‘What happened to your old one, Dis?’ she asked.
‘Take a look for yourself,’ I replied, nodding towards the sideboard.
Her eyes widened when she saw the melted plastic.
The newly purchased machine was a sleek black job and I took it over to the telephone point and electric plug by the sideboard, quickly pulling out the old connections and replacing them with the new. ‘I need to call someone, Louise, so will you give me a minute?’
She stood immediately, taking the hint. ‘Of course. Let me make some tea for us both. Oh, it’s coffee for you, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Jar’s in the top cupboard, not in the lower one,’ I emphasized, already tapping in the number to PERFECT REST. I wanted to be alone when I spoke to Constance.
The phone rang quite a few times before it was answered. The voice at the other end was unfamiliar at first.
‘PERFECT REST, can I help you?’
‘I’d like to speak to Constance Bell, please.’ I kept my voice calm, even though I wanted to scream down the line.
Did I catch a hint of caution in the voice now? ‘Who’s calling, please?’
‘Nick Dismas.’ I gritted my teeth – I should have lied.
‘If you’ll just wait a moment.’
I should have faked a name, maybe even disguised my voice. I recognized the person at the other end now: it was the senior nurse and chief administrator, Rachel Fletcher, the tall, faded redhead who had been so terse with both myself and Constance on my first visit to the home. Obviously, Sunday was the normal receptionist’s day off. I waited at least three minutes before the nurse came back to me.
‘Ms Bell isn’t here.’ It was curt, the end of the matter.
‘She wasn’t there yesterday,’ I pointed out.
‘No, Mr Dismas. And nor is she today.’
‘Can you tell me where she is?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t.’ She didn’t even bother to enquire what my business was with her care-supervisor. She’d been briefed, I knew it.
‘So will she be there tomorrow?’
‘Ms Bell will be away for some time.’
I really didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Then can I speak to Dr Wisbeech?’
‘Dr Wisbeech is unavailable.’
‘When will he be available?’
‘I don’t have that information. Would you like to leave a message?’ Her voice was still flat, almost a monotone, but she couldn’t hide the irritation.
Sure, like ‘Fuck you,’ I thought, but, ‘No thanks,’ I said. Before I rang off though, I decided on another tack. ‘Wait, there is a message you can give the doctor.’
‘Yes?’ A cold, resigned response.
‘You can tell him I’m coming over there and that I won’t leave until I’ve spoken to Constance Bell.’
‘But I’ve already told you, Ms Bell isn’t here.’
‘Just give your boss the message.’
‘Would you hold the line, Mr Dismas?’ The irritation was even more obvious and my name was said with just a little contempt.
There was silence for a while and I waited impatiently, my coldness easily matching that of the nurse’s. Finally, I heard a couple of clicks as I was transferred, and then a new voice came on, this one cool, urbane, an indication of the person who spoke.
‘What seems to be the problem, Mr Dismas?’ Wisbeech said.
‘The problem, Doctor, is that I want to speak to Constance Bell and all I’m getting from your people is the runaround.’
‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Wasn’t it explained to you that Constance isn’t with us today?’
I bit on my lip to contain my anger. Condescending bastard. ‘Yes, I was told, but I’d like to know where Constance is and why I can’t be put in touch with her.’
‘I’m afraid she has been rather unwell for the past two days. Ever since her visit to see you, in fact. Constance is a sensitive soul and obviously her health is delicate; what she witnessed at your offices would have traumatized the strongest of us.’
‘She told you about the murder of my colleague?’
‘Mr Dismas, it’s all over the newspapers, particularly in today’s more sensational Sundays.’
I hadn’t seen the papers that day, nor did I want to: I was only too relieved that the Press now understood I wasn’t a suspect and had left me alone.
‘I had to read about it myself,’ Wisbeech went on, ‘on the day after it happened. Only at my insistence did she explain to me the circumstances of her absence the night before. Poor thing was extremely upset.’ His voice had taken on an accusatory tone.
‘I want to talk to her.’
‘No, Mr Dismas, I don’t think that would be at all appropriate. I’ve already mentioned Constance’s frailty, both physically and mentally, and it seems to me that her association with you, as brief as it was . . .’ I noted the was! . . . ‘has led to a deterioration in her health. I am her guardian, Mr Dismas, and my considered opinion is that you should not see her again.’
‘You can’t blame me for what happened.’ My anger was becoming harder to control.
‘Perhaps not. But as I said, I am responsible for Constance and I will do my utmost to spare her any more anxiety than her condition forces her to bear. Surely you, of all people, must empathize with the unhappiness her disability causes. Why, indeed, should she have to cope with any more distress, particularly when it can so easily be avoided?’
‘Because that’s how life is. People like us want to be treated like everybody else, and when shit happens we can take it like anybody else.’
‘I think that murder, mutilation, and boy prostitutes constitutes a trifle more than, as you so vulgarly put it, “shit” happening. And you see, I am not only duty-bound to take care of Constance because both her late parents were great friends of mine, but because she is my ward, I’m also legally bound. My role is to guide and protect her, to look after her interests. Forgive me for saying so, Mr Dismas, but you are not in her best interest.’
‘And your brother? Is he some kind of father-figure to her, too?’ I didn’t know why I’d said it – anger, frustration, a need to rattle his cage? Or was it that natural instinct of mine, my old pal, the snooper’s nose? Could be I just wanted to stir the waters.
‘My brother?’ I heard Wisbeech say, a new uncertainty in his voice. ‘What has my brother got to do with this?’
‘He shares the business with you, doesn’t he?’ I came back quickly, but with no idea of where it was going.
‘That’s hardly any concern of yours.’ The iciness that came down the line should have frozen my ear. He became abrupt. ‘I think I’ve spent enough time talking to you, Mr Dismas.’ Funny how he now made the ‘Mr’ sound like an insult. ‘I’ve plenty of important matters to deal with, so I will bid you goodbye.’
‘Wait a minute. When can I see Constance again?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? You cannot, you will not. It’s as simple as that.’
‘But – ’
It was pointless: the connection had been broken. I replaced the receiver to find Louise standing in the doorway holding a tray bearing two steaming mugs.
‘Who was that, Dis?’ she asked, remaining in the doorway.
I let out a weary breath. ‘Dr Leonard K. Wisbeech, eminent physician, proprietor of a luxury nursing home, and God made incarnate.’
‘He’s upset you.’
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Perhaps some of last night’s hysteria had returned, but I couldn’t help but see the funny side of her remark. After all I’d been through that week, all the fear, pain, humiliation, and anxiety I’d suffered, and the clairvoyant thought I had been upset by a phone call. A tear rolled from my eye with the hilarity of it and Louise looked even more concerned than before.
The laughter didn’t last long though. Thank God it didn’t last long – Louise might have thought I’d finally flipped; in fact, I might have thought I’d finally flipped. No, I wiped my eye
with the knuckle of my hand, drew in some deep breaths, and took one of the mugs from the tray. I sank into the sofa. It was time for more thought.
31
‘Over there, look.’
I had brought the Ford to a halt along the busy, wide Windsor Road, drivers honking their horns as they manoeuvred around me, and was pointing across the great river that ran parallel to the road, towards the far bank.
Louise squinted her pale green eyes and followed the direction I had indicated. ‘That white building?’ she said. ‘Is that the home?’
‘I’m pretty sure it is,’ I replied, engaging gear again and checking my side mirror. When there was a break in the traffic, I pulled out, heading west, towards the old town of Windsor itself. ‘I’ll turn round where I can and get us on the other side of the road. We’ll get a better view over there if I can find a good vantage point.’
I had wanted to get a look at the rear of PERFECT REST and since I knew it backed on to the river, I figured the best place would be from the opposite bank. One of the golden rules regarding surveillance is to know your ground and I was applying it now.
Louise had stayed with me all day and although I’d slept some of that time, we had gone over every aspect of the last few days. I’d even told her about the man I kept seeing in the mirror, the Thirties/Forties film star whose reflection seemed to be taking great delight in haunting me. It rendered the clairvoyant more thoughtful, more enigmatic, than ever, but she provided me with no answers. After my short sleep that Sunday afternoon – it wasn’t just last night that was catching up on me, but the events of the whole week – I told her of my surveillance plans for the evening, the one chance that might enable me to see Constance again (not for one moment did I believe the story that she had gone away – I was certain Constance would have contacted me first, or from wherever she had gone), and Louise had insisted upon accompanying me. These ‘visions’, ‘hallucinations’, whatever I cared to call them – she said they were ‘messages’ – were happening with more frequency and greater strength, and I needed her to be present next time; that way she could help me cope and perhaps even guide these apparently lost spirits towards their own peace. Besides, she too was concerned for Constance Bell for, during my incarceration at the police station a few nights ago, the two of them had comforted each other and, it seemed, formed an attachment. I could quite understand why the clairvoyant felt protective of Constance. Louise promised she would remain passive, wouldn’t interfere in any way unless she felt I was under psychic attack, in which case she would bring all her powers as a ‘sensitive’ into play to help me. She was determined and hard to argue with, so reluctantly I had agreed. The deal was, though, that she was strictly an observer and if the surveillance that evening turned into something a little more – I did not expand on this – she was to remain in the car and take no part whatsoever.
Louise was silent in the passenger seat next to me as I drove on towards Windsor, and I sneaked a quick glance at her. Her eyes were closed and her brow was furrowed with concentration. I understood what she was trying to do.
‘Anything?’ I asked, no longer quite so doubtful of her abilities.
‘We’re too far away. Perhaps it is just a house, Dis.’
We soon reached a roundabout and I did the full circuit, heading back in the direction from which we had come. It wasn’t long before the white building on the riverbank came into view again and I slowed the Ford to cruising speed. As we passed it, both of us craned our necks, peering across the broad, swift-flowing Thames to check out the nursing home with its red-slate roof and multitude of chimney stacks. It stood close to a sharp bend in the river, almost on the bank’s apex at that point, with woodland and gardens around its other sides. It looked a perfect haven.
Here, the road we were on did not follow the river, but continued a straight course and I noticed a pleasure area filled the land space between the thoroughfare and the Thames itself. When we reached the entrance, I turned in, driving down to a parking area which took us even closer to the river bend. It afforded us with a better view of PERFECT REST, although much of it was obscured by trees, and now I observed there was something odd about its structure.
I reached across my companion and delved into the glove compartment, bringing out a compact pair of binoculars, one of the invaluable tools of my trade. I focused them on the bank opposite and let out a murmur of surprise.
‘What is it, Dis?’
‘Take a look for yourself.’ I handed Louise the binoculars which, although small, were quite powerful.
‘I can’t see anything diff . . . oh yes, I see what you mean. It’s very deceptive, isn’t it?’
From the road directly opposite, the nursing home appeared to have a flat rear façade; however, from this angle, we could make out another wing projecting from the back of the building at a forty-five degree angle. So odd was the structure that it occurred to me that it had been added later. The additional wing was in perfect keeping with the main building itself, but it was angled like the broken stem of a T, and from a distance and face on, you would never have known it was there. The windows on the end facing us loomed directly over the river itself. The architecture was of such cunning design that I wondered if the wing was meant to go unnoticed from across the broad river.
‘Didn’t you see this part of the house when you visited Hildegarde Vogel?’ Louise asked, still watching the place through the binoculars.
‘I didn’t even know it was there. The old lady’s room overlooked the front gardens and drive.’
‘Do you think that perhaps it’s the medical wing itself, for operations or intensive care?’
I shrugged. ‘It could even be staff quarters, who knows? It might be where I’ll find Constance.’
‘You’re still determined to get inside and look for her?’
‘I can’t shake it from my head that she’s in trouble. That dream last night just seemed too real to be ignored. Okay, maybe it shouldn’t have been taken literally, but there had to be a reason for it. Christ, you, yourself, convinced me of that.’
‘How will you get inside? You can’t just walk in.’
‘No, I don’t think our Dr Wisbeech would be prepared to give me a guided tour. I’ll find a way, though.’
‘I really don’t like this, Dis. I can’t rid myself of this feeling that you’re in danger.’ She became earnest, tugging at my arm. ‘Why not just inform the police and let them deal with it?’
‘We went through all this earlier. What exactly do I tell them? How would I convince them there’s something going on inside that place when I can’t even be sure myself?’
‘But you are sure, aren’t you?’
‘That’s irrelevant. The police would need evidence if they were to investigate the home and unfortunately, my word alone isn’t enough. Can you imagine them applying for a search warrant just because a private investigator has been having bad dreams lately?’
‘You could tell them you’re concerned for Constance, that she’s gone missing.’
‘Come on, Louise, you know that still wouldn’t be good enough. What proof do I have that she is missing? I’ve only known her a couple of days, so what the hell do I know of her way of life? Maybe she has gone away for a rest, maybe she needs a break after what she witnessed the other night. And Wisbeech is her guardian. He could tell the police he simply doesn’t like my influence on her, so he won’t allow her to see me.’
‘I’m just so afraid.’
‘You’re not going anywhere near the place.’
‘I’m not afraid for myself.’
‘I’m only going to snoop around. It’s my line of work, I’ve done it a thousand times. I probably won’t even get inside.’
I turned the car around and we headed out of the pleasure ground, turning left into the main road. It took a little while to get to the northern side of the Thames and I passed by the unmarked lane leading to PERFECT REST, even though I’d found it twice before; I drove back when I realiz
ed we had gone too far, and finally spotted the lane on my left. By the time the Ford was bumping along the lonely, rutted track, evening was drawing in.
When we got as far as the old derelict house I pulled in, taking the car round to the rear where it would be concealed from any other passing vehicles and anyone out for a stroll. Louise looked questioningly at me.
‘Constance told me she usually takes a walk along the lane, mostly in the evening,’ I explained. ‘Maybe she’ll do the same now, if Wisbeech allows her out of the home.’
‘You intend to watch from this house?’
I nodded. ‘Might even be able to see PERFECT REST from the top windows.’
The clairvoyant scrutinized the decrepit building for a few moments, taking in the stained, worn brickwork, the ground-floor windows, so filthy with dust and grime they were impenetrable, the battered back door, upper half consisting of two dirty glass panels, and looking as though it hadn’t been opened in years.
‘How will you get in?’ she said, bemused.
I smiled grimly. ‘Trust me. I’ve broken into tighter places than this.’
As I made to leave the car, Louise stopped me with another question. ‘If Constance is able to leave the home of her own free will, wouldn’t she have found a phone box and rung you?’
I had been asking myself the same question since leaving the flat in Brighton after waiting in vain all afternoon for a call from Constance and frankly, it was a question to which I didn’t want an answer. My dread was that she was physically being prevented from making contact with me; either that, or she, herself, no longer wanted anything to do with me, murder and police interrogation not the kind of thing she wanted to be involved in. Whatever, I was playing this by ear, hoping somehow it would all pan out. What else could I do?
‘Maybe her guardian has persuaded her to have nothing more to do with me,’ I ventured, hand resting on the door-lock. ‘After all, what does she really know about me except that on our first date I introduced her to a mutilated corpse?’
‘You gave me the impression that your feelings for each other went somewhat deeper.’