Simon Beckett - Whispers of the Dead

Yes, I do. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. But you see why dinner isn’t a good idea.’

‘This is no time to be on your own. And I know Sam would like to see you.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Trust me, if I thought there was any chance of putting her at risk I wouldn’t be asking you. I’m not saying York isn’t dangerous, but I can’t see him being crazy enough to try anything now. Leaving the skin on your car was probably an empty threat. He had his big chance with Tom, and he blew it.’

‘I hope you’re right. But I still think we should leave it till some other time.’

He sighed. ‘Well, it’s your call.’

After he’d gone a wave of depression settled over me. I was almost tempted to phone and say I’d changed my mind. But only almost. Paul and Sam had enough going on in their lives as it was. The last thing I wanted was to take any trouble to their door.

I should have realized that Sam wasn’t going to be put off that easily.

I was in the hospital’s cafeteria, picking listlessly at a bland tuna salad and moodily contemplating the rest of the day, when she rang. She got straight to the point.

‘So what’s wrong with my cooking?’

I smiled. ‘I’m sure your cooking’s delicious.’

‘Oh, it’s the company, then?’

‘It isn’t the company either. I appreciate the invitation, really. But I can’t make tonight.’ I hated being evasive, but I wasn’t sure how much Sam knew. I needn’t have worried.

‘It’s all right, David, Paul’s told me what happened. But we’d still like to see you. It’s thoughtful of you to be concerned, but you can’t put yourself in quarantine until this creep’s been caught.’

I gazed out of the window. People were walking past outside, absorbed in their own lives and problems. I wondered if York was out there somewhere. Watching.

‘It’s only for a few days,’ I said.

‘And if it was the other way round? Would you turn us away?’

I didn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re your friends, David,’ Sam went on. ‘This is an awful time, but you don’t have to be alone, you know.’

I had to clear my throat before I could answer. ‘Thanks. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not right now.’

‘Then let’s make a deal. Why don’t you let this TBI guy decide? If he agrees with you, then you get to stay in your room and watch cable. If not, you come over tonight for dinner. OK?’

I hesitated. ‘OK. I’ll call him and see what he says.’

I could almost hear her smile down the phone line. ‘I can save you the trouble. Paul checked with him already. He says he doesn’t have any objection.’

She paused, giving me time to realize I’d been set up.

‘Oh, and tell Paul to pick up some grape juice on your way over, will you? We’re all out,’ she added sweetly.

I was still grinning as I lowered the phone.

The traffic was bad heading out of Knoxville, but it eased the further from the city we went. I followed Paul, trying to keep his car in sight in the constantly streaming lanes. I switched on my radio, letting the anodyne music wash over me. But I still felt restless and on edge, glancing round every few minutes to see if I was being followed.

I’d called Gardner before we’d left. Not because I didn’t trust Sam, but I still wanted to speak to him myself.

‘Provided you take your own car and don’t go walking off anywhere by yourself, I don’t have a problem with it,’ he’d said.

‘So you don’t think I’ll be putting them at any risk?’

He sighed. I could hear the exasperation in his voice. ‘Look, Dr Hunter, we want York to think you’re behaving normally. That doesn’t mean locking yourself in your hotel room every night.’

‘But you’ll have someone following me anyway?’

‘Let us worry about that. Like I said, for now you just need to carry on as normal.’

Normal. There was precious little that was normal about the situation. Despite Gardner’s reassurance, I’d left the mortuary through a back door rather than the main entrance. Then I’d driven round the hospital campus, meeting Paul at a different exit from the one I usually took. Even so, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. As I followed him away from the hospital, I repeatedly checked in the mirror. Nothing pulled out behind me. If the TBI or anyone else was there I couldn’t see them.

Still, it was only when I’d merged with the homeward flow of evening traffic, becoming part of the metal river, that I began to accept that I wasn’t being followed.

On the outskirts of Knoxville Paul stopped at a drive-by store for Sam’s grape juice. He suggested I wait in my car, but I wasn’t about to do that. So I went in with him, buying a bottle of Napa Valley Syrah I hoped would go with whatever Sam was cooking. The air was tainted with petrol and exhaust fumes as we walked back to the cars, but it was a beautiful evening. The sun was starting to set, throwing golden arms across the skyline, while the thickly wooded slopes of the Smoky Mountains purpled into dusk.

I gave a start as Paul swore and slapped at the back of his neck.

‘Damn bugs,’ he muttered.

He and Sam lived in a new lakeside development between Knoxville and Rockford to the south. Part of it was still being built, piles of earth and timber giving way to manicured lawns and newly planted flower beds the further in we went. Their house was on a meandering side road that skirted the lake and curved round each property, giving a pleasing impression of space and privacy. The development still had a raw, unfinished look, but it had been well planned with plenty of trees, grass and water. It would be a good place to raise a family.

Paul turned into the driveway and pulled up behind Sam’s battered Toyota. I parked on the road and climbed out to join him.

‘We’re still decorating the nursery, so don’t mind the mess,’ he said as we headed up the path.

I wouldn’t. For the first time I felt glad I’d come, my spirits lighter than they’d been in days. Their house was set slightly back from the rest so that it had a larger garden. In a rare display of conservation and common sense, the builders had worked round a beautiful mature maple, turfing around it so the tree became a centrepiece. I remember thinking as we walked past that it would be ideal for a child’s swing.

It’s odd how these things stay with you.

‘Paul? Wait up a second!’

The shout came from the neighbouring house. A woman was bustling across the lawn towards us. Tanned and trim, with too-bright blond hair coiffed into an elaborate bun, at first glance I’d have put her in her late fifties. But as she drew closer I revised that upwards, first to sixties and then seventies, as though she was ageing with every step.

‘Oh, great,’ Paul muttered under his breath. He mustered a dutiful smile. ‘Hi, Candy.’

The name was too cute and too young, yet somehow suited her. She went to stand close to him, her poise that of an ageing model who doesn’t realize her decade is over.

‘I’m so glad I saw you.’ Her too-white dentures gave her words a slight sibilance. She rested a liver-spotted hand on his arm, the veined skin as brown as old moccasins. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon. How’s Sam?’

‘She’s fine, thanks. Just a false alarm.’ Paul started to introduce me. ‘Candy, this is—’

‘A false alarm?’ Her face fell with dismay. ‘Oh, Lord, not again. When I saw the ambulance, I felt sure it was for real this time!’

There was an instant when the evening seemed suspended. I could smell the freshness of the new grass and blossom, feel the first chill of night behind the spring warmth. The smooth weight of the wine bottle in my hand still held the promise of normality.