Quiver (29 page)

“Danica, as I said, I was going to tell you everything, when it was the time.” She relaxes her shoulders, reaches out a hand and cradles my hip. Over her shoulder, I see Nicola still sitting there, watching us, long legs crossed, swinging her foot to and fro.

“And what’s with Nicola? And Henry, is he here too?”

“Henry? No, no. Danica, you do not understand. You know, I have told you, I only look out for you. I did you a favour. Nicola, she works for me. For us. Henry, he was not for you. He strayed, so easy. I showed you, helped you.”

“You asked her to be with him?” Of course she did. How could I be so stupid? She blinks, dark lashes framing her blue Siamese cat eyes. I used to think of her eyes as cornflowers, or pieces of summer sky. Now they look like cheap plastic marbles.

“There you are,” Milo’s voice calls out. He walks towards us, a champagne flute and a highball in hand. “So,” he hands me the bubbly, “our newest member?” He raises an eyebrow towards Maria.

“Yes, yes. Actually, we have business to discuss.” She takes my hand again, starts to curl her fingers into my hair. “Excuse us.”

She pulls me away from Milo, away from the crowd and into a far corner of the room. “You should not be here, Dani. Not yet.”

“Let go of me.”

“Listen. Now you are here, we will work together. We must. Otherwise, it could be dangerous for you. You do not know—”

“I know enough. Let go.”

She unwraps her fingers, moves her hand up to caress my hair again. I flinch.

“You must let me explain. Our philosophies. How we see beauty. You, too, you are fascinated with Báthory. You will understand.”

“I’m fascinated in a different way. In an intellectual way. You’re not well. You are—”

“I am what? We do what we believe in, we do not sit only, read in books. You sit, you watch, you think you know about the people in your little asylum. Play everything safe. Have you ever seen a murder? Do you know what it is, really, that you are so fascinated with?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Danica, do you not see me? See who I am? Now you are here, you must stay. There is no leaving.” She steps closer to me.

I put both of my hands on her shoulders and push. She grabs my hand, clenches it, pulls me towards her again.
Do you not see me.
I push again, harder, slip out of her hold and run to the door.

The bouncer is still on the other side. “Leaving already?” he asks, and stands in front of me.

“Ah, you caught her.” Maria’s followed me. “Very good. She was about to slip away and yet I have important things to discuss.” She smiles at the bouncer, pushes a stray tendril behind her ear. “We will just step outside for a moment, yes? We need some privacy.”

She pushes the small of my back, guides me out the door. We walk down the hallway and I think of running. But I don’t know where; not back into the party, and the first bouncer is probably still at the front door. I need her to let me out, let me go.

We emerge from the hallway into the main section of the club. We walk past the silver stools, the red bar, descend the few steps to the poolside. No one is around; the bar is unattended.

“You must listen, Dani. You do not understand what I offer you.”

“What? You’re a murderer. You’re trying to get Foster out. I want nothing from you.”

“Dani. I will explain. Sit, please.” She sits on one of the chaise longues, the sapphire light from the pool dancing over her. “I ask only for five minutes of your time.”

I sit beside her. I realize every patient I’ve met in Stowmoor, even Foster, has been nothing compared to her. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to hear what she has to tell me.

“Yes, there is a project to recover Foster. Normally, we wouldn’t spend the time and resources for such a recovery. But for years, we had problems when it came time for the murders. No one did it properly, some failed completely, no one who was caught was worth saving.”

I nod for her to go on. I try to pretend I’m speaking to just another patient. But this interview is anything but sanitized or controlled.

“With Foster, he is the perfect tool. He loves his fame, he is devoted to us. And what he wants is to serve us. Serve me. Báthory, she had her servants, Dorca, Fizcko. They never failed her, brought her girls, helped to kill. Foster is my servant. He is loyal, and we are loyal in return. Here,” she raises her chin slightly towards the secret back room, “we research and curate the attack; he executes it. It is a beautiful system. We build on Báthory’s work. I improve it.”

“You improve it?” I try to understand the enormity of this statement. She thinks she’s more capable, more powerful, than Báthory. “How are you going to get him out? It will take years to parole him.”

“Dani, I do not wait. I will get him out. All these rules, these laws, these people who you run after at your little job, they are nothing. I told you, I always succeed. And look what I have done for you.”

“What you’ve done for me?”

“For you, I have set everything up. The newspaper article, the consulting. I have freed you from the everyday world, from that unoriginal drone Henry.”

She slides her hand up my thigh and kisses my neck. “After Budapest, I thought we were done. But when you came here, for Foster, I knew you were not pathetic. You would understand, like Darvulia understood Báthory. Now we can work together.” She puts her lips close to my ear and whispers. “You can shine.”

Maria is the extreme experience I thought I wanted, the event after which you’re never the same. Part of me wants to melt into her touch, her desire. To ignore conscience, to reject rules, to move through the world, through people, as effortlessly and violently as Maria. With Maria.

My body vibrates. I grab her wrist and push her away from me.

The club’s sound system revs up and loud electronica blares over the speakers. A disco ball by the bar starts to turn. A door slams and the bartender emerges, walks to his post.

“Ah, the main club, it is opening.” Maria stands up, offers me her hand.

My entire body shakes. I take her hand. I have to ask one more question. “Maria, the diaries...are they real?”

She lunges, leans a leg between my thighs. “Danica. They are as real as I am.”

Another staff person walks by and starts to set tealights on nearby tables. Maria steps back. “Now,” she says, “I must return, the meeting will be ending. Are you coming?”

I drop her hand, steady myself on the back of a chaise. I shake my head.

“That is fine. You will change your mind.” She leans close again and whispers, “But you should hope, Danica, by the time you realize what you want, that I still want you.”

I feel a breeze as she strides past me. I close my eyes, keep my grasp tight on the back of the chaise until I’m certain she has gone.

I walk halfway home, then finally duck into the underground and take the tube the rest of the way to Shepherd’s Bush. I dig for my keys, turn the latch, like an automaton. The place looks bigger, Henry’s pile of stray art supplies gone from the corner, his shoes, jackets, no longer strewn everywhere. I sit on the couch for almost an hour, trying to think logically, trying to process every piece of the weekend. Trying to decide what to do now. I hear Sloane’s reprimands in my head. Carl’s lectures. What could I tell them? Come to that, what could I tell the police? I crashed a cocktail party, they were showing disturbing photos, and I saw Foster’s lawyer there? That I suspect the people throwing the party were not very nice and one of them slept with my boyfriend? That they are a historical-interest group fascinated with a long-dead serial killer, or maybe they’re really a support group for mentally ill convicts and I’ve been fraternizing extensively with their leader? The painting—that might be evidence of theft. And Maria, if she comes for her scheduled meeting with Foster tomorrow, that would be reasonable cause for concern.

I pull the red card out of my purse, type
gyilkosság
into an online Hungarian-English dictionary.

Gyilkosság
is murder.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I wake to find myself half-slumped on the couch. According to the clock it’s seven a.m. I glance in the mirror. Dark circles, hair worse than yesterday. I’ve slept in Maria’s sundress, but I don’t waste time changing, just throw on flats and a cardigan over the dress. I phone Abbas and get his voicemail. Same with Sloane. I call again, leave what I hope is a non-hysterical-sounding message: “Dr. Abbas, this is Danica Winston. It is imperative we cancel Martin Foster’s meeting with Maria János this morning. I will explain. Please cancel.” I leave a similar message with Sloane, then call Kelly at reception. No answer. I run out the door to catch the tube.

I get in at quarter to nine. Kelly is at the desk.

“We need to cancel Martin Foster’s appointment with his new consultant.”

She looks at me like I’m a puppy with an injured paw. “There are some messages here for you,” she says in a slow, soft voice. “From Henry. Something about forgetting a set of brushes at his old place? And there was another call from a friend of yours? You left your mobile at her flat. And she wanted to speak to you, see how you were holding up after the breakup.”

“She wanted what?”

“She was very concerned,” says Kelly. She leans towards me, says in a hushed tone, “Sounds like it was very messy. Terrible. In public, no less. Do you need to take a personal day?” She reaches over the reception desk and pats my hand. “You look a bit out of sorts.”

“No, you don’t understand. I need to talk to Abbas or Sloane. We need to cancel the visit today with Martin Foster.” I’m speaking fast, my palms spread out on the desk.

“Danica, it must be terrible. Your friend told me all about it. I was a wreck when my boyfriend and I split last year, and he wasn’t cheating on me in public with a supermodel. I can’t imagine. I mentioned the whole situation already to Dr. Abbas, when he came in this morning. I am sure he’ll understand if you need to take a day to yourself. Get some sleep,” she says, gesturing towards my face. “Have a shower. You know, clean yourself up a bit.”

I catch my reflection in the mirror behind Kelly’s desk. I haven’t combed my hair since Saturday. And since last night, I’ve gone from possibly passing as messy-chic to looking unhygienic. There are deep purple bags under my eyes. The cardigan I’ve pulled on is brown with pink-and-blue racing stripes across the shoulders. It clashes horribly with the cotton dress, which, since I slept in it, is even more bagged out than yesterday. I fidget in my white ballet flats.

“Look, I’m really all right,” I say. “I’ll take it easy today, though.” I smile at her. More flies with honey. “Thanks so much for being so kind to me. You’re right. I’m going to head back and speak with Dr. Abbas.”

“Oh, I think that’s a good idea,” she says. “You don’t want to push yourself, after such a terrible weekend.” She pulls out a cherry-smelling gloss and smears some on her lips. “If you ever want to talk, I can commiserate. When my boyfriend and I split last year—”

“You know, that is so kind of you. I will definitely let you know if I need to talk. I wonder,” I continue, “if, for now, you can cancel János’s appointment?”

Her smile collapses. She snaps a drawer open, tosses the gloss inside, slams it shut with a sigh. “You know I can’t cancel anything unless Abbas and Sloane say so. Besides, I thought you weren’t working with that patient anymore.” She looks at the computer, “Anyway, she’s probably here already. The appointment’s at nine fifteen. Probably parking her vehicle in the Paddock lot. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

I knock on Abbas’s door. “Yes?” he says, not looking up from his desk.

“Dr. Abbas. Did you get my voicemail?”

“Danica. Yes. It was rather odd. What’s this about Ms. János?”

“We need to cancel the appointment.” I’m standing in the doorway, interns and nurses rushing in the hallway behind me. “Can I come in?”

He finally looks up, motions for me to come in. I close the door behind me, sit down before he invites me. I feel lightheaded and nauseated. I blurt it all out. “She’s a fake. Foster did have help. I can almost prove it. She’s part of the network Foster mentioned in the police report. I know I’m not supposed to worry about that, it’s the police’s job, but still, I know she is. So is his new lawyer, Lewison. There is a whole network of people, it’s like a cult, a cabal, they have secret meetings. They must have coached him on the crime. They want him to do it again.”

“Danica.” Abbas takes off his reading glasses. “First, you have been taken off Mr. Foster’s assessment team. He is no longer your patient. Also, these are some strong allegations—and, in Lewison’s case, against a member of the legal profession. This sounds like something from the tabloids, and you know first-hand how they distort things. Really, Lewison is well within protocol. This woman is a sort of consultant he wants on the case. Of course they are going to try to get him paroled. It is their job.”

“But I saw it. This woman, my friend—well, I thought she was my friend...” If I could just get the appointment cancelled, maybe I could fix everything. “Anyway, she knows these people, she’s involved. They’re dangerous.”

Dr. Abbas folds his hands together, places them on his desk and leans towards me. “Kelly said you had a very bad weekend. That you and your partner have had a falling out. She intimated it was quite an acrimonious split? A public row, and you engaged in some violence towards him and another woman?”

“I’m doing fine. I’m still a professional. We need to cancel the appointment.”

“Danica, I appreciate your concern for our patients. As I said, these are serious allegations you are making. They must be taken up with the police. And you know I can’t cancel an appointment based on some hearsay. It would be unprofessional.”

I start to wonder if he’s connected to the cult, too. “Well, then I’ll speak to the authorities.”

“I think you should. If this information you have turns out to be valid, they must know. You are obligated to tell them. I’ll have Kelly set up an appointment for a detective to come interview you this afternoon.”

“But this is urgent.”