Strange Tide

by Christopher Fowler

  When he awoke, somebody called the police.

  ‘He’s all right, he’s not far away,’ said Raymond Land, cutting the call. ‘There’s some kind of theatre at the back of King’s Cross Station. They’re doing a version of The Railway Children.’

  ‘I should have thought of that,’ said Fraternity DuCaine. ‘They’ve built the stage around a railway siding and a real old-fashioned steam train comes in during the show.’

  ‘An usher found him in one of the carriage compartments,’ said Land. ‘He timed his escape well. I only nipped out to buy some socks. He says he doesn’t remember anything. John, can you go over and get him? If he cuts up rough stick him in bracelets if you have to, just don’t bring him back here. Take him home and call the doctor. This has gone far enough.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said May, grabbing a coat.

  ‘How did he get out?’ Land demanded to know. ‘I knew we should never have let him come back.’

  ‘We were supposed to be watching him,’ said Longbright. ‘I didn’t see his door open. We’ve been busy. We don’t have Jack any more, and with Colin, Meera and Fraternity out on rounds there aren’t enough of us here to provide proper cover.’

  ‘It’s taking a toll on all of us, Janice,’ said Land. ‘I had to cancel my watercolour course two weeks ago. Thirty quid down the drain. It’s about quality of life, not just the ackers. I get a nervous rash if I don’t sit myself behind a piece of Daler board at least once a month.’

  Janice decided to ask the one question no one else had dared to broach. ‘What are we going to do without Arthur? There’s no unit without him.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then it’ll be our job to prove that’s not the case. We’re a unit, not a one-man band.’ Land didn’t sound as if he believed himself.

  ‘I understand, but he lifts us to another level, you must see that,’ Longbright persisted. ‘Nobody else thinks like him, not even John.’ The argument, she realized, was pointless. Right now it would probably suit Raymond to get the unit closed once and for all and take the redundancy package, but what about the rest of them?

  She could see what was about to happen. With Arthur out of the way, Darren Link would set spies in their midst to gain the intelligence he needed, and the rest would be a mere formality. This situation had been building for months. For the first time she started to think about getting out, and what she would do in the aftermath.

  29

  ATTRACTION & INDUCTION

  Alma Sorrowbridge had wrapped Bryant in a tartan blanket and placed him in front of the electric fire so that he looked like a crofter who’d just returned from a long day of peat-cutting. She attempted to dry what little hair he had with a towel, but he irritably shrugged her off. The night was one of secret rain, a London speciality, where you couldn’t see the rain falling but knew it must be because the roads were shining.

  May shook his head as he accepted a mug of tea. ‘I can’t ask them to take you back, Arthur. I know you’ll just bolt again the second we take our eyes off you. Where did you think you were going?’

  ‘Brighton, back in time,’ muttered Bryant miserably. ‘Old Gillespie warned me about hallucinations but he couldn’t explain why they might occur. Now I think I know.’

  ‘So what do you think is happening?’

  ‘My subconscious has gone into overdrive. I’m not sharp enough to handle the case because of my memory loss, so something below my level of consciousness has awoken to try and help me deal with it.’

  ‘That would mean these delusions are there for a purpose. What did you think you saw?’

  ‘This time? I met up with an old family friend. He was an entertainer on the pier, a magician like his father and grandfather before him. They all kept the same stage name. Actually, I think it must have been Dudley’s grandfather that I met up with.’

  May sniffed. ‘You smell of vinegar.’

  ‘I had a plate of cockles.’

  ‘No you didn’t, you were asleep in a train that was being used as part of a stage production, just around the corner from the PCU,’ May pointed out. ‘You had some old money in your pockets.’

  ‘Yes, I sometimes do.’ Digging into the pocket of his dressing gown, he produced a half-crown and a packet of sweet cigarettes.

  ‘Exactly what kind of conversation do you think you had with this magician?’ asked May.

  ‘That’s the odd part. He talked to me about the days when he started in the theatre, as if he was telling me some kind of secret that has a bearing on our investigation.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said he attracted people not because of what he said or did but because of the persona he adopted, and that his real character always found a way to resurface. Something like that. I don’t think I’ve been asking the right questions. These fantasies are trying to drag something out of me.’

  ‘So you’re manipulating them, like lucid dreaming. Your brain’s not giving up without a fight, is it?’

  ‘It’s what I trained it to do for so many years.’ Bryant hugged his tea mug. ‘It’s one of the reasons why Raymond has never understood me. He thinks I come out with reams of spurious, random tosh just to annoy him.’

  ‘Well, you do.’

  ‘Of course, but I’m processing information. You once said I’d forgotten more than most people knew and you’re right. When a case demands it I have to dig up that data again. But finding it and then knowing how to employ it – that’s the problem.’

  ‘Then write it all down,’ said May. ‘Try to make sense of these – events.’ He checked his watch. ‘Arthur, I can’t stay.’

  Bryant’s eyebrows rose. ‘Are you going back to the unit?’

  ‘No, it’s not official business. It’s just something I have to do alone.’

  It wasn’t like May to be secretive. Bryant had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘So I must remain here under lock and key,’ he said.

  ‘Raymond won’t have you back at the PCU,’ May warned. ‘You can see his point. You could have walked under a train in St Pancras Station. If, as you say, these episodes replace the real world with something from your imagination, we have no way of knowing where you might end up next. Look at all the books you’ve got here. You can still work.’

  ‘And if I want to go out I must be accompanied at all times, like a baby.’

  May shot a beseeching look at Alma. ‘Don’t worry,’ said the landlady, patting Bryant’s arm, ‘I’ll be here for you.’

  Bryant folded his arms in disgust. ‘If you think there’s a future that involves you spoon-feeding me tapioca pudding and taking me to church jumble sales, kindly open the oven door and put a cushion inside.’

  ‘Alma, he’s all yours,’ said May, rising. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow to check that he’s OK.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Alma assured him.

  ‘You’re talking about me in the third person now!’ bellowed Bryant, horrified. ‘I’m still here, you silly old fools!’ But May had closed the door behind him and Alma had gone back to her stove.

  Janice Longbright had changed out of her black PCU sweater and donned a flowery 1950s cocktail frock she happened to keep in the evidence room. After all, she decided, it’s an exclusive treatment centre, and if I have to work outside my regular hours I might as well get some enjoyment from it.

  She checked herself in the mirror. ‘Zaftig’ isn’t the look I was going for, she thought with a sigh. I was thinking Joan Collins, not Phil Collins.

  The white clapboard frontage of the old St Alphege Centre was bordered with dwarf conifers and olive trees, and surrounded by African daisies in tubs. There was no sign of wabi-sabi here; the shrubs still bore their nursery price tags and a shiny new brass plaque engraved with the Life Options logo aimed to suggest heritage and elegance.

  Facing Dolphin Square and marooned in a strangely unappealing stretch of the Thames, the former boathouse had been m
anicured to appear discreetly expensive, the sort of venue where you might find Gwyneth Paltrow and the Prime Minister’s wife covered in cucumber slices.

  I can’t wait to put this through on my expenses, thought Longbright, looking up at the ivy-hung window boxes as she got out of the taxi. She was greeted by a young woman in a white collarless shirt and a man’s black suit. ‘You must be Mrs Forthright,’ she said without need to refer to a chart. ‘We have some spare spaces tonight. The rain has caused some cancellations.’ She cast a disdainful eye over Longbright’s dress – nobody wore summer colours in November – and ushered her to the counter.

  Longbright had used her mother’s maiden name for the booking. The young woman smiled at her distantly. The detective sergeant recognized the look; it was the kind ground staff gave passengers when they were scanning their passports.

  ‘I’m Laura, your induction guide,’ said the concierge, checking her watch. ‘The introductory session begins at half past. Would you like to go straight through?’

  ‘We have five minutes,’ said Longbright. ‘The gentleman giving the introductory talk – is he the owner?’

  ‘That’s right. Mr Thornberry set up the wellbeing centre with his business partner, Ms North.’

  ‘Cassie North?’ asked Longbright, attempting to look delighted. ‘I just saw her in OK magazine. She’s very glamorous, a good advertisement for the centre.’

  The young woman made a faint non-committal noise that suggested she didn’t entirely agree. ‘She normally takes the inductions with Mr Thornberry, but she has meetings tonight. I’m sure you’ll get to talk to her in due course.’

  ‘Will there be many of us?’

  ‘We like to keep the induction classes small. Mr Thornberry and his team prefer to conduct one-on-one sessions wherever possible in order to tailor treatments to individual needs.’

  Longbright checked out the photographs of the instructors pinned to the wall. She stopped before one headshot and took a closer look, then backed up to the shot of Cassie North. Same surname, she thought, family resemblance. ‘Marion North? Is she Cassie North’s mother?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs North is currently taking classes on the astrology of finance.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was such a thing.’

  ‘The induction is about to start so I can explain all the courses and give you a tour of the facilities afterwards. Shall we go through?’

  Longbright was led into a very white lateral rectangle filled with tropical flowers and laid out with fifteen bright red seats. The inductees fitted a very particular demographic. They reminded Longbright of country houses, elegant, stately and expensive to maintain, but awe-inspiring to casual visitors. The detective sergeant did not belong in their world. She couldn’t imagine having days that were empty enough to allow for perpetual refurbishment.

  The concierge directed them to turn off their phones, but Longbright had long ago mastered the art of sneakily firing shots without appearing to move a muscle. There appeared to be no CCTV in the room, which was helpful. These were tough, intelligent women who would not take kindly to invasions of privacy, especially if it included baring their souls to a therapist.

  ‘Well, you’re an unfamiliar face.’ The languorous, well-preserved woman sitting next to her raised huge dark glasses and blatantly examined her with tiny staring eyes. ‘I’m loving your dress. That’s a 1950s original Balenciaga, isn’t it? Wherever did you find it?’

  ‘It was my mother’s,’ Longbright explained.

  ‘I’m Anna Marshall.’

  ‘Janice.’ Longbright shook the proffered hand. ‘Isn’t this the induction?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marshall, ‘but it’s my third time.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I just love watching Ali turn on the charm.’ Marshall gave a knowing smile.

  ‘You think he’s good, then?’

  ‘Darling, I’ve been on dozens of nutrition, diet and holistic wellbeing courses and he’s by far the most intriguing instructor.’

  ‘So you think he gets results?’

  ‘Oh, I imagine he can get whatever he wants,’ said Marshall, her button eyes shining in anticipation.

  ‘But the courses—’

  ‘The courses.’ Marshall swept the idea aside with a clatter of bangles. ‘They’re exactly what you’d expect. I mean, they’re never very different, are they? Far too much guff about energy lines and chakra-balancing – personally I find Chablis and Xanax does the trick just as well – and they gouge you for the beauty products, but who doesn’t?’

  ‘I thought it was about initiating change,’ Longbright said, quoting the brochure.

  ‘Good Lord no. I mean, if you want to lose weight cut out sugar, and if you want to calm down read a book. It’s not rocket science, is it? Nobody signs up believing they’re going to change.’ She seemed to lose her train of thought. ‘I spend an absolute fortune here,’ she finished vaguely.

  ‘So, what gives this place the edge?’

  Marshall lowered her dark glasses and sat back in her chair. ‘You’ll see,’ she said. ‘Here he comes.’

  Longbright smelled vanilla, cedar and something darker as the door behind them opened.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Fraternity, sitting on the corner of Longbright’s desk later. ‘A bit of sex appeal? You, of all people – you fought harder for liberation than anyone and all it takes to undo decades of advancement is biceps and a cute smile?’

  ‘It isn’t like that,’ said Longbright, briskly flattening out her notes and starting to type them up. ‘You wouldn’t understand. He has showmanship. He plays the room. He understands women. He’s charismatic and responsive. He talks you through the courses and then does individual assessments, and you probably don’t notice you’ve just lost two hours and two hundred nicker.’

  ‘You’re saying they all fall over and open their wallets because someone in a tight T-shirt waltzes into the room to sell a bunch of beauty courses.’

  ‘I’m saying he’s a fake, Fraternity. They know it and he knows it and it still doesn’t matter, because he gives them value for money and makes them feel good about themselves. Like taking a younger lover, without the nuisance factor. Which means he’s on to a real winner.’

  ‘So what happened after the induction session?’ Fraternity asked, intrigued.

  Longbright watched the women filing out of the room, happy and lost, as if they’d been stunned to discover that they’d been left fortunes by forgotten relatives. Ali’s effect on them was extraordinary, and even she had proven less immune than she’d expected. But now that the main attraction had disappeared the feeling of euphoria quickly wore off, so she set out to search the private rooms.

  She knew that at this stage it would take time to get a warrant for the centre, so a little clandestine snooping was called for. Ali’s partner, Cassandra North, was away from the building, so it seemed logical to start in her office.

  Longbright waited until a gaggle of white-robed women had passed along the hall and started checking the names on the doors. There are no locks anywhere, she thought, but why would there be? It’s a spa, not a prison.

  She found an office door marked ‘North’ but the room didn’t feel as if it belonged to a company director. There were astrological charts above a treatment table, jars of herbal essences, a display of what she took to be semi-precious gemstones, a yoga mat, incense holders and some sparkly paintings that looked as if they’d been produced by ten-year-olds. A framed photograph showed Marion North and her daughter on horses somewhere in the Thames Valley.

  Someone was coming. She heard a man’s footsteps in the hall, and quickly tried the only other door in the room. It turned out to be a supply cupboard into which she barely fitted. Vowing to lose weight as she pulled the door closed, she heard the voice that had just addressed a roomful of enraptured clients.

  ‘Slow down, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Just tell me . . . Really? You think now’s a good time? I could do with y
ou here, Cassie. Mrs Busabi’s going crazy because she didn’t get her appointment today, and you know how much she’s willing to – Yeah, I can get your mother to give her a free treatment but I’d rather you were here to – Well, get back here as soon as you can . . . No, it’s more important that you’re here right now.’ And then he was gone and the room was silent again. Longbright let herself out, waited until the coast was clear and checked the rest of the rooms.

  Cassandra North had left her office computer in sleep mode, but it was password-protected. Her printer had a stack of Excel spreadsheets in its tray. Longbright took a chance and went through them with one eye on the door. The pages covered course schedules for three weeks back and one week forward. In the fortnight before her death Dalladay had signed up for almost every course Ali hosted, but one class in particular caught Longbright’s eye. She was still reading the schedules when the footsteps returned and stopped outside. Folding a page into her pocket, she was forced to run to another cupboard. This one had a handle that refused to turn. Behind her the main door was starting to open.

  The receptionist entered the room and froze when she found Longbright standing beside the desk. ‘You’re not supposed to be back here, Mrs Forthright,’ she said sharply.

  ‘I’m sorry, I got a bit disoriented when I came out of the induction. Mr Thornberry has a very powerful effect on people, doesn’t he?’

  ‘A lot of our clients say that.’ The receptionist’s professional smile slipped back into place. She took Longbright’s arm with a firm, steady hand. ‘I’ll give you that tour now, shall I?’

  ‘What have you got?’ she asked Fraternity. ‘North won’t be able to tell you’ve hacked her account, will she?’

  ‘Trust me, nothing will show up.’ Fraternity checked his screen. ‘Looks like North and Dalladay were pretty close; there are a lot of chatty emails going back and forth between them. Dalladay was taking one-to-one extra-curricular classes. They’re twice the cost of group sessions. Specifically, this guy Ali is teaching a course called “The Sacred Power of Rivers”. Any idea about that?’