Others (28 page)

‘But-‘

It was pointless: the connection had been broken. I replaced the receiver to find Louise standing in the doorway holding a tray bearing two steaming mugs.

‘Who was that, Dis?’ she asked, remaining in the doorway.

I let out a weary breath. ‘Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech, eminent physician, proprietor of a luxury nursing home, and God made incarnate.’

‘He’s upset you.’

I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Perhaps some of last night’s hysteria had returned, but I couldn’t help but see the funny side of her remark. After all I’d been through that week, all the fear, pain, humiliation, and anxiety I’d suffered, and the clairvoyant thought I had been upset by a phone call. A tear rolled from my eye with the hilarity of it and Louise looked even more concerned than before.

The laughter didn’t last long though. Thank
God
it didn’t last long - Louise might have thought I’d finally flipped; in fact, I might have thought I’d finally flipped. No, I wiped my eye with the knuckle of my hand, drew in some deep breaths, and took one of the mugs from the tray. I sank into the sofa. It was time for more thought.

31

‘Over there, look.’

I had brought the Ford to a halt along the busy, wide Windsor Road, drivers honking their horns as they manoeuvred around me, and was pointing across the great river that ran parallel to the road, towards the far bank.

Louise squinted her pale green eyes and followed the direction I had indicated. That white building?’ she said. ‘Is that the home?’

‘I’m pretty sure it is,’ I replied, engaging gear again and checking my side mirror. When there was a break in the traffic, I pulled out, heading west, towards the old town of Windsor itself. ‘I’ll turn round where I can and get us on the other side of the road. Well get a better view over there if I can find a good vantage point’

I had wanted to get a look at the rear of Perfect Rest and since I knew it backed on to the river, I figured the best place would be from the opposite bank. One of the golden rules regarding surveillance is to know your ground and I was applying it now.

Louise had stayed with me all day and although I’d slept some of that time, we had gone over every aspect of the last few days. I’d even told her about the man I kept seeing in the mirror, the Thirties/Forties film star whose reflection seemed to be taking great delight in haunting me. It rendered the clairvoyant more thoughtful, more enigmatic, than ever, but she provided me with no answers. After my short sleep that Sunday afternoon - it wasn’t just last night that was catching up on me, but the events of the whole week - I told her of my surveillance plans for the evening, the one chance that might enable me to see Constance again (not for one moment did I believe the story that she had gone away - I was certain Constance would have contacted me first, or from wherever she had gone), and Louise had insisted upon accompanying me. These Visions’, ‘hallucinations’, whatever I cared to call them -
she
said they were ‘messages’ - were happening with more frequency and greater strength, and I needed her to be present next time; that way she could help me cope and perhaps even guide these apparently lost spirits towards their own peace. Besides, she too was concerned for Constance Bell for, during my incarceration at the police station a few nights ago, the two of them had comforted each other and, it seemed, formed an attachment. I could quite understand why the clairvoyant felt protective of Constance. Louise promised she would remain passive, wouldn’t interfere in any way unless she felt I was under psychic attack, in which case she would bring all her powers as a ‘sensitive’ into play to help me. She was determined and hard to argue with, so reluctantly I had agreed. The deal was, though, that she was strictly an observer and if the surveillance that evening turned into something a little more - I did not expand on this - she was to remain in the car and take no part whatsoever.

Louise was silent in the passenger seat next to me as I drove on towards Windsor, and I sneaked a quick glance at her. Her eyes were closed and her brow was furrowed with concentration. I understood what she was trying to do.

‘Anything?’ I asked, no longer quite so doubtful of her abilities.

‘We’re too far away. Perhaps it is just a house, Dis.’

We soon reached a roundabout and I did the full circuit, heading back in the direction from which we had come. It wasn’t long before the white building on the riverbank came into view again and I slowed the Ford to cruising speed. As we passed it, both of us craned our necks, peering across the broad, swift-flowing Thames to check out the nursing home with its red-slate roof and multitude of chimney stacks. It stood close to a sharp bend in the river, almost on the bank’s apex at that point, with woodland and gardens around its other sides. It looked a perfect haven.

Here, the road we were on did not follow the river, but continued a straight course and I noticed a pleasure area filled the land space between the thoroughfare and the Thames itself. When we reached the entrance, I turned in, driving down to a parking area which took us even closer to the river bend. It afforded us with a better view of Perfect Rest, although much of it was obscured by trees, and now I observed there was something odd about its structure.

I reached across my companion and delved into the glove compartment, bringing out a compact pair of binoculars, one of the invaluable tools of my trade. I focused them on the bank opposite and let out a murmur of surprise.

‘What is it, Dis?’

Take a look for yourself.’ I handed Louise the binoculars which, although small, were quite powerful.

‘I can’t see anything diff… oh yes, I see what you mean. It’s very deceptive, isn’t it?’

From the road directly opposite, the nursing home appeared to have a flat rear facade; however, from this angle, we could make out another wing projecting from the back of the building at a forty-five degree angle. So odd was the structure that it occurred to me that it had been added later. The additional wing was in perfect keeping with the main building itself, but it was angled like the broken stem of a T, and from a distance and face on, you would never have known it was there. The windows on the end facing us loomed directly over the river itself. The architecture was of such cunning design that I wondered if the wing was meant to go unnoticed from across the broad river.

‘Didn’t you see this part of the house when you visited Hildegarde Vogel?’ Louise asked, still watching the place through the binoculars.

‘I didn’t even know it was there. The old lady’s room overlooked the front gardens and drive.’

‘Do you think that perhaps it’s the medical wing itself, for operations or intensive care?’

I shrugged. ‘It could even be staff quarters, who knows? It might be where I’ll find Constance.’

‘You’re still determined to get inside and look for her?’

‘I can’t shake it from my head that she’s in trouble. That dream last night just seemed too real to be ignored. Okay, maybe it shouldn’t have been taken literally, but there had to be a reason for it. Christ, you, yourself, convinced me of that.’

‘How will you get inside? You can’t just walk in.’

‘No, I don’t think our Dr Wisbeech would be prepared to give me a guided tour. I’ll find a way, though.’

‘I really don’t like this, Dis. I can’t rid myself of this feeling that you’re in danger.’ She became earnest, tugging at my arm. Why not just inform the police and let them deal with it?’

‘We went through all this earlier. What exactly do I tell them? How would I convince them there’s something going on inside that place when I can’t even be sure myself?’

‘But you
are
sure, aren’t you?’

That’s irrelevant. The police would need evidence if they were to investigate the home and unfortunately, my word alone isn’t enough. Can you imagine them applying for a search warrant just because a private investigator has been having bad dreams lately?’

‘You could tell them you’re concerned for Constance, that she’s gone missing.’

‘Come on, Louise, you know that still wouldn’t be good enough. What proof do I have that she is missing? I’ve only known her a couple of days, so what the hell do I know of her way of life? Maybe she has gone away for a rest, maybe she needs a break after what she witnessed the other night. And Wisbeech
is
her guardian. He could tell the police he simply doesn’t like my influence on her, so he won’t allow her to see me.’

‘I’m just so afraid.’

‘You’re not going anywhere near the place.’

‘I’m not afraid for myself.’

‘I’m only going to snoop around. It’s my line of work, I’ve done it a thousand times. I probably won’t even get inside.’

I turned the car around and we headed out of the pleasure ground, turning left into the main road. It took a little while to get to the northern side of the Thames and I passed by the unmarked lane leading to Perfect Rest, even though I’d found it twice before; I drove back when I realized we had gone too far, and finally spotted the lane on my left. By the time the Ford was bumping along the lonely, rutted track, evening was drawing in.

When we got as far as the old derelict house I pulled in, taking the car round to the rear where it would be concealed from any other passing vehicles and anyone out for a stroll. Louise looked questioningly at me.

‘Constance told me she usually takes a walk along the lane, mostly in the evening,’ I explained. ‘Maybe she’ll do the same now,
if
Wisbeech allows her out of the home.’

‘You intend to watch from this house?’

I nodded. ‘Might even be able to see Perfect Rest from the top windows.’

The clairvoyant scrutinized the decrepit building for a few moments, taking in the stained, worn brickwork, the ground-floor windows, so filthy with dust and grime they were impenetrable, the battered back door, upper half consisting of two dirty glass panels, and looking as though it hadn’t been opened in years.

‘How will you get in?’ she said, bemused.

I smiled grimly. Trust me. I’ve broken into tighter places than this.’

As I made to leave the car, Louise stopped me with another question. ‘If Constance is able to leave the home of her own free will, wouldn’t she have found a phone box and rung you?’

I had been asking myself the same question since leaving the flat in Brighton after waiting in vain all afternoon for a call from Constance and frankly, it was a question to which I didn’t
want
an answer. My dread was that she was physically being prevented from making contact with me; either that, or she, herself, no longer wanted anything to do with me, murder and police interrogation not the kind of thing she wanted to be involved in. Whatever, I was playing this by ear, hoping somehow it would all pan out. What else could I do?

‘Maybe her guardian has persuaded her to have nothing more to do with me,’ I ventured, hand resting on the door-lock. ‘After all, what does she really know about me except that on our first date I introduced her to a mutilated corpse?’

‘You gave me the impression that your feelings for each other went somewhat deeper.’

‘Maybe I’ve been kidding myself.’

‘I don’t think so, Dis. In the brief time I had to get to know her, and under awful circumstances, I saw the way she looked at you and how frightened she was for you when you went up to your office alone. And remember, I had a lot of time to talk to her when you were being questioned by the police. She cares for you, Dis.’

It was what I wanted to hear, but this wasn’t the moment. I stared blankly around the dilapidated yard with its piles of rubble and broken timber, grass growing between the cracks in the paving, moss on the stone itself, old flowerbeds completely overgrown with weeds. It looked as dispirited as I had felt in the early hours of that morning. My mood had changed though and it was because I had decided to act rather than react. Now I was making my own agenda.

‘I’m going to watch the lane from inside the house for a while, take note of who goes in and who goes out of Perfect Rest. There’s no other route, so whoever visits or leaves has to pass by. When I’ve done that for long enough, and if Constance still hasn’t put in an appearance, I’m going down to the home itself. If she’s there, I’ll find her.’

Pushing the car door open, I stepped out into the yard and made my way over to the building’s back door. I heard Louise following me.

The weather-battered and dirt-grimed door rattled in its frame when I tried the chipped, black-painted doorknob, but it held firm against my pressure. I tried to look inside through the glass panels, but they were too grubby and the interior was too dark. Then I attempted to lift the windows on either side, but they were stuck solid.

‘How will you get in?’ Louise was nervously glancing around like a novice burglar.

‘No problem,’ I replied.

I feared the lock would be rusted inside, making picking it difficult; worse, the door might be bolted on the inside. Breaking glass was a method I always tried to avoid, because it has a high-frequency sound, which meant it would travel a long way. Breaking glass also has a high-alarm factor - more people are alerted by its sharp resonance than by muted bangs and thumps. Although we were in an isolated area, I didn’t want to take any chances that a passer-by or anyone living across the fields might hear. I gave the door a hefty kick just below the lock and it burst inwards immediately.

‘Not exactly the high-tech approach,’ I told Louise, ‘but it usually works.’

Before entering, I returned to the car and opened the boot, taking out a canvas holdall. Inside was my basic OBS (observation) gear, which included thermos flask of hot coffee, binoculars (larger and more powerful than those I kept in the glove compartment), small cassette recorder, large torch, notepad, two cameras, and even a couple of chocolate bars. All or none of it might be useful, depending on how long the shift was and the activity I might observe, the exception being the torch, which always came in handy, sometimes even as a weapon of defence (it was a long black Mag-lite, as sturdy as a truncheon). I delved into the bag for the torch and went back to the open door, switching on and shining the light into the shadowy interior.

The back door opened into what appeared to be a near-gutted kitchen, only a dingy stainless steel sink remaining, the two taps over it rusted, cupboard doors of units around the walls missing. There was no cooker, washing machine, or anything at all to indicate that the place had been inhabited in recent years and I suspected that the building belonged to the owners of Perfect Rest. Why else would a largish detached dwelling which, because of its location close to the Thames and a half-hour’s journey from the city, could easily be turned into a desirable property with a price tag to match be kept empty? Empty, of course, meant no one could observe the comings and goings along the rough lane.

‘Louise, you’d be more comfortable waiting in the car,’ I said before stepping over the doorstep.

‘I’d rather stay with you,’ she replied in a non-argument mode.

“S up to you.’ I moved inside.

Our footsteps had a hollowness to them, the haunting kind you get in unoccupied buildings with no furnishing to absorb the sounds. Segments of faded wallpaper hung like rotting leaves in the hallway, while mould spread from floor to ceiling in some of the downstairs rooms. Ahead, the front door was bolted, the bolts themselves rusted through, and the windows of the rooms on either side were heavily boarded. The odour of damp and rot was everywhere and when we reached the stairs I warned the clairvoyant to mind how she trod in case the stairboards were weakened. Although they creaked and sagged alarmingly in places, we were able to reach the upper floor easily enough. I made straight for a roomat the front, which I knew must overlook the lane, and although the curtainless windows there were grimy, they provided a good vantage point for surveillance. In fact, their dirt would make it more difficult for me to be seen from outside. There were no chairs, no furniture of any kind, and I advised Louise to sit on the floor.