Six Dead Men (16 page)

He knew Deed before the man introduced himself. As he entered the pub, a subtle vulnerability leaked from his persona. Outwardly he was assured and capable but Carpenter sensed fluctuations within.

Still waters run deep,
he mused as he raised a hand to identify himself to the policeman.
And not really used to pubs as a meeting venue yet.

"Joseph Carpenter?"

Carpenter nodded. They shook hands and Carpenter relaxed instantly.
A bit distracted but good vibes.

"How did you know it was me?"

Carpenter raised an eyebrow and smiled. Deed returned the smile and Carpenter sensed some of the policeman's own tension evaporate somewhat.

“So, you said on the phone you've been to Florence. I prefer the Amalfi coast myself.”

“I find all of Italy fascinating. I’m working my way around it so to speak. It’s a country which always reinvigorates me.”

Very formal Mr Deed, but I can sense another wilder side to your nature.
“Reinvigorates — good choice of word Mr Deed. I think I'm inclined to agree with you.”

“Call me Robert. Please.”

Carpenter inclined his head. “Never Bob eh? I’m Joe. What’s your poison?”

“I’ll have a Glenfiddich thanks.”

Carpenter launched his stocky frame from his chair in a far happier frame of mind than when he had entered the pub. This was clearly a partnership predestined by the gods.

*****

"All mediums are psychics but not all psychics are mediums." Joe took a gulp of his coffee.

Deed looked up from his notebook. "What exactly does that mean?"

Typical policeman with his notebook at the ready.
Joe swivelled round in his office chair, slid down in the seat, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "Well, I'm clairvoyant and clairsentient, with a very small smidge of clairaudience thrown in for good measure."

"So you sense things?"

In the words of Homer Simpson — Duh.
"Okay, I'll break it down for you. I see images of people, places and things - that's the clairvoyance part of it."
Like the pictures in your head Inspector Deed. Hospital beds, a TV screen, but you’re also blocking, not blocking hard enough Inspector.

Deed was making swift scrawls of shorthand in his notebook.

"I can also sense how the missing body is or was feeling, injuries, pain during death etc - that's clairsentience."
Aaah, that interests you.

"So then clairaudience is hearing voices?"

"Yes, and sounds, but I'm not really very good at clairaudience. It only works for me in relation to what's happening in the scene I see, you know, sounds in the background rather than people talking to me directly. I also smell scents."

"When do you get these ... episodes?"

"They're usually triggered by something. I'll step into a room or meet a person. Right now, for some reason, I’m getting the scent of geraniums.”
Was that a jerk in your note taking hand Robert? I think it was.
“Sometimes if I touch something belonging to someone I'll get a series of impressions." Joe reached out to touch Deed’s pen.

"It’s one of yours from your desk Joe.” Deed tried to look annoyed, but a small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, so what's the difference between a psychic and a medium?"

So you do have a sense of humour.
"Basically a medium makes contact with spirits in the after life. Psychic is a much more general term. We're all psychic on one level or another. Even you Robert. I knows there's a bit of the psychic in you."

A startled Deed looked at Joe.

I've hit some sort of nerve there. Think I’ll probe a bit further?
"You have had some sort of experience haven't you? Something to do with why you left a flourishing career and came to work with me. Some people would consider this a demotion you know Robert."

"I..." Deed took a deep breath and began again. "I think so. No. I know so. I'm coming to terms with the fact there's more to life than the basic humdrum of existence."

Joe waited, giving Deed time to sort his thoughts and decide if he could confront his fears and doubts head on.

"I've always been able to tell when someone's guilty. Just know. Never said anything to anyone. I thought it was too weird, so I just sort of buried my knowledge in a back drawer of my brain. But after the Bricot case..."

So this is why he fills those notebooks with all those squiggles. Tries to hide the fact he knows before anyone else does.
"The Bricot case?"

Deed looked down at the scrawls in his notebook as though they would give him all the answers he needed in life.

Joe watched him draw a series of doodles across the bottom of the notebook - stacked boxes and question marks.
A methodical thinker. The question marks are interesting — doubting his role in life. Mmmm. Incredibly neat handwriting for a left hander though.

Deed finished the telling doodle. "Well, it wasn't really the Bricot case. It was actually the Burry case, which in my head became the Dead Men case and finally the Bricot case." Deed laughed suddenly, as though on some level tension had been released. "It's quite a long story."

"My case load's pretty empty at the moment." Joe said this lightly, knowing he needed a delicate touch to help Deed reveal all the mystery of the images of the young woman with the mass of brown hair Joe had been receiving ever since he first met Robert Deed in The Lantern pub.

*****

When he and Carpenter first met Deed was not convinced he entirely believed in the processes Joe described so he clung to the words Joe used. He tried to understand their meanings by approaching them from an etymologist’s viewpoint:
clairvoyance — the power to perceive things beyond the natural range of the senses, from the French "clair" meaning clear and the present participle of voir, from the Latin "videre" meaning to see i.e. vision.
But after working with Joe for several weeks the meanings of the words seemed irrelevant somehow. Joe had a significant body of results that spoke for his reputation. The stack of files in the tiny back office at the station recording results of his intervention were testament enough. What was more — he liked the man, more than he had liked any other man in his adulthood. He suspected he was making a friend for life. He cherished this thought since the last true male friend he had was his father.

Then Deed had seen Joe's work first hand with the Lisa Scott case; an eight year old girl missing for over a month. No clues as to her whereabouts. Forensics had come up empty and the rows of police officers, shoulder to shoulder, scouring fields for days on end had turned up only a yellow ribbon. In the photograph provided by her parents she had the same ribbon tied in her hair like Alice in Wonderland. They said it was her favourite book.

Joe stood in that field, yellow ribbon trailing through his fingers. It was just the two of them. Joe didn't want any other police officers present - said they contaminated the scene with their doubt.
I have some doubts. Won't that filter through?

As though reading his thoughts Joe had said, "You're more willing to believe than you realise. Otherwise you wouldn't be here right now."

With his notebook at the ready he had waited for Joe, not really knowing what to expect. Distracted by the sight of a kestrel he almost missed Joe's first words. He scrabbled with his pencil to get the first few shorthand symbols down, then caught up easily as Joe paused and cocked his head from time to time. He had a far away look in his eye and seemed somehow like a child sleeping, alone and vulnerable. Suddenly, like a sleepwalker, Joe was moving across the stubble of the field, back towards the road. Deed signalled to the patrol car and they checked to see no cars were coming, because Joe was crossing the road, a stumbling run, with whimpers escaping him every so often. His posture drooped to one side as though his arm was being yanked and he was being pulled along unwillingly. He stopped suddenly and Deed nearly careened into him. He caught himself in time and resumed his note taking as Joe began talking more coherently.

"A blue car.... Lion thing on the front...Peugeot..."

Deed wrote down blue Peugeot in his notebook.

"...funny doll thing hanging from the rear view mirror... looks like a troll, has bright orange hair sticking up....fabric seats in back with lots of old food wrappers... the boot of the car.... spare tire.... rags covered in oily prints.... heavy smell of oil... clinking sound of tools... large grubby hands moving a canvas bag... that's where the sound of tools comes from... bag has a logo on it.

Joe suddenly cried out and caught hold of his left leg. Then he carried on talking. "Leg's been grazed by something... wheel jack I think... cold to the touch... graze stings... darkness... feel stifled...” Joe slumped muttering. “Fear and shame." Deed had to catch him to steady him. Joe righted himself. "Thanks." Pushing Deed’s hands away he walked back towards their car, head bowed.

Deed extended his stride to keep up with him. He sensed the need to wait a while for Joe to come back from the place he’d been. Was this what he always had to expect — the disorientation afterwards? He’d have to ask Joe. Deed’s curiosity about Joe’s
What would you call it, a gift? A talent?
juggled with his desire to see if Joe was alright. Judging he had left enough time he asked. "Why the shame, at the end?"

“What?”

Drawing level with Joe, Deed continued. “You said she felt shame.”

Joe paused and his face took on an uncomfortable look but he finally looked over to Deed. "She wet herself when he shut her in the boot."

They sat on the bonnet of the car while Joe described the car to Deed in more detail so that they could identify the year.

“It’s old and fairly grubby looking. The tires were pretty muddy so it probably travels down an un-tarred lane and I think I saw some farm implements in the back seat. Can’t be too sure but I think it’s a Peugeot 505 Estate. I also got a partial plate number: C788 N.

Deed scribbled this down. “What about the logo on the bag?”

“I don’t know it but I’ll draw it for you.” Joe took the notebook from Deed’s hand and Deed noticed a slight tremor in Joe’s fingers. The quiver seemed to fade as Joe traced the lines onto the page.

Deed was starting to understand how much these episodes drained Joe. To see those things in your head, that would terrify Deed. Just knowing someone’s guilt or innocence at a glance scared the hell out of him as it was.

They passed all the information on to the waiting uniformed officers. It was up to them to follow up by questioning locals and do a DMV search for the partial number plate. The logo on the bag and make of car would help enormously. In rural areas people knew each other’s cars. Finally they had some sort of break.

10 days later they found the Peugeot in an isolated barn tucked away off the main road. The man who had abducted her was holed up in a recently vacated farmhouse. The child still had a trace of warmth to her skin when they placed her in the half sized body bag.

*****

Deed was driving. Both of them were preparing themselves for the meeting with Lisa Scott’s parents. A soft melody by Debussy spun notes around the interior of the plush car and served to mellow Deed's mood.

"You’re thinking about her Robert.”

"Sorry."

There was a thoughtful look on Joe’s face. “Pull the car over please.”

Deed checked his mirrors and did as Joe asked. Once the car was stationary he turned his body as much as his seatbelt would allow to look at Joe.

A stillness had descended over the car and as Deed glanced at Joe out of the corner of his eye he noted the dazed look which indicated Joe had entered a trance-like state. “What do you see Joe?” Deed turned the engine off and pulled his notepad from his shirt pocket.

Joe's voice came out in a measured tone. He had a listening aspect in his posture and his eyes were seeing their own premiere. “Posters of dishevelled people on a wall... a tiny, cluttered office... behind a large kitchen — industrial, stainless steel... a pile of magazines on a blue carpet tile. Many voices, people talking...” Carpenter’s head turned slightly as though tracking another image. “Now it’s a bedroom, sari fabric at the window... I hear sobbing... I sense fear... I see...” Joe frowned in concentration. “I see... a diary... a journal maybe... with a picture... a knight on a white horse, leaning down towards a beautiful woman...” When the glazed look eventually left Joe's eyes he looked hard at Deed.

Joe turned his head and looked out at the shorn stems of the farmer's field for some time then opened his window and took a deep breath of free range air to clear the images of his private viewing. “Your Madi needs you Robert.”

Deed's arms tensed on the steering wheel. His mind had been full of her. If she was in trouble that bothered him. “I should try to find her whereabouts." But his statement lacked conviction. He could feel his fear fuelling his inaction. "She’s probably not living with her brother any longer.” He turned to Joe for advice but he was no longer aware of Deed. He was preparing himself to meet the bereft parents of Lisa Scott.

Deed started the car and focused once more on the road ahead. He agonized over past decisions, a dusty shoe box in his wardrobe containing his notes and the audiotape of his last interview with Madi and an unmarked video tape gathering dust behind the telly where he had thrown it in frustration a month ago.