‘And then I started having these visions. Flashes, pictures; like watching a DVD on fast-forward. I saw my grandmother walk from the bathroom and head towards the stairs. At the top she seemed to stumble and trip. And then she fell. She tumbled down the stairs like a rag doll, arms flailing, her head smacking on the wall, on the risers. She landed at the bottom, and I could see from the way her head was positioned that her neck was broken. And I was so pleased. Absolutely triumphant, even though I knew it had only happened in my own imagination.
‘A few moments later I heard them, my mother and my grandmother, talking outside my room. Mother wanted to come and see if I was all right, but my grandmother wouldn’t let her. “Let her stew, Brenda. The little bitch needs to see the error of her ways. You’re too soft on her.” They stopped talking and I listened to the silence for a while. Then I heard the toilet flush.
‘I knew what was about to happen. I could have run out of the room and intercepted her, but I didn’t. I just lay there on the floor and listened. I wanted to know what would happen. I remember it made so much noise. First there was the cry as she tripped and lost her balance, and then there was this clattering and crunching as she fell down the stairs. I could picture every sound. I knew when her head hit the wall, and when her leg caught against the banister and snapped. Finally the noise stopped and I knew it was over and that my grandmother was dead.
‘My mother never got over it. She’s been punishing herself ever since for the fact that her mother died whilst in her care. And she’s been punishing me too, for years.’
Carter came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Jane, what you’re describing is a premonition. There’s nothing in what you’ve told me that leads me to think that it could be anything more than that.’
‘Even if you’re right, and I’m not sure you are, with this…gift, this curse, comes responsibility. I could have stopped it from happening. I didn’t. I just lay there waiting, wishing for it to happen. You were talking to me earlier about guilt. Well I’ve lived with guilt, Rob, and it’s been informing my life ever since that day. It’s the reason I got into psychology, in order to understand what my motivations were…are. I came to work for the Department so I could study psychic phenomena firsthand. That guilt has driven me forward.’
‘And at the same time, totally repressed you.’
‘Yes.’ She said the word quietly and calmly but her body tremored. When she turned to face him, tears were trickling down her cheeks. Carter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She let herself be held. She needed to be held. ‘Sometimes, it gets too much,’ she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I know.’
‘Do you feel up to telling me what you experienced during the séance?’ Carter said.
They were sitting on the bed. Jane had dried her tears and was feeling stronger. Although she hated to admit it, just having him by her side was giving her that strength. ‘Just random images. Nothing really coherent.’
‘Tell me anyway.’ He had lit two more cigarettes.
She listed what she had seen in her mind’s eye.
‘Have you checked that Gemma’s all right?’ he said when she’d finished.
‘First thing I did when I came upstairs. I phoned my mother. Both the girls are fine.’
‘Good. The helicopter. You saw it sinking into the earth?’
She closed her eyes and recalled instantly what she had seen. ‘Bizarrely, yes.’
He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, thinking.
‘Do you think that’s significant?’ Jane asked.
‘I think so, yes. It was never found, the helicopter. No wreckage out at sea; no sign it crashed anywhere. To all intents and purposes it just disappeared, along with the pilot.’
‘You think it really happened then? It landed here, then just sunk through solid ground?’ She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
Carter nodded. ‘It’s one scenario.’
‘An unlikely one.’
‘Unlikely, but not impossible. We have to consider everything that happens as possible, even if it can’t be real; not in the normal world anyway.’
Jane sucked on her cigarette and held on to the smoke in her lungs. Finally she exhaled. ‘Do you think it’s worth trying another séance?’
Carter shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think you’re up to it.’
She bridled slightly. ‘I’ll be more prepared next time.’
‘I don’t think any of us are prepared sufficiently to handle what’s happening here.’
‘Still, I’d like to try,’ she said.
‘Okay. It’s your call. Let’s compromise. After breakfast tomorrow?’
Jane smiled. ‘Fine. Can you let the others know?’
‘I’ll tell them.’ He kissed her on the cheek and left the room. She lay back on the bed, took another pull on the cigarette, then ground it out in the ashtray. She picked up her phone and punched in a number.
‘Hi, it’s me again.’ Her voice had changed from her conversation with Carter. She was more reserved now, holding back.
‘I’ve just put the girls to bed, Jane,’ her mother said tetchily.
‘I just wanted to wish them good night.’
‘Phone them in the morning and do it then.’
Jane smiled. Only her mother could conjure up such an absurdity. ‘Yes, okay. I’ll call tomorrow.’
‘Good night, Jane.’
The line went dead.
She dropped the phone on the bed beside her, then stood up and started to peel off her clothes. She felt desperately tired. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. Within seconds she was asleep. But it was a fitful sleep filled with nightmarish dreams of snatched children and sinking helicopters.
She awoke feeling wretched with the thought of another attempt at another séance sitting in her stomach like a lead weight. She showered quickly, skipped breakfast and went for a walk on the grounds to try to clear her head. By the time she got back to the Manse the others had already assembled in the library. She took her place at the table. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s start.’
‘Are you sure, Jane?’ Carter said.
‘Let’s get it over with,’ she said. However she thought their relationship was developing she couldn’t have him question her in front of the others.
Carter nodded, but was watching her closely. ‘Okay. Everybody link hands.’
Jane joined hands again with Kirby and McKinley, worried they would feel the sweat on her palms.
‘Now,’ Carter said. ‘Everybody breathe deeply, close your eyes and try to relax.’
Jane took one, long, deep breath and shut her eyes.
At that point the doorbell rang.
John McKinley got to his feet. ‘Weren’t we supposed to be the only ones on this island?’ he said.
Jane looked puzzled. ‘So I was told.’
‘Well obviously we’re not,’ McKinley said and went to answer the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
McKinley came back to the library followed by a young man, fairly scruffy, looking like he could do with a shave and a good night’s sleep. Kirby’s first impression was that when he was cleaned up he might look a little like Brad Pitt in the movie Troy. Not bad at all.
‘This is Nick Bayliss,’ McKinley said to the others. His shrug indicated his bemusement at the casual entrance. They had all believed access to the island was strictly controlled while they were here.
Jane stood. ‘I was led to believe this island was deserted, Mr. Bayliss,’ she said, adopting her stern woman-in-charge persona. ‘How long have you been on Kulsay?’
Bayliss regarded her with a slightly sardonic smile on his face. ‘I could murder a coffee,’ he said. The Scottish accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. He dropped his rucksack on the floor.
Jane glanced around at Kirby.
Irritation flashed in Kirby’s eyes. She didn’t want to miss anything.
; ‘Please,’ Jane said, softening her tone. ‘We’ll fill you in on what ever you miss.’
With a theatrical sigh Kirby rose from her seat. ‘I suppose the rest of you want one as well?’ she said. As she walked past Bayliss he winked at her. Kirby tucked her chin into her chest and hurried on by. She couldn’t help smiling though.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Jane said. ‘How long have you been on the island?’
‘I came over yesterday evening,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? I’ve been walking for an hour, and the terrain around here doesn’t really lend itself to a casual stroll. My feet are killing me.’ He flopped down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace and started to unlace his boots.
Jane tapped her foot impatiently. There was something about the self-confident Bayliss that she admired; he irritated and frustrated her, but he was clearly trying to take control of the situation.
Bayliss looked up from his unlacing at the others gathered around the table. ‘Sorry, have I interrupted?’
Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, not at all.’ Borderline sarcasm, but kept in check by professional caution.
‘Only I thought you may be holding a séance or something. That is what the Department is all about, isn’t it? Ghoulies and ghosties, and things that go bump in the night?’
Carter leaned forward in his chair. ‘Would you mind telling us what the hell you think you’re doing here?’
Bayliss pulled off a boot and massaged his toes through the thick wool of his sock. He smiled across at Carter. ‘I’m here to help, Mr. Carter,’ he said. ‘And to answer some of the questions you’ve obviously been asking yourself.’
Martin Impey sat at his desk collating another ream of paperwork. Sometimes the sheer volume of material he was responsible for was overwhelming. If the public only knew how many paranormal events were occurring every day they’d be shocked and, most likely, terrified. And for every case reported there were ten times that many that went ignored, brushed under the convenient carpet of denial and self-delusion. On his desk at the moment were reports of poltergeist activity in a Birmingham suburb, a suspected demonic possession of a small boy in Surbiton, and half a dozen random sightings of ghosts, as well as reports from two other Department teams that needed to be processed.
Everything on his desk had to be logged onto the computer, cross-referenced and verified. He and his two secretaries faced the daily task of keeping this material under control, and of updating their computers from the many databases from around the world to which they had access. On top of this were the almost daily requests from Simon Crozier and others to provide background information on what ever cases they were working. He picked up a scrap of paper on which were scribbled the words, The Sorority. This was a good example.
He’d arrived early this morning, just after six, to play catch-up with his filing. A minute after he got there he was summoned by Simon Crozier. He was convinced the man never slept, yet he always seemed so alert, so unruffled. Martin walked along the corridor to Crozier’s office, stuffing the remnants of a bacon sandwich — his breakfast — into his mouth, and clutching a plastic cup filled with hot, sweet tea.
Crozier was sitting behind his desk, tapping away at his laptop, a look of fierce concentration etched into his brow. As Martin closed the door behind him Crozier looked up, noticed the plastic cup in his hand and frowned.
Martin raised the cup. ‘Breakfast,’ he said.
‘Come and sit down,’ Crozier said. ‘I’ve a job for you.’
Martin took the seat opposite him and was about to set his cup down on the desk, but Crozier gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Martin lowered the cup to the floor, but visions of tipping the tea over the pristine cream carpet prevented him from setting it down. Instead he raised the cup to his lips and drained it, wincing as the scalding liquid burned its way down his throat. Crozier reached down and produced a chrome wastepaper bin from under the desk. Martin dropped the cup in the bin and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Then he wiped his brow. The hot tea had made him sweat.
Crozier scribbled something on the pad in front of him. Then he folded the page carefully and took a paperknife from a drawer, carefully cutting along the crease. He slid the thin sliver of paper across the desk. ‘Mean anything to you?’
Martin picked it up and read the words, The Sorority. He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘What about the name Celeste Toland?’
Martin shook his head again. ‘Likewise.’
‘Damn!’ Crozier said. ‘Okay. See what you can dig up on them.’
‘But I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through,’ Martin said. ‘Can’t I put one of the girls on it?’
‘If I wanted one of the girls doing the job I would have called one of them in. Instead I called you. What does that tell you?’
Martin feigned a second of thought as if considering a quiz question. ‘You’d rather I do it myself?’
Crozier gave a perfunctory smile. ‘Precisely.’
‘And should I know what this is all about?’
‘Celeste Toland is a member of a group of fairly high-profile and wealthy women in America who call themselves The Sorority. Other than that you know as much as I do. Apart from the fact that this Celeste Toland is, shall we say, rather friendly with Jessica Anderson.’
‘And you want to know if this woman and her group have any interest in Kulsay,’ Martin said. He preferred to have the terms of reference before he began his researches. It sometimes helped rather than going in with one arm figuratively tied behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes.
‘Yes.’
‘What makes you think they might?’ It was always best to go into a research request from Crozier as well informed as possible.
‘I’ve heard whispers.’ Crozier loved to play up the perceived man-about-town image he had of himself.
‘Dangerous things, whispers.’ Martin found his boss amusing and scary at the same time, but most of all he pitied him on a human level.
‘Not when they’re from a reliable source.’ The way Crozier said it left Martin in no doubt that the subject was at an end.
Martin got to his feet. ‘Priority then.’
‘Top priority.’
He walked to the door. ‘When you say, rather friendly, I take it you’re speaking euphemistically.’
Crozier smiled. ‘I’ve been led to believe that’s the case.’ Though he knew precisely how the relationship worked.
‘How did you find this out?’ Martin tried not to sound incredulous; and certainly didn’t want to sound in any way admiring.
‘I have a mole in the Anderson court,’ Crozier said. ‘No one’s private life is very private anymore.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Martin said under his breath. The intelligence gathering part of the Department role was still something he felt uncomfortable about.
‘Sorry?’ Crozier had already turned his attention back to his computer screen.
Martin had the door open. ‘I said, “another day in the city.” I’ll get straight on it.’
‘Good. Get back to me the moment you have something I can get my teeth into.’
‘Will do.’
‘Oh, and Martin…this is strictly between you and me. Understood?’
‘Understood.’ Yet Martin knew this was a brief he didn’t fully understand. Why was Crozier interested in a group of American women with too much money and time on their hands? The Anderson connection was the obvious answer, but if so, how did that affect Jane and the others who were already on an investigation, which had the full involvement of the Andersons behind it?
Nick Bayliss had settled himself in the chair by the fireplace; totally relaxed, legs crossed, mug of coffee clenched in his fist.
‘We’re waiting,’ Jane said. Conversation had stalled while they all waited for Kirby to return with the drinks.
‘Waiting?’ Bayliss was enjoying his moment, the might of the Department waiting for him to spe
ak.
‘For you to tell us why you’re here,’ Raj said. ‘As you are well aware.’
Bayliss sipped his coffee, glanced across at Kirby, and winked at her again. ‘Great coffee. Cardamom?’
Kirby flushed slightly and nodded.
‘Thought so.’ He turned back to Jane and the others. ‘You’re here to find out why those people disappeared. Am I right? Your masters think there might be a paranormal explanation for it.’
‘Are you here to tell us there isn’t?’ Jane said.
‘The Ministry of Defense was here two months ago. They thought they were dealing with a mass kidnapping by a foreign power. Idiots! But lucky idiots. They were only here twenty-four hours, then they buggered off again. Had they been here longer they may have discovered firsthand what’s really going on.’
‘I’m losing patience, Mr. Bayliss,’ Jane said. ‘Either you tell us why you’re here or I’ll make a phone call and have you removed.’
‘I think you’ll find that rather difficult,’ Bayliss said with a smile. ‘I checked my cell phone before I came here. There’s no signal. I suspect yours will be the same.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I was using mine last night,’ Jane said, and pulled her phone from her pocket. The NO NETWORK message on the screen told its own story. ‘Everybody, check your phones.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Dead.’
‘No signal.’
Carter walked across to the landline phone and lifted the receiver. No dial tone, just a harsh continuous whistle. He shook his head.
‘We’ve a radio transmitter,’ Jane said. Doubt was clouding her mind like a gathering storm.
‘I wouldn’t waste your time,’ Bayliss said. ‘That’ll be blocked too. It’s started.’
Black Cathedral (department 18) Page 20