Darkness Looking Back, The (19 page)

THE PUB WAS pretty crowded by the time Stirling sleepwalked in, but there was room at the table for him. Coleman waved him over.

'Hey, Andy. Looks like you've had the same kind of day I have.'

Stirling sank into his seat. 'Do me a favour and don't tell me about it.'

'What'll you have?' asked Kirkpatrick. 'I'll get it.'

'Just a Heineken. Cheers, Graeme.'

They'd all been a bit wary about letting their senior officer into their unofficial club, but the fact was, Kirkpatrick had been sitting at this table longer than Stirling had been with the police. The fact that he'd been promoted didn't ban him from having a drink.

'Shame Vicky and Ray couldn't join us. I've been dying for a rundown,' said Paynter from his end.

'How long do they have to spend together?' asked Coleman.

'Two weeks. Some evenings as well — back at Ray's.' There were guffaws from all round the table, but they didn't last long. No one seemed in the mood.

'Vicky's sister's helping Brad with the kids.' Kirkpatrick took a good long swig of his pint. 'But how did
you
go today? Anyone say anything useful?'

'Count the beer glasses, Graeme.' Paynter indicated a lineup of two empty glasses and a half-full one in front of him. 'What do you think?'

'Looks like you're pacing yourself today, Ciaran,' said Rees.

Paynter boomed with laughter. 'Damn right — I was just being polite, waiting for Andy. Drink up, mate, you've got a bit of catching up to do.'

'Just the one for me today, I think,' said Stirling. 'Any more than that and I'll fall asleep at the table.'

'Oh good, someone can grab his wallet,' said Paynter, and laughed at his own joke. Despite the solid buzz of conversation around them, the laughter seemed too loud.

'I can't figure it out,' said Coleman, frowning down at the table. 'There are too many damn suspects, and no witnesses! I didn't feel good about anyone today.'

Rees swallowed his beer. 'The way things are going, I'm going to lock everyone up just to make sure.'

'Still think it was the café owner?' asked Kirkpatrick, watching Stirling.

'You bet.'

'I've put in a request to Interpol. Could take a while, though.'

Stirling nodded, but he was finding it hard to get enthusiastic, even about this. He was absolutely shattered. He finished up his beer as quickly as he could and left. It must have been late — dark didn't come on till nine these days, but he had to turn his lights on. It was a relief not to get pulled over by Traffic on the way home; he was more than half asleep at the wheel. By the time he reached the driveway, he could already feel the cool pillow against his face.

Before he even had a chance to turn off the ignition, his cellphone rang. Mumbling a curse, Stirling groped in his pocket and finally located it on the final ring.

'What's up, Tony?'

At the answer he blinked, suddenly wide awake. Moments later
he reversed straight back out of the driveway.

'TELL YOU WHAT. He says he'll meet you at the cemetery, round midnight. Oh — and bring a spade.' Adam started giggling, and had to slam down the receiver.

'You're such a git.' Paxton turned to face the drinks on the wall.

'Hey. Mr Psychic.
Without looking around
, how many fingers am I holding up?'

Paxton laughed, then it turned into a sigh. 'I can't handle this. Every damn phone call, it's another person wanting me to solve their problems.'

But when he turned round, Adam's attention was on a woman with greying hair, one of the millions out there who all looked alike unless they were your mum. 'Can I help you?' Adam asked.

Paxton wasn't entirely surprised to see her eyes flick from Adam to him. 'I was wondering whether I could talk to Mr Paxton. Sorry, I realise you're working,' she said politely.

'What did you want to talk about?' asked Paxton.

The woman's eyes lit up, and she dropped the formality. 'I've been coming here for a while, actually, and I've always thought you seemed like a nice young man. I had no idea! I was watching
Cross
and there you were!' she said. 'That was incredibly brave of you. What did your girlfriend say?'

'She said the same thing,' Paxton replied, hoping his face wasn't red.

'I should think so. And of course the poll results were marvellous, weren't they? How does it feel to have the whole country behind you?'

'Pardon?'

'The poll results. From the show. About two-thirds of the viewers said your girlfriend's boss should be fired. And just over fifty per cent said they believed in psychics. Didn't you see that?'

'No.' Paxton almost missed her next sentence, trying to process it.

'Yes, I thought it was great. And you seem much more reliable than that Cristiana woman. She's far too smooth. What do you charge for a reading?'

'I don't do readings. Sorry. It's just not something I'm comfortable with.'

She looked taken aback. 'But why on earth not? You don't mean to tell me this is your only job?'

Off to his left, Adam stared gormlessly into space and pretended to scratch his bottom.

'Yep.'

'Maybe you should tell Tanya to give you some time off, then. Cut back your hours — I'm sure she'd be really understanding. Then you could concentrate on your other abilities.'

'You know Tanya?'

'Yeah, she's a friend of mine. She told me to come and see you — she thought you might cut me a deal on a session. I'd be interested to hear what you had to say.'

Paxton tried to remain polite, but he was boiling. 'Sorry. I'll have to tell Tanya not to do that.'

'Oh, that's such a waste! I have to agree with Cristiana — you should be using your powers! What are you doing in a place like this?'

'I have no idea. Excuse me.' Politely but deliberately, Paxton went on to the customer waiting behind her. After a few moments the woman left. Two minutes later, however, Tanya appeared in front of him as he cleared the tables.

'What's this about telling Trish you weren't going to help her?'

'I don't give readings to
anyone
, Tanya. I told you, I'm not after publicity. I'm just trying to do my job: why won't you let me?'

'So you'll help the police, but you won't help a friend of mine who lost her son three years ago? What good is that?'

Paxton gritted his teeth. 'The thing is, where does it end? If I let you refer
one
woman to me, I've got to let everyone else. Haven't I? And if I don't tell them what they want to hear, then it offends a good friend of yours and therefore you, because they won't come back here, and we're worse off than when we started.'

'Then don't tell them the bad news! I thought all psychics were supposed to only say the good stuff — like if someone's going to die, you just tell them to go on a world trip so they get to live a little. Just make something up.'

Paxton stared at her in disbelief. 'Why don't
you
give the readings then, Tanya? You seem to know exactly what you're doing. Just rig up a curtain in a corner of the bar — it'd be better than a slot machine!'

Tanya's face was mean. 'Don't talk to me like that.'

'Well, how about this then? I wish to tender my resignation, effective immediately.'

Tanya scowled.

'Thank you for employing me, have a nice life. Polite enough for you?' Paxton turned and walked directly to the bar, setting down his handful of glasses.

He clapped Adam gently on the shoulder. 'See you, mate.'

'Eh? Where are you off to?' Adam looked round from the till.

'I quit.'

'
Eh
? Why? What happened?' Adam shot Tanya a look of dismay, but she flapped her arms contemptuously, then crossed them.

'I'm tired of being a sideshow. Keep in touch, eh?' He looked at Brent, who had just walked up to the till.

'I'll see you later.'

Brent looked surprised. 'Where are you going?'

'Sorry, Brent. Ask Tanya.'

Without waiting for a goodbye, Paxton walked away, leaving
both men staring.

HE HAD TO keep his breathing quiet as he watched her, but it was difficult.
Once he thought he saw her glance towards the spot where he squatted, under
her window, but she kept moving around as if she hadn't seen. Whore. She had
guys looking at her all the time, and she knew it. Well, he'd had enough of
waiting. Tonight was the night, fuck the flatmates. The bitch's time had come.

'I LIKE A bit of irony, but this is just cruel,' said Lena, playing with her glass of wine. 'You leave your job because of your boss, just as
I
get my job back.' She shrugged sadly.

'Well, I didn't
have
to resign,' Paxton muttered. He wasn't much in the mood for talking. Lena had offered to let him stay, and it made him guilty. He couldn't help thinking of Mandy.

'No, but . . .'

'I promise I'll be paying my way until I find another job. Then you can turf me out again if you want.'

'Look, don't worry about it. You spend almost all your time here anyway.'

'Honestly, I've got a bit saved up. I'm not a freeloader.'

'What were you saving for anyway?' asked Lena suddenly. She looked at Paxton's startled face. 'You were saving to go away again, weren't you?'

Paxton realised it was true. 'I've — always saved my money.' He frowned at his glass. 'Just a habit, I guess.'

Lena didn't say anything for a moment.

'Are you against being a medium because of what happened with that woman back home? The whole being run-out-of-town thing?'

'Maybe.' Paxton looked into his barely touched wine again. 'I guess . . . I just don't feel qualified to work as a counsellor. 'Cause that's basically what you are. You pass on the messages, and then you've got to deal with all the emotions. It's . . . tough. So many times I went to my gran's, and she had someone sobbing in her lounge. I'm really not up to that.'

'But you handled it fine with me.'

'Well, yeah.' Paxton grinned. 'But a sexy brunette crying on my shoulder's a bit easier to cope with.'

'You're always selling yourself short, that's your problem.' She shook him gently, smiling in exasperation. 'You never believe you're capable of anything, and then you do it! You know what? I think you should go and prove this Cristiana Austin wrong.'

'How do you mean?'

'I've always been against you putting yourself in danger, but enough is enough. This case has caused you so much trouble, I think the least you can do is get it over with.'

'Yeah, but I can't go nosing around any more, remember?'

'But couldn't you get Andy to bring you a piece of evidence? You know, a handkerchief that belonged to one of the dead women or something. You're good at that, I've seen you.'

Paxton stared at her. 'Psychometry, you mean.'

'Yeah! Hang on.' Seeming more animated than he'd seen her in months, Lena pushed herself off the sofa and went into the next room, coming back with a solid-looking paperweight. She held it out. 'Here, have a go with this.'

Reluctantly, Paxton took it. 'This doesn't hold all the answers, Lena. It's usually really vague . . .'

'Stop whingeing and just try it.'

Letting out a long breath, Paxton held the paperweight, and looked into it. It was a rich, dark green, with different shades and lights in it, unexpected sparkles like sand and, somewhere in the middle, a drop of bronze. It felt cool, as if it had been out of the sun. He let his eyes go out of focus as he gazed into it.

'I'm getting . . . glass,' he said. 'Sort of rounded. It could be a Christmas tree ornament of some sort, but it feels heavier . . .'

'James.'

Paxton closed his eyes. He let his back relax until he could no longer feel the sofa, and hear only the sound of his own breathing. Gradually his awareness of the surroundings faded until he might have been floating in space, or asleep. He smelled salt, the salt of the sea, and words dropped into his consciousness, foreign, like music . . . Then, like a curtain dropping, it cut to black, and an all too familiar sound that made his heart leap.

The sudden blast of the phone snapped his eyes open. Lena went to take it as Paxton waited for his heart to start beating again.

'Yeah, he's here.' Lena was looking at him, her face concerned. 'Are you all right?' She was speaking not to him, but to the person on the phone.

Paxton couldn't hear the reply.

'I'll hand you over.' She brought the phone over to him. 'Andy.'

'Hello?'

'We've found someone, James.' Stirling's voice managed to be tired and energised at the same time. 'He was caught sneaking round a property in Grey Lynn. Turns out he's not new to this. We've had him in on a whole bunch of stuff.
Including
male assault on a female, and there's a previous acquittal for rape.'

Paxton sat up straighter. 'You sure it's him?'

'God, I hope so. I don't know what to think right now, to be honest. I just thought you should know.'

'Shit, I hope he's the one.'

'Unbelievable how just one chance call-out can lead to an arrest. Thank Christ the woman had her wits about her. She thought she was being watched a couple of times.'

Paxton nodded, suddenly feeling let down. 'Sorry I wasn't more help.'

'Hey, we can't always be right. I didn't see this coming either — the guy's Maori,
not
the sort to be hanging out with any of those women.'

That snagged a memory in Paxton's brain. 'Funny, that.

The other psychic reckoned he'd be Maori.'

'Gee, that's insightful. Who would have thought, a Maori criminal . . .'

'I know. She also said he lived near water, and had a wooden house.'

Stirling snorted. 'I heard about that.'

'His name's not Jordan, is it?'

'No, it's George. George Huia.'

Paxton stopped smiling. 'Sorry?'

'George Gordon Huia. Gordon
does
sound a bit like Jordan, though. Maybe you're on to something.'

Paxton took a moment to find his voice, his pulse rising in his neck. 'I don't believe it.'

'What?'

'She was right. She was bloody right.'