Blind Spot Page 8

  But sometimes doctors make the worst patients, and Sara had no intention of following such reasonable advice. As soon as Jamie left, she showered, put on a clean T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, and returned to bed. Now, she opened the top drawer of her bedside dresser and groped for her pendant. Her hand weaved between the socks and pants, but could find nothing else. She brushed her bare neck. Sara was certain she’d been wearing it recently. But, as it happened, she could not remember putting it back in the drawer. When had she taken it off? Maybe when Jamie came in.

  Sara ran her hand under the duvet and brushed its folds – there was no sign of it there either. Impatient, she pulled the duvet up to her neck and thrust her head backwards into the pillow. She didn’t need the pendant to see the past and future, she told herself. Eldon’s pendant was no more than a kind of security blanket – and wearing it when she was in a trance had become a meaningless ritual.

  I’ll find it later, she thought.

  Right now, Sara was as ready as she’d ever be to discover whatever more she could about Gerrit Vos – and maybe even Rhodri Jones. She relaxed, and breathed deeply.

  Imagining Eldon Carson’s voice had also become a regular part of this ritual. Now, Sara heard that low-pitched twang saying, OK, Miss Sara, here are your coordinates.

  And then a series of random numbers: seven, three, zero, nine, eight, four …

  Immediately, images form, vague impressions solidifying into distinct shapes. Sara begins to grope her way through them, and finds herself hovering over a neat grid of white and green rectangles glowing in bright sunlight. Far below her, she sees a ribbon of grass, a patch of pebbles, and then the sea.

  And Sara finds herself above a caravan park.

  She takes it in, and recognises it. It is a place where she spent many summer afternoons: the beach at Clarach, next to Aberystwyth.

  What am I doing here? She wonders. This has nothing to do with Gerrit Vos.

  Sara feels herself drifting downwards, towards a fun fair built alongside the caravans. She zeroes in on a small girl, maybe five years old, running away from a tall plastic slide. The girl wears a pink swimming costume and lime green crocs, and Sara can feel a niggle of unease in her that quickly turns into a pulse of panic. This girl has lost her parents.

  The girl looks all around. So many pairs of legs, and none of them Mum or Dad. They had been at the bottom of the slide when she’d climbed up, but when she’d slid down and handed back her burlap sack they weren’t there. The girl’s breath comes in short gasps and, all of a sudden, she feels very cold. But she doesn’t cry, she thinks of the beach across the road. That’s where their towels are, and their cooler with Coke and sandwiches. That’s where Mum and Dad must be. That’s where she’ll go.

  Sara watches the girl dash across the road and onto the pavement. She scuttles up a concrete barrier and rolls onto the raised strip of grass. She runs across it towards the beach and spots her towels and cooler – but no parents. Now the girl begins to sob. Sara watches as a lone sunbather sits up on his towel …

  And realises she knows his name. It is Edmund Haney – another of Eldon’s victims, killed before he could molest and murder a five-year-old named Rachel Poole. Rachel Poole is the young girl he is speaking to now.

  Why am I seeing this? Sara thinks. I don’t want to see this.

  Before Sara had her vision of Tim Wilson bludgeoning his new partner to death, she had psychically observed another scene of murder. For several nights running, Sara had involuntarily revisited Aberystwyth in her visions, and witnessed Navid Kapadia killing himself and his two young children in a fiery blaze. Those were the very events that Eldon Carson had foreseen three years earlier – the ones that had started him on his deadly spree of murder-for-justice. Sara had not understood why Carson’s old vision had nagged at her with such frequency, until she’d had the new one, of Tim Wilson and Philip Berger.

  Then it had made a kind of sense. The Kapadia murders were a tragedy that Carson had managed to prevent – albeit in his own homicidal way. With her new vision, Sara realised the connection. Wilson’s murder of Berger was something that she could prevent. That was when she had decided that Wilson would be Success Number Four.

  But today she wants to see more about Gerrit Vos. What will this vision of Rachel Poole’s death contribute to that? What is this sickening scene unfolding before her mind’s eye trying to tell her?

  ‘Hey – are you lost?’ Haney asks. He is a paunchy sixty-something with thinning hair that he dyes a luxuriant brown. It doesn’t match the loose skin and wrinkles of his face. He has a Birmingham accent.

  Rachel shakes her head. ‘No – there’s my towel,’ she replies.

  He looks. Arches an eyebrow. ‘Where are Mummy and Daddy?’

  Rachel shakes her head again. She doesn’t know.

  Haney nods. ‘What’s your name, darling?’

  ‘Rachel,’ she tells him.

  ‘Well, Rachel, my name’s Mr Haney, and I’m a teacher. I’m used to helping little girls like you. Would you like my help?’

  Rachel nods. Yes, she would.

  Suddenly, a blanket of dread rolls over Sara. She is about to witness this girl’s rape and murder. No, no, no, she thinks, I really can’t see this happen! I wasn’t supposed to see this happen!

  ‘Is this where you last saw your parents, Rachel?’ Haney says.

  She shakes her head and points across the road, towards the fun fair.

  ‘At the caravans?’ he asks. ‘Well, I have a caravan, too,’ he says. Haney rolls to his knees and stands. His knees pop as he does. Haney blocks the sun by saluting, peers over at the fun fair and caravans, and then holds out his hand to Rachel. ‘Come on, darling – I’ll take you over there.’

  Trustingly, Rachel reaches for him.

  Sara realises she is trembling, sobbing. It is partly the horror she feels at having to witness what she is certain she’s about to see, and partly the sense of betrayal she feels at … at whatever perverse power wants to show her these grisly deaths that Carson prevented.

  Hand in hand, Edmund Haney and Rachel Poole walk across the street. Before them lies the fun fair. To their right, row-upon-row of holiday caravans. ‘My caravan’s back there,’ Haney says. ‘Where’s yours?’

  ‘I don’t have one,’ Rachel says.

  Haney frowns down at the girl. ‘Then where do you sleep?’

  ‘At my home in Aberystwyth.’

  ‘Oh,’ Haney exclaims. ‘Then where did you lose your parents?’

  ‘Over there,’ Rachel says, pointing to the colourful plastic slide that dominates the fun fair.

  ‘Well, as a rule,’ Haney says, ‘you should always stay in the place you last saw someone. It makes it easier for them to find you.’

  Haney leads Rachel towards the slide. ‘Where were they standing?’ he asks.

  ‘Right by those stairs,’ she says, pointing again.

  ‘Then let’s stand there too, OK?’ Haney suggests. ‘I’m sure Mum and Dad are looking for you, and they’re probably frightened out of their wits.’

  Pins and needles tingle through Sara. What is happening? She watches Haney gently let go of Rachel Poole’s hand as soon as they reach the bottom of the slide’s metal stairs. She sees them wait. Haney does not touch the little girl, or even speak to her as he surveys the holiday-makers. Sara tries to read his thoughts, and feels nothing except the focus of someone performing a simple task with all his attention. Haney scans for a couple searching for a lost daughter, and that is all. Sara can sense no passion, no lust – nothing that would lead to Rachel Poole’s death by this man’s hand.

  Will there be a twist to this tale, she wonders, something she cannot read? Sara moves the scene forward a few minutes, until she sees a couple in their early thirties rush towards Haney and Rachel. The blonde woman sweeps her daughter into her arms as Haney points to the beach explaining. Rachel’s father nods in gratitude and shakes his hand …

  The family leaves. Sara focuses on Haney
as he watches them move across the street to retrieve their towels. That is where Haney wants to go too, Sara senses – back to his towel, to lie some more in the sun – but he doesn’t want to follow the family. That would be awkward. Instead, Haney buys a hot dog, and eats it as he watches Rachel Poole and her parents leave the beach with their possessions. Mr Poole pops open the boot of his car and loads in the cooler and towels as Mrs Poole straps Rachel into her safety seat.

  ‘Ceri, I need to ask you a question.’

  Sara sat at the dining table, her mobile next to her on speakerphone. She had been brooding over a cup of coffee, lost in a morass of conflicting thoughts. The vision she had intended to have this morning – one that would have revealed more about Gerrit Vos, and possibly her own brother – had not materialised. However, what had shown up was even more troubling ‘I know what your question is,’ Ceri’s voice replied, ‘and the answer is yes. You will need a swimming costume. Don’t bother buying sun cream though – we’ll get it there. The same goes for beach towels and floppy hats.’

  ‘This isn’t about Mallorca,’ Sara sighed.

  ‘Why the hell not?’ Ceri said.

  Sara pressed on. ‘Do you remember Rachel Poole,’ she asked, ‘the girl Eldon Carson thought he’d saved from that retired headmaster?’

  ‘Haney,’ Ceri said immediately. ‘He was Carson’s fourth victim. The Pooles still live in town; Rachel goes to Plascrug School. They’re fine.’

  Ego leapt onto the chair next to Sara, and from there onto the table. He rubbed his moulting brown fur against her face. ‘That’s good to hear,’ Sara said, gently pushing away the cat, ‘but it’s actually Edmund Haney I’m interested in. Eldon Carson was convinced that Haney was going to assault and then murder the girl.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Did Haney have a criminal record?’

  ‘No,’ Ceri said, ‘but that didn’t make him innocent. Whatever the bastard did in his life, he got away with it.’ She chuckled. ‘At least until he got to Clarach.’

  Sara cleared her throat. Over the years, she had grown used to the way her friend jumped to unsubstantiated conclusions. It was a habit Ceri shared with Jamie, and Sara had always considered it a side effect of being a cop. Sara had found it was best handled by ignoring it. There was no point in reminding Ceri she had no proof of Haney having done anything he needed to “get away with.”

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Ceri went on. ‘That Carson character was bat shit crazy, and he had no reason to murder Haney. It’s just that our headmaster was a bit of a wrong ’un himself.’

  Sara took a sip of coffee, which she could barely taste. She plucked a strand of Ego’s fur from her lip. ‘Haney was from Solihull, wasn’t he?’ she asked. ‘Did the West Midlands Police ever search his home?’

  ‘Of course,’ Ceri said. ‘They found what you’d expect to find on his laptop.’

  Sara paused, and her stomach tightened. Whether it was reacting in dread or hope, she could not tell. ‘They found child pornography?’

  ‘Nothing graphic,’ Ceri replied. ‘Naked little girls, mostly downloaded from naturist websites. You know, frolicking on the beach, that sort of lark. Not illegal, I suppose, but it still gives you pause. Let’s just say Haney didn’t collect any other kinds of photos.’

  Sara tried to rationalise this. It seemed possible that Haney had indeed possessed an unhealthy attraction to girls, just as Eldon Carson had claimed. And yet, the retired headmaster seemed to have done nothing else that was inappropriate. Maybe, Sara thought, she had seen only a precursor to the horror that Carson said he’d witnessed. It was possible that the event she’d watched in Clarach was only Haney’s introduction to Rachel Poole. Maybe later he….

  But no, Sara told herself. It wasn’t possible. Haney’s alleged crime would have had to happen on that particular holiday, and Sara had stayed in her trance and followed Haney through the rest of his stay. She had watched the man sunbathe, sleep, read and listen to the radio – right up until the moment she’d seen Eldon Carson creep through the dark and knock gently on the door of Haney’s caravan.

  That was when she had terminated the vision. Sara had not needed to see Eldon execute an innocent man. And, she had to admit, Edmund Haney had been innocent. Sara had no doubt that Carson believed Haney would kill Rachel … but Carson’s vision had been wrong.

  It must have been wrong.

  ‘Why are you dredging this up all of a sudden?’ Ceri asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sara sighed. ‘Maybe because Jamie’s doing some consulting for Andy Turner …’

  ‘You told me,’ Ceri said.

  ‘I suppose it’s brought back a few bad memories.’

  ‘Forget them,’ Ceri said. ‘That’s the best thing you can do.’

  ‘I do try,’ Sara lied. ‘It’s not easy.’

  If Eldon Carson had been wrong about what had happened on the beach in Clarach, she thought, how could she vouch for the reliability of any of his visions? At least, the ones she had not also seen herself.

  For that matter, how could she trust her own visions either?

  Sara could hear Ceri clicking her tongue – something her old friend did when trying to sound contemplative. ‘Well,’ Ceri finally said, drawing out the word as if she were about to reveal the wisdom of Solomon, ‘if you’re having trouble relaxing, there is one sure-fire solution. It’ll be pleasant as hell and guaranteed to help you forget your troubles …’

  From that moment, their conversation was all about sun, swimming pools, and sangria.

  After she’d said goodbye to Ceri, Sara’s mood lowered. Ever since Eldon Carson made contact with her at the farmhouse in Penweddig, Sara had believed in his powers as strongly as he did himself. As she grew in her abilities, Sara had come to believe in them as well. Under Carson’s guidance, she had witnessed a lone gunman rampaging through the streets of Shrewsbury, exactly as Carson had seen it before her. Exactly as the press had reported too. And Sara knew that the vision she’d had of Rhodri killing their parents had also been true. Her brother had confirmed it, just before Sara had allowed him to die.

  This meant that Sara had no reason to doubt that psychic powers existed, or that she and Carson had each demonstrated them. But, she thought, the bigger question was, were they always reliable?

  Eldon Carson had once told Sara that the future was not fixed; instead, it was a series of probabilities. In some cases, those probabilities were evenly balanced in favour of more than one outcome. Then, the future truly was unpredictable. In other instances, all probabilities pointed in the same direction – and it was when Carson had a vision like this, in which all probabilities indicated a future murder, that he knew he needed to respond.

  And yet, he’d been wrong about Haney. And it had cost the poor man his life.

  This line of thought jarred loose another, older one. It was something that had been niggling at the edges of Sara’s consciousness for months – a troubling conundrum she had repeatedly swatted away like a midge. Sara’s persistent concern was this: Eldon Carson had killed people to prevent the murders he believed, through his use of psychic powers, they would commit. Carson’s last intended victim had been Sara’s own brother, Rhodri Jones. Had Carson not been stopped by armed police, he would have cut Rhodri’s throat at the Hampshire Air Show.

  So what murder had Carson been trying to prevent?

  It was true that Rhodri had gone on to kill someone that very evening: a young escort named Maja Bosco. It was also true that Rhodri had a history of beating women. However, it was widely assumed by friends, police, and press alike that there were mitigating circumstances. All agreed that Rhodri had committed murder accidentally, after becoming unhinged by Carson’s attack. Of course, Sara knew, this did not excuse her brother. Had Rhodri not been brutal in the first place, that ‘accident’ would not have occurred. And yet, Sara had nonetheless accepted the basic theory: Rhodri Jones had killed his victim as a result of his confrontation with Eldon Carson at the Hampsh
ire Air Show.

  Which meant that Carson had caused Rhodri to kill.

  Which also meant that, if Carson had not gone after Rhodri in the first place, Rhodri would not have committed murder.

  Which meant … what?

  Had Eldon Carson not realised that the act he was trying to prevent would actually be caused by his own attempt to stop it?

  Had he not seen that, without his intervention, there would have been no murder in the first place?

  Sara wondered how on earth Carson could have been so blind.

  And, seeing this now, she also wondered whether she could completely trust her own visions. Sara knew she had to allow for the possibility she was equally blind regarding Gerrit Vos.

  And also Tim Wilson.

  EIGHT

  Jamie sat in his Range Rover in the car park outside Hollybush House. He opened the document wallet Vos had given him. The information inside was disappointingly pedestrian. There was glossy maroon-and-white publicity bumph about Thorndike Aerospace – security on land, sea, air and online – and some non-classified briefings about Thorndike’s recent bids to assorted governments. There was also a black-and-white laser print of a bald, slightly overweight man with puffy eyes. Underneath it, Vos’s boxy handwriting identified him as Levi Rootenberg, and included a phone number.

  Vos had told Jamie about the man’s background at the end of their meeting. Rootenberg, Jamie had learned, spent his early career as an engineer, in both the aerospace and mining sectors. Later, he used the contacts he had made in the defence industry to set himself up as an arms broker. A few years earlier, Rootenberg’s licence to transfer controlled goods had been withdrawn by the Department for Business, Innovation and Skills, making him an ex-arms broker. Despite this, Vos had asked Jamie to meet with Rootenberg. Vos would not explain what the meeting was to be about, saying that details would be provided when they met. He had simply told Jamie to act as his representative, and report back.