The Aura (25 page)

I flipped the card over in my fingers several times and then looked at it again. The middle initial stopped my breath. E. Could that stand for Edward? It was possible. Montgomery was attractive, powerful, wealthy, a magnet for a young woman like Rebecca. And it would explain why she’d been so careful to keep it quiet. An affair with the CEO wouldn’t be something she’d want to broadcast. Neither would he. I knew he was married. His wife appeared regularly in the society pages that reported on fundraisers and charity events.

I leaned back against the cushions and hugged my knees, still clutching the card in my hand, trying to recall anything Rebecca might have said that would point to Montgomery. Nothing came to mind. I thought yet again how incredibly discreet she had been. What had Montgomery said about Rebecca? She was a valuable asset. Could he really be dispassionate enough to say such a thing or was it just his way of covering up real grief?

But, if it were Montgomery, then I had only been imagining that the man in the black coat was following me. That thought, at least, was comforting. I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders relax a little. I glanced at the time. I couldn’t call Clarke at this time of night. I’d do it first thing in the morning. Wishing Josh was awake so I could share my discovery with him, I slipped the card back into my purse and crept back to bed. I pulled the duvet over Josh, stretched out on my side of the bed and drifted off to sleep.

A sound woke me. I bolted upright in alarm before remembering that Josh was in the apartment. It was still dark outside, and the clock showed that it was just after seven. Josh must be getting ready to leave for work, and the least I could do was make him some breakfast. I could tell him about my suspicions while I made tea. Pulling on my bathrobe, I went into the hall. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and the light was on.

The fist came out of nowhere, slamming into my abdomen and knocking me off my feet. Gasping for breath, I flailed at my attacker in the semi-darkness, swinging my arms, trying to land a blow, then grabbed at a sleeve, feeling the rough wool cloth. It was him, the man from the Underground, I was sure of it. The fist came at me again and I rolled to my side, pulling my knees up to my chest, swallowing against the nausea rising in my throat. Seeing the flash of a blade, I rolled away from it. He lifted the knife again.

I heard a shout, saw Josh coming up behind the attacker, who swung around, knife in hand and lunged at him. I screamed, clawing my way towards the living room on my hands and knees. I needed to get to my cellphone to call the police, but the effort was just too much. I felt warm, sticky blood leaking from my head, dripping into my eyes and down my cheek.

Josh was on the floor, trying to get up. The attacker stood over him. I watched in horror as he raised the blade, watched the sharp point sink into Josh’s leg.

Shouts clamored from the landing. I wanted to yell back but couldn’t find the energy. I twisted my head around to see Josh leaning up against the hall wall, grasping his leg, and the attacker coming towards me again. The shouting got louder, the attacker aimed a kick at my head, and everything went dark.

When I came round, I was lying in a hospital bed in a curtained cubicle. I touched my temple, feeling the dressing that covered my stitches. I was aware of white curtains and beige tile floor, the smell of disinfectant, and quiet murmurs from the other cubicles. I thought I remembered Aidan in the hospital, a meeting at work, my evening with Josh. Had it all been a dream? It felt real and yet, at the same time, vague and chimerical. I struggled to sit up, aware of an IV in my arm dragging against my skin. Colored lights danced in front of my eyes, like the illuminations at a fun-fair, bright and whirling. I felt sick and clasped my stomach, trying not to throw up.

“Nurse!” I called. “Is anyone there?”

A nurse in blue scrubs pushed through the curtain. “You’re awake. That’s good. You need to lie down, please.” She gently pushed me back down.

“I feel fine,” I protested. It was almost true; the nausea was subsiding.

“That’s because you’re on pain meds. Believe me, you need them. You have severe bruising, a couple of cracked ribs, and a wound to your head. Fortunately, no serious damage to the organs. So please lie back. The doctor will be in to see you later. Oh, and there’s a detective here who wants to talk to you about the assault. I’ll send him in.”

The assault. Now I remembered the man inside my apartment, punching and kicking me, trying to stab me. I felt a sudden rush of fear for Josh.

“Where’s Josh?” I asked.

“The young man who came in at the same time as you?”

“Yes, can I speak to him?”

The nurse frowned. “Not yet, dear. He’s in surgery.”

“What?” I sat up again. “Is he badly hurt?”

“Stab wounds, I believe, but I don’t have the details. Now please lie down. You’ve been through a traumatic attack and your body needs to rest. I’ll be back very soon.”

I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart. Last night there had been no aura around Josh. That meant he wouldn’t die. But he was hurt, and it was my fault. Tears welled in my eyes. I looked for a box of tissues but couldn’t see one. I wiped them away with my fist, my bathrobe was folded neatly on a chair, and there was no sign of my purse or shoes. I realized I was dressed only in a hospital gown, but I didn’t remember arriving at the hospital. I didn’t remember anything after that last brutal kick. I dabbed at my nose and face with a corner of the bed sheet, waiting for Inspector Clarke to arrive.

It was hard to swallow my disappointment when my visitor came in. Not Inspector Clarke, but someone called Hopkins from the local police station. He looked around, and moved my clothes to the bottom of the bed so he could drag the chair over closer to me. He was stick thin, with sparse hair combed to one side and a voice that sounded as though he was speaking through a mouthful of sand.

“When the police responded to an emergency call, we found a young man bleeding and you unconscious in the hallway of your flat. The door was open. Yet there was no sign of forced entry or of a robbery. Do you remember what happened?”

“Only that I was attacked by someone in my apartment. He kicked me and stabbed Josh in the leg. Can you find Inspector Clarke at Scotland Yard? This is to do with a case he’s investigating, I’m sure of it.”

Hopkins, not replying, wrote something down in a notebook.

“Please listen to what I’m saying,” I said. “I need to talk with Inspector Clarke. The man who attacked me had been following me earlier in the day.”

“Local jurisdiction,” was all he said, still scribbling with his wretched scratchy pencil. “What else do you remember?”

I wanted to tear the notebook from his hands, shred it, and break his pencil into tiny pieces. He looked up with an eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer.

“Can I borrow your phone? I really need to call Inspector Clarke,” I begged.

“When I’ve finished asking questions, I will try to contact him for you. So, tell me about this man that you say was following you. What did he look like?”

I described him. “I think it was the man who attacked me because I saw he was wearing a wool coat. I felt it just before I passed out.”

“Half the men in London are wearing wool coats. It is winter. Although strictly speaking, it’s autumn, but you know what I mean.” Hopkins scribbled again. “And what do you think this has to do with the other case you mentioned?”

“It’s complicated. If I could just talk to Inspector Clarke, that would be easier. I have something really important to tell him.”

Hopkins sighed. “Do you have his number?”

“No, I don’t have my phone with me.”

Hopkins stuck his pencil in his pocket and pushed himself to his feet. For such a thin man, he made the action look like hard work, as though he were moving a heavy weight.

“Give me a few minutes.”

He pushed his way through the curtain, which caught on his shoulder and trailed after him until he moved out of reach. It fell silently back into place. Alone again, I lay back on the pillows and tried to convince myself that Josh would be all right. It seemed to take a long time before Hopkins returned, cell phone pressed to his ear.

“Right,” he said. “I see. Yes, sir. I will.” He gave the phone to me. “The Inspector wants to talk to you.”

“Kate, I’m so sorry.” Clarke’s voice faded in and out on a weak signal. “I’m going to come to the hospital as soon as I can. Do you know how long they plan on keeping you in?”

“No. I’ll ask the nurse when she comes back. How long will you be? Can you get here soon? I have something I must tell you. It’s important.”

There was a short silence, as though Clarke were deciding whether to change his plans.

“Something has come up that may be relevant to Rebecca’s case. I need to deal with it, and then I’ll come.”

He sounded distracted, and very serious.

“I want to speak to Hopkins again. Can you pass me over?”

From Hopkins’ side of the conversation, I gathered that he wasn’t happy. His face flushed red, he answered in monosyllables. Finally he snapped the phone shut.

“I have to stay with you until DI Clarke gets here,” he said. “For your own protection, in case your alleged attacker comes looking for you.”

I hadn’t thought about the possibility of the man trying again. The thought churned my stomach. “What about Josh? Will he be safe?” I asked.

“I imagine so, in a surgery room with half a dozen doctors,” Hopkins replied. I caught the sarcastic tone in his voice and glared at him.

“I’m tired. I’m going to try to sleep,” I said, closing my eyes. In fact, I was wide awake and jittery. I wondered if the pain meds had that effect. But pretending to sleep was better than talking to Hopkins.

***

When I opened my eyes again, I had no idea how much time had passed. In the windowless cubicle, the light was the same, but my IV bag was nearly empty so I guessed I must have dozed for a while. Hopkins glanced up from his newspaper when I stirred.

“You’re awake,” he said, stating the obvious as though declaring the discovery of gravity. He looked at his watch. “It’s been two hours. Inspector Clarke should be here soon.”

He nodded towards a tray of food on the table next to the bed. “They brought that in a few minutes ago. If you don’t eat it, I will. I’m starving.”

“Help yourself,” I said, nauseated by the thought of food. Just as Hopkins took his first bite of something white and glutinous from the plate, Inspector Clarke came in through the curtains. He gave Hopkins a dismissive look before moving to my bedside. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just some bruising and a couple of broken ribs, they say. But Josh was stabbed. Have you heard anything about him?”

Clarke’s face was impassive. “Yes, I checked. He’s out of surgery. Fortunately no major arteries damaged and he will mend quickly.” He paused. “Lucky for you he stayed the night, from what I heard. He probably saved your life.”

I nodded.

“Your neighbors heard a lot of noise so they called emergency services. The suspect ran past them on the stairs and was gone well before the ambulance arrived.”

“Oh my God.” I felt the tears coming again. Clarke handed me a clean white handkerchief. He must have a huge supply of them somewhere.

“You said that something else had come up?” I asked, trying to focus on something other than an image of Josh lying hurt and bleeding. “Something to do with the case?”

Clarke perched on the edge of the bed. “Yes, but it’s not important right now. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“I’d rather you tell me. Is it Nick?”

He stood up and hands behind his back, stared at the monitor that beeped away in the corner of the cubicle. He turned back to look at me.

“I’m afraid so. He was killed last night. He fell under a train at the Oxford Street Tube station.”

I sat upright and stared at Clarke. “Oh, my God,” I said.

He patted my hand soothingly.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s a shock. His partner Gary identified him this morning.”

A shadow passed over his face and I thought again of how hard his job was. He must have dealt with so many grieving relatives. Thinking about Nick, and the aura over him. I groaned. Clarke’s brooding expression changed to one of concern.

“Are you okay?”

I would never be okay for as long as I could see the damned auras with no way of saving the people that had them. I knew one thing for sure, though.

“It wasn’t an accident,” I said.

“We don’t know that yet. We’re still sifting through witness statements to see if he jumped, fell, or was pushed. Gary insists that Nick wouldn’t commit suicide, says he was happy, a little shaken up by finding Rebecca like that, but not depressed. Still, I’ve seen enough suicides to know that it’s often impossible for family members to see it coming. Someone’s happy as a lark in the morning, and dead at nightfall.”

“Not Nick,” I said. “Remember how worried he was about Caspian? He insisted on taking the cat home with him. I don’t see that as the action of someone about to kill himself. Did he leave a note?”

“Not that we know of.”

“And how many people accidentally fall onto the lines in a Tube station?”

“Not many,” he agreed. “Hardly any. But it can happen, especially if the platform is very crowded, as it was at Oxford Street yesterday evening.”

“Too coincidental,” I said. “I don’t believe it.”

Clarke nodded his head in agreement. “I am going to assume foul play until we learn otherwise,” he said. Standing up, he paced around the enclosed space.

“Where was Gary when it happened?” I asked.

“At a cocktail party. Lots of alibis. Let’s go back to what happened to you. Can you provide a detailed description of the attacker?”

“Definitely,” I said. “I saw him during the day before he got into the apartment.”

Clarke stopped pacing and stared at me. “The man who you said was following you? Dammit. I should have got on to that more quickly. I’m sorry, Kate.”

“I wasn’t sure he was following me. It could have been coincidence. Now I know it wasn’t, of course.”