Beneath the Tor (24 page)

twenty-three

laura

Laura had the notebook
in her hand as she came in that Tuesday. After our last session, I'd felt too full of what I'd seen in my journey—the burning pier, the section of Laura's soul trapped in a net, the name of her guardian—to want to talk about it until I'd processed it. I'd sent her home with a full account and asked her to work with the images herself. Even before she pulled off her jacket and helmet, she cried out, “You found my soul-part, Sabbie!”

As soon as she was seated, she opened the book and read through my last journey notes, as if to recheck. “What you wrote about the cave was amazing. Remember how you told me to find my power animal? Go to a nice place, you said. Well, I chose a holiday we went on as a family. Mum and Dad liked something a bit different than Weston Super Mare. Cornwall. Kynance Cove. There's a lot of caves in the cliffs, sort of interconnected? So while you were in a cave, I might have been in one in my imagination too.”

“And that's where you saw the chick.”

“Yes. Quite a surprise. I thought beside the sea, it might turn out to be, I dunno, a seal or something. It was suddenly there in front of me.”

“Have you seen it since?”

“Everywhere!” she laughed. “On the telly, in a kid's picture book, you name it. And then there's the part where you watched Weston pier burn down. Well, that's perfectly true. Someone had left a deep fat fryer alight. You could see the smoke from miles off. Loads of people went down to the front, half our street set out. It was like some massive fireworks display. Come to think of it, fireworks did go off; they'd been left in storage, I think.”

“It must have been a disaster.”

“Apart from the odd lungful of smoke, you could watch safely from the promenade. No one got hurt, not even the firemen, thank God. The owners had insurance of course, so the revamp was even better than the original.”

“
Win-win
?”

“Ghoulish, I know.” There was such energy about her; she was rubbing her palms in anticipation. “What are we doing today?”

“I'd like to do another joint journey, Laura, as the last one was quite productive.”

Laura knew the drill. She lay,
business-like
, on two floor cushions. I lay close to her, with my silken cord wound round our wrists. I set the drumming CD for fifteen minutes in real time—I find most clients can't take any longer—and made straight for Laura's cave in the hope of a dialogue with her guardian. I moved through the darkness of the cave, feeling with my hands, until I reached the turn of rock which led to the far exit and the beach. Something blocked my way. I waited, listening. Trendle's rough coat rubbed at my bare ankle. A shadow flickered on the wall of the cave. Some logical part of my mind told me there could not be a shadow in such total darkness, and yet this was what was happening. An impression flickered there.

“Raichu?”

The shadow moved. “You have come to reclaim Laura's
soul-part
.” The reply was as ghostly as the image, as if it came from the sky outside the cave, which was hidden from me. “I'm sorry, Sabbie. I cannot let you have it. Not yet. Only when you know the answer will Laura accept it from you.”

“I don't know the answer!”

“I have spoken of this before. And your own guardian has offered advice. You must allow our reflections to manifest in the apparent world. When all is clear, Sabbie, you may offer the
soul-part
.”

“Why not now?”

“Laura would reject it. That is my fear.”

“I see.”

And I did see, but that didn't help one bit.

Deflated, I followed Trendle back towards my portal. I passed the fingerpost that directed me to Laura's cave, and recalled a memory of the previous day; the way Esme had pointed at Stefan.
Men are savages at heart … I have no wish to live with a brute
.

I came out of the journey with my heart thudding in time to the
call-back
drum. I pushed aside my fleece and looked at Laura, who already had her eyes open.

I was going to have to ask her about previous boyfriends, even her relationship with her father. Had she escaped on her bike, the morning I'd met her, because she was scared of her dad?

We stayed on the floor cushions, writing our accounts. “You go first,” she said, not looking up from her notebook.

“Okay, well I went to find Raichu to ask when you should have your
soul-part
back.”

“Oh yeah. You're supposed to give it to me, aren't you.”

“I'm afraid he feels you're not ready for your
soul-part
just yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

“We have to get closer to the underlying problem, I think.”

“The problem is my shitty life! The problem is I don't have all my bloody soul!”

Laura's breathing quickened. It struck me forcibly that telling Laura the problems I'd encountered with her guardian had only made matters worse.

“I'm not really sure what a guardian is,” she said, steadying her breathing.

“As a shaman, I think they are rarified beings on the spirit plane, usually from an Upper Realm.”

“What does mine look like?”

“I mostly see his shadow. I saw his face, briefly. He's very grand.”

“I know why my guardian is called Raichu.” She hugged her knees. “Or rather, why I love my Raichu so much. I think he showed himself to me.”

“The … guardian?”

“Yes. I was sitting on my bed, just before I left home for the Navy, and I was holding Raichu. A sort of … brilliance came into my mind. It made me feel light, like a winter leaf … floaty.” She grinned. “Weird.”

“A nice feeling?”

“More than nice. Whole.”

“You don't always feel whole?”

“No, but right then, I did. Just for a moment.”

“Your guardian communicated through the toy.”

“It's the real reason I took him with me. I hoped the feeling would come again.”

“Raichu's been looking out for you from your birth.”

“He's kinda been on vacation, then, hasn't he? And now he seems to be hanging on to a bit of my soul.”

“Tell me about your journey.”

“Oh, it was lovely. I love this journeying lark. I went back to the beach and the chick was there. And he told me to call him Laurie. You know, my invisible friend from when I was tiny. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. The chick's in charge! Did Laurie say anything else?”

“Yes! It said it was maturing, as I was, and that soon it would have all its feathers. It already had a few, on the wings.”

“Oh, good sign.”

“And then it said”—she bent over the notebook, where she had written—“‘Not until I am fully formed will you become you own self, true to what you must be.' Does it mean when it becomes a proper hen, I'll be cured of my attacks?”

I gave a brief smile. I sincerely hoped that.

“I wondered about going back to the night of the fire, but the drumming changed and called me back.”

“Did you want to relive the event?”

“No. I hoped it would be the scene you saw. With my
soul-part
under the pier. I was never under the pier on the night of the fire. No one was, not even idiots.”

I remembered the signpost, and took my queue. “I'd guess you hung out under the pier as kids.”

“Yeah, good place for playing chase games.”

“And later for first kisses.”

“I guess.”

“It might be a place where you'd come across someone up to no good.”

“I'm not saying stuff didn't happen. Stories would go round the playground. Nothing scary ever happened to me.” She stopped, barked a laugh. “Worst I ever saw there was the little boy.”

“What little boy?”

“Nah. I'm kidding you. This boy—he must have been about eleven, twelve, I guess; older than me at that time. I was on the beach with my mum and sister and I went under the pier and there he was, peeing.”

“Peeing.”

“Yeah, against one of the uprights. One of those silly things you remember from your childhood.”

“I wonder why you remember it.”

“Well, we weren't really a very open family, not in that way, and I don't have any brothers, so I'd never realized until that moment that boys pee standing up.”

“That sort of image does get stuck in your mind.”

“You're curious at seven or eight, aren't you?”

“About men's bodies? I still am, frankly.” We both laughed. I let a beat pass by then said, “Boyfriends certainly can be a mystery, can't they.”

“I guess.”

“What I'm wondering is … were all your relationships good ones, Laura?”

She shrugged. “To be honest, I was a bit of late starter—in the Royal Navy at just sixteen, concentrating on all the new stuff to learn …”

“Did you leave someone behind when you joined the service?”

“No.” Her answer was so brief, I was alerted.

“You maybe had a fling … one that left bad memories.”

“No.” She looked directly at me, as people do when they are sure of a thing. “I didn't leave someone special behind. And all my memories are good.”

“What is your relationship with your father like, Laura?”

“He's cool. A bit under Mum's thumb, you know? Like, it was her idea I should be admitted to the psychiatric ward and he went along with it. Turns out, even Daniel hadn't actually suggested it. Since then, Dad's apologized to me, and that was really good.”

She hadn't understood the implications of my question, and now I was glad she had not. I thought about the netting I'd sensed around Laura. “Do you ever feel trapped?”

“In my life?” she asked, her eyes closed.

“In any way.”

“Since the attacks started, yes, they trap me. Stop me from doing what I want.”

I could have kicked myself. Of course Laura felt trapped. “You've now got quite a few shamanic symbols,” I said. “I think we should draw a web.”

I scrabbled under the desk for the roll of wallpaper I use for this process. Laura helped me weigh down a length on the laminate floor and we got going with felt tip pens, drawing our way through the things we'd seen on our journeys.

When it was complete, we connected the symbols to create a web.

“Cave,” said Laura, counting up. “Pier, fingerpost, beach, waterfall. Little Raichu and guardian Raichu. And my chick … Laurie.”

“Shadows,” I added. “Glimpses. A net. Flames. The song, ‘Shape Shifter.'”

We rolled up the paper and Laura put it under her arm.

“Pin it above your bed and see what your dreams bring this week,” I advised, as she left.

She frowned and shook her head.

“You're not sleeping well, are you?”

“No. I keep imagining they're coming to get me. Take me away.”

“That won't happen, Laura. You're not a threat to anyone.”

“Even so …” She was halfway through the door as she spoke, and her words were half lost. “It would be nice to have one full night of untroubled sleep.”

twenty-four

marty-mac

“Could I have a
word?”

“Pippa?”

The woman was standing, like the police officer she was, respectfully outside the
porch-way
. My voice sounded hollow within it. She put out her hand and I shook it. It was cool and steady.

“Could I come in, please?”

“Er …”

“It's official, I'm afraid.”

“What?”

“I need to ask you some questions. I'll only take a few moments of your time.”

That was what the police said, wasn't it, when actually they had brought handcuffs and a search warrant.

I took her into the therapy room. I'd done an aromatherapy massage after Laura had left, so it smelt of lavender and chamomile. We sat at the desk, as I would with a client. She didn't have anything on her; no notebook or recorder. She sat comfortably back in the wicker chair and crossed her legs, which today were hidden under a pair of pinstriped suit trousers with a sharp crease. Her blouse was
off-white
,
open-necked
but buttoned high, with short sleeves as a nod to the weather. She'd left the jacket in the car, perhaps. Her hair—that glorious tumble of
penny-bright
curls—had been slicked into a tight bun. She looked the biz. She looked scary.

“I need to ask you about your movements on Saturday the eighth of July.”

“What?” I gave myself a shake. “I'm sorry?”

“Last weekend. Where were you on the afternoon and evening of Saturday?”

“You think I did something wrong?”

“Of course not, Sabbie.” She offered her professional smile. “If you could answer the question, please.”

“Er … well, as always I was at the Curate's Egg from sixish onwards. I usually get home about quarter to midnight.” An image came into my head; the phone call from Lettice.

“Oh, goddess! Oh, no!”

“Yes?”

“Is this about my grandmother? Lady
Savile-Dare
? Has she died, is that it?”

Pippa's head went back, as if she'd braked at speed. I'd thrown her. “I don't know about your grandmother, I'm afraid. I'm here about Martin Macaskill.”

“Who?”

“You might know this person as
Marty-Mac
.”

For no good reason, my heart clunked into a faster rhythm. “I do know him as that. He's been bothering me. Is that what you want to talk about?”

“Can I establish that you had contact with Martin Macaskill on Saturday, July eighth?”

“
Contact
?” It felt like the wrong word. Like
Marty-Mac
and I had trumped up some plan together.

“Where were you when you saw Macaskill?”

“In the Angel Shopping Centre. Well, no—in the car park. He gave me the jitters and I ran off. He followed me into the café.”

“What time was this?”

“Sort of
two-ish
. Yes, because I was late for an appointment …” I trailed off.

“Can you recall your conversation with Martin Macaskill?”

“Er …” I hesitated. Marty had talked a lot about Rey. Rey was Pippa's boss. I didn't think it would be good to discuss this behind his back. I was quickly deciding not to say anything that Pippa didn't drag out of me.

She closed her eyes, a slow blink, as if forcing herself to have patience. “Anything at all, Sabbie.”

“He had my business card. And he'd found me on Facebook. He scared me, a bit.”

“So what happened in the end?”

“He went.”

“You asked him to go and he complied.”

“If you like.”

She recrossed her legs. “I don't like, Sabbie. Because that afternoon the station had a call from the Angel Café to report there had been an altercation within the premises. An officer took a statement. So we know a third party was involved.”

“Marty didn't touch him. Not at all.”

“Him? That would have been Reynard Buckley?”

“No, it wouldn't.”

“Would you make a statement to that affect?”

“Pippa! It was just a friend who was passing. Will you please tell me why—”

“Can I have the friend's name, please.”

“Eh?”

She pulled her iPhone out of her trouser pocket. No wonder she didn't carry a notebook. She held it in readiness.

“Justin Webber,” I said, on my
out-breath
. “Known as Juke. He works at the Agency for Change, near the river, above the Polska Café. It's a small charity that supports displaced persons.”

“Did you see Martin Macaskill at any time after that?”

“No, I didn't. I haven't. I'm glad to say he's left me alone.”

Pippa lay the phone on her lap. “Have you spoken to Reynard Buckley since that time?

My heart flapped wildly. “We're both busy people, you know? I … I don't recall discussing Marty.” That was what politicians said, when they wanted to lie.
I don't recall.
I hoped Pippa hadn't noticed. “I thought it was over.”

“Can you clarify what you thought was over?”

“Nothing.” I trailed off. “What d'you mean,
Reynard Buckley
? Like, you don't know I'm his girlfriend?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give that impression.” An irritated smile flashed across her face. “Please go on.”

“You need to tell me why you're here, Pippa.”

She sighed. She shifted again, uncrossing her legs and placing her neat almond toes together on the laminate flooring. “Martin Macaskill was found on Saturday evening at just after seven. Dead.”

“I'm … uh? Sorry?
Dead
?”

“He was found in a garden on Brendon Way, where he had been living with his mother, since being arrested, charged, and released on bail.”

She sounded so sure. Like the information was already imbedded in her memory. “How did he die?”

“Blunt weapon injury. I can't reveal more than that, Sabbie, at this time.”

“Rey has asked you to question me about this?”

She favoured me with her professional version of a smile. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, if he's heading up this investigation—”

“He's not heading it up. I'm reporting directly to Chief Inspector Horton.” She stopped short and looked at her phone screen, although I could see that she wasn't reading anything. She was buying herself some time. I felt my forehead wrinkle into a frown. Why would Pippa ever need time to think? “Rey is a suspect, I'm afraid.”

“Don't be stupid!”

“You didn't know.” I felt, rather than saw, the sympathy in her eyes. She was sorry for me. I gripped the wicker chair, locked into position, unable to move. “You did know that Reynard … Rey … has been suspended?” she asked.

“Suspended? From duty?”

“I'm sorry to be the one to break the news.” She tried another smile. It was cracking her lips.

“That's nuts. That's a lie.”

“Reynard Buckley was suspended two weeks ago, on suspicion of becoming personally involved with a case of corruption and theft.”

“Stop calling him Reynard Buckley!”

I'd raised my voice, but she didn't respond to that. “I'd no idea I'd be bringing you this news. It must be hard for you.”

“Piss off, Pippa.”

She processed that, filing it away. “You understand that if you hadn't been approached by Martin Macaskill, I wouldn't be here. We found Macaskill's phone on his body. He had entered your telephone number into his contacts. You were also a match with the description the café staff gave us.” She looked delighted with her good police work.

“Whatever you think Rey has done, he hasn't done this. He's as incorruptible as a …” I trailed off. Rey was incorruptible. But he had been angry when I'd seen him in the Egg. And by that time,
Marty-Mac
was dead.

“It was noted and recorded that Rey had dealings with Martin Macaskill, who was sourcing unpaid items within his previous working environment. It is possible Rey had become involved with the … with what was going on.”

I looked at her. It was the first time Pippa Chaisey had been the least bit vague. “So, what was going on?”

“We are still investigating that.”

“You mean
you
are.”

“Yes. I am.”

“Bit of a leg up for you, this, isn't it? I mean, you've only just become a DS, haven't you? Rey was years a DS before he got his promotion.”

“I don't think that's any concern of yours. If you must know, I'm
fast-tracked
.”

“You're what?”

“
Fast-tracked
. I'm a university graduate.”

“Oh, please. Let me congratulate you. You're one of millions.”

“Not in the police force.”

“And you think that gives you the right to go snooping around my boyfriend, who has served the Avon and Somerset Constabulary meticulously for over twenty years?”

“This time isn't the first time, Sabbie.” The compassionate tone was back in her voice. “Even before I arrived at Bridgwater, there had been some dodgy business with Rey Buckley. In fact, it was station gossip. A station joke, if you like.” She shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Six months ago, he took part in some sort of sting.” She paused. “Beg pardon, you probably don't know what a sting is—”

“Any fool knows what a sting is. Rey's not like that. He wouldn't do that. His methods got results. All his results are good. They led to his promotion.”

“Really? If you like. All I know is what I heard around the station, which, of course, I had to pass onto my superior.”

“Your superior is Rey.”

“Not when a colleague has legitimate suspicions. I had to report what I'd found to be the truth. Reynard Buckley had taken a uniformed officer into a municipal car park late in the evening and involved him in a private affair. He proceeded to accost a family as they were about to leave in their car. To achieve this, it is a possibility that he had previously smashed the back lights of the car involved. He did this, apparently, as a favour to a mate.”

She gave me a look that was so satisfied, so triumphant, I had to dig my fingers into the woven cane of the chair to stop myself from lunging at her. I wondered if she knew everything. Did she know I had been there, in that car park? That I was the “mate” in question? Did she know Rey had smashed the lights to help me rescue someone from dreadful captivity? Did she have any idea how good a man Rey was?

“Because of this small thing, he's been suspended from duty?”

“Reynard Buckley is prone to acts that are outside the professional conduct of an officer of the law. This time, it's far worse that just a smashed light, I'm afraid.”

I wanted to tell her to stop calling Rey by his full name again, but I couldn't. I couldn't speak at all.

I dialled Juke's number as I ran around the house, collecting my bag, finding my car keys. “Juke—sorry, but something's come up I need to tell you about—”

“Is it
Marty-Mac
?” I heard Juke ask.

“He's dead, Juke! He's been killed.”

“Oh God. How d'you know?”

“The police have been here—”

“Oh hell.”

“It happened on Saturday after we saw him.”

“Oh shit!”

“They already knew the three of us were at the café.”

“How? How did they know that Sabbie?”

“Okay, Juke, calm down.”

“I'm sorry; sorry. It's just so awful.”

“I'm afraid they might come and interview you.”

“Oh hell! Not here at work I hope!”

“Maybe usurp them by going into the station to give a statement.”

“Yeah. Good thinking. What did you tell them, Sabbie?”

That made me stop. I was halfway to the door. I slashed my hand across my eyes. “The truth, of course.”

“Right.”

“You didn't touch him.”

“No. No! I didn't.”

“Tell it like it was, Juke, because the staff reported the incident to the police.”

Juke sighed. “I could do without this, Sabbie.”

“Yes. My fault. I got you involved. Unnecessarily.”

“No … no, I was pleased to help …”

“Go and make that statement. Tell them I've rung you. I know how cops' brains work, and this will only look good for you.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,
you
didn't kill him.”

“Yeah. No. Nothing to worry about.”

I cut us off and sprinted to the Vauxhall. I swung out of my street and tried to keep my speed down as I cleared the estate and crossed the River Parrett. I couldn't get Pippa Chaisey out of my mind. I had thought she was a threat to my relationship with Rey. Turned out, she was a threat to Rey himself. And how was I going to break it to him—that I knew? An entire fortnight had passed with him suspended from work, pretending to me that he'd been so busy he couldn't even see me. I'd thought he was going off me. Now I knew that he hadn't been able to face me.

The
nineteenth-century
terrace of houses loomed as I came to a halt, one wheel on the pavement. Most of these houses were now divided into flats. Rey's quarters were so tiny they could not be described as anything more than a bedsit, but I knew that he was crippled by keeping up repayments on a house he owned but didn't live in; the house of his marriage. I pushed at the front door. It was usually left unlocked, so the inhabitants could come and go, locking their own doors independently. I took the stairs, flying round the turns. I couldn't stop myself from crying out, as I got to his floor.

“Rey! REY!”

“Sabbie?”

Rey was standing there. He hadn't shaved. He was wearing lounge pants and a
t-shirt
. I saw his unmade bed, duvet rumpled and pillows flattened. I realized this was his sleeping attire, something I didn't often get a look at. His expression wasn't entirely shock; there was some guilt there too.