“Is Doctor Engel here?” Lydia asks in a hushed voice, leaning across the reception desk.
“Yes,” Charlotte replies, “would you like me to call her down?”
“No, that’s okay. I know my way to her office.”
“Guests aren’t really allowed—” the receptionist begins, frowning.
“She’s expecting me.” Lydia looks back into Charlotte’s face, trying to gauge her reaction. “You could let her know I’m on my way up, if you like.” She turns away before the girl can answer, and crosses to the two officers waiting by the door. “You’re off the hook,” she says, with the air of someone presenting a generous gift. “I’ll get a ride back with Alex.”
Again, they exchange looks. “We should really wait,” says the female officer.
“How long have you been on duty?” Lydia asks the man, who looks the more exhausted of the two. He checks his watch.
“About eighteen hours now.”
“And how much overtime do you think they’re going to kick out for sitting around here waiting for me?”
“She’s got a point,” says the woman.
“Alright,” the man agrees, somewhat reluctantly. “If the detective changes his mind, he can call us. We have to go back to the station first anyway.”
“Thanks again,” Lydia calls over her shoulder, already on her way to the elevator.
Gretchen’s office door is closed, but there’s light spilling from underneath. Pressing her ear gently to it, Lydia can hear muffled voices within; one male, one female. The warden again? No, a younger voice. It’s Alex. She listens hard.
“It’s the same shit all over again,” Alex complains. “I can’t tell whether he knows anything or not.”
“How could he?” asks Gretchen, sounding quite exasperated. “He doesn’t have contact with the outside world, no newspapers, no television, letters, phone calls, nothing.”
“What if someone here is passing messages for him?”
“What are you suggesting?” Gretchen’s voice rises. “That one of our staff murdered this woman?” Alex doesn’t reply, at least audibly. “Do you think I killed her? Because I have a witness who was with me all night.”
“That’s true.” Lydia opens the door, knocking on it as an afterthought. “She was with me yesterday evening when you called.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex rounds on her at once. “I said I’d meet you at the hotel. Where are the officers who were supposed to be watching you?”
“I sent them home,” she replies coolly, stepping into the room and perching herself on the corner of Gretchen’s desk, facing him.
“What do you mean you sent them home?” Alex looks incredulous. “They’re supposed to take their orders from me, not you. I swear—”
“They’ve been on for eighteen hours, Alex, they need to sleep.”
“So do I, but I’m not about to just wander off and abandon my responsibilities.” He’s practically yelling now.
“They didn’t abandon anything,” Lydia says, calmly. “I said I sent them away. I’m not under arrest and I’m not a prisoner, and you need to calm down.” She turns to Gretchen before Alex has a chance to reply. “Can I see Jason?”
“He’s been in the interview room for hours already today,” Gretchen replies, eyeing Alex warily. Is he giving her a warning look? Lydia feels a rush of contempt for him. “I don’t know how far we should push him.”
“It won’t take long.” Lydia moves towards her, looking directly into the doctor’s eyes and summoning as much earnestness as she can. “Please. It’s important.”
Gretchen sighs. She looks from Lydia to Alex and back again as though trying to decide who she least wishes to anger, then says finally, “Alright. Ten minutes.”
“Thank you.” Lydia beams.
“Do I get a say in this?” asks Alex, brusquely.
“Why would you?” Lydia gives him a cool look. She does like him, but the macho protector routine is kind of a turn-off.
“Because it’s my investigation.”
“Oh, is he a suspect?” Lydia turns towards him, arms folded. “I’m sure we’d both be interested to hear your theory about how he broke out of here, murdered a woman, staged a display of frankly pretty sloppy taxidermy and then snuck back in completely unnoticed.”
Gretchen covers her mouth with her hand and looks away quickly.
“Fine,” Alex replies, spreading his hands to signal that he’s had enough. “Get yourself killed. You’re all as stubborn as each other.”
“All who, exactly?” Lydia glares at him dangerously, but Alex seems to know better than to answer that. Instead he leaves the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.
“Speaking of stubborn,” Gretchen murmurs.
“Seriously.” Lydia turns to her. “Thank you for this.”
“No problem.” Gretchen smiles. “But let’s get on with it before Shade finds out.” Lydia frowns at her, confused. “The warden,” Gretchen explains, fetching her keys from a drawer. “He’s not happy about all this attention. I think he’d rather like to see the back of you.”
*
Jason Devere tugs restlessly at his chains as Lydia enters the cold, white room. He stops when he sees her, that familiar wolf smile creeping across his face. “Well well,” he growls softly. “Here comes the good cop.”
“Why would you think that?” Lydia asks, taking the seat opposite and looking calmly back at him.
“Because that cop doesn’t have the temperament for it.” Lydia grins before she can catch herself. She looks away, but it’s too late. “Aha,” Jason’s voice is smooth and gleeful, “you two know each other.” He leans forward over the table and whispers, “How well, I wonder?”
“Don’t play the shrink, Jason.” Lydia gives him a pitying look. “You don’t have the training.”
“How do you know?”
“I know all about you.” She leans forward, knowing by now that his chains aren’t long enough to let him reach her. “I spoke to your teacher, remember? The one who was killed last night.”
“Not by me,” he shows off his manacles, “if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Of course not. But you do know who did it.”
“How would I?”
Lydia looks placidly back at him. She doesn’t know that yet, so the question is best left unanswered. “I presume Detective Gilbey told you what happened to her?”
“Do you call him detective in the bedroom, too?” Jason sneers.
“Jealous?” Lydia smirks.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Neither did you.” Jason stares her down, defiantly.
“You were fond of her, weren’t you?”
“Not especially.” He slumps back and looks around, his foot tapping on the smooth, grey floor. He is tired. “Besides, that was a long time ago.”
“What about your friend, Cecil?” Lydia watches him closely for a reaction, and she gets it. For a split second Jason’s pupils dilate. Fear. He’s worried about his old friend. He’s not directing this show. She knew it. But he does know something he’s not telling.
“What about him?”
“I went to see him this morning,” Lydia replies, casually.
“So what?”
“He wasn’t home.”
“That’s a great story, Lydia, truly. No wonder you sell so many books.”
“It’s a little odd, actually,” Lydia presses on, ignoring the sarcasm. “Because I got the distinct impression that he’d hardly left his house for years. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know, and I don’t care,” Jason replies, irritably. “Listen, if you’re the good cop aren’t you supposed to offer me a drink, or a blowjob or something?” He leers at her.
“I’m not a cop,” Lydia replies with her sweetest smile. “If you’re thirsty, you should let a guard know.”
“I like you less every time we meet,” he growls.
“I have that effect on people.” She smiles, getting to her feet. “Goodnight, Jason.”
“Hey,” he calls after her as she heads for the door. “Tell your boyfriend I don’t know anything.”
“That makes two of you,” she replies, without looking back.
*
Lydia makes quick time through Mortem’s maze of haunted corridors, back towards the cavernous foyer where she finds a man sitting in the waiting area. He is wearing a smart grey suit and his posture is upright and elegant. An immaculately groomed moustache that harks back to the turn of the century; cigarette cases and old sepia photographs. As she passes, he lifts his head and meets her eyes with his pale blue ones. His gaze is powerful, so much so that it causes Lydia’s breath to catch in her throat. She returns his polite smile, and continues on her way outside.
Sheet ice covers the car park under a thick, grey sky, snow falling heavily as Lydia picks her way carefully to the car that she is relieved to find has arrived safely. The lamp posts that line the drive are flickering, and the vines coiling and grasping around the building seem to be pulsing, shifting, tightening their grip. The world is on edge. A shape at the very top of Mortem catches her eye, something shifting atop the roof, a figure she can’t quite make out in the darkness. Its shadow ripples and expands, like a vast bird stretching its wings, and then in a moment it is gone.
Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?
Jason’s words echo in Lydia’s mind and she glances around, fishing in her pocket for her keys. But her hands fumble in the cold and she drops them next to the front wheel of the car.
You’re being paranoid, she scolds herself as she feels her fight or flight reflex kick in, her heart race, her breath quicken. She bends down and reaches for the keys with quaking fingers, when something heavy cracks her hard around the back of her head. Her brain lurches. Her eyes darken. Deep within her core, sparks fly briefly, then fizzle and die.