, peering at computer screens, or standing around drinking coffee. It was like watching television with the sound off.
I stifled a yawn and took a gulp of the coffee from a thick china cup bearing the logo of Oxford’s Division Two football team. An almost imperceptible tremor ran through the larger room; eyes lifted towards the door, then shifted back to computer screens. Clarke had arrived. I watched him shake hands with a detective wearing a crumpled blue suit before crossing the area to the meeting room. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow even though it was before noon.
He slid his arms from his raincoat as he pushed the door open and came in, carrying cold air with him.
“How are you, Kate? I’m surprised to see you up and about so soon. You have some coffee? Good.”
He took the chair on the opposite side of the table, put his briefcase on one corner and settled back into his seat.
“Did you arrest Montgomery?” I asked.
“No. He’s out o
f the country. In Switzerland, in fact.”
“Did he run away?” I was shocked.
Clarke smiled. “Not exactly. His secretary said this was a planned business trip. He must have called you from Zurich. I have your statement here. Can you take a look?”
He handed it to me. I scanned the text, thinking it was strange to see my own words in print like that, right down to the ‘er’s and ‘um’s that I didn’t realize I used so much. I nodded. “That’s what he said, yes. But, I’m confused. If Montgomery was Rebecca’s lover, then who is the man who attacked me?”
Clarke steepled his fingers under his chin and looked at me. “That’s the big question and the main reason I’m here. Did Montgomery say anything at all that would hint at an accomplice?”
“He didn’t, but it’s possible that he would have someone do his dirty work for him, isn’t it? He has plenty of money.”
“Maybe.”
“But I don’t think this man, whoever he is, was the one who killed Rebecca,” I said. I’d wrestled with this all night, lying on the sofa bed in Leo’s study, unable to sleep.
Clarke raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
“Why would Rebecca let a stranger into her apartment? There was no sign of forced entry or of a struggle, no damage except to the coffee table. Whereas, in my flat, the man left plenty of evidence of a fight. I’m sure Montgomery killed her himself, but he hired the other man to go after me and Nick.”
“The problem with that theory is that Montgomery was at a wedding in Hastings with his wife and kids from Saturday evening until late Sunday. Then he drove straight to Heathrow for the flight to Zurich.”
“He was there for the whole time? He could have slipped out to see Rebecca. It’s only an hour and a half from Hastings to London.”
Clarke shook his head. “Even with priority security and boarding, he’d have had to be at the airport at about the time that Rebecca was killed.”
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