Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  'It wasn't a regular death . . . was it?'

  'Who the hell told you that?'

  She was baffled. She had no idea where they had come from or why she had said it and claimed it was a wild guess.

  Verity’s discomfort was obvious and amusing. Megan tried hard to avoid a smile slipping to her lips, but she could not disguise the enjoyment that settled onto her face.

  'This attitude of yours is unhealthy,' her companion said, 'it'll get you into trouble. Go back to Ben and forget Rodley. It’s no place for you.'

  'You sound to me like you're hiding something.'

  She threw back her coffee, picked up her handbag, and headed to the door. 'Of course I'm not, I just don't like talking about it. I was close to Saskia.'

  With narrowed eyes, she followed her to the door. There was much she wanted to know, and unlike had been the case with Ron she didn’t want to miss the opportunity. However, her instincts told her that Verity would be reticent to speak out. She also believed that Larry might be more forthcoming.

  ‘Do you know Larry Carr?’ she asked.

  She spun around and gave her a steely glare. 'What do you want with him?'

  'I want to find him.'

  'He's bad news. If you take any of my advice, take this. Don't even speak to him . . . leave well alone.'

  'Perhaps bad is appealing to me.'

  Her face tightened. She hesitated and then spoke almost silently. 'You are so alike.'

  'What did you just say?'

  'I didn't say anything.'

  'You just said, "you are so alike". You were close to her, weren’t you?'

  She didn't respond and advanced away from the house. Smiling, Megan watched her stride away, unperturbed by their fractious exchange and confident that her new companion would soon return.

  Chapter 5

  Luke returned to his desk, leaned back in his swivel chair, and thought about Imogen. Her enthusiastic demeanour was the opposite of his previous assistant, who had been lazy and insulting. In comparison, Imogen was a breath of fresh air and added a sparkle to the dreary days indoors.

  He glanced at the clock upon the wall - a matt-black digital timepiece - before his eyes wandered across the bookcases and to an assortment of books and papers resting at angles on the shelves. He was a private investigator specialising in cases relating to the paranormal and the unexplained, although those cases were rare and most of the time he maintained his interest in the form of a hobby.

  The bottom row was where he placed his personal work, and where he stored a copy of an article on reincarnation he’d written for a paranormal magazine. He recalled the television interview that followed, occurring just a few weeks previous, but he did not relish his moment of fame, and his voice quivered and his skin heated. Imogen, new to the job, claimed not to have noticed and looked at him with reverence in her eyes. A slight smile crept across his lips.

  There were footsteps. He looked through the open door and gawked. Imogen had arrived dressed in purple leggings, a short black skirt, and a yellow and red floral lightweight jacket.

  'What are you wearing?' he asked.

  She looked down and her face dropped. 'What's wrong with it?'

  He gulped. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. You look fantastic.'

  'Is it the jacket?'

  'It's . . . unusual.'

  She removed it and hung it on a hook near the door. 'I think it’s pretty.'

  'It is. Just ignore me. What do I know?'

  He looked at her perplexed expression. At least she had the confidence to wear such an outrageous outfit. He struggled to get beyond a basic striped shirt and black pants.

  'I doubt you know a thing about women's fashion.’ She sank onto her chair. ‘Did you see that programme on the unexplained last night?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Then you missed a treat. Someone saw a flock of sheep on the road, only they weren't alive, they were ghosts. Imagine that!'

  'It is more common than you think.'

  'Cool! I can't wait to see my first ghost. I never thought I'd see animals, though.'

  'Have you heard of the black shuck?'

  She shook her head.

  'It's a ghostly black dog with fire in its eyes. It roams the Norfolk, Essex, and Suffolk coastline. There have been sightings since before Viking times.'

  She rested her elbows on the desk and placed her head in her hands.

  'Imagine this. You are walking along at night, minding your own business, and to your rear, you hear the pad of heavy footsteps. You turn around. Your heart is thumping and your steps quicken. Out of your eye corner, you see a huge dog. It's about the size of a calf, and it's following you, keeping pace with your every step. You can't get away.'

  'Go on.'

  ‘Its flaming eyes attract you to look, but you cannot help it. It draws you in.' He paused, searching her expression for a tad of fear.

  'What happens next?' she interjected.

  'Legend says you'll die within months.'

  She stepped away from the desk, headed towards the kettle in the corner by the door and flicked the switch. Then she bent over, reaching into the cupboard for the coffee jar and powdered milk. He looked at her bottom, rounded yet firm, and he traced the length of her legs. She turned around. Hastily, he looked away.

  'Where can we see one of these dogs?' she asked.

  He chuckled. 'I've not put you off then?'

  'Of course not. I’m no wimp!'

  ‘It’s said they haunt old straight roads located on ley lines.'

  'Cool. Have you seen one?'

  'No, but I have spoken to people who say they have.'

  'And they're still alive?'

  He smiled. 'I think so.'

  She poured the boiled water into the mug and returned to her desk. 'What a great job we're in.'

  'It has its moments.'

  He stared at the report on his desk. There were times when the unexpected happened, but he’d never had such a case, as all his cases had had a logical explanation. However, it didn’t stop him hoping for something phenomenal to happen, something that would re-ignite his enthusiasm and something that would take him back to the days when he was like Imogen, permanently expecting strangeness.

  As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he reconsidered. His passion for the paranormal had cost him his relationship with Sarah, his one love. They had been together for almost two years and he felt ready to take the next step, but inadvertently he had let his work take control. He had talked endlessly about his job, obsessing over the finer details, and for a while, she listened. When his fascination started to get in the way of their prior engagements, her irritation mounted and they parted company. He was devastated. He could not change who he was and so he had chosen his job. His regrets lingered months on.

  'Don't let your enthusiasm run your life,' he said, 'get perspective.'

  'Oh?'

  'A lot of people don't understand our interest in the paranormal.'

  'My Mark does. He has pictures of UFO's on his wall and everything.'

  Luke thought about the models in his house: the spaceships, the aircraft, and the cars. 'Then you are lucky. Sarah didn't understand me. I had to hide them.'

  'Then you were with the wrong person. You're the most interesting person I know.'

  'Not the biggest geek.'

  'Maybe just a bit.'

  He averted his gaze, settling his eyes on the report of a rare paranormal incident and read the details. It had been a simple case of someone using paranormal activity to frighten someone else; it had been a fiendish act, using animal organs, blood, and recordings. He flicked over the page. The details were clear and explicit. Imogen had done a good job.

  He put the document to one side and looked through his email in-box. He eliminated the sales junk before opening a bulletin from a paranormal society. There was little of interest in the document, and he was quick to dismiss the reported sightings of ghosts. It was a disappointing fact that
most people fabricated their claims. If only life was more exciting.

  'Oh, I haven't told you,' she blurted, 'I'm definitely psychic.'

  He raised his head.

  'When I left work last night, something occurred to me. I wondered what I would do if someone collapsed in the street. You know, should I help them or should I leave them to it?'

  'And?'

  'Anyway, you never guess what? I was walking through town and a man dropped to the ground, right in front of me!'

  'What did you do?'

  'I couldn't believe it. I just stood there and gawked. I so knew it was going to happen.'

  She ran her fingers through her hair. It was smooth, fawn, and pinned using sparkling pink hairpins. The style she had created made her look youthful and innocent. Had he not been aware of her wisdom and intelligence, he may have considered her somehow lacking.

  'Did you help him?' he asked.

  'Someone else got to him first. Don't you think that proves I'm psychic?'

  'It does.'

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Are you making fun of me?'

  He smirked. 'I wouldn't do that.'

  'One day you'll be grateful for my abilities.'

  He was already grateful. She was an asset to his business, and not only because her presence brightened his day, but for her investigative skills too.

  The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver and announced who he was.

  'Is that the paranormal guy?'

  'Yes, that's me.'

  'The one who did the report on reincarnation?'

  He shuffled on his seat. 'Yes.'

  'You said in your report that a person alive now can often look like the person they once were.'

  'Yes,'

  'Well, a woman has appeared in the town who is the spitting image of someone who lived here thirty odd years ago. It's said the woman disappeared, but I think someone murdered her.'

  He picked up his pen and turned to a clean sheet on his notepad.

  'Her name was Saskia Fox.'

  'The woman who disappeared.'

  'Yes.'

  He scrawled down her name. 'Why do you think she's been reincarnated?'

  'She must have been. They are so similar . . . they even have the same mannerisms. But not only that, Megan remembers being murdered, and I'm worried it may happen again.'

  'What's her surname?'

  'Armstrong. Megan Armstrong.'

  'Where are you?'

  'Rodley, Nottinghamshire.'

  'And you are?'

  'Larry Carr.'

  'Okay Larry, I'll look into it.'

  'I have a picture of Saskia if that's any use.'

  'Yes, send me that.'

  'You should come,' he said, 'I think she's in trouble.'

  'Why do you think that?'

  'Just a feeling.'

  Luke wrote down Larry's contact details, passed on his mobile phone number, and ended the call. Leaning back into his swivel chair, he reiterated the conversation in his mind and decided it might be worth investigating, even for curiosities sake. Chewing the end of his pencil, he stared at the name Saskia Fox, ringed and underscored, before returning to his computer and accessing a document containing historic missing persons’ files.

  It took a while, but eventually he found a case relating to her. Locals believed the young woman, aged twenty, had been murdered, claiming that her disappearance was out of character. He scrolled down, expecting more information, such as names of relatives or friends, but there was nothing more there. After a little more thought, he concluded that there must have been some evidence that she had moved away and that there had been no case to answer.

  Not discouraged, and driven by an innate longing to discover evidence of reincarnation, he considered the spirit passing from Saskia to Megan, where all memories from previous lives, including lessons learned, stayed within the subconscious mind. The prospect was bewildering and exciting, as well as incomprehensible.

  Some cases he had heard about were unfathomable, and children, in particular, seemed most affected. Youngsters had talked endlessly about another life and another family, describing details that they could not know. There were sad cases, too, where children needed psychiatric help, broken-hearted to be separated from loved ones. Most of the time, the memories faded as the person aged, but sometimes the opposite occurred, and the memories triggered later in life. Perhaps that was what had happened in Megan's case.

  He looked at his in-tray and his tasks, and then he looked at the time. It was a quiet day and he could do with a break from the monotony of office work. It would only take an hour or so to drive to Rodley, and decided it might be worth the effort. He also reasoned that if someone had murdered Saskia and Megan's memories were beginning to emerge, she could be in danger.

  A sound alerted him to his mobile phone. A photo of Saskia had arrived. He studied the image, placed the phone in his pocket, and looked at Imogen.

  She was working at her computer, her tongue was resting on her lip, her shoulders were rounded as she leaned forward, and her blue eyes fixed on the screen. She was in her early twenties, a few years younger than he was, and she oozed allure. His eyes wandered down her body and across her pink shimmering top. He looked at her skin, soft and creamy. He looked at her lips, red and lush. He imagined the seductive sound of her voice.

  She raised her head.

  'Fancy a trip out?' he asked.

  'Cool! Where to?'

  'Rodley. That call was from a man called Larry Carr. Saskia went missing in 1979, aged twenty. No one has seen her since. However, the locals believed someone murdered her. Now, Megan has appeared, apparently the spitting image and with memories of a death.'

  'Cool, let's go,' she said, raising herself to her feet.

  'Slow down. I need to do a few things first.'

  'Like what?'

  'For a start, I want to print off a picture of Saskia, and if we are going to pay Larry a visit, we need to take his address.'

  'That won't take long. I'll freshen up and then we'll go.'

  Smiling, he watched her leave the room.

  The sun had warmed the car enough for Luke to feel trickles of perspiration slip down his body as he fastened his seat belt and placed the key in the ignition. Needing fresh air, as well as needing to disperse Imogen's perfume, which was a beautiful floral scent although a tad overpowering, he opened the window. Comfortable, he started the car and headed along to the main road.

  They’d progressed a distance and neared their destination when his journey took him to a dual carriageway to where the traffic was troublesome and cars congregated in queues at a roundabout. He edged forward, metre-by-metre, unaware of the reason for the holdup. After what seemed like an eternity, he glanced at the flowing traffic at the other side of the junction and glimpsed at a supermarket.

  'I'm going to stop and get a sandwich for lunch. How about you?' he asked.

  'Good idea.'

  As Luke pulled into the car park, his taut muscles relaxed and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. It had taken more than forty minutes to pass through the junction when it should have only taken a few minutes. It was a frustrating waste of valuable time. He puffed out, eased the car into a spot near the door and turned off the engine. They strode to the entrance, weaving around shoppers with trolleys, and walked straight to the sandwich counter.

  It was still early in the day, and the sandwiches were aplenty. He selected a chicken baguette and a bottle of juice and progressed to the cashier. Imogen appeared at his side a minute later holding an egg mayonnaise sandwich, a small bottle, and a bar of chocolate. They waited in the queue.

  The customer with the cashier was struggling to make her purchases as her debit card refused to function. Panic etched onto her flushed face. The cashier tried again, but it still did not work, forcing the woman to fumble in her purse and count her coins. Removing his gaze from the awkward situation, he glanced at the man in front of him. He had a full head of hair that was black yet greying
, and upon his neck was a distinctive birthmark. It looked like a star and had blurred edges yet distinctive points. In his basket were tins of food, sanitary towels, and a cheap bar of soap.

  Within a few minutes, they had been served and walked back to the car, and continued the journey to Rodley.

  'Do you think you've been reincarnated?' Imogen asked.

  'Quite possibly, but I don't have any memories. Do you?'

  'I'd love to think so. Do you think we follow our loved ones around?'

  'Like your soul mate?'

  'Yes, or even your parents and brothers and sisters. We are in this world for such a short time, so it seems likely that our spirits would form friendships.'

  'That's a nice way of putting it.'

  'I would like to think that when my parents die it won't be the last I see of them.'

  'So you'd like to come back and be with them again?'

  'Yes, but this time they'll be my children.'

  He chuckled. 'I like it.'

  An odour of smoke wafted through the open window. Crinkling his nose, he reached for the button to close the window and glimpsed at the industrial estate on his right. Black billowing fumes rolled across the sky.

  'Are we going to visit Megan?' Imogen asked.

  'Not immediately. I don't want to worry her if she is not in danger.'

  'Maybe we should find out what she looks like. See if there is any similarity to Saskia.'

  'Could do, what are you suggesting?'

  'We could park on her street and see if she is about.'

  'It's a bit of a long shot. She's probably at work,' he said.

  'I think it might be worth a try. Shall I ring Larry and see if I can find out anything more about her.'

  'Okay. His number is on my notepad in my bag.'

  She stretched her arm into the back of the car.

  'Can you reach it?'

  'Got it.'

  She opened his bag, reached for the pad, and pressed the number into her phone, and a few seconds later, she was talking with Larry. Luke started to listen to the conversation, but his mind drifted. He was desperate to believe Megan had Saskia's memories, but having had many disappointments over the years, his instincts were telling him otherwise. The alternatives were more likely true. Perhaps they were related, or maybe it was a coincidence. Regrettably, he feared it would be another wasted journey.