The Eighth Witch (22 page)

They reached the hospital doors. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

Crozier stepped out into the night. “Carter? I have no feelings for him either way.”

“Liar.”

Crozier shrugged. “Let’s find a bar. We have a lot to discuss before you go up there. You can start by telling me what you saw in Annabel Levy’s head.”

“And you think a bar is the best place to talk? Remember who you’re with, Simon. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“Then it will be a test of your newfound resolve.”

Bailey shook his head resignedly. “Sometimes, Simon, you are an absolute bastard.”

“I know, Harry. I know.”

They found a bar in Pentonville Road. Crozier remembered it as being a traditional English pub, but a recent refurbishment had stripped away all the charm and left a neon-lit shell in its place. At least there were still a couple of old-fashioned beers on tap at the bar. Crozier ordered a pint for himself and tonic water with lime for Bailey and took them across to a booth in the corner.

Harry Bailey had squashed himself into the corner of the booth and was flicking through the book Crozier had given him.

“Interesting reading?” Crozier said.

Bailey shook his head. “It’s not exactly James Patterson,” he said, closing the book and laying it on the seat beside him. He took a swig of his tonic water and grimaced, eyeing Crozier’s pint enviously.

“Annabel Levy. What was going on in her mind?”

“Anger, bitterness, resentment. None of it hers.”

“Explain.”

Bailey took another sip of his drink and pushed it away in disgust. “Most of what I felt in there were echoes. I could feel Annabel, but it was as if her mind was hiding in a corner of a large, dark room, terrified to leave the shadows. Does that make any sense?”

Crozier nodded. “You think she was possessed during the attack and whatever possessed her left behind traces of emotion.”

“That would be my best guess.”

“Any clues as to what or who possessed her?”

Bailey sighed. “I’m not Sherlock fucking Holmes. I wasn’t in Annabel Levy’s mind, crawling around on my hands and knees with a magnifying glass stuck in my hand. It doesn’t work like that. I open my mind to hers and pick up impressions. As I said, anger, bitterness and resentment.”

“Yes, but whose?”

“I got the impression of great age. I imagine that whoever it was who took control of the girl has been around for many years, possibly centuries.”

“Centuries?”

Bailey nodded.

In the bar the volume level was steadily rising. It was filling up with office workers, released from their daily routines and determined to get off their faces before tackling the commute home. Someone behind the bar decided that this daily ritual needed some musical accompaniment and had turned on a CD of throbbing dance music.

Crozier swallowed the last of his beer. “This was a bad idea on my part. This used to be a nice place to drink. Let’s get out of here.”
 

They walked out into the fresh evening air.

“Do you have any theories about what’s going on here?” Bailey said as they headed back to the hospital where he had left his bicycle.

“You know me, Harry. Theories are not my style. That’s why I employ people like you.”

“And Robert Carter.”

“Yes, and people like Robert Carter. He’s good, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I worked with him, remember? One of the most powerful and focused psychics I’ve ever come across. Combined with that he’s a man of deep compassion. I don’t understand what you’ve got against him. And what he’s got against you for that matter.”

“We clash,” Crozier said. “We bang heads almost every time we meet. I used to think it was because he’s a maverick. Rules mean little to him—consequently he’ll break them at every turn. He’s also irresponsible. He takes chances with his own life and the lives of those around him.”

“You said you used to think that was the reason. Don’t you still?”

“I stand by what I’ve just said, but…”

They crossed the street into the Kings Cross Road.
 

“But there are other reasons?”

Crozier nodded. “And those I’m not prepared to discuss.”

“Not even with me?”

“Not even with you, Harry.”

They reached the hospital and Bailey unchained his bike.
 

“My place for a nightcap?” Crozier said.

Bailey shook his head. “Early night,” he said. “I’m driving to Yorkshire in the morning. Remember?”

“So you are,” Crozier said. “So you are.”

Emilie went out into the corridor and found a pay phone. She pulled a diary from her bag, flicked to the address book at the back and dialed a number.

“Jane Talbot.”

“Jane, it’s Em.”

“Emilie.” The delight was obvious in Jane Talbot’s voice. It had been ages since they had spoken. “How are the kids? And Martin? How’s Martin?”

“Charlie and Molly are fine. It’s Martin I’m phoning about. Jane, I’m at the University College Hospital. Martin’s been attacked.”

“Oh God, Em, no. What was it? A mugging?”

“It wasn’t that kind of attack, Jane. Martin was researching at the British Library when it happened. Simon Crozier’s been to see me. He had Harry Bailey with him, so I’m assuming it’s something pretty serious.”

“What did Simon tell you?”

“A man of few words, that’s Simon Crozier.”

“It’s his job, Em. He has to be like that.”

Emilie sighed. “I know, Jane. I appreciate his position. But that doesn’t help me. Martin’s in a coma—at least that’s what it looks like to me, even though the doctors insist it’s not—and he shows no sign of coming out of it. I’ve just spent two hours with him, holding his hand, talking to him, and I might as well have been at home watching TV for all the difference it made.”

“What do you want me to do, Em? If Simon doesn’t want to hand out information, he won’t, not even to me.”

“No,” Emilie said. “I don’t want you to talk to him. I want you to speak with Rob Carter.”

“Rob? Why?”

“Because Crozier thinks this has something to do with a case Rob’s working on up north. It makes sense. Last night Martin got a call from Rob, asking him to carry out some private research for him.”

“That’s against the rules.”

“I know, Jane, and Martin knew it too. That didn’t stop him though. He was up until gone two tapping away on his bloody computer.”

“And you have no idea what this case is about?”

“None, but I’m scared, Jane. Martin’s no field agent. He has no psychic powers whatsoever, no defenses. He’s just an ordinary man, doing an ordinary job in an extraordinary field. And now he’s in hospital… I don’t know if he’s going to pull through…if he’s ever going to see his children…” The words trailed off in a sob and Jane could hear Emilie crying on the other end of the line.

“Em, don’t cry, don’t upset yourself.”

Emilie sniffed back the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to hold it together, but I just don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I’ll call Rob and see if he can shed some light on what’s going on. What about Charlie and Molly? Who’s looking after them?”

“They’re with Kath, my neighbor, for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call Mum. She can take over from there. You’ll get back to me once you’ve spoken to Rob?”

“Of course. How long are you staying at the hospital?”

“I’d like to stay here all night, but I’m sure they’ll kick me out sooner rather than later.”

“Can I get you on your mobile?”

“I switched it off when I arrived at the hospital. I’ll turn it back on now.”

“Okay,” Jane said. “I’ll be back in touch once I’ve spoken to him. But don’t hold your breath. He may not accept my call.”

“Are things still…?”

“Difficult? Yes, they’re not brilliant.”

“Jane, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, Em, don’t apologize. This transcends everything else. We’re adults—at least we were when I last checked—we’ll deal with it.”

Jane put the phone down and went back upstairs where David, her husband, had their two daughters in the bath.

He glanced around when she entered the bathroom. “Work?” he said.

“Yes.”

“I thought it might be.” He wasn’t smiling.

“I’m sorry. I have another call to make.”

“Well you’d better go and make it then. But make it a short one. It’s your turn to read to the girls tonight.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

She went back downstairs and picked up the telephone again. There would be hell to pay for this later. She stared at the receiver for a long moment. “Oh balls!” she said, and dialed Robert Carter’s number.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Carter was just outside the Fox and Goose public house when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID, saw it was Jane Talbot and accepted the call. “Jane,” he said.

“Hi, Rob.”

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, both of them unsure how to proceed, the history of their past relationship throwing up barrier after barrier. Carter was mentally reading the last communication he’d received from her. An email telling him how much she loved him and how she had decided to stay with David for the sake of her two daughters. Jane was thinking about the man upstairs in the bathroom with Emma and Amy, a man she could no longer bring herself to love but felt duty-bound to stay with.

“How have you been?” It was Carter who broke the silence.

She wanted to say she’d been in hell since sending him the email. She wanted to say that not a day went by that she didn’t think of him and that she wished circumstances were different. “Fine,” she lied. “I’ve been fine.”

“And the girls?”

She gathered herself. “This isn’t a social call, Rob. I’ve just had Emilie on the phone. Martin’s been attacked and is in hospital, seriously ill. Simon went to see her and told her the attack probably happened because of a connection with a case you’re working on. What were you thinking, Rob? Asking Martin to carry out some off-the-radar research for you? He could have lost his job. Why didn’t you go through the proper channels?” This was easier. Keep it about work, keep it official.

“How badly was he injured?”

“It’s not good. He’s in some kind of coma and shows no sign of coming out of it.”

“Shit!” Carter muttered. He was thinking of Henry Norton, lying in his hospital bed, his mind trapped in that cavernous, white room. If Martin was in the same state he’d never forgive himself.

“Can you get up here, Jane?”

“What?”

“I’m staying with Annie Ryder in Ravensbridge. It’s in West Yorkshire.”

“I remember you talking about her. You met in the States, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. Kansas. Can you come?”

“Why, Rob?”

“I could use a fresh perspective. An awful lot has happened up here. Two deaths since my arrival. I could do with your help.”

“You know what you’re asking, don’t you?”

“I do, believe me. I respect your decision to stay with…the girls…” He couldn’t bring himself to say stay with David. “Had I been in your position I would have made the same call, but I really do need your help on this.”

“Tell me what’s been going on up there,” she said. “Start at the beginning.”

For the next thirty minutes Carter gave Jane Talbot all the details of his trip to Ravensbridge.

Inside the Fox and Goose Ian Lacey sat in the corner, nursing a pint of bitter beer. Occasionally he glanced at his watch, his fingers beating an impatient tattoo on the beer-stained table. His mind kept drifting back to his conversation with Matthew Sparks. He’d caught up with his sergeant ten minutes after Carter left the station. Sparks had been sipping at a strong black coffee and staring morosely into space.

Lacey pulled up a chair and sat down opposite him. “Would you like me to reassign you?” he said.

Sparks shook his head.

“Well, this case is obviously bothering you. I just wondered if you’d like to tackle something a little less…esoteric?”

Sparks met Lacey’s gaze. “You just take it all on board, don’t you? It doesn’t faze you in the slightest.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lacey said.

“I would. You’re enjoying this, relishing it.”

“Well, you’ve got to admit, it’s a lot more interesting than your common house-breaking or mugging.”

Sparks took a long swig of coffee. “It’s like trying to catch smoke. The rules keep changing. You follow a path and think you’re getting somewhere, and then something shifts and you’re back at the beginning, but this time the path’s changed and you’re heading in a completely different direction.”

“Surely most cases are like that,” Lacey said.