by Mark Edwards
‘What’s the matter?’ Mum asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Silently, Jessica handed Mum the drawing, waited while she took it in.
‘I think you were right,’ Jessica said, her voice shaking. ‘I think someone murdered Izzy.’
Chapter 21
Pete came out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of tea. ‘What’s going on, Mo?’ He glanced down at the drawing in her hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘Pete,’ Mum said. She had gone pale. ‘Can you go and keep Olivia entertained? Play with her or put Peppa Pig on or something.’
‘Of course. But—’
‘I’ll explain later.’
Mum ushered Jessica into the kitchen. Condensation clung to the inside of the window and the smell of bacon still lingered. Jessica had forgotten to eat breakfast, but that wasn’t why she felt faint. She sat at the kitchen table and told her mother everything that had happened during the night.
Mum pointed at the male figure in the picture. ‘It’s got to be Darpak.’
‘But he had an alibi.’
‘I told you. I bet that was his colleagues protecting him.’
Jessica still couldn’t quite believe that. But who else could ‘the bad man’ be?
‘Are you actually coming round to my way of thinking?’ Mum asked. ‘That it was Darpak?’
‘I don’t know.’
Mum pursed her lips. ‘I bumped into that sister of his the other day. Nina.’
‘You didn’t tell her you think Darpak killed Izzy?’
‘Of course not. We had a nice chat, though. She told me about what happened on Bonfire Night. Why didn’t you tell me about that?’
‘Because I knew you’d worry. Try to persuade me that Olivia wasn’t ever allowed to go round to Darpak’s again.’
‘Well . . .’
Jessica held up a hand. ‘Can we focus? I think,’ she said, trying to choose her words carefully, ‘that if Darpak – or someone else – did push Izzy off that balcony, and if she’s up there trying to communicate that to us, we owe it to her to investigate. To keep an open mind.’
There. She had said it.
Mum reached across and patted Jessica’s hand. ‘Good girl.’
‘I should go to the police,’ Jessica said.
Mum pulled back her hand. ‘You can’t do that yet. Do you remember what happened when I told them about Larry? They ridiculed me, Jess. Treated me like I was madwoman. A time-waster. If you go to them and say your daughter is being given information by Izzy’s spirit, they’ll laugh you out of the station.’
‘Anyone I tell will laugh at me. It’ll be like being back at school, after we were in the paper.’
‘Exactly. But there’s one person who will believe.’
Jessica groaned. ‘Not Simon Parker.’
‘Yes, Jess. Simon will be able to help us. If we can communicate with Izzy, maybe she can tell us something concrete, show us where to find evidence to take to the police. They won’t laugh at us if we have proof.’
‘But Simon . . . He’s a pervert. You didn’t see the way he used to look at Izzy.’
Mum waved a hand. ‘That’s just what men are like. He didn’t actually touch her, did he?’
‘No, but . . .’
‘Well, then. It doesn’t matter. Simon and I grew up in a different time. I’m not saying it was right, of course I’m not, but Izzy had boobs and long legs when she was thirteen. I bet Simon wasn’t the only grown man who eyed her up.’
‘That’s disgusting.’
‘Men are disgusting. But Simon knows about the spirit world, Jess. He can help us.’
Jessica felt her resistance ebb away. She still didn’t like Simon. But maybe Mum was right. Maybe she could put up with him for a day, even if he did give her the creeps.
‘Have you told Will about this?’ Mum asked.
‘God, no.’
‘When do he and Felix get home?’
‘Tomorrow evening.’
‘So we’ve got about thirty-six hours.’ Mum got up and found her phone, an old Nokia which handled nothing but calls and texts. ‘Let me ring Simon now.’
She took the phone into the corner of the room. Soon she was murmuring into it, facing away from Jessica and speaking quietly, her words inaudible. Jessica put her head in her hands. The craving for a cigarette came back. She had a horrible feeling that by talking to Mum and allowing her to call Simon she’d voluntarily stepped on to a runaway train. She had no idea where the train would take her but, wherever it was, the journey was going to be bumpy and scary. She had to do something, though, didn’t she? And she really believed what she’d said. She owed it to Izzy to find out the truth, to seek justice.
Mum ended the call and turned around.
‘He’s going to meet us at your house in an hour.’
‘An hour?’
‘That’s right. There’s no time to waste, Jessica. I think it’s best if Olivia stays here for a while. Pete can look after her.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘He’s perfectly capable of babysitting Livvy for a couple of hours. He looks after her all the time when you leave her here and I’m busy.’
‘Okay.’ Jessica heaved herself up from the table, surprised by how weak her legs felt. ‘We’d better get going, then, hadn’t we?’
Simon Parker came round shortly after they got back to Jessica’s house. He was wearing his white suit again, those sharp blue eyes fixing on Jessica as soon as she opened the door.
‘I’m so pleased you changed your mind,’ he said as he came in, nodding a greeting to Mum, who was hovering in the hallway and acting like a good Catholic receiving a visit from the Bishop.
‘Don’t make me regret it,’ Jessica murmured.
‘What was that?’
‘I said, I hope you didn’t forget your equipment.’
He held up a black holdall. ‘It’s all in here. Amazing how everything is so much smaller these days, isn’t it? I can carry everything I need in one hand. I’d better start setting up.’
‘Wait,’ Jessica said. ‘Why do we have to do all this? Can’t we just ask Olivia what Izzy’s spirit has told her?’
Simon exchanged a quick look with Mum, as if this was something they had already discussed. ‘Because we have to be as sure as we can be that it is indeed Izzy’s spirit.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, sometimes a malicious spirit will imitate a deceased person.’
Jessica shuddered. ‘A malicious spirit?’
‘Or mischievous. That’s why we have to be careful, and why we can’t ask Olivia outright. She says she is being visited by her aunt but I’m afraid we can’t take her word for it. This happened in another case of mine. A child was seemingly communicating with a deceased sibling, but it turned out to be . . .’ He stopped, clearly troubled by the memory. ‘I’m not saying that is the case here but I do think it’s better to be cautious.’
Jessica felt even more sick than before. ‘So how do we find out?’
‘Well, there will be some gut instinct involved. That will have to come from you. But, more importantly, we need to communicate with the spirit, to test it.’
Jessica glanced at Mum, who looked anxious and excited. Gut instinct, Jessica thought. She had no idea what her gut was telling her right now.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Simon?’ Mum asked.
‘That would be lovely, Mo.’
‘Milk and no sugar? Because you’re sweet enough?’
He grinned. ‘You remembered.’
Cringing so hard it made the muscles in her neck hurt, Jessica said, ‘Follow me.’ She led Simon up the stairs and into Olivia’s room, feeling like she was violating the space by allowing him in here, having to remind herself she was doing this for Izzy. She was pleased she had removed the eyeless toys and tidied the room before going out this morning.
Simon set his holdall on the floor and crouched beside it, removing several objects from the bag and layi
ng them carefully on the carpet.
‘I can feel something in this room, even without equipment,’ he said.
‘The cold? I told you before, the radiator doesn’t work properly.’
‘No, it’s more than that. It’s like an echo. It’s likely that the spirit has attached itself to Olivia—’
‘Herself.’
‘Sorry? Oh yes, of course. If it is Isabel, of course.’ He looked up at her. ‘I was going to say that the spirit has attached itself or herself to your daughter rather than taking up residence in your house.’
‘You mean . . . Olivia might be possessed?’ She felt sick.
‘No, not possessed, exactly. More that the spirit accompanies her. Kind of like an invisible friend.’
Jessica thought back to when Olivia had said Izzy was in the car with them.
‘There’s no need to be alarmed,’ Simon said. He had finished laying out the equipment. ‘If it is Isabel, it’s probable that Olivia finds her presence comforting. You know when children have imaginary friends? I believe those friends are often spirits.’
‘Can I ask you something else?’
‘Of course.’
‘Have you ever heard of spirits predicting the future? I mean, telling the people they’re in contact with about things that haven’t happened yet?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Why are you asking that?’
‘Just . . . curious.’
‘Hmm. Well, it’s not unheard of. Many people think that time in the spirit world is fluid, that spirits can move backward and forward in time as if it’s an ocean. Some mediums claim to have received prophecies and there are some documented accounts of those prophecies coming true. It’s not something I’ve witnessed personally, though. If you’re saying that Olivia—’
‘Why don’t you show me what we’ve got there?’
Jessica didn’t want to think about this prophecy stuff any more. She wanted to know about the past, not the future.
Simon held up a device that was the shape of an iPhone but bigger and thicker. It had an LED display on the front along with three rows of different-coloured lights. ‘This is an EDI. Environment detection instrument. It’s a wonderful device. Firstly, it measures the ambient temperature of the room, because if there are cold spots, that can tell us that there’s paranormal activity. Secondly, it has an EMF detector. It stands for electro-magnetic field.’
‘So what does that do? You’ll have to forgive me – I’m sure you talked about all this when we were kids but I can’t remember any of the details.’
He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to. Spiritual activity causes a shift in EMF, and this measures it, setting off an alarm if there’s a sharp change. Finally, there’s a geophone, which captures vibrations.’
‘I see.’
‘I also have another EMF meter which we can place outside the door. Oh, one more thing. I’m going to set up an infrared camera too, so we can see anything moving in the room.’
‘A camera? No way.’
Mum arrived with Simon’s tea. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘He wants to set up a camera in Olivia’s room, presumably so he can watch her while she’s asleep. I don’t know about you but I find that deeply bloody creepy.’
Simon stood up. ‘Jessica, I can assure you I have no interest in watching your little girl. I only want to see if there’s movement in the room at night. For example, if objects are moved by the spirit.’
‘I’m sorry, but no. That’s not happening.’
‘Jess, don’t be ridiculous,’ Mum said.
That made her angry. ‘I knew this was a mistake. I think we should call the whole thing off.’ She stooped and picked up the EDI, ready to return it to the holdall, but Simon dropped to his haunches and caught her wrist.
‘Wait. How about if only you can see the monitor? I’ll set it up in your bedroom. Like a baby monitor. I’ll wait downstairs and monitor the other equipment.’
‘That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it, Jess?’ Mum said.
‘I guess so.’
Simon got back up, wincing. All this standing and crouching clearly wasn’t good for his ageing knees. ‘I’d better get on and set everything up,’ he said.
As Jessica backed out of the room, following Mum, she caught Simon’s eye. ‘You know my husband will be back tomorrow night? So you only have until then to get a result.’
‘Yes, yes, your mother told me. But don’t worry, Jessica. Like I said, I can sense a presence here even without my gear. I have a feeling it’s not going to take long to make contact. Not long at all.’
Chapter 22
October 2012
‘Hey, are you coming?’ Darpak called from the living room. They were halfway through the DVD box set of The Killing.
Isabel was in the kitchen. She shouted up the stairs. ‘In a minute. Do you want a beer?’
‘What?’
Who was it who said that marriage is forty years of shouting at each other from different rooms? She couldn’t remember. She opened a beer for him anyway, knowing he’d want one, and held the cool bottle against her forehead. She was getting a fever, which made her angry at herself, or whichever bastard had passed on the germs. She didn’t have time to be ill.
After pouring herself a very large glass of Sancerre, she took the drinks into the living room and settled down on the sofa beside Darpak. He pressed play, but she couldn’t concentrate. The subtitles might as well have been in Japanese for all the sense she could make of them. She ought to go to bed, get some desperately needed sleep, but she couldn’t. Not now. She had made a promise to herself. She was going to have it out with Darpak. She was going to ask him about that photo. That woman.
Last night, after the conversation outside McDonald’s with Nina, she had come home full of good intentions. But Darpak had been on his way out – some crisis at work – and had vanished before she could open her mouth. By the time he got home she had finished a bottle of wine and passed out on the sofa.
But that was yesterday. Today, she was going to do it.
She took a big slug of wine and Darpak gave her a sideways glance. ‘Drinking again?’
‘Said the man with the bottle of beer in his hand.’
‘Which you handed to me. I didn’t ask for it.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘So what if I’m drinking? I’ve had a stressful day.’
‘Me too.’ His eyes had roamed back to the TV, where the Danish detective was talking to a shifty politician.
Isabel grabbed the remote from the coffee table and switched off the TV.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
She drained her glass, buying herself a few seconds. She placed the empty glass on the coffee table. She could see herself reflected in the floor-to-ceiling window, glowing like a ghost of herself. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.
‘What about?’ There was no immediate spark of alarm. Nothing more than the vague worried expression he usually wore in such situations, trying to work out if he’d done something wrong. He didn’t look guilty, and that almost made her back off straight away.
But it wouldn’t be backing off, would it? It would be chickening out.
‘I saw something on your phone,’ she said, forcing the words out. ‘A woman. A naked woman.’
There it was: a flicker of guilt, one that came and went in an instant. He frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Remember when I came home and you were in the shower? I was standing near your phone and a message flashed up.’ She was only twisting the truth slightly. ‘It was a selfie. A woman, topless. And it said To keep you going till next time.’
She studied his face as she recounted this. He seemed stunned, confused. She wanted him to laugh, to immediately come up with a rational explanation. It was a prank. James at the office sent it to me. Or, Oh God, it’s this woman – she’s been pestering me, coming on to me, but nothing has happened.
Even an instant admission of guilt – I’m so sorry, it
was a one-night stand, it meant nothing – would have been better than his actual response.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
She paused. ‘So you’re denying receiving that message?’
‘Well, I certainly didn’t see it.’ He shook his head. ‘My God, Izzy. This is crazy. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?’
‘Of course I’m bloody sure! It was right there, on your phone.’
He took his phone out of his pocket and began scrolling through it. ‘When was this?’
‘It’s not there now.’
He looked up.
‘I’ve already checked,’ she said. ‘You deleted it.’
‘Wait. You’ve been going through my phone?’
‘Yes, I did. Don’t play the outrage card. I’m the only one with the right to be outraged here. You’re having an affair, aren’t you?’
He stood up and loomed over her. For the first time in their relationship she found she was afraid of him, suddenly aware of his greater size and strength.
‘You probably imagined it when you were drunk,’ he said, snatching up her wine glass. ‘Hadn’t you been out for a boozy lunch with that journalist?’
‘What? I had one glass.’
‘Are you sure?’ His tone switched from angry to soothing. ‘I’ve been really worried about you, Izzy, and the amount you’ve been drinking.’
She got to her feet and stepped away from him, whirling round to jab a finger in his direction. ‘This is bullshit. Fucking hell, you’re trying to gaslight me.’
‘Gaslight?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what it means. You’re trying to make me believe I’m going crazy. Well, it’s not going to work. I know what I saw.’
She hadn’t imagined the conversation going like this, hadn’t foreseen it spiralling out of control. She needed to calm things down.
But before she could speak, Darpak left the room, his palm pressed hard against his forehead, and ran downstairs to the kitchen. She followed and found him pouring whisky into a tumbler. He knocked it back.
‘Are you going to talk to me?’ she asked.
He looked up at her, eyes burning. His jaw was clenched and she could see the muscles moving, the suppressed frustration and – what was it – rage? Hatred?