Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery)

by Alison Joseph

  ‘This Aether,’ Berenice went on. ‘Is it something in the air? Is it a real thing?’

  ‘He doesn’t mean aether the way we do,’ Virginia said. Her tone implied there was nothing more to say.

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Berenice looked at Tobias. He’d picked up the book and was weighing it, gently, in his hand.

  ‘So,’ she went on, ‘some other kind of thing. Like, some magic thing. The way he talks about it, it’s like it could unlock all the secrets of the universe. Gravity, heaviness. Emptiness…’

  Virginia gave no reply, sitting with her hands in her lap. The pale lamplight sculpted the worn corduroy of her skirt, lightened the rough strands of her hair.

  ‘Well, it must have mattered at the time,’ Berenice went on. ‘And perhaps it matters even now. How did it end up at your house, then?’

  Virginia raised her head. ‘I don’t know what this has got to do with Iain,’ she said. ‘Or with any of them, for that matter, Murdo, Alan…’

  Berenice shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

  Virginia’s gaze was unblinking. ‘That book is nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Is that why you gave it to the vicar?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  Berenice wished she had someone with her, just to break the silence, the scratch of a pen of a DC taking notes. Tobias was breathing, hard, and suddenly he slammed the book down on the table.

  ‘Alan,’ he said. ‘The Professor. Not the same as Murdo and Iain. Oh, no, not the same at all.’ He was shaking his head from side to side. ‘Murdo and Iain knew things properly, they knew about the cold darkness out of which light comes. But Alan…’

  Virginia reached across and took his hand.

  ‘And the book isn’t trouble, Auntie. Not in the right hands. I love that book, I want to have it back, it’s got the whole story in it, the tunnel and everything. And Uncle Murdo liked it too. And the Professor kept asking me for it but I didn’t give it to him and then he told me not to go and work there anymore. And Dr. Iain didn’t like him, either, when they both wanted to buy the old house the Prof was shouting at him, going on about the ghost and the dead child, and how he’d get the house, you’ll see, and Dr. Iain was very angry with the Prof after that, very very angry. Uncle Murdo had to take him for a walk to calm him down.’ He got to his feet. ‘And now it’s all gone wrong, and I can’t find Lisa either, she’s not even in our special places, I’m frightened that she’s next even though she’s not colliding things, not like the others…’ He had been pacing to and fro and now he stopped, in front of Berenice.

  Their eyes met. She was about to speak, to ask about what he’d seen at Hank’s Tower, but there was something about him, something restless and fearful, and she remained silent. He turned and left the room, and they heard him clomp up the stairs.

  Virginia faced her, tight-lipped. ‘I won’t have you upsetting that boy,’ she said. ‘You can see what he’s like. Obsessive.’ The cat had reappeared, and she bent to stroke her. ‘Things that the rest of us take for granted, he has to think about it. And some things capture him, his thinking gets snagged on them. It’s mixtures, now, his mercuries he calls them. It was stones on the beach for a while, always bringing them back, only certain kinds, particular shapes, particular marks, it all had meaning. And then after that it was Kings and Queens, firstly the historical ones, and then after a bit any country. We became experts. Even now, there are kingdoms in the world you’d never know about without Tom telling you, Andorra, Tuvalu… Their rulers still come and have tea at Buckingham Palace, says Tom.’ She allowed herself a small smile.

  ‘So the book…?’ Berenice retrieved it, held it on her lap.

  The smile faded. ‘Can you imagine what that did to a boy like Tom? Not only rules, but hidden rules. Not only structures, but secret ones. He became obsessed. And then he got that job. Murdo thought it would be good for him, harness all that chaos into something more orderly.’ She shook her head. ‘Murdo was wrong.’

  The rain pattered against the thick glass of the window panes. Virginia seemed to shrink once more, her eyes downcast.

  Berenice thought about Dr. Merletti, with her mistress’s manifesto, the ‘drooping wife’, ‘it was over long before I met him,’ ‘well, if you neglect a man like that….’

  The van Mielen name in the book, too. The jealousy between Murdo and Iain. And then of course, the child, the tragic drowning.

  ‘Mrs. Maguire,’ she began. Virginia didn’t move. ‘Would you say your husband was troubled?’

  Virginia looked up at her. She shook her head.

  ‘There were these threats to the laboratory,’ Berenice said.

  ‘I thought at first it was just Moffatt’s attention-seeking again. He likes to think he’s pushing at the frontiers of science. At first I thought no one could be that bothered about Bosons and Muons, not really. But, then, of course, with these new events, I suppose one has to accept that there are indeed dangers…’

  ‘And in your marriage?’ Berenice said.

  Virginia met her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  Berenice took a breath, then said, ‘On Murdo’s team, and Iain’s…

  ‘Is this relevant?’ Her gaze was piercing now.

  ‘I’m simply asking - ’ Berenice said.

  Virginia’s voice was suddenly loud. ‘I only let you into my home out of politeness. That’s all. No doubt you’ve heard all sorts of rumours from the lab, from one person in particular. I will say this to you. If you believe anything that person says, you’re more of a fool than I thought. There will always be the woman who imagines herself loved by a man, who enjoys the challenge of being irresistible. But what does she know of love, such a woman? Murdo and I knew a different kind of love, one which was capable of carrying us through the worst that can befall a couple, the death of a child. A woman like that can toss her hair and talk of love, but she knows nothing. There is a kind of love that is a fragment of a whole, a note in the vibration of the universe. That’s what I have known, and what I have lost. What does she know of that?’ She stared, unseeing, illumined by the pale lamplight.

  Berenice watched her, gathering her thoughts. ‘Mrs. Maguire – I have one other question. What was Tobias doing at the scene of three very serious crimes?’

  They made their way under dripping trees as far as the wall. Elizabeth pushed at a gate, and then they were on an overground path. At the end stood the house, still somehow solid and elegant despite the gaps in the room, the broken, empty windows.

  Amelia’s house, Helen thought.

  Elizabeth pushed at the front door, and then they were inside. Tazer began to nose around, sniffing her way down the corridor towards what must have been the kitchen.

  ‘Amelia’s house,’ Helen said.

  ‘You know her? Amelia Voake?’

  ‘I’ve read her writings.’

  ‘You have?’ Elizabeth turned to her.

  ‘The book – it ended up with my husband.’

  ‘Heavens.’ Elizabeth shook raindrops from her coat. ‘This’ll be a lovely history lesson for you, then.’

  ‘It was yours.’ Helen leaned her hand on the bannisters. She looked upwards, towards the first floor.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Elizabeth glanced at her. ‘They say this place is haunted,’ she added. ‘Old Digby Voake said it used to scare him as a child.’ She turned to follow Tazer, who was snuffling at the kitchen door.

  The kitchen was drier. The table was old and wooden, and littered with several empty beer cans.

  ‘Ah,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Signs of life. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Clem was hanging out here.’ She pulled out a chair and inspected it. ‘He always thought he’d end up with this place. But I fear Digby had other ideas.’

  Helen sat down at the table. ‘Did he own this?’

  She nodded. ‘Old Digby Voake was the last survivor of the Gabriel Voake line, indirectly, of course. But he’s a roofer by trade, he could never afford to do anything with this place. Just befor
e he died, he sold it. To the lab. Alan was desperate to get hold of it, for the land. Iain was interested too, but Alan outbid him. I think Digby got quite a good price.’ She sat down opposite Helen.

  ‘Do the police know?’

  ‘I assume they do, yes. But…’ She looked at Helen. ‘Clem as – as a killer? I hadn’t thought…’

  Helen bent to her bag and pulled out the pink folder. She passed it across.

  ‘What’s this – ’

  ‘It’s part of the book,’ Helen said. ‘Your book.’

  Elizabeth flicked through the pages. ‘Amelia’s writings.’ She looked up at Helen. ‘She died, their child. That’s what I’d heard.’

  ‘Grace?’

  Elizabeth nodded.

  Helen stared at the pages in front of her. ‘That explains… that explains a lot. I’ve read through them, loads of times, this sense of dread, this fearfulness…’ She looked at Elizabeth. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The van Mielens, my father’s side. They talked about her. How she married into this Kentish family and then disappeared. It was her cousin who came to the States, he was my great-great Uncle or something… No one knows how we ended up with this book. Perhaps someone found it here in the house and shipped it over to New Jersey with the other stuff.’ She shivered in the chill of the half-ruins. She touched the red hair-band that lay on the table. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Virginia sat, stiff and upright. ‘Tobias is incapable of harming anyone,’ she said.

  ‘How long has he been with you? Did he come to you before or after your son died?’

  ‘Just after,’ she said. ‘A few months after.’ She fell silent again.

  ‘Dead children,’ Berenice said. ‘This whole case seems haunted by them.’

  Virginia softened slightly. ‘It was bad for Tobias,’ she said. ‘It was a bad house for him to be in. We were grief-stricken. And he’d already lost his mother, that’s why he was with us. But you see-’ she looked up at Berenice, ‘he was a Godsend to us. We had to get on with our lives, for him. If he hadn’t been there…’

  ‘Does Tobias…’ Berenice began. ‘Does he think about death a lot?’

  A flush of pink touched her face. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It figures in his thinking. That’s another reason Murdo was so keen on the lab for him, because he thought it would be abstract, another way to think about things, not just life and death, but something eternal, universal…’ She sighed. ‘It didn’t work.’ She flashed a glance at Berenice. ‘But you’ll still haul him in, won’t you? None of this makes any difference.’

  ‘Virginia,’ Berenice said. ‘We’re trying to help.’

  ‘How does this help? Getting me to share these memories like this?’ Her voice was harsh once more.

  ‘I need to talk to him. If he’s innocent – ’

  ‘There you go again. If, you say. When I know, as sure as I know anything, that he’s innocent. For all these years, I’ve fought for that boy. And I won’t stop now.’ She sat there, breathing hard.

  ‘My brother was disabled,’ Berenice said. ‘My mother fought for him, too.’

  Virginia met her gaze, blank-faced. ‘You have to,’ she said. She seemed about to speak again, but Tobias was coming down the stairs. He ambled back to his seat. The cat jumped on to his lap, and he sat there, stroking her, calmly.

  Virginia turned to him. ‘This lady here – ’

  ‘Berenice – ’ she said.

  Virginia gave a small shrug. ‘She says you saw something happen. At Hank’s Tower. The night that Murdo… The night that he…’

  Tobias looked up. He considered Berenice for a moment. Then he said, ‘One man. One man carrying another. The one being carried, he looked like Uncle Murdo, he looked dead or asleep or something, his arm was swinging, like that – ’ He swung his arm clumsily across the table, catching one of the mugs, tipping cold coffee across the clutter. ‘My box – ’ he shouted, as the sticky liquid trickled towards it. He scooped it up in his arms.

  Berenice looked at it. ‘What’s that?’ she said.

  ‘My things. Special things.’

  Berenice glanced at it. ‘What kind of things?’

  He settled back into his chair. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘things to do with the Aether. From the book,’ he added. He pushed the box into her arms. ‘Like the lion that you took.’

  Berenice looked at Virginia, who inclined her head in permission. She lifted the objects, one by one, a red plastic lion, tiny glass bottles, perfume, she thought. Sheaves of paper, covered in scribbled numbers, diagrams. A pink hair-band – ’

  ‘Lisa kept the red one,’ he said, and smiled. ‘She let me have that one. I like pink,’ he said.

  A postcard of an old painting… a tree with apples, a man, a serpent -

  ‘Adam in the Garden,’ Tobias said. ‘It’s old.’

  Two photographs. One seemed to be a cemetery, people standing near a grave. The other, a photo of a little boy. Berenice held them, one in each hand.

  Virginia began to speak, but Berenice stopped her. ‘I know what these are,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to explain.’ She gazed at them for a minute. ‘My brother…’ she said. ‘I was nine when he died. He was two years older than me. His funeral… Such terrible grief. And at that age, you don’t understand, do you…’ She fingered the photographs. ‘He was a beautiful child,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ Virginia said. She reached out a hand and Berenice passed her the photo of the child.

  Virginia gazed at the blond hair, the open, smiling face. ‘Yes. He was a beautiful child.’

  Elizabeth paced the kitchen.

  ‘I can’t think where he’d have taken her,’ she said. ‘Where he’s been hiding out. He claims to be a devoted dad, that’s the problem, it’s all tied up with him wanting to be something he’s not…’

  ‘The police are looking for him – ’ Helen said.

  ‘And failing to find him.’ She sat down again at the table. ‘Oh, God, they could be anywhere. I should have got involved earlier, I’m a relative of the poor kid, after all…’

  ‘A very distant one,’ Helen said.

  ‘She’s got no one to care for her, that’s the problem.’

  ‘There’s Finn, her friend. And Tobias.’

  ‘Yeah. Finn’s probably been hauled in for dealing again. And Tobias…’ Elizabeth shook her head.

  Outside it had grown dark. The silence of the house was punctuated by rustlings, mice, perhaps, birds in the rafters. Tazer snuffled from her place by the back door.

  ‘Well, no point staying here,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I guess you’ve got a home to go to.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘No? That makes two of us.’ Elizabeth hesitated, then said, ‘When I first saw you, I thought, you don’t look like a vicar’s wife. You look like a dancer.’

  ‘A dancer.’ Helen looked at her. ‘I am. At least I was…’

  ‘Was?’

  They faced each other across the shadows of the kitchen. Helen wondered what to say, how to begin.

  ‘God, it’s bloody dark in here,’ Elizabeth said suddenly. She got to her feet, gathering candles from the old kitchen range, matches. Soon there was light, flickering across the room. ‘Or maybe I’ve made it worse,’ she said, surveying the room. ‘Even more spooky.’ She sat down again.

  Helen gazed at the candle flame.

  ‘Giving things up,’ Elizabeth said. ‘For you, it’s your dancing so that you can be a vicar’s wife. For me, it’s any kind of life so that I can do my work.’

  ‘Is it like that?’

  ‘Not for every woman, no. But I guess I have standards. The kind of physics I want to do. I don’t want to stop what I’m doing just to go home and cook some man’s dinner.’

  ‘Are you happy with that?’ Helen hadn’t meant to ask, but there was something about the house, the sense that there was only a thin crumbling wall between this room and the wild night outside.
>
  ‘At this moment?’ Elizabeth shook her head. ‘No. I’m not happy at all. I loved two men and both of them…’ Her voice cracked. ‘Both of them are dead. And the worst of it is, I feel I’m to blame. I feel I’m at the heart of it all.’

  ‘But – Elizabeth – ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s someone dangerous. It’s some kind of crazy, murderous vengeful person. Your lab is just the focus of a madness, surely…?’

  Elizabeth traced lines on the old oak table. ‘I guess I’m not thinking straight. Alan, the director, he was obsessed with this house. He got the idea he’d buy it, with the land around it. He’d go on about extending the lab. Just before he died, he’d completed the sale. It was uncomplicated – Digby Voake, apparently, he owned all this. He was quite happy to get rid of it. But Alan was nervous about it, anxious. He seemed to think I was an obstacle to it all. I don’t know why. He’d use my van Mielen name, even though I shed it years ago. I don’t even like it. My father’s name…’ She shrugged. ‘Not one I want to carry.’

  ‘So – surely, whoever is angry with the lab – it’s about this house. This land. Surely the police know all that…?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Everyone’s told them. They’re pursuing Clem for just that reason. That, and the fact he’s a low-life criminal… which is presumably why he’s gone into hiding and taken his poor kid with him.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Helen shivered. ‘I should have kept her with me.’

  ‘Would she have let you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Elizabeth said. ‘And I guess it’s not mine. It’s just, everyone sees me as some kind of femme fatale. And that isn’t me at all. I loved Murdo. I loved him very very much. When I came back here, from Italy… God, I was so moral. So bloody good. I kept my distance, I left him to his drippy wife… and Iain was funny and sweet and supportive, he knew the whole story, he and I had been… well, I guess we’d sort of been lovers in the past… who would blame me for turning to him?’