The Aura (8 page)

“Rebecca’s not going to hold us to anything I tell her in a social setting,” I said. “Besides, we don’t talk about work.”

“Says you,” sneered Ben. Although I knew better, I was provoked into arguing back.

“I promise you, this is just about two girls having lunch or a glass of wine together. We’re not sharing corporate secrets or planning the overthrow of the male-dominated management regime. The future of Bradley Cohen is not at stake. I think you’re over-reacting.”

Ben sniffed. “I doubt that Alan sees it that way.”

“I’m busy, Ben. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. And I’m sure you do too.”

I called Rebecca’s cell several more times and on the third call, got a recorded message saying that her voicemail box was full. The minutes dragged by. Every time I looked at the time in the corner of my computer monitor, I thought the screen had frozen. Finally, when the display showed 5p.m. I packed my briefcase, grabbed my coat and headed for the Tube.

Back at home, I dumped my briefcase in the hall. After putting the kettle on for tea, I changed into jeans and a warm sweater. I thought of calling Josh to ask his advice, but he was probably still out with Alan. I could go over to Rebecca’s flat to see if she were there, but she would have answered her phone. Peter Montgomery seemed to think she could be working elsewhere. Still, she had been out of touch for a long time, and that bothered me.

I took my cup to the living room, feeling my anxiety harden into a rock of foreboding that sat like lead in my stomach. Taking a last gulp of tea, I opened my laptop and started searching for the name Williams in Bournemouth. Maybe her parents would know where she was. There were ten listings, fewer than I’d feared, but the first five rang through to voicemail or to voicemail boxes that were full and refusing messages. Maybe nobody checked their landlines nowadays. On the sixth call, a woman answered. I asked for Rebecca.

“Who the hell is Rebecca?” she said. “And who are you? Do you know my husband?”

I rang off quickly and kept going, tapping numbers into my iPhone and feeling a little stupid. On the ninth call, a man responded. “Williams household. Who’s calling please?”

“Mr. Williams. I’m wondering if Rebecca is there?”

After a short pause, he replied. “No, I’m sorry. Who is this?”

“I’m a friend of Rebecca’s. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?”

“Well, she’ll be at home, I’d think,” he said. “Or maybe still at the office. She does seem to work long hours.”

I didn’t want to worry him by telling him she hadn’t turned up for work. “I lost her cell phone number,” I continued. “So I haven’t been able to reach her. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Oh, no bother, I can give you her number,” he said. I was touched by how trusting he was. Pretending to take note of the number, I thanked him and was about to ring off when he asked “Are you Kate, by any chance?”

“Yes, Kate Benedict,” I said, wondering how he could know who I was.

“Rebecca was here on Friday night. She told us she’d bumped into you. You were dorm mates in college, weren’t you? She sounded very happy that you are going to be friends again.”

“Thank you, Mr Williams,” I said. “I’m happy too.”

I tried to think of a way to ask him when he’d last heard from Rebecca without alarming him, but he was already saying goodbye. At least I knew that she wasn’t in Bournemouth.

Feeling rather morbid, I scanned some Internet news sites for any news of accidents or deaths in the London area, but nothing came up. I tried Rebecca’s cell again and when she didn’t pick up, I went to get my jacket and scarf. If she were at home, then she might be sick, perhaps sleeping with her phone turned off.

I joined the tail end of the late evening commute on the Tube, got off at Sloane Square, and hurried through the quiet streets to Rebecca’s house. Under the amber light of the street lamps, I could see my breath curling away in the cold air. An elderly lady walked past with a little dog on a leash. It was wearing a red jacket and matching red socks.

The bell for Rebecca’s apartment was lit and clearly marked. I pushed it several times, but there was no answer. Stepping back from the entry on to the pavement, I looked up at her windows. They were dark; the curtains were open and no lights were on, so it seemed obvious that she was away, perhaps on business, or perhaps at her boyfriend’s place. Now I was standing here in the cold, I felt rather silly. Of course, she could be with her boyfriend. She had seen him on Sunday evening, which was why she had cancelled our movie plans. If he was available for a couple of days, then maybe she had just decided to call in sick. I tried to ignore my hurt feelings. Surely she would have responded to my texts.

A taxi circled the square and pulled up a few yards away. I waited. Perhaps it was Rebecca coming home. The back door opened. A young couple paid the driver before making their way to the house next door. Defeated, I turned to walk back to the Tube station.

I had a thought, turned back, and walked up the black and white tiled pathway. The two men who lived in the flat on the second floor, what were their names? Nick and Gary? They might know where Rebecca was. I glanced up to confirm that their lights were on, a lambent glow behind gold-colored curtains. I pressed the button labeled Nick Carpenter. After a few seconds a voice came over the intercom.

“Yes? Who is it?” His voice was smooth and warm, like cafe latte.

“My name is Kate,” I answered. “We met about a week ago. I’m a friend of Rebecca’s.”

After a pause, Nick replied. “What can I do for you, Kate?”

“I’m worried about her.” I hated talking into the brass speaker plate. “Can I speak to you inside?”

There was a long silence, before I heard the door click open. Stepping into the elegant entryway, I waited, unsure whether Nick would come down to meet me. After a minute or so, he appeared at the top of the gently-lit stairs and waved me up. He was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, with bare feet. Music leaked from the open door of his apartment. I recognized the percussive piano notes of Thelonius Monk.

“Thank you,” I said, a little breathless from hurrying up the stairs. “I haven’t heard from Rebecca since Sunday and she hasn’t been to the office for two days. I’m worried that she might be ill…”

I stopped, gripping the banister. Nick had an aura. It was faint but there.

“Have you seen her?” I finished, but my thoughts were on what Nick’s aura could mean. What danger could there be to two people in the same building? Poisoning, toxic air, what was the name of that gas? Carbon monoxide. Or a building collapse? I realized my hand was hurting from grasping the smooth wood rail so tightly and I let go, feeling unsteady on my feet.

Nick cocked his head to one side. “Not since Friday actually. We chatted for a minute or two while we picked up our mail downstairs. I didn’t see her over the weekend because Gary and I were away until Sunday evening. We went to Brussels on the Eurostar, did some shopping, ate some amazing food and lots and lots of chocolate.” He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s all irrelevant, I know. So that was it. I didn’t see her this morning because Gary and I overslept. We just flew out of here in a rush to get to work.”

“She’s not answering her phone or responding to texts,” I said, “and she didn’t answer when I rang the bell just now.”

Nick shrugged. “Then she’s probably away. Business, pleasure…” His voice trailed away. “I don’t know what to say, Kate. It’s not unreasonable that an adult woman would be out of touch for a day or two. A little romantic liaison maybe?”

“There are no lights on in her flat.”

He gave me a look that made me smile in spite of the anxiety. “I said romantic. Candles, firelight? Get it?”

“Okay, I know,” I said. “But I still don’t think it’s that. She wouldn’t miss work.”

Or would she? I couldn’t be sure of that. This was probably a major overreaction. Still, having come this far, it would be good to know that she was all right.

“Can I go up and knock on the door?” I asked. “If she’s there with someone, she might answer even if it’s only to say ‘go away’. Once I know she’s all right, I can stop worrying.”

Nick nodded. “Of course. I’ll come with you.”

Gary appeared behind him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re just going to check on Rebecca,” Nick replied. I stared at Gary, but there was no aura. Goosebumps came up on my arms. What did Nick and Rebecca have in common that they would have auras, yet Gary didn’t?

Gary scowled and turned away. I got the impression he didn’t like me, but couldn’t think why not. We had never actually spoken to each other.

Nick led the way up the stairs to the next floor and then along the carpeted hallway. I hesitated before knocking on the door. As if by mutual agreement we both stood stock still, barely breathing, listening for any sound from inside. After half a minute, I looked at him and he nodded. I knocked again. This time I heard a rustling sound near the door followed by a loud and plaintive meow.

“Caspian!” Nick exclaimed. “Rebecca wouldn’t go away and leave the cat alone. She always asks me to check on him if she plans on being out late or is away on business.”

The cat, hearing our voices, began yowling and scratching the inside of the door.

“Oh, poor baby,” said Nick. “He sounds hungry.”

“And angry,” I added.

“Wait here. I have a key. I’ll be right back.” Nick disappeared, silent on bare feet. I leaned my forehead against the door, murmuring to the cat, who now sounded desperate to get out. Impatiently, I waited for Nick to reappear, which he did after a few minutes, bounding up the stairs, holding the key aloft.

“I’m coming, precious kitty,” he called as he put the key in the lock.

“Be careful. Make sure he doesn’t make a dash for freedom.”

As he pushed the door open just a few inches, I knelt down to block the cat’s exit. A cannonball of soft grey fur shot into my hands.

“It’s okay,” I cooed as I picked him up.

“Oh yuck, his litter tray needs cleaning out,” said Nick, poking his head through the door. I cradled a wriggling Caspian in my arms while Nick pushed the door open and felt around inside to find a light switch. Clutching the cat tightly, I followed him in and closed the front door behind me. The central heating was running. The air was hot and fetid. A sweet and cloying odor caught in my throat and made me gag. I bent to release Caspian, who fled up the hallway towards the bedroom. The motion of bending over made my stomach heave. I thought I might be sick.

Nick’s face was ashen. “What on earth is that?”

I put my hand over my nose and mouth, taking short sharp breaths. A sense of impending disaster weighed on me like a giant hand pressing down on my shoulders.

Nick walked towards the living room, flipping switches as he went, releasing bright light into every corner. I dragged myself a few paces behind him, terrified of what we would find. The silence was overpowering, a physical entity as strong as the smell. My head began to ache again.

Nick stopped at the entry to the living room, reaching in to turn on another light, and I saw him framed in the doorway, motionless. It seemed that minutes had passed before he spoke although I knew it was only seconds.

“Oh God, no,” he said.

Feeling detached from my own body, I watched myself take the few steps towards the door, watched Nick move aside to let me in. Both of us standing together, side by side, wordless, still.

Rebecca lay on her back in a pool of broken glass, the remains of the shattered coffee table. White roses, thrown from their ruined vase, rested all around her, the tips of the petals turning yellow. Blossoms of rusty black patterned the white carpet and Rebecca’s cream sweater. All color was drained from the scene, like an old black and white photograph, apart from the red of Rebecca’s hair, still as vibrant as ever. An empty wine bottle lay close by and the stem of a broken wine glass rested in her hand. The air around her head was perfectly still. The aura had gone.

A bloody print down the front of the white sofa. I imagined her fingers grappling for a hold. That detail hit my stomach like a fist. Rebecca had been hurt but hadn’t died immediately. How awful to lie there, feeling your life slipping away and not able to save yourself.

“Oh, Rebecca,” I whispered.

“I’m calling the police,” said Nick. His voice came as a shock in the silence. I heard the tapping on the cellphone and then him calmly saying that there had been an accident and to please send someone. He gave the address and put his phone back in his pocket.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” he said. “I can’t look at this any more. I’m going to make sure Caspian has food.”

I stood alone, paralyzed and numb, then sank to the floor, dizzy, while the room spun around me. Acid rose into my throat. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the bathroom, where I vomited several times. I remained there, curled up on the tile floor until I heard Nick tap on the door.

“Kate, the police are here,” he said quietly. “Can you come out? I hate talking to people in uniforms.”

I went to the sink and washed my face and hands and took several gulps of cold water. Noticing that the door of cabinet was slightly open, I peeked in to see that one shelf was empty. The bottle of aftershave and tubes of shaving cream had gone. That was odd. I wondered if the boyfriend had moved out.

Wiping my hands on a fluffy pink towel, I took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom. Two officers were with Nick in the living room, one of them in a corner talking on his radio. The other one introduced himself, but my mind was too full to absorb his name. I thought I might be sick again and stayed close to the door.

When the second policeman had finished his call, he came over and murmured something to his colleague, then turned to me.

“Sergeant Wilson,” he said holding out a hand to shake mine. “DCI Clarke and the medical examiner will be here soon. Meanwhile, we need to ask you a few questions.”

“Why do you need a detective?” asked Nick. “It’s obviously an accident.”

“It’s routine,” replied Wilson.

He peered at me. “Are you okay? We should go into the hall. It’s cooler out there. You too, sir,” he added, glancing at Nick.