Double Blind (6 page)

“Kate, what can I do for you?”

“I’m researching Scott and his background. I hoped I could ask you some questions.”

“Why the interest? I’m sure you’re not writing an election piece for Gardener’s Monthly.”

“No, I’m not, but I’m working in Scott’s campaign office and am curious to find out more. Just for my own interest, not to publish or anything.”

While I had indeed been to the campaign office that one time, it was stretching the bounds of truth to say I was working there; ever since I’d started seeing auras, I’d fallen into an unhealthy pattern of telling lies. They were all told with the goal of protecting or helping to save people with auras, but they were lies, nonetheless.

There was a lengthy silence, so prolonged that I thought he’d put the phone down. “You said that the crazies would come out of the woodwork,” I said, hoping to get him talking. “Are there any in particular? Anyone who could pose a real threat to his chances of winning?”

“Hang on.” I heard papers being rustled before he came back on the line. “I can give you a lead. I’m too busy to follow up on it.”

“Great! What is it?”

“It’s a who. Her name is Eliza Chapman, and she went to college with Scott. She contacted me to tell me that she has information she thinks the voters should know about. Personally, I think she’s more than a bit off her rocker, but I told her I’d look into it. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you her phone number.”

“You want me to talk to her?”

“Up to you. You said you were interested in finding out more about Scott. Maybe she really does have some information. Tell her I sent you. Let me know what you find out.”

I scribbled down the number. “Why aren’t you following up with her yourself?”

“There’s some history there that I won’t go into. Plus, I don’t have time. But I’d be interested to know why she wants to talk. Natural curiosity, you might say. I have to go.”

The line went dead. I stared at the screen on my phone for a few seconds, wondering what the history was that Butler wouldn’t go into. It was all a bit strange, but I had nothing better to do and no other leads to follow. It was worth making the call to this Eliza Chapman, to see what she had to say.

I left a message for Eliza, with a request for her to get in touch. She didn’t. Later that afternoon, I left a more detailed voicemail, explaining that Colin Butler had asked me to ring her. It seemed unlikely that she’d respond. Another dead end. My attempts to find a solution for saving Scott weren’t getting me anywhere. Perhaps Josh was right, and I should let it go. Scott’s bodyguard, Frank, was obviously capable and attentive. I had little chance of doing anything to make a difference.

My final project for the gardening magazine was due early the next day and I spent the evening polishing it. I was getting ready for an early night when Anita called. She sounded upset, her voice scratchy as though she’d been crying, and I feared that something had happened to Dr. Reid. The aura around him had been very distinct. I thought, with a stab of guilt, I’d done nothing to help him.

“Kate, do you recall seeing Dr. Reid with Eric Hill in the lift?” Anita asked.

I’d forgotten the name but I remembered the man with the bad complexion. “Yes, of course. He’s the drug salesman, isn’t he?”

“Yep, and remember I told you that Dr. Reid would rather climb the stairs than have to share a lift with him?”

“Uh huh,” I said, pouring hot water over a chamomile teabag.

“Well, I just saw Dr. Reid and Hill together in Reid’s office. The door was closed and I knocked but I didn’t hear an answer so I pushed the door open.”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“It’s so odd, that he would be meeting Hill at all, let alone at ten o clock at night. That’s way off normal working hours for a sales rep.”

I sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and wrapped my hands around my mug of tea. The heating had already gone off for the night and it was growing chilly. I’d been planning to be curled up under my duvet by now. “Is it normal for Reid to be there at that time?”

“Sometimes yes, if there’s an emergency surgery. There were two tonight and I wanted to ask him a question about the medication for one of the patients, which is why I went to his office.”

I thought back to hearing Hill mutter “later” to Dr. Reid. Could Hill have something to do with Reid’s aura? I realized that Anita had stopped talking.

“Anita? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Well, not really. Reid was rude to me. He said he was busy and he’d see me tomorrow. He’s never spoken to me like that before. He was so cold and distant.”

“I think his behavior has something to do with his aura,” I said, half to myself.

Anita cut me off. “We don’t have time for that right now.”

I stood up, hoping I’d feel more authoritative than when I was sitting down.

“Just listen. You’re telling me that Dr. Reid is acting out of character, meeting late at night with someone he’d normally go out of his way to avoid. I’m telling you that Dr. Reid has an aura, which predicts his death in some form or another, and possibly quite soon. There has to be a connection. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

For the first time in the eight years I’d known Anita, she didn’t answer back.

“Anita? Are you all right?”

“There’s something else,” she said, and her voice was shaky. “I’m probably imagining it, but I felt sure I was being followed on my way home just now.”

My mouth went dry. Anita wasn’t prone to vivid imaginings and had never admitted to being scared of anything. When we’d shared the studio in a seedy area of London, she’d always carried a switchblade and a can of pepper spray in her purse. On at least two occasions she’d frightened muggers away. She was everything I wasn’t; calm, centered, self-confident and fearless, while I carried my own insecurities and fears around like a backpack full of rocks.

“Did you see who was following you?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t notice anything unusual on the bus. It was when I was walking from the bus-stop to my flat that I realized there was someone behind me. It was dark and I couldn’t see much. But I heard footsteps and they slowed when I did and sped up when I began walking more quickly. When I got to the house, I had my keys ready and ran inside and locked the door. I’ve been looking out of the windows but I can’t see anyone.”

“Maybe it was nothing,” I said, wanting to calm her. “You’re upset about Dr. Reid and perhaps a little shaken. It’s easy to imagine the worst at a time like that.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. I’m sorry. This whole thing at work has got me unsettled. And…” she paused. “The aura thing too. I can’t get it out of my mind. Any of it. That you can see them and that Dr. Reid has one. It’s crazy, but what if you’re right?”

Sighing, I flipped the switch on the kettle to make a second cup of tea. Insisting that I was right was not going to make Anita feel any better, but if there were any chance of helping Dr. Reid, I needed her to believe me.

“I wish it weren’t so, Anita, but Dr. Reid does have an aura and it’s pronounced enough to mean that death is imminent. We need to work out what to do to help him.”

“We?”

“Well, I’ll need your help, as I don’t know him at all.”

“But why would you care? As you say, you don’t even know him.”

“But I care about you and you care about him.” I poured water on to a fresh teabag and took a sip. It was scalding and burnt my tongue. “I’ve seen hundreds of auras in the last year,” I continued. “Nearly all of them over strangers, people I couldn’t help even if I wanted to. Others over people I’ve had some kind of connection with.”

“You told me about Aidan,” said Anita.

“Yes, and others too, people I knew. I did what I could but sometimes…” I trailed off, realizing that this wasn’t what Anita needed to hear. Carrying the phone and tea to my room, I slipped into bed and pulled the comforter up around me. I’d often talked to Anita like this. We’d had long conversations late into the night when we’d first started working and didn’t have time to see each other during the day.

“Let’s assume for a minute that you were being followed,” I continued. “Why? Something to do with whatever is going on with Dr. Reid perhaps?”

Anita was silent for a few seconds. “I can’t see any connection,” she said finally.

“Do you want to come over and stay? We could talk it through.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stay home now I’m here. The doors are locked. I don’t usually freak out, you know that, but…”

I’d run out of ideas, other than feeling that Eric Hill had something to do with Reid’s aura. But I didn’t have enough information to work out why or what to do about it.

“I’m knackered,” Anita said. “I’m going to catch up on some sleep. My first patient appointment is scheduled for 8 a.m. Thanks for listening to me. Let’s talk again tomorrow.”

“As long as you’re certain you’ll be all right? Let me know if anything unusual happens at work, do you promise? I’ll think about it some more.”

I meant to keep my word and do some serious thinking but, after the late nights finishing up my projects, I was tired. Even so, when I turned off the lamp, Anita’s fears of being followed brought back painful memories of the man who’d attacked me in my hallway and I switched the light back on. When I finally fell asleep, I had nightmares of killers in the dark, of doors that wouldn’t lock, and of crimson blood pooling on white carpets.

My head ached when I woke the next morning. I felt as though I’d barely slept. My first thought was about Anita. I texted her and she responded at once to say she was all right and on her way to work. After a quick breakfast of tea and toast, I emailed my assignment to the editor of the gardening magazine, hitting the send button with a sense of relief that it was done on time. Now I could focus on my aura issues.

Waiting for the kettle to boil for more tea, I gazed out of the window. Rain streamed down the glass, obscuring the view beyond. It was like looking at an aura, everything behind it blurred and hazy.

I took my cup of tea to the den, thinking about Dr. Reid and Simon Scott. I felt like beating my head against the desk. I knew something bad was going to happen to both of them and I couldn’t think of a single thing that might stop it. My eyes drifted to my mobile. Calling Eliza Chapman again was probably a waste of time but I did it anyway. To my surprise, she answered. I’d prepared what I was going to say and quickly introduced myself.

“Colin Butler suggested I get in touch with you,” I finished.

“Ah, Colin,” she said. “And why didn’t the great journalist contact me himself?”

“He’s tied up with something,” I said. “He sends his apologies but said to let you know he trusts me to talk with you.” I cringed as I embellished the facts, but now I had her on the phone I was anxious to make sure she’d see me.

“All right,” she said. Her voice had the raspy timbre of a long-time smoker. She gave me an address in Cambridge and suggested I go up that afternoon. I hesitated very briefly. The trip would take several hours, but she was my best link to Simon Scott.

A couple of hours later, I was on the train, zipping through the northern London suburbs. Soon we were out in the countryside, passing through fields of dark soil and stands of bare-branched trees under ashen skies.

After buying a cup of tea from the refreshments cart, I used my mobile to do some preliminary research on the woman I was going to interview. Her name had been in the papers a couple of years previously for giving the wrong treatment to a child, which resulted in the suspension of her medical license. That was interesting. I couldn’t wait to meet her. When we reached the station, I grabbed a taxi and soon stood at the door of her shabby semidetached house.

Eliza Chapman had to be in her late forties, about the same age as Simon Scott, but she looked ten years older. Shoulders slumped under a frayed brown cardigan. Her shoulder-length graying hair was brittle, in need of a conditioner and a good cut, and her face had those deep wrinkles typically incised through years of smoke and alcohol. An overweight tabby cat wound itself around her ankles until she gave it a gentle shove with her foot, causing it to mew loudly and run off down the hall.

She led me into a small living room that was sparsely furnished, but crowded with books. Shelves along one wall sagged under the weight of them and a stack of hardbacks substituted for a missing leg of the coffee table. The table’s surface was littered with volumes of different colors and sizes, topped with an empty wine glass. She picked up several magazines from the couch and patted the cushion into shape, sending up a cloud of dust.

“Tea?” she asked. “Or a glass of wine?”

“Tea, please, if that’s not too much trouble?”

“Come with me then and we can talk while I make it.”

I followed her down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. It was cleaner than I’d expected, and compact, with appliances lined up along one wall under a row of white laminate cabinets. Most of the doors were chipped on the corners, the fiberboard underneath showing through. After filling the kettle, Eliza took some teabags from a metal canister with a picture of a cat on it and put them in a brown teapot that didn’t appear to have a lid.

“So, tell me again why the mighty Colin didn’t come here himself?” she asked. The smell of stale smoke hung around her like a shroud.

“Do you know Colin personally?” I asked, confused. I knew he’d written an article about her, but she spoke of him more as though she knew him well. He’d mentioned that there was some history now I came to think of it, but he hadn’t elucidated. Then again he hadn’t really explained anything much.

“He didn’t tell you how we met?”

I shrugged.

“He’s a friend of my sister’s. I met him ages ago when my sister was trying her hand at match-making. That was a big waste of time. The men she thought I’d be interested in, oh my God. Anyway, Colin was one of them and we liked each other well enough, I suppose, but not like that. I hadn’t seen him for years before the scandal erupted. Then he turned up and offered to write my side of the story. I think my sister begged him to do it.”