Moon (15 page)

    '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 had 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-f. 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 his own skin.

    He sensed It…

    

    

    
… It sensed him…

    

    

    '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.'

    'I still don't understand why
you,
Jon. You don't claim to be psychic except on these few occasions, and you're not even interested in the subject - quite the reverse, in fact. You shun the subject of the paranormal as if it's taboo.'

    'We've discussed what happened to me before.'

    'I didn't mean that. I meant in general terms, the occult, the supernatural, the kind of things people like to talk openly about nowadays. You've always shied away whenever I've happened to mention anything to do with spiritualism or ghosts or vampires.'

    'That's all kids' stuff.'

    'There you are, dismissing the subject out of hand. Almost as if you're scared to talk about it.'

    'That's nonsense.'

    'Is it? Jon, why have you never really spoken to me about your parents?'