Simon Beckett - Whispers of the Dead

With a screech of rubber, the headlights abruptly swerved to the left. I caught a glimpse of a high-bodied pick-up, its windows black mirrors as it tore past with a throaty roar. The station wagon was rocked by its slipstream and then it was gone, its rear lights quickly disappearing into the darkness.

‘Damn redneck,’ Tom muttered.

He reached for the CD player, and the mellow tones of Chet Baker accompanied us back to civilization.

TOM DROPPED ME OFFat the hospital where I’d left my car. We arranged to meet first thing next morning at the morgue, and after he’d gone I gratefully drove back to my hotel. All I wanted to do was have a shower, get something to eat and then try to sleep.

Which was pretty much what I’d done almost every night so far.

I was on my way up to my room before I remembered I’d agreed to go out that evening. I checked the time and saw I’d less than half an hour before Paul was due to pick me up.

I sank down on to the bed with a groan. I felt less like company than ever. I was out of the habit of socializing, and the last thing I was in the mood for was making polite conversation with strangers. I was tempted to call Paul and make some excuse, except I couldn’t think of one. Besides, it would be churlish to turn down their hospitality.

Come on, Hunter, make an effort. God forbid you should enjoy yourself. Reluctantly, I pushed myself off the bed. There was just enough time for a shower if I hurried, so I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the cubicle, turning the jet on full. The scar on my stomach looked alien and strange, as if it wasn’t really a part of me. Even though the ugly line of pink flesh wasn’t tender any more, I still didn’t like touching it. In time I supposed I’d become used to its presence, but I wasn’t yet.

I turned my face up to the stinging spray, taking deep breaths of the steam-filled air to dispel the sudden rush of memory. The knife handle protruding from below my ribs, the hot, sticky feel of blood pooling around me on the black and white tiles… I shook my head like a dog, trying to cast out the unwanted images. I’d been lucky. Grace Strachan was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever known. She was also the most dangerous, responsible for the deaths of at least half a dozen people. If Jenny hadn’t found me in time I’d have added to that tally, and while I knew I should be grateful to be alive, I was finding it hard to put it behind me.

Especially since Grace was still out there.

The police had assured me that it was only a matter of time before she was found, that she was too unstable to remain free for long. But Grace had been a rich woman, consumed by a passion for vengeance that was as irrational as it was deadly. She wasn’t going to give herself away that easily. Nor was I her only target. She’d already tried to kill a young mother and daughter once, and only been prevented at the cost of another life. Since Grace’s attack on me, Ellen and Anna McLeod had been living under police protection and an assumed name. While they’d prove harder to track down than a forensic scientist who was listed in the phone book, the truth was that none of us would be safe until Grace was caught.

That wasn’t an easy thing to live with. Not when I bore the scars to remind me how close she’d come already.

I turned up the shower as hot as I could stand it, letting the water scald away the dark thoughts. Dripping wet, I towelled myself dry until my skin was stinging, then dressed and hurried downstairs. The hot shower made me feel better, but I still felt little enthusiasm as I went down to the hotel foyer. Paul was already there, scribbling intently in a small notepad as he waited on a sofa.

‘Sorry, have you been waiting long?’ I asked.

He stood up, tucking the notepad into a back pocket. ‘Only just got here. Sam’s in the car.’

He’d parked across the street. A pretty woman in her early thirties was waiting in the passenger seat. She had long, very blond hair and turned to face me as I slid into the back, her hands resting on her swollen stomach.

‘Hey, David, good to see you again.’

‘You too,’ I said, meaning it. There are some people you feel instantly at ease with, and Sam was one of them. We’d only met once, earlier that week, but it already seemed like I’d known her for years. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Well, my back hurts, my feet ache, and you don’t even want to know about the rest. But other than that I can’t complain.’ She smiled to show she didn’t mean it. Sam was one of the lucky women who wear their pregnancy well. She fairly shone with health, and for all the discomfort it was obvious she was loving every moment.

‘Junior’s been playing up lately,’ Paul said, pulling out into the traffic. ‘I keep on telling Sam that’s a sure sign it’s a girl, but she won’t listen.’

Neither of them had wanted to know the sex of the baby. Sam had told me it would have spoiled the surprise. ‘Girls aren’t that boisterous. It’s a boy.’

‘Case of beer says you’re wrong.’

‘A case of beer? That’s the best you can do?’ She appealed to me. ‘David, what sort of bet is that for a pregnant woman?’

‘Sounds pretty shrewd to me. He gets to drink it even if he loses.’

‘Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side,’ Paul protested.

‘He’s got more sense,’ Sam said, swatting him.

I began to unwind as I listened to their banter. It felt good to see their happiness, and if I felt a tug of envy it was only a small one. When Paul pulled up into a parking space I was disappointed the short journey was over.

We were in the Old City, the one-time industrial heart of Knoxville. Some factories and warehouses still remained, but the area had undergone a genteel conversion, the industry giving way to bars, restaurants and apartments. Paul had parked a little way up the street from the steakhouse where everyone was meeting, an old brick building whose cavernous space was now filled with tables and live music. It was already busy, and we had to ease our way to a large group sitting by one of the windows. The half-empty beer glasses and laughter announced that they’d been there for some time, and for a second I faltered, wishing I’d not come.

Then space was found for me at the table, and it was too late. Introductions were made, but I forgot the names as soon as I heard them. Other than Paul and Sam, the only person I recognized was Alana, the forensic anthropologist who’d told me where to find Tom in the facility earlier. She was with a brawny man I guessed must be her husband, but the rest were either faculty members or students I didn’t know.

‘You’ve got to try the beer, David,’ Paul said, leaning round Sam to see me. ‘This place has its own microbrewery. It’s fantastic.’

I’d hardly touched alcohol in months, but I felt I needed something now. The beer was a dark brew served cold, and tasted wonderful. I drank half of it almost straight off, and set the glass down with a sigh.

‘You look like you needed that,’ Alana said from across the table. ‘One of those days, huh?’

‘Something like that,’ I agreed.

‘Had a few of those myself.’

She raised her glass in an ironic toast. I took another drink of beer, feeling myself begin to relax. The atmosphere around the table was informal and friendly, and I slipped easily into the conversations going on around me. When the food arrived I tore into it. I’d ordered steak and a green salad, and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until then.

‘Having fun?’

Sam was grinning at me over the top of her glass of mineral water. I nodded, working to swallow a mouthful of steak.

‘Is it that obvious?’