Unraveled Visions (A Shaman Mystery) (28 page)

twenty-seven
winter solstice

I left early for
work the following morning, pulling the scooter out into rush-hour traffic. The morning was bitingly cold with a wild wind that had picked up during the night. The scooter didn’t like crosswinds. I almost came off a couple of times. And that wind was icy; it got inside my bike gear and under my helmet. Every part of me trembled with cold.

I’d been mad to agree to these long shifts. Tomorrow morning I’d be up before dawn because Tuesday was the winter solstice, and six of us were meeting to celebrate Yule. I glanced up as I waited for traffic lights. The sky had disappeared below a grey layer of nimbostratus. I was already worrying that the ritual we’d planned was going to be a letdown.

I knew I’d find Fergus in the Polska Café. I knew he’d be at his usual table, drinking his usual latte. Kate was also eating breakfast at a table close to the door, and I lifted my hand in a friendly acknowledgment as I bought a mug of tea from Maria.

I carried my tea over to Fergus and stood awkwardly with it. For a moment, he didn’t notice me. His head was bent over his notebook. He was using a fine fountain pen to write, slowly inscribing the words in his head onto the page. I gave a cough. He looked up. My intestines knotted as I realized he didn’t look all that pleased to see me.

“How’ve you been?”

“Ah, I’ve been just tops, thanks, Sabbie. Er … busy. And yourself ?”

I sat down, uninvited. “I wondered if you’d like to know about the developments at Papa,” I said, keeping my voice in “professional meeting” tone. I launched into the story of the nonexistent pay cheque, the offer of a loan, and my recent opportunity to earn triple cash in hand.

He screwed the cap on his pen and rested it on the cover of his notebook. “Interesting.”

I took a sip of tea. I needed a dramatic pause before I revealed my stunner. “You have heard about Jimmy Browne?”

“He’s the man under arrest?”

“He’s more of a boy, really.” I lowered my voice. “Remember those buccal swabs? He came up positive.”

“Glory b’Jesus. Never.”

“He works for Papa Bulgaria.”

“Glory b …” he trailed off. “He’s Bulgarian?”

“No, he’s as local as they come. And as innocent as they look.”

“He surely can’t be. He’s a DNA trail leading to him.”

“Anyway, they won’t take any more samples, Fergus. And they destroy evidence once it’s not needed.”

“Unless you’re a Catholic from Belfast.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Because you have no idea of my world. It’s as alien to you as … Bulgaria.” Fergus picked up his coffee. There was almost nothing left, but he took several tiny sips, staring over the rim as he did so. “It’s
him
, isn’t it? The cop. He’s the fellow who’s taken your heart.” He put down the cup onto its saucer with a chime that seemed on the verge of a crack. High spots of heat were brewing on his cheek bones. “It’s that DI Buckley who took my spit.”

My insides did one of those inversions that make you feel you’ve been yanked inside out.

“Fair chances.” Fergus shook his head and his barley-coloured hair flew away from the elastic band that gripped it. “We must take our chances when we have them. You came to the party with me, but I didn’t take my chance. We can’t always have the thing we want the most.”

I thought about the difference between us, when he said that. The thing I wanted most—I didn’t have to think about it—was to see Mirela to walk into the café and wave across at us as if she’d never disappeared. I wanted that far more than I even wanted Rey.

“I thought we had something, for a minute there. I liked you, Sabbie.” I heard the past tense; he hadn’t noticed he’d given himself away. “Have I missed my chance with you now, is that it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how chances work.” I called to mind how he had never told me that he was at the end of a contract here and would be going back to Belfast soon. He was an operator. A wolf. The nerve of the man sparked me into candour. “You’re going home, aren’t you?”

He tugged at his earlobe. “I should have let you know.”

“Yeah, you should have let me know a long time ago.” I took a breath. I had no idea why I’d got so strung up over this, but gut feelings were usually what I went by. “Or at least invited me to your party.”

“What party?”

“The farewell party your workmates think you’re going to hold?”

Fergus looked genuinely confused. “I certainly hadn’t planned anything like that.”

“I—I bumped into Juke. He says you wanted to go out with a bang.”

Light came into his eyes. “That’s right, Sabbie. I do. I do hope to do that. Isn’t it what every fellow dreams of, going out with a bang?” His mouth twitched. “I would love it now, if you’d share that with me.”

“What?

He steadied his gaze. “I’m surprised that you haven’t an inkling.”

“No,” I snapped. “I can’t guess. What?”

“I’d be honoured to show you. I could show you on Friday eve
ning.”

“I dunno, Fergus. I might have something on.”

“I apologise for asking,” he said, his voice too sharp to be an apology.

“I’ve promised a mate. I can’t let him down if he needs me. He’s lost his girlfriend; his lover. He’s lost her, you see.”

“What, dead?”

“No, love-bombed.”

I started to unravel the story of Drea. I needed to properly explain that I had a good reason to decline his invite. Anyway, Fergus came from a religious background, so he might have a good take on the problem. I was also longing to move onto a fresh, unrelated subject that would help us forget the shadow that had passed over the table.

I told Drea and Andy’s story without mentioning names, describing the way I’d been peremptorily tossed down the steps of Charter Hall and into the street. I hoped that would make Fergus smile, but he was shaking his head.

“No two ways about it. The power faith offers can turn you into a controlling beast.”

“Obsessive,” I agreed. “And you have to let go of reason a bit, don’t you? The entire point is to believe something unbelievable, and know it’s true.”

I thought about my rattle, broom, and wand; the moon water Marianne and I made each month. Looked at rationally, these things seemed quite mad, but when I worked with them, they felt necessary, important.

“And then there’s the opposite effect,” said Fergus.

“What opposite?”

“Strong faith attracts people who are on the edge.”

“That’s so true!” I chuckled at my thoughts. “Glastonbury is full of zany people. It’s hard to sort the eccentrics from the certifiable. But something different’s going on in CORE. Eric Atkinson enjoys the power, the hold he has over people. Especially vulnerable women. He tells his followers that everything he does has goodness at its heart, but he’s holier-than-thou, obsessed with sex, and absolutely sure he’s right about everything.”

“Using madness. Desiring authority. Evil intent,” said Fergus. His eyes flicked around, like he was about to lie. “Sin.”

“Yes, they’re obsessed by it. This poor girl who’s gone back to CORE thinks she’s committed numerous sins, but she’s harmed no one.”

“I bet this priest truly believes he’s doing the Lord’s work.” Fergus’s eyes had an uncanny brightness. “Many people live for years with a little voice at the back of their mind telling them to make sure they’re not enjoying their life.”

“That’s very profound.” Something, some block held me rigid, prevented me from looking directly at him. I shifted in my chair and dropped my gaze, noticing how his hand moved to his notebook, caressing the cover. He picked up the pen and turned it round in his fingers. I looked at the picture on the cover again. The Celtic knot, a ceaseless cord that twisted its patterns round and round into infinity.

Except, this knot did have an end, of sorts. An end and a beginning. A lot of Celtic knotwork takes an animal shape, often animals twined perpetually. Now that I looked closer at the cover, I could make out the beast. It was a common one used in such knotwork. It was an ouroboros. A twisted snake with its tail in its mouth.

Do not go with him, if he comes for you, the man with the snake.

I glanced up. He’d seen me staring. I tried to smile, a bogus stretching of lips. I felt like an animal trapped at the kill.

Rescue came in a surprising form.

Kate had got up from her table and was headed towards the loos, swinging her handbag. She paused as she past us.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Kate,” said Fergus. “You good?”

“Yeah, okay.” She turned towards me. “Can I have a word?” And then she walked on, disappearing into the Ladies. “I’ll see what she wants.”

“I’d best be off to work. But Sabbie?”

“Ugh?”

“I’ll give you a call about Friday, okay?”

I watched him go. The feeling flowing through me was like an ebb tide. It forced my thoughts in all the wrong directions.

I pushed through the loo door. “Kate?” She was by the basins, brushing her long hair. Her face was full of misgivings. She looked tired … sad. “How have things been?”

“Okay. I am okay.” She put her brush away. “I would like to talk to you proper. Somewhere where we can be private, do you know?”

A pulse, which had set up in my temple while I’d been with Fergus, still throbbed under my skin. “Is this about Fergus Quigg?”

“No,” said Kate. As she spoke, she moved along the basins, away from the door, until she was squeezed in between the wall and the tampon machine. Her voice was dropping, as if microphones were concealed in the light strip above our heads. “But it is very important.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“Here? No, not here. Please, it will be better at my house.”

“I’m working all today. Till Thursday, in fact.”

“You cannot do it sooner?” Her voice had sunk away to nothing. In the silence came the sound of the wind, moaning and rattling the open window.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with Fergus?”

“Of course not. But it is also something I cannot take to him. You look … like the person I should tell.”

That made me smile. “You could always order a Papa Bulgaria meal. I’d be the one to bring it to your house.”

“I can do that.” She’d taken me seriously. “Will you come? Please? Sabbie?” Her voice suddenly peaked, echoing in the bare room. I looked around. We were still alone, but anyone could come in at any time. She was right; this was not the place for a confidential chat.

“Of course I’ll come,” I said.

_____

Popping round Bridgwater and environs on a Papa scooter gave me time to contemplate things, and those things made me feel horribly exposed, as I travelled on my torpid bike.

In my belly was a feeling of sickness, the feeling you get after a nightmare you can barely remember. If I hadn’t been in the middle of a constant stream of deliveries, I would have gone home and showered, then had fifteen minutes of meditation to clear myself of my sinister suspicions. Fergus was many things, more things than I’d first suspected, but I was already praying I was wrong about this.

Using madness. Desiring authority. Evil intent
…
sin.

Kizzy hadn’t trusted him, but she might have had things she wanted to hide. What had Fergus said about Kizzy?
Raw with sexuality
…
difficult to resist
…

I took the scooter around a left bend, leaning into the wind. I reasoned and re-reasoned as I delivered Papa takeaway to the good folk of Bridgwater. All my faith had been in Fergus. How could I swerve so way off course in my presumptions? I trusted my skill at seeing inside people; what I’d seen was that Fergus was a principled man, full of good intentions. He could be a little bombastic. He sentimentalized his opinions at times. Okay, Mirela, suspicious of all authority, had never taken to him …
he’d lick your hand then bite your hand.

I didn’t always understand the things Fergus said, and he was choosey about what he told you.

Some people like to keep secrets. There was the way he gently closed his notebook when people came up to him. It looked like a polite gesture …
sorry, you have my full attention now
… but it was also a secretive one. He wrote songs, he said. But I’d never asked the right question.

What are your songs about?

People live for years with a little voice at the back of their mind
…

Why had it never occurred to me before? Fergus was in the perfect position to gain the trust of girls with no name, no identity. He must have arrived in Bridgwater before the girl in the Dunball Wharf had died, and now I was wondering if he knew where Mirela was right this minute. And what had happened to Kizzy.

The nausea erupted, swept over me until I was sure I would vomit, right there on the road.

Change and status quo. Rey’s definition of murder motives.

Isn’t it what every fellow dreams of, going out with a bang?

Sweat pricked me like pinheads and dried in the wind that blew into my face. I was terrifying myself over nothing. I should not be thinking of pinning evil upon anyone I knew. I took in a deep, long breath—the first since my mind had dropped into a chasm. I forced myself to be reasonable. I was imagining these things. I had to be. I had kissed this man. Listened to him try to change the world for the better. They had taken his DNA and arrested someone else.

He had never told me what he’d done before, back in Belfast. Why should he? But now I couldn’t get the question out of my head.

What secrets had Fergus left in Ireland?

_____

Kate lived in a brick-and-concrete maisonette on the edge of town. I parked away from the double yellow lines, seeing as I didn’t know how long I’d be, and found her door on the long corridor of other doors. Hers was blue with a flat white button for the bell, which buzzed in my ear as I pressed.

She came immediately, swinging the door wide. I lifted her paper carrier of food. “Takeaway for Miss Siminski?” I’d only learnt her last name when I’d picked up her order from Max.