The Aura (30 page)

“Just wanted to let you know I’m back,” I said. “It only took thirty minutes. I’ll stay a bit later this evening.”

“Did you finger the bastard?” Alan asked.

I shrugged. “No, he looked familiar, but I didn’t recognize him. Maybe it will come to me later.”

The afternoon passed quickly. Alan called me at six to tell me he was on his way to a dinner meeting and would see me in the morning. I thought I heard him mumble ‘thank you for your help today’ but that seemed so unlikely that I decided I was imagining it.

The overhead lights flickered as darkness gathered at the windows. A few team members dropped by to say goodnight.

“Good to have you back,” said Laura. “You want to go out for a drink?”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going to get a little more done here.”

I listened to their voices fading as they walked away towards the elevators. There was something eerie about the empty office building. I’d worked late nights and weekends a few times before, but usually preferred to take my work home with me. I was glad to hear the sudden roar of a vacuum cleaner further up the hallway. At least the janitors were around. I decided to leave when they did.

“Kate.”

I jumped, feeling a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my chest and stomach.

“God, Jack, you scared me.”

He was standing in the doorway of my office, leaning against the doorjamb.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Why are you working so late? You should be resting, you know.”

“I’m feeling good, really. And there’s so much to catch up on.” I glanced at the time. “But you’re right, I should go home. I’m starving.”

“Good, I’ll walk down with you. You need to be taking more care of yourself after all you’ve been through.”

I gathered up my papers and stuffed them into my briefcase.

“Stairs?” he asked.

“Elevator,” I replied. “I’m tired and this case is heavy.”

We walked to the end of the darkened hallway and waited for the elevator to arrive. I could still hear the vacuum cleaner, but no one was in sight. Jack was unusually quiet, so I tried to draw him out on the subject of an upcoming marathon. Questions about running usually elicited an enthusiastic response.

Once we were in the elevator, Jack leaned against the back wall and I looked at him curiously, wondering what was wrong with him. The lights recessed in the ceiling above him flattened the angularity of his cheekbones, casting a rubescent glow on his skin and hair.

I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach. A short gasp escaped me and I tried to conceal it by coughing loudly. In this light, his resemblance to the man in Gary’s sketch was obvious.

“Sorry,” I said. “I hope I’m not getting sick.”

He straightened up, giving me a quizzical look. “What’s wrong?”

“Jack, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have an aura. You’re going to die.”

It wasn’t true. There was no aura, but I wanted to distract Jack, find an excuse to use my phone.

“What?”

I felt in my pocket for my phone. “I’m calling for an ambulance.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, Kate, but I don’t need an ambulance.”

Fumbling with my phone, I hit the speed dial for Clarke’s number and got his voicemail.

“Emergency services?” I said. “I need help urgently at Bradley Cohen, in the lobby.”

Jack was suddenly right next to me, yanking the phone from my hand. It tumbled to the floor. He stepped on it with the heel of his black, polished shoe.

“What are you playing at?” he said.

“You look terrible, Jack. I can see auras that predict death. Rebecca had one, and so did Nick. And you know they both died. You will too.”

The elevator stopped in the lobby. This was my chance. I had to make a run for it. But when the doors opened, my exit was blocked by the man in the black wool coat.

“Get in, Ernie,” Jack said, pressing the button for the garage in the basement.

The two men talked during the short ride down, but I couldn’t hear the words for the roaring of the blood in my temples. My heart was trying to break out of my ribcage. When the elevator stopped, I inched towards the door. Making a run for it seemed like the only option. I swung my briefcase at Ernie’s knees. Barely flinching, he slammed a gloved hand against my mouth.

“You’re a hard person to kill, Kate,” Jack said. “But I think this time we’ll succeed. Put her in the car, Ernie.”

Ernie dragged me out of the elevator. The garage smelled of oil and fuel, and was lit with orange lights that cast a creepy glow across the expanse of empty concrete. There were only three vehicles left, two Mercedes parked next to each other, and a van I thought must belong to the janitors. One of the Mercedes’ was Jack’s and the other was Alan’s. Alan hated public transport, but sometimes used taxis to get to restaurants in town when he was meeting clients. Maybe that’s what he’d done this evening.

Jack seemed to be consciously detaching himself from the scene, keeping a distance between himself and Ernie, refusing to look at me. So Ernie would do the dirty work while Jack kept his hands clean? That was what had happened before, I could see it all now. But why? Why would Jack need to kill Rebecca? And me.

I realized my thoughts were rambling. I needed to concentrate, to work out how to get out of this mess. Ernie, knife in hand, grabbed my arm, dragging me towards Jack’s car.

“This won’t work,” I said to him quietly. “Jack will get away with everything and you’ll be the one who gets arrested.”

“Shut your mouth.” He aimed a punch at the side of my head.

I staggered back against the car nearest to me. The alarm went off, strident and terrifying in the low-ceilinged space.

“Turn that off,” Ernie yelled at Jack.

“I can’t. It’s Alan’s car.”

“Fuck,” said Ernie, and pushed me towards the other Mercedes. Jack clicked it open. Ernie threw me into the back seat. Something had to happen, I thought. Alan would come back. Someone would hear the alarm and come to investigate. Clarke would get my message in time.

But right now, it appeared that no miraculous rescue was coming my way. Pulling some handcuffs from a pocket, Ernie tried to clamp them on to my wrists, but I slid across the seat to the far side.

“Forget it,” Jack said. “The alarm’s going to attract attention. Let’s get out of here.”

Ernie slammed the door closed and got into the driver’s seat. Jack sat on the passenger side. I tried to open the back door, but it was locked. I kicked the seat in front of me in frustration.

Ernie reversed out of the space and accelerated towards the exit. I slid over to the seat behind him, leaned forward, grabbed hold of his short dirty-blonde hair and yanked his head back against the headrest.

Jack reached over to slap my hands away, but I hung on, moved my fingers down to Ernie’s neck, and squeezed the soft flesh. Ernie lifted his hands off the steering wheel, tried to peel my fingers off one by one. He used his knees to steer, but the car was weaving, coming dangerously close to the painted concrete pillars that supported the garage ceiling. Jack grabbed the steering wheel, but that only seemed to make things worse. Ernie eased up on the accelerator.

Jack undid his seat belt, turned around and clawed at me. “Jesus, Ernie, you should have tied her up.”

I pressed hard on Ernie’s windpipe. He gagged and coughed. Whether deliberately or accidentally, he suddenly accelerated. The car shot across the garage at an angle, clipped the side of a pillar, spun around and slid head-on into the pillar again. The impact threw me back in my seat and knocked the breath out of me. Ernie’s head, freed of my grip, struck the window; blood flowed down the glass. Ernie slumped forward over the steering wheel. Jack threw his door open and jumped out. He ran across the garage towards the staircase that led back up to the lobby.

I was having trouble breathing and my neck hurt, but I scrambled between the seats and out through the passenger door. Ernie might be unconscious, but I didn’t want to spend another second in the car with him.

I stumbled out of the car, heading for the exit. I needed to find a phone, call emergency services.

“Kate!”

I turned to see Jack sitting on the stairs that led to the lobby. One arm hung limply at his side.

“Kate. I need a doctor.”

“You destroyed my phone, remember?”

Wary, I took a few steps towards him. He had a cut on his brow that dripped blood on to his starched white shirt. His blue bow tie was undone, a strip of crushed silk hanging around his neck. Wincing, he moved his good hand, found his cell phone in a pocket. He held it out towards me. “Please, call for an ambulance.”

I stood still, ten yards away from him, leg muscles twitching, ready to run. He put the phone on the ground and kicked it towards me. “For Christ’s sake, Kate. I could die here. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

His face was ashen, starkly white against the red of the blood on his forehead. He didn’t have an aura, but I didn’t want to risk it. Whatever he’d done, he had been my friend. The phone was just out of reach. I dashed forward, retrieved it, backed up. After I’d made the call, I put the phone in my pocket.

He patted the step next to him. “Come and sit. I can’t hurt you.”

After hesitating for a few seconds, I accepted his invitation. My legs were wobbly, my knees felt like jelly. Sitting down seemed like a good idea. The coldness of the concrete seeped through my wool pants.

“Why, Jack? Why did you kill Rebecca?”

He shook his head. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a denial or a sign that he was too beaten up and ill to talk. He clutched at his chest.

“I feel like I have a goddamn elephant sitting on me.”

Taking off my jacket, I rolled it up and put it behind him. “Lean back,” I advised. “The ambulance will be here soon.”

He did as I suggested, closing his eyes. After listening to his erratic breathing for a minute, I jumped to my feet, and pulled the phone from my pocket, trying to decide who else to call. The ambulance should have come by now. Just then, I heard a siren, distant at first and suddenly deafening as an ambulance appeared at the top of the ramp, washing the garage with blue and red light. With a squeal of tires, the vehicle pulled up behind me, disgorging two paramedics in yellow vests. One ran to the crashed car, the other towards Jack. Feeling sick, almost faint, I sat on the concrete floor, resting my head on my knees.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I looked up to see Alan staring down at me, with a look of utter confusion on his face. “What the hell is going on?”

He helped me to my feet just as two police cars screamed down the parking ramp, pulling to a halt feet away from where we stood. Inspector Clarke jumped out of one, while uniformed police officers surrounded the crashed car. Ernie was on a stretcher. A medic was giving Jack oxygen.

“Are you all right, Kate?” Clarke asked. “What happened here?”

“Jack and the man in the black coat tried to kidnap me. They forced me into that car.” I pointed to the mangled Mercedes. “They were going to kill me.”

Clarke’s lips were set in a thin line as he turned towards Jack. Alan looked stunned. “What’s going on? Why the fuck would Jack want to kill you?”

“It’s a long story. I don’t really know all of it yet.”

We watched in silence while Jack was put on a gurney and rolled to the ambulance where Ernie already lay unconscious. A medic slammed the doors shut; the siren wailed as the vehicle sped away towards the exit with one of the police cars following closely behind.

Clarke came back to us. “I hope Jack makes it. He looked as though he was having a coronary.”

“He’d better make it,” said Alan. “I have a few questions to ask him.”

“I do too,” said Clarke. He looked at me. “You should probably go to the hospital to get checked out.”

“Oh no. I’ve spent more than enough time in hospitals recently, thank you. I’ll be okay.”

“Good, then I’d like to hear what happened here.”

“So would I,” said Alan. “We can sit in my office. I need a drink.”

The three of us took the elevator up to the second floor, where the vacuum cleaner was still going. The janitor waved to us over the din. I sank into the comfort of the luxurious leather visitor’s chair in Alan’s office, while he poured himself a whisky from a decanter on the credenza behind his desk. He waved the decanter in our direction, but the detective and I declined.

“Tell us what happened,” instructed Clarke.

“Jack killed Rebecca,” I started, stopping when he held his hand up.

“Whoa, wait right there. Did he tell you he did?”

“No, but… I’ll start at the beginning, then you’ll understand why I’m sure he did it.”

Clarke nodded. Alan knocked back his glass of whisky and refilled it.

“I was working late,” I began. “Jack came by my office. We chatted for a minute, he walked me to the elevator and we rode down to the lobby together. That’s when I realized it was him. Because of the sketch that Gary provided of the man he’d seen on the stairway in Rebecca’s building.”

“But you’d seen the sketch before,” said Clarke. “You saw it yesterday. You didn’t recognize him then?”

I shook my head. “It was to do with the lighting. Rebecca’s building is a very high-end house divided into three luxury apartments. The lighting in the hallways and stairwells comes from sconces on the walls. No cheap fluorescents or anything like that. You remember?”

Seeing his expression of confusion, I hurried on. “The sconces have dark red shades. The sketch showed that the man’s hair had a reddish tint. And the lighting softened the contours of the face, smoothing out the age lines. Gary hadn’t seen this man outside or under a different light, so he just described him as he saw him in that particular environment.”

I paused, searching Clarke’s face for any sign of understanding, but he sat still, sphinx-like.

“Gary said the man he saw was of medium height,” I continued. “But Gary is what, six foot three or four? Most people look short to him. Even someone who is actually quite tall.”

“Six feet,” said Alan. “Jack’s an inch taller than I am.”

“Why would Jack be visiting Miss Williams’ apartment?” asked Clarke. “Were they having an affair?”