Moon

  Overoy saw the girls college before his companion pointed it out to him. The main building, white and imposing, loomed up before them over the treetops as the police car rounded a bend, the sun striking its walls to dazzling effect. They drew up before the gates and the detective whistled as he looked down the long drive.

  'That's some setting,' he commented. Behind the tall building and its various annexes was the sea, a sparkling cobalt blue that challenged the sky itself for dominance. The lush greenery of the clifftops and surrounding woodlands provided a pleasing variation in tones, the colours of sky, sea and land blending rather than contrasting. Close to where they were parked were tennis courts fringed by lawns and flowerbeds; even the mechanical colours in the nearby carpark failed to intrude.

  'I could happily go back to learning if it were in this place,' said Overoy, waving cigarette smoke from his face.

  'You'd have to change sex first,' Robillard replied.

  'I'd even do that.'

  The inspector chuckled. 'D'you want me to take you right up to the school itself?'

  Overoy shook his head. 'I'll wait for Childes on the bench over there by the courts; no need to draw attention.'

  'Up to you. His car's a black Mini.' He withdrew a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. 'Registration 27292 - I checked before I picked you up. Let's just make sure he's there before I leave you.' He smoothly eased the police car through the iron gates and drew up near the carpark. 'There she is,' he said, pointing, 'so he's still inside the school.'

  Overoy pushed open the passenger door and reached for his overnight bag lying on the back seat.

  'You can leave that there, if you like,' Robillard told him. 'I'll have to pick you up later, anyway.'

  'Just need something,' replied the detective, unzipping a side-pocket and delving in. He took out a plain brown envelope. 'No need to collect me, Geoff. Hopefully Childes will invite me back to his place so we can talk and I'll call a cab from there.'

  'You know our address.'

  'Yeah, got it.' Overoy stood outside the car, squinting against the sunshine. He leaned back through the open window for a moment. 'Oh, and Geoff,' he said, 'I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about all this back at the station. I promised Childes I'd play it low-key.'

  'What would I tell anyone?' Robillard returned, smiling. 'Catch you later.'

  He reversed the Ford through the main gates and gave Overoy a wave as he drove off The detective stretched his back, then tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket. He wandered towards a bench, bemoaning both the fact that he had neglected to bring sunglasses and that none of the older girls were playing tennis.

  ***

  Cars were pulling into a road on the other side of the courts and Overoy assumed the drivers were parents arriving to collect their day-girl daughters from a separate carpark near the rear of the buildings. He glanced at his watch: Childes would be out soon.

  The detective's jacket lay on the seat beside him and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened around his neck. It had been peaceful to sit there in the sun with time to think for a change, and in many ways he envied his friend Robillard for the congenial atmosphere he operated in. Overoy knew, however, that attractive though the conditions appeared, they would soon frustrate someone too used to city life with all its corruption, seediness and villainy. Someone like him, who, at thirty-eight, revelled in the faster pace of city policing. Josie would love it, though, he thought, picturing his wife glorying in the relaxed way of life, the beaches, the barbecues, the freshness of the air - the fewer late-night calls for himself and less overtime. How bleak was it here in winter, though? There was the rub.

  A distant bell sounded within the college and soon girls began drifting from the various buildings, their chatter disturbing the previous quiet. It was still some time before he noticed Childes strolling towards him accompanied by a slim blonde girl in a yellow summer dress. As they walked, the girl reached around and did something at the back of her head, releasing her hair so that it swung loose in a tail. Overoy studied her as they approached: young, lightly tanned, and very pretty. He wondered if there was a relationship between her and Childes and the briefest touch of her fingers to the man's arm confirmed that indeed there was. Overoy stood as they drew near, swinging his jacket over one shoulder and sliding his other hand into his trouser pocket.

  Childes was about to enter the carpark when he caught sight of the detective. He became still and the girl looked up at him in surprise. She followed his gaze and saw Overoy as the policeman started forward.

  'Hello, Mr Childes,' he said. 'You recognise me?'

  'You're hard to forget,' came the reply and Overoy understood the rancour behind it. The two men shook hands, Childes reluctantly.

  'Sorry to surprise you like this,' apologised the detective, 'but I've been looking into the, uh, situation we discussed over the phone a week or so ago and thought it might be appropriate to see you in person.' He nodded at the girl, noticing her pale green eyes; close up, she was more than just very pretty.

  'Amy, this is Detective Inspector Overoy,' Childes said. 'He's the policeman I told you about.'

  Amy shook Overoy's hand and now there was suspicion in those eyes.

  'Can we talk privately?' the detective asked, switching his attention to Childes.

  Amy immediately said, 'I'll call you later, Jon,' and turned to walk away.

  'There's no need -'

  'It's all right,' she assured him. 'I've got things to do, so let's talk later. Goodbye, Inspector.' She hesitated before moving off, as if to say more, but changed her mind. She went to a red MG and glanced back at Childes with apparent concern before getting in. Childes waited until she had driven through the gates before rounding on the detective.

  'Surely you could have taken care of this by phone?' he said, unable to disguise his anger.

  'Not really,' Overoy replied easily. 'You'll understand after we've spoken. Could we go to your home?'

  Childes shrugged. 'All right. Have you been assigned to this case?' he asked as the policeman followed him to his car.

  'Not entirely. Let's just say I happen to be dealing with one particular aspect of it because I'm acquainted with you.'

  'Then there is a connection.'

  'Maybe.'

  'But a man was murdered in the circumstances I described to you?'

  'We'll talk back at your place.'

  They drove from La Roche and Overoy was surprised how quickly they reached the narrow lane in which Childes' house stood; but then, he reasoned, the island was not many miles in length and width. The house, no more than a cottage, stood at the end of a row, and he appreciated even more Childes' resentment at the intrusion on his domicile. The cottages had great old-world charm, the type the wealthy on the mainland paid an arm and a leg for as a second-home country retreat.

  The air was cool inside, much to Overoy's relief, and he settled into a sofa as Childes removed his own jacket and hung it in the small hallway.

  'Can I get you something to drink?' Childes asked, his tone less hostile. 'Tea, coffee?'

  'Uh, a beer would be great.'

  'Beer it is.'

  Childes disappeared into the kitchen and soon returned carrying a six-pack and two glasses. He broke off a can and passed it and a glass to Overoy, who relished its chill after the heat of the day. He poured the beer and raised his glass to Childes in a gesture of friendliness. Childes sat in a chair opposite without acknowledging the gesture.

  'What do you have to tell me?' he asked, pouring his own beer, the cans placed on a low coffee table between them as if in a neutral zone.

  'You may have been right about the old man,' Overoy said, and Childes leaned forward in his seat. 'You found the body?'

  The detective took a long swallow of beer, then shook his head. 'When you told me he was strapped down to a bed - a narrow bed, if I remember correctly - and the room itself was bare of other furniture, it rang a bell with me. A report h
ad come in that morning concerning the burning down of part of a psychiatric hospital.'

  Childes was staring across the room at him, glass poised halfway to his lips. 'That's it,' he said quietly.

  'Well, we can't be sure. Twenty-five people were killed in the fire, staff among them, and several were elderly male patients, mostly senile, others more seriously disturbed. One of them could have been your man, but nearly all the bodies had been so badly burned it was impossible to tell if any had been mutilated beforehand.'

  'How did the fire-'

  'It was no accident, because the experts are certain it was started in two places, somewhere on the upper floors and in the basement. Empty petrol cans were found in both locations. We've no idea who the arsonist was, though, but it's generally considered that one of the inmates had been wandering around loose in the night and had discovered the cans of petrol in the basement. Those in charge of the investigation suspect the arsonist might also have perished in the blaze.'

  'How can they be so sure?'

  'They can't. But patients and staff who survived have been questioned all this week and there's no reason to believe any are responsible. Of course, as quite a few of the patients are total lunatics, it's impossible to be a hundred per cent certain. Then again, it could just as easily have been an outsider.'

  Childes rested back in his chair and drank the beer, thoughts directed inwards. Overoy waited, in no rush. The distant drone of an aeroplane could be heard passing overhead.

  'What happens now?' Childes said after a time.

  'Obviously, if there is a connection between all these crimes, then we'll need any scrap of information we can gather to build up a picture of the madman involved. At the moment, I should tell you, nobody's seriously considering a tie-in with the arson attack -nobody except me, that is - but there is evidence regarding the other two suggesting a link. D'you mind if I smoke?'

  Childes shook his head and Overoy took cigarettes from his jacket and lit one, using the empty beer can as an ashtray.

  'What kind of evidence do you have?' asked Childes.

  'The similar mutilation of the prostitute and the boy's corpse, for a start. They had all the hallmarks of a ritual defilement: organs severed and removed, the heart torn out, foreign objects placed inside the open body - in the case of the woman, junk from the room she lived in; for the boy it was mostly dirt and grass, dead flowers even. The wound itself stitched up again. Acts of a lunatic, of course, but with some crazy method.'

  'Then maybe it was more than one person, a sect of some kind.'

  'Fingerprints of only one person were found at both scenes of crime: on the boy's coffin and on objects taken from inside the prostitute, and whoever it was didn't give a damn about leaving prints. Naturally, with the near-gutting of the mental home no evidence was left.'

  'No fingerprints on the petrol cans?'

  'Too badly charred themselves. Tell me about the incident with the old man: what more did you see?'

  Childes looked pale. 'I'm afraid I blacked out fairly quickly. The image was so intense, the torture… I couldn't take too much.'

  'That's understandable. But you're convinced the other person was the same as before?'

  'Absolutely, but it's difficult to explain why. When you're in someone else's mind the recognition is as easy as seeing them physically, maybe even easier - there can be no disguising.'

  'You mentioned you saw a large pair of hands.'

  'Yes, I was looking down at them as if they belonged to the person whose mind I'd reached. They were big, rough like a workman's. Strong hands.'

  'Was there jewellery of any kind? Rings, a chain, a watch?'

  'No, nothing like that.'

  Overoy had been appraising the other man while they were talking, noting the weariness in his face, the tension in his movements. If he had found his peace in his years on the island, it was no longer in evidence. Overoy felt pity for Childes, but he also knew he had no choice but to press him further. The detective spoke almost soothingly. 'Do you remember last time, how we finally traced the killer?'

  'He left something at the scene of the last murder.'

  'That's right, a note. A note saying he would murder another child, he couldn't help himself. A psychiatrist said at the time that the man wanted to be caught, to be stopped from committing those acts, that he'd written begging us to do just that. When we showed you that note you were able to describe the killer and give us a general idea of where he lived, how he was employed. All we had to do was check our records for known sex offenders in that area who matched the description.'

  'I still don't understand how I knew.'

  'That's because you ran away from it.'

  'Plenty of people contacted me to explain what had happened and they couldn't understand why I wasn't interested. The Institute for Psychical Research wanted to publish a paper on me; one or two American universities invited me to give lectures, and God knows how many people wanted me to find missing relatives for them. I didn't know what the hell was going on inside my head and truthfully I had no desire to know. All I wanted was to be left in peace, but unfortunately that wasn't meant to be. Have you any idea what I felt like?'

  'Yeah, the Elephant Man. I think you let yourself take things too seriously.'

  'You may be right, but I was shaken, scared. You can't imagine what I had to witness because of this freak in me.'

  'But you contacted me last week, despite all that attention before.'

  Childes opened another can of beer, his glass still half-full. He filled it to the brim and drank. 'I had to,' he said at last. 'Whoever is doing this now has to be stopped. I'm praying the fire did just that.'

  'Apart from waiting for another incident, there may be a way of finding out.'

  Childes eyed him suspiciously. 'How?'

  The detective placed his glass on the coffee table and reached for his jacket, taking the brown envelope from the inside pocket. 'I told you we have evidence of a connection between the first two and that there was something almost ritualistic in both.' He held the envelope up to Childes and said, 'Inside is an object, identical to another which is still with forensic. Both were taken from the scenes of crime, one from inside the body of the prostitute, the other from inside the boy. It took some doing, but I managed to get permission to bring one to show you.'

  Childes stared at the envelope, unwilling to touch it.

  'Take it,' urged the detective.

  Childes' hand was unsteady as he reached forward. He let the hand drop. 'I don't think I want to do this,' he said.

  Overoy rose and carried the package to him. 'This mental torment only stopped for you last time when we found the killer.'

  'No, when he killed himself. I knew it had ended at that precise moment.'

  'What do you feel now? Did this maniac die in the fire?'

  'I… I don't think so.'

  'Then take the envelope, hold what's inside.'

  Tentatively, Childes took the brown envelope from Overoy.

  He flinched as if touched by a low charge of electricity. There was hardly any weight to the object.

  He opened the envelope and probed inside with thumb and forefinger. He felt something smooth, round. Something small.

  Childes withdrew the clear, oval stone. And as he held it in the palm of his hand, he saw the iridescent flash of blue inside its silvery shape, a blue fire contained within the stone's own shimmering body.

  Childes swayed and Overoy grabbed his shoulder, immediately letting go as if he had received a shock. The detective took a step backwards and saw movement in Childes' hair, ripples, as if static were running through.

  The tingling swept through Childes, clenching his body tight, yet seeming to expand his nerve cells. He felt his body quivering and had no control. A stab of cold lightning touched his mind. He felt surprise, not just his, but from another. Something putrid seemed to crawl inside his head. Eyes watched him, but from within. His hand closed around the stone, fingernails piercing h
is own skin.

  He sensed It…

  21

  … It sensed him…

  22

  'It was a moonstone,' Childes told Amy. 'A tiny moonstone that had been left inside the body of the prostitute. Overoy said their pathologist had discovered another inside the boy's corpse.'

  Amy sat on the floor at Childes' feet, one arm resting over his knee, her face staring anxiously into his. He leaned back on the sofa, whisky glass in his lap. He had continued drinking after the policeman's departure two hours before, the alcohol having little effect, causing him to wonder if his brain was already too numbed by his experience earlier.

  'But one wasn't found at the hospital after the fire?' asked Amy.

  'There was too much damage to find anything so small.'

  'Yet this man Overoy believed you when you told him the same person had done all this.'

  'He learned to trust me before, difficult though it was for him.' Childes sipped the whisky, the taste bitter in his mouth, but the fiery liquid helping to drive out some of the coldness he felt inside. 'It's the image I've been catching glimpses of all along, Amy, a shimmering whiteness, like the moon seen through thin clouds. It was even there in a nightmare I had.'

  'You've no idea of its meaning?'

  'None at all.'

  'The moonstone caused a strong reaction in you.'

  His smile held no humour. 'I scared the hell out of Overoy. And myself. This creature, whoever, whatever, it is, knows me. It was here, in this room, inside my head, Amy, feeding off my mind like some crawling parasite. I tried to resist, to keep my mind clear, but it was too strong. The same thing happened once before, but not so overwhelmingly.'

  'You didn't tell me.'

  'What could I say? I thought maybe I was going crazy, and then it eased off for a while, I felt okay, not threatened. Today it came back with a vengeance.'