Influence (23 page)

‘These
pictures are quite good,’ explained Hilary. ‘They’re from the Met, where Dad
used to work, but you should see some of the pictures from the police here,
they’re just awful. I could do much better right now. I mean you should see the
pictures taken at Vic’s brother’s incident-’ Hilary squeaked and pulled her
hand to her mouth, as if she had just uttered the crudest swear word known to
man.  ‘Not that you’d want to see them. I’m sorry I can be a bit tactless
sometimes.’ Hilary gathered up the items on the desk and placed them back in
the box, taking thorough care to return them in the correct order.

‘Is Robe’s
file here somewhere?’ asked Lizzie scanning the boxes on the floor and trying
for a casual tone.

‘Um, yes,
it is somewhere. Sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

‘It’s okay.
Actually your dad already mentioned there were forensic problems.’

‘Yeah, it’s
weird lots of the lab results got lost or got corrupted and were useless. The
post mortem went horribly wrong, people actually lost their jobs over it. I
mean these things are complicated but even getting the scene photographs so
messed up? Honestly, bunch of amateurs.’ Lizzie thought for a moment while
Hilary returned the box to the floor.

‘Can I see
them?’ asked Lizzie after a short silence. Hilary looked up at her with a look
of disbelief.

‘You’re not
serious? I mean, you can, if you want to, but it’s not like those pictures of
the robbery, as poorly taken as they are they’re still horrible. The last thing
I would want to do is upset you.’

‘I can
handle it,’ said Lizzie as earnestly as she could manage. Hilary stood, hands
on hips for a minute, conflicted, before going to another pile of boxes and
lifting the top one – “Murder, Banbury. 1993”. Again she brought it over to the
desk, and placed her hand on the top of it, holding in the horror.

‘Are you
quite sure Lizzie? For the record I think this is a really bad idea. The mother
of all bad ideas.’

‘I’m sure
Hilary,’ Lizzie walked closer.

‘Alright,’
said Hilary lifting the lid off the box, ‘but it goes without saying that you
cannot, under any circumstances, mention this to my dad. As angry with me
seeing Vic as he would be, it would be nothing compared to this.’ Hilary’s face
was a mask of sincerity.

‘Of course,’ assured Lizzie. ‘Not a word. I
swear.’

Instead of
pulling the contents from the box Hilary simply pushed the whole thing across
the desk to Lizzie.

She peered
inside then lifted the thick wad of paper from the top, she flicked through it
discovering them to be witness statements; she placed them aside. A pile of
bound photograph books was next, some full A4 sized and some smaller.

‘The scene
pictures of Vic’s brother are in that one,’ said Hilary pointing to the first
of the larger books. Lizzie took the book from the pile and placed it on the
desk in front of her. She drew a breath and opened it.

Lizzie thought
she was prepared for anything, any horror, the book had to show her, but as she
flicked through the images with her world coming apart at the seams she
realised she had been very, very wrong.

Lizzie
dropped the book of photographs and left the room. She walked calmly but
doggedly down the stairs barely registering the pleas from a flustered Hilary
for her to confirm she was okay. She lifted her jacket from the hook by the
door and turned to leave but found Hilary had slipped past her and barred her
path.

‘I’m fine
Hilary,’ said Lizzie, her fists were clenched, but her face was forced into a
thin, tight lipped smile. ‘It’s not your fault. Please I need to leave, right
now.’

‘Lizzie, I
can’t let you leave until I know you’re alright, please just come and have a
cup of tea.’ Hilary pulled on her arm, gently trying to usher her away from the
door. Lizzie began to resist but the sound of a car door closing sent Hilary
into a conflicted panic. She didn’t want Lizzie to leave, but her dad’s office
lay wide open with his highly confidential files scattered all over the place,
and now he was home. Lizzie waited for Hilary to react, which she did by
darting back up the stairs with an agility Lizzie would not have expected of
her. She opened the front door and found a confused looking DCI Dunphy on the
driveway.

‘Ah Lizzie,
sorry for the delay, how are you? You’re not leaving are you?’ he said reading
Lizzie’s intentions.

‘Sorry Mr
Dunphy, something’s come up I need to go.’

‘Are you
sure? It sounded important, the thing you needed to talk to me about.’

‘It can
wait, really. Goodnight Mr Dunphy, please thank Hilary for her hospitality.’

‘Can I at
least give you a lift home?’ he called after her, but she had already turned
the corner of the street.

When Lizzie
got home she found the house in darkness, which she was thankful for. She went
straight to bed without ever turning a light on.

She lay
staring at the ceiling most of that night, the images in the box indelibly
burned into her memory. She tried reading but found she was scanning the same
line four or five times without anything going in. She tried writing, to put
the scattered jigsaw of her life together, but far too many pieces were
missing. In the end she lay with her headphones pumping - far too loud – music
into her head. The feedback and screaming vocals acted like an anaesthetic,
overloading one sense and by doing so blocking out all others. Broken sleep
eventually found her.

***

A smell of
curry filled the house, which meant Janice and Maggie were having a night in.
Maggie had all but moved in now, the occasional overnight stay had been
replaced by the very occasional night in her own place; she had brought with
her a certain harmony. The house had always felt a little empty, even when
Lizzie and Janice happened to be home at the same time, which was not common.
But now there was always someone likely to be in when you got home, you were
met with lights turned on, the sound of a stereo or a television, or the smell
of an Indian takeaway, the house felt properly lived in. Lizzie attached her
smile and entered the living room.

‘Grab a
plate kiddo, there’s tons here,’ Maggie pushed a foil tray filled with
something pungent and red towards Lizzie’s foot. They had made a picnic on the
rug in front of the television.

‘Thanks
Maggie but I’m not really hungry, smells good though,’ she lied.

‘So what’s
your Friday night plans? You look like you’re going out?’ said Janice balancing
spiced onions on a shard of popadom.

‘Yeah, I’m heading
over to Amy’s for a sneaky glass of wine, her folks are out of town, she having
a girl’s night of her own, should be great fun,’ Lizzie said, rubbing her hands
in exaggerated glee.

‘Good for
you hon, but please, no walking anywhere, taxi there, taxi back alright?’

‘Sure don’t
worry, once mugged twice shy, isn’t that how the saying goes? I’ll be safe, I
promise. So what kind of raging night have you guys got planned?’

‘Curry,
wine and an X-Files marathon. Don’t you dare mock,’ said Maggie slanting her
eyes and sending a pointed finger at Lizzie.

‘Wasn’t
gonna, sounds, erm, very rock and roll.’

‘Damn
right,’ said Janice getting to her feet. ‘That reminds me, I’ll get the wine,
you want a glass?’ she asked Lizzie.

‘No thanks.
I’ll save myself for later.’ Janice slipped into the kitchen.

‘Right you,
out with it, what’s going on?’ asked Maggie, suddenly serious.

‘What do
you mean?’

‘You’ve got
her fooled but I’m not buying it, you’ve been acting weird.’

‘Weird? How
so?’

‘Happy.’

‘You’re
worried because I’ve seemed happy recently?’

‘I’ve known
you a while now kiddo, even when you are happy you’re still a miserable little
sod, so what’s going on? Is it a boy?’ This brought a genuine smile to Lizzie’s
face.

‘I’m glad
Janice has you Maggie, you say it like it is.’

‘Fine avoid
the question, but whatever it is tell me you’re being careful.’

‘Don’t
worry, it’s all under control.’

‘Liar.’

‘Shrew.’

Janice
returned with a bottle of something pink and a couple of glasses. ‘All right,
I’ll leave you guys to your evening. Don’t wait up, I have a key.’

‘Okay hon,
say hello to Amy. And no walking.’

‘If you
can’t be good, be careful,’ added Maggie with a wink. Lizzie gave her a small
nod in acknowledgement.

***

It’s
amazing how quickly the days eat into the evenings when summer finally does
arrive, Lizzie thought stepping out of the station into the onset of gloaming, but
at nearly nine o’clock she was amazed at just how bright and warm it still was.

Lizzie
walked and thought, trying to picture what was to come, trying to formulate a
plan of action, trying to put her anger aside for something more productive.
But anger had its uses too. The last time she had made her way to the Bodleian
Library she had been so nervous it had been all she could do not to wrench her
guts up, this time she was steady.

By the time
the Library came into view daylight had all but lost the battle, a brave stoic
gloom defied the hour but it would not endure for long. She stopped a good distance
from the large arch encasing the main doors and watched for a few minutes. The
only sounds were from revellers streets away, she focussed on the heavy ornate
doors she had passed through during what had felt like a nightmare. A dark thin
shadow told her the wicket door was sitting ajar. She approached the small door
and pushed it open, taking her time to take a good look into the courtyard
before stepping through. She walked as soft footed as she could over the
cobbles retracing old steps. Only the tiniest echo came back to her from the
enclosed walls as she placed each footstep carefully.

A voice
from behind almost ended her right there.

‘Yer late
young un, rest are inside over an hour ago.’

‘FUUUUCK,’
she said clutching her pounding heart, ‘you scared the life out of me.’ The old
man jumped at her reaction and he remained quiet as Lizzie placed her hands on
her knees to compose herself before turning back to him. ‘Are there many here
tonight?’ she asked.

‘Sorry for
startling you love, said the old watchman pulling over the wicket door she had
left open. ‘There a fair few aye, I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what goes on
with you lot? Bit late for lectures I reckon.’

‘Even if I
had a mind to, I’m not sure I could exactly.’

‘Aye,
didn’t think so, well remind em I need em out by midnight, I don’t get paid
after that and I’ll be buggered if I’m hanging about.’

‘I’ll tell
them,’ said Lizzie turning and searching her memory for the route. She pushed
through the door to her left and followed the corridor as best as she could
remember, confident at first but after a few lefts and rights doubt started to
creep in.

Halfway through
one unfamiliar room with impossibly high vaulted ceilings and ornate Gothic
windows, she doubled back to the last junction, sure she would have remembered
coming this way. She looked both ways, nothing came to her, and she was about
to select at random when her ears picked up a low dirge. She listened hard and
discovered the stairwell leading down to be the source, this sparked her memory
and she headed down. The low pitched drone grew as she descended and by the
time she reached the bottom she could hear the noise for what it was, chanting.

The
temperature dropped steadily as she continued on, another aide memoire of her
last visit. She found the second stairwell down before long and remembered it
to be the entrance to the chamber she had been taken to. She waited at the top
of the stairs listening, the noise of some refrain filled the air, the handful
of people present the last time would not have been capable of the wall of
noise rising from below.

The noise
of the chanting masked the sound of footsteps coming up behind her until it was
almost too late. She turned to descend the stairs, the only possible hiding
place, but it was pitch black within a few steps and Lizzie had brought no
torch with her, she stepped into the stairwell deep enough to be concealed in
shadow as the footsteps approached. She waited hoping they would pass her by
but an arm holding a lantern appeared throwing the stairs and Lizzie into view.

‘Lizzie? is
that you? What the hell are you doing hiding in the dark?’ a female voice
asked. She held her lantern high and her face came into view.

‘Kara, hi,’
said Lizzie embarrassed. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’ Kara’s lantern revealed her
to be wearing a long grey cloak with a hood lying around her shoulders; she
held the light in one hand and a video camera in the other. Kara studied
Lizzie’s face seeing something there to instil a sense of alarm in her.

‘Are you
alright pet? Cause ya don’t look it.’ The concern in Kara’s voice was clear,
and was unexpected.

‘Not really
Kara no,’ said Lizzie. The drone from below continued, a steady mantra repeated
over and over. Kara paused, placing her lantern on the ground. She looked at
Lizzie, and then to the stairwell and then back to Lizzie where she studied her
face. She seemed to be taking in the significance of Lizzie’s presence,
weighing up the meaning and magnitude of this unexpected encounter. She turned
square on to Lizzie, placing a hand on her shoulder and said:

‘Something’s
going down tonight, right?’ Lizzie nodded.

‘Something
bad, and it’s probably best I’m not around to find out exactly what that is.’
Kara said, a statement, not a question.

‘I think that
would be wise,’ said Lizzie. Kara squeezed her shoulder and paused once again
before lifting the light. Lizzie was grateful for Kara’s unanticipated
understanding and tenderness.

‘Do you
need this?’ said Kara handing the lantern to Lizzie.

‘Thanks.’

‘You might
as well have this an’ all.’ Kara unbuttoned her cloak at the neck, swept it up
into her arm and handed it over. ‘See ya around Lizzie. Whatever’s going on, be
careful will ya.’

‘Thanks
Kara,’ Kara turned back up the stairs while Lizzie pulled on the cloak and
raised the hood over her head.

Light
raised, Lizzie descended. She laid the lantern on a step three up from the
bottom illuminating the door in front of her; from behind it the voices became
clearer, a great chorus perfectly united. She gripped the handle and timed the
turning of it so to be masked by a particularly loud point in the chant, the
pattern of which now familiar. Lizzie barely heard the latch give and she
slowly pushed the door.

The sudden
increase in volume took her by surprise and she paused wondering if it had
simply been the opening of the door or if there had been some change to
whatever ceremony was in full flow, but the voices continued the pattern
unaltered. She applied pressure to the door and pushed softly opening it in a
slow smooth arc. Judging she now had enough space she stepped through catching
her first glimpse of the assembled crowd.

At least
three times the number from her last encounter stood with their backs to her,
all clad in the same grey cloak, hoods up with their arms spread wide at waist
height palms up. They stood in uniformed rows, three lines of perhaps eight,
facing the stone altar where Sully stood facing Lizzie’s side of the room. His
eyes were closed, for the moment. His own cloak was black and he carried in one
hand some kind of rod.

He wore a
hat, triangular in shape, with a silver adornment on the front. On the altar
stood candles of various heights and colours and other items she could not make
out from her distance. Four grey cloaked figures, two on each side, stood
beside Sully facing out, no doubt assisting him in proceedings. The assistant’s
hoods were down and Lizzie could see one or two of them had their eyes open.
Lizzie quickly pushed the door closed and joined the back row hoping to avoid
detection, keeping her eyes on the altar for any signal of disruption. She
mimicked the stance of the others, standing next to a tall figure who glanced
at her suddenly sensing her arrival. He gave a double take and Lizzie heard him
drop the chant, she turned to look at him and found Void looking down at her, dumbfounded.
His mouth dropped open to speak but nothing came, Lizzie widened her eyes at
him nodding towards the altar warning him to get his head in the game. He shook
his head like he was coming round from a blow and faced the front.