“What did you say?” Clive demanded in a hollow voice.
“I said, Gloria Lavelle is dead,” Vie repeated more softly. She stepped over the threshold, Beckley in tow. Clive automatically fell back before her determined advance.
Her heart softened as she took in his stunned expression. Vie touched his arm with her free one and drew him farther down the entrance hallway so Beckley could shut the door. It surprised her that she didn’t feel any revulsion at touching him. It had been Julius, then, that had caused her skin to crawl those many years ago when she’d first laid a hand on his arm.
“How? How did she die?” Clive asked, taking control of his own body and moving ahead of them, beyond the arch to the living room and on through to the kitchen where a finely polished table for six sat at one end of the oblong space. “Was she shot?” he asked, pausing to turn startled eyes to them. “I feel like she was shot.”
“Yes.” Vie folded her arms. Beckley had his hand on her shoulder. They were not yet ready to explain the particulars. To deflect Clive from asking, she delivered a mild taunt. “Did you guess that on your own or did Julius tell you?”
Clive stiffened. “I am not without some talent of my own, Ms. Tine.” He glowered at her. “As I’ve often mentioned before.”
“I only wanted to know if Julius is with you now,” she explained calmly, pleased her gambit had worked.
“No, he is not. I also implied that earlier when I offered to call him to me.” Clive waved them toward the table. “Please, sit down. I know you have a predilection for coffee, Ms. Tine. I must have felt a presentiment of your arrival because I’ve made an entire pot and usually I only make a half pot at a time.”
“A full pot? Excellent. What are you two going to drink?”
“Ah, your witticisms are always so welcome, Ms. Tine,” Clive said, bestowing a sour smile on her. “Doctor Hume? Would you care for a cup of coffee?”
“None for me thank you,” Beckley said, drawing out a chair and holding it for Vie. He sat beside her and kept a hand resting on her forearm.
“Tea, then?” Clive asked, looking smug. “Interestingly enough, I’ve also only just now made a pot of tea. Do you care for some?”
“Very nice. Thank you.”
“Ms. Tine, I don’t know how you managed to acquire a…well…a guide who is so polite and well-mannered,” Clive commented, pouring out a china mug of coffee.
Vie waited until the coffee was safely in front of her on a cork coaster before stating with obvious relish, “We’re getting married.”
Their host paused on the way back to the kitchen, his hands opening and closing spasmodically at his side. He turned around. A rictus-like grin marred his features. “Congratulations.”
“We’ll send you an invitation,” Vie promised.
“Delightful. I’ll watch for it in the mail.” Clive turned away.
Beckley hid a smile behind his hand.
Vie grinned openly. “Do you have any cream and sugar?”
“I’m surprised you don’t drink it black,” Clive said, bringing the teapot to the table. He set this on a rattan hotpad. “Surely true aficionados drink it black?”
Vie did not rise to that bait. However, her fingers began to drum on the tabletop as Clive puttered about the kitchen putting a white doily on a tray, then two teacups and teaspoons alongside a blue china cream jug and matching sugar bowl. He opened an English biscuit tin, removed precisely six cookies from the container using tongs, put them on a small saucer and only then carried the tray over to the table.
“You should have been a butler,” Vie commented drily, reaching for the sugar bowl.
“It is interesting that you should say that,” Clive said, surveying the table with one finger held before his chin. “Napkins. Yes. Interesting. My grandfather was in service. To one of the Vanderbilts.” He opened a drawer in the polished sideboard, took out three small cloth napkins and handed one to each of them, keeping the last for himself. He sat down, looked at Beckley and said, “I’ll be mother, shall I?”
Beckley smiled at him, genuinely amused by the man’s affectations. “Yes, please. It has been a long drive and I’m very much looking forward to a cup of tea.”
“Then you shall have one.”
Vie rolled her eyes. Clive saw the movement, apparently read it as derision and his lips tightened.
Hastily, Beckley commented, “Vie has little opinion of tea drinkers as a species. When we visited my parents earlier this week, she was forced to be polite and drink a cup of instant coffee. I don’t think her mood has quite recovered.”
Clive shuddered along with Vie. “I sympathize, Ms. Tine.”
“Horrid, horrid stuff,” she murmured, then took a sip and closed her eyes. “Oh, that’s good.”
“Thank you,” Clive said. He sighed. “Poor Agent Lavelle. She was a decent woman, willing to accept the unusual. Funny, though. I’ve always had a feeling she’d die in the line of duty.”
Beckley set down his cup, nodding in a noncommittal fashion. Vie’s arm vibrated beneath his.
Steady, he thought, it wasn’t Clive who caused her death.
I’m fine. It’s not him I’m furious with. It’s just that I’m used to constantly associating him with Julius.
Clive held Beckley’s gaze within his fixed, earnest regard. “Dr. Hume. Ms. Tine. Why have you come here? Surely, not only to tell me about Agent Lavelle’s death. And not for a consultation, I assume?”
They’d discussed the approach they should take on the drive up, going over this scenario and that possibility. In the end they’d decided that Beckley should take the lead in an attempt to learn more about Clive and Julius’ association. Since she and Clive already had an adversarial relationship, she’d take the role of bad cop to Beckley’s good cop.
“We are here for a sort of consultation,” Beckley confessed. Clive raised his eyebrows. “You spoke about your own talent. I’m new to this arena. No doubt Vie already knows but would you mind telling me what your talent is?”
Clive reached out and picked up a cookie. “I’m clairvoyant,” he said and then took a bite.
Frowning, Beckley asked for clarification. “I thought clairvoyance was an umbrella term. Will you be more specific?”
“Didn’t you know? Clive here talks to dead people,” Vie scoffed.
Clive stiffened. “There’s been times, Ms. Tine, when I’ve wanted to…but, no. No, I am not a violent man. But—”
“I know,” Vie murmured. “One of these days. Right, Clive?”
“Anyways,” Beckley said, squeezing her arm. “Am I to understand by Vie’s comment that you are a medium?”
“Yes. I also have a small measure of precognitive ability.”
“Is that why you took so long answering the door?” Vie asked.
“As it happens, I had the feeling something, or perhaps I should say someone nasty was waiting on the other side. I almost didn’t answer it at all.” Clive put the remainder of his cookie down on the side of his saucer.
“Touché.” Vie drained her mug and held it out to be refilled. “Please.”
Clive sniffed fastidiously and took her mug.
“Do you think your natural talent has increased or decreased since beginning to work with Julius?” Beckley asked.
Clive turned to look at them, the coffee pot poised over the mug. “What an odd question. I don’t know…I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it. Hmm.”
“When did Julius first begin speaking to you?” Beckley asked.
“Seven years ago,” Clive said, returning to the table with Vie’s cup. “I was conducting a séance with a widow and her two grown sons when Julius first spoke to me. I’ve never had a spirit come through to me so strongly,” he confessed in a faraway voice, his gaze unfocused. “He told me all sorts of things about my clients—things that I passed on, naturally.”
“Naturally. Were they pleased with your knowledge?”
Clive looked at Vie, clearly annoyed with her interruption. “Of course. Startled too. I don’t think the two sons really believed I could tell them anything. They wanted to know if their dead father was resting in peace. However, Julius told me that what they really needed to know was if anyone had guessed that they had accidentally-on-purpose helped him pass over. Euthanasia.”
“Ah,” Beckley said. He leaned forward. “What did you tell them?”
In a smug tone, Clive continued, “Julius warned me not to reveal what he’d told me. He said the eldest son’s motives had not been pure. He had a violent nature—”
“Julius should know,” Vie said into her coffee and then mentally kicked herself for being a smartass when Clive turned blazing eyes to hers.
“Did you want to hear this story or not?” he snapped.
“Sorry. Force of habit. Not enough caffeine today.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and pointedly looked at Beckley when he continued. “I told them that their father was resting peacefully. That he missed them and was looking forward to when they could be reunited.” Clive fiddled with his teaspoon and then gave an eloquent, even compassionate, shrug. “It’s what everyone wants to know, really. No matter what they say.”
“What did you do after they left? Did you call the police?” Beckley asked.
“Yes. It was the first case we ever assisted the police or the FBI with. The eldest son wanted his share of the life insurance. He was a very charming man and he convinced his family that the father should be relieved of his misery and pain.”
Vie hesitated and then decided to ask a personal question, risking Clive’s possible negative reaction. “How’s your mother? Is she doing any better?”
He turned suspicious eyes to her and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Finally, he said in a relatively calm voice, “No. She’s the same. I went by to see her the day before yesterday.”
Vie nodded. “Having her so near must be a comfort. I know you travel a lot, like me… Still, it must be nice to know that she’s nearby when you come home.”
Clive cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea before saying, “It is. Thank you.”
They drank their tea and coffee in silence for a moment. Beckley stirred in his chair. A strong sense of urgency was building in him and he didn’t know if it was a result of what they still had to tell Clive or because of his fear that Julius could join them at any moment. He broke the silence with a question. “Mr. Winston? Did it ever occur to you that Julius might be a living person? Someone with telepathic powers?”
“I beg your pardon?” Clive asked, his back stiffening.
Beckley opened his mouth to repeat the question but Clive burst out an answer.
“No! Never. Whatever can you mean?”
“Just this,” Beckley said, his hand raised, palm forward. “We believe that Julius is a real, living person, who uses his talent to help you solve cases.”
Clive’s mouth opened and shut like a fish. He pointed his finger at Vie. “You’ve put Dr. Hume up to this.”
“It’s true, Clive,” she swore. “Julius is alive. He’s not a spirit.”
He rose to his feet and took several quick steps away. He rounded on her. “Julius is a spirit. You’re crazy to believe otherwise. You’re jealous. That’s it.” Clive licked his lips and then swiped the back of his hand across them. His voice rose. “Jealous. Because he’s never spoken to you. You don’t know.”
“I know,” Beckley said, pushing his chair back but not standing. “I know because Julius has spoken to me and he admitted to being alive.”
Clive’s eyes were so big and his face was so red Beckley thought he might fall into a fit. In a gasp, the man choked out, “You’re lying.”
The accusation hung in the air like a sulphurous soap bubble. The only sound came from Clive’s heavy, anxiety-ridden breathing. Finally, he repeated in a whisper, “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” Beckley’s confident rejoinder burst the bubble and the room was fouled with Clive’s distressed panic.
“He can’t be. He can’t be. I would have known, I tell you. Surely, I would have known.” Clive wrung his hands together and paced throughout the oblong kitchen. Something must have shifted in his thinking because when next he spoke he seemed to have accepted his new reality. “Why didn’t he tell me? All this time. Years. Years of working together.” He approached the table and stared, wild-eyed at Vie. “Why didn’t he trust me? He could have trusted me.”
There was so much anguish in his words, Vie replied as gently as she could. “I don’t think Julius trusts anyone.”
He shook his head as if rejecting her assertion. “Do you know how many years I’ve wished that I might have known him? To meet such a wonderful person? And he’s been alive all this time? Where is he? Do you know? I want to meet him. I have to meet him.”
Vie exchanged looks with Beckley. They’d decided that she’d be the one to tell him this part. The pleasure she thought she’d feel exposing Julius’ true nature to Clive had disappeared. She took a deep breath and released it in a whoosh of disgusted sound.
“I’m sorry, Clive, but it’s worse than you know.”
“What do you mean?” He looked from her to Beckley, then back again. She gestured to his chair and he plopped himself down in it, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Julius is not a nice man.” Vie watched Clive’s eyebrows descend. He glowered at her. “I know you don’t want to hear this. You must believe us. He’s a psychopath.”
Clive wheezed, rearing up from his chair. “How can you say that? You have always despised me, Ms. Tine, and you have always mocked Julius. This is a form of libel. You have hated Julius from the moment I met you.”
“That’s not true. There was no hate because I’ve never believed you were talking to anyone,” Vie acknowledged, then winced when his nostrils flared. She wanted to stand up and wave her arms around to vent some of her frustration and anxiety. However, she wouldn’t separate herself from Beckley just to appease her spleen. Besides, Clive was shorter than she and he’d feel intimidated if she stood up. “I hate him now, though. Ever since he began talking to Beckley he’s made our lives miserable.”
Clive shook his head, backing away from the table. “I don’t understand any of this. It isn’t possible for Julius to be a psychopath. He’s always helped me on my cases and he’s always been nice to me.”
Vie opened her mouth to argue.
Let me, Beckley thought at her. She shut her mouth.
“Mr. Winston. Will you permit me to tell you about my experience with the individual calling himself Julius?” Beckley beckoned for Clive to return to the table. “Please. Won’t you sit? Thank you. Now, there’s always the chance that what I have been experiencing is not your Julius at all but rather someone else. This is where we could use your expertise. I have never had anyone speak into my mind before.”
“It is an unusual experience for any of us,” Clive said with awful graciousness. He held himself in such tight control that Vie thought he might fracture into a million pieces if they were able to prove that his pet spirit was a monster.
“I know it is an imposition,” Beckley said quietly. “However, I would like to ask a favor of you. Please, hold Vie’s hand.”
“Why?” he asked, visibly cringing.
Beck? Tell him.
Are you sure?
Yes. We have to be willing to give up something if we have any hope of convincing him.
You’re right.
“Though we’ve been careful to hide this from Julius, Vie’s touch is proof against his mental interference,” Beckley informed him solemnly. “Please. To oblige me.”
Clive folded his lips and stiffly held out his hand to Vie. She clasped his firmly, amazed once more that she felt no revulsion at touching him. He reflexively tried to tug it free. She grinned and held on tighter.
Beckley began at the beginning. He told about first hearing the voice while he was playing cards on the flight back from Vancouver. Then he told of the time he realized the voice was not some subconscious impulse of his own. Without explaining about his ability to read auras he continued to explain about hitchhiking incidents and how the voice had tried to force him to damage Vie’s plate collection. He spoke about Mrs. Opic and the evil miasma surrounding the woman, about how she’d known about the murders in Vancouver. Beckley related about the day the bus driver had been watchingthem and crashed.
“I didn’t want to engage him in conversation. We realized, however, that the only way we might learn his identity was to get him to tell us. I had to talk to him. On the day we went to visit my parents, I was able to convince the voice to play a game of Twenty Questions.”
“That was clever,” Clive praised in a hollow voice.
“Thank you. One of the questions I asked him was if he was a living person. He said yes. He’s over fifty years old. He hasn’t been in the military. He’s been to prison. He’s admitted to killing people and using others to kill for him. He gets a vicarious charge out of it.”
Beckley paused and they both watched Clive. Their host took out a white handkerchief and dried his sweaty forehead. He pressed the cloth to his lips.
“And…and this is when this individual claimed to be Julius?”
“There was a break in the questioning. I don’t know why. Regardless, he went away. We had a chance to talk over the situation with Vie’s cousin Suzy. Do you know her?”
“Yes.” Clive’s one-word answer popped out of his mouth. He elucidated. “Miss Wanamaker.” He folded his lips again and said no more.
Vie spoke. “The reason we’ve never liked you is because every time Suzy or I have worked with you, Julius has been in your mind. He has such an oily, revolting vibe that—”
“He does not!” Clive exclaimed. He attempted to tug his hand free of Vie but she held on more tightly. “Let go of my hand, Ms. Tine. I won’t hear any more of this.”
“No. We have more to tell you and you must sit there and listen.”
“I won’t. You can’t force me to listen to you,” Clive insisted.
Vie glared at him and spoke directly into his mind.
You will sit still and pay attention, Clive Winston, even if I have to tell you everything mind to mind.
All the color vanished from Clive’s cheeks. He stared at Vie as if she’d grown an extra head. His bluster evaporated.
“Go on, Dr. Hume,” he whispered, keeping his wide eyes trained on Vie.
“I am very sorry that this is so distressing to you,” Beckley said, his tone earnest and kindly. “We are not here out of cruelty. No matter how much it may seem like it to you. We are desperate to learn this individual’s true identity. Suzy suggested that he must be Julius. When next he spoke to me, we continued the game and I asked him outright if he was Julius.”
“What did he say?” Clive asked as though disinterested in Beckley’s answer. His gaze, however, switched from Vie’s to his.
“He didn’t want to answer. When he finally admitted it, he was furious. He has boasted to me that he has minions he uses for his own vile purposes. We flew back to Vancouver so Vie could ‘look’ at the murder scene.”
“Remember the delivery men I mentioned on my first trip? They killed the family.”
Clive shook his head. “That’s not what Julius said.”
“I’m going to try to put the images into your head as I saw them when I ‘looked’. Is that okay with you?” Vie asked.
She didn’t think he’d agree and she sympathized with him. However, her sympathy went only so far. Julius was like a case of gangrene that would kill if they didn’t amputate him from Clive’s life. She was sorry for it but it had to be done. To her surprise, he gave a short nod, showing strength she hadn’t thought he possessed. When she was finished, they both lifted their now-cold drinks to their lips with hands that trembled.
Clive opened his mouth. No sound came out.
“You don’t have to say anything. Merely listen to the rest of our story.” Beckley waited for his nod and then went on to recount everything else they knew about Julius, including how he had attempted to force Gloria to kill Vie and culminating with the knowledge about Julius they had learned from Hank earlier.
“What is Julius’ real name?” Clive asked, taking a shuddering breath. “Did your friend at the FBI tell you that?”
“He said the records showed that Julius’ and Caesar’s names were John and Jack Doe. Hank promised to dig further.”
Clive frowned. He stared at Beckley for so long that Vie said, “What? What is it? Do you know something?”
“Uh, no. No. I don’t know anyone named John Doe,” Clive said, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He looked away and out the window. “How could I? No one is really named that.”
“According to Hank there are over two hundred people legitimately named John Doe living in the United States,” Beckley replied. “If you know anything, Mr. Winston—anything at all that might help us find him—please tell us.”
“I don’t know anything. I swear…” His hand tightened around Vie’s. “He’s been using me for years, hasn’t he? How many of the crimes we’ve solved has he caused? How many?”
“We have no way of knowing,” Beckley said. He poured them both some tepid tea.
“I feel like a fool,” Clive confessed in a stark, pitiful whisper.
Vie asked, “When was your last MRI?”
Clive looked at her and frowned. “I’ve never had one. Why?”
“Gloria’s brain looked like she’d fallen from a high altitude. I’ve seen one of Julius’ minions bleeding from his ears, his eyes and his nose. Just like Gloria’s. Have you ever bled from there since you’ve been in contact with Julius?”
“Yes,” he admitted and bit his lip in thought. “Only when I’ve tried to reach him and couldn’t without enormous effort. Horrible headaches too. Oh my lord. I need an MRI, don’t I?”
“The sooner we find Casper and deal with him the better off you’ll be,” Vie pointed out. Dang, she thought, why can’t I keep a lid on my mouth? He hates it when I call his spirit guide by that name. “Uh, sorry, Clive. It just slipped out.”
Clive shook off her hand with violent movements. “Oh, shut up. I’m tired and I don’t know if I believe a word of what you say. It’s not possible, I tell you. It’s just not possible!”
“But, Mr. Winston,” Dr. Hume said. “You must believe us.”
“Must I? Must I?” Clive jumped up from his seat and backed away until he was all the way into the kitchen. “I don’t know why. You think I should take your word for it that everything you’ve said is the truth. Well I refuse. Do you hear me? I refuse. Julius has never done anything to indicate that his character is different than he has presented.”
His mind was in a whirl. Nothing they said made any sense to him. Everything had to be a lie. It had to be. Julius was a saint. A heavenly spirit who had helped him so many times. He’d been kind and patient. He couldn’t be the psychopath they claimed. It was impossible.
Unbidden, the horrendous images Violet Tine had shared with him marched before his mind’s eye. How come she could do that? Telepathy wasn’t her talent. Why did she have this additional talent when he’d give anything if only one of his talents was as strong as hers?
Because of Julius, he was needed. Julius made him special. Violet Tine wanted to take that away from him. How dare she?
Your life would be so much better if she were dead.
Clive agreed. Life would be better if Vie was dead.
You could kill her, Clive. Take a knife from your drawer and kill her. She’s trying to ruin everything.
She already has ruined everything. He took a step toward the counter. Now he was at the drawer where he kept his sharp knives.
The world would be better off without someone like her in it. Do it. You know you want to. It’s okay. She doesn’t deserve to live. When she’s gone, everything can go back to the way it was. We’ll solve more crimes together. You’ll see. We’ll be the best team the FBI or the police have ever used. Do it, Clive.
The drawer was open now. The light from the window over the kitchen sink gleamed across the surfaces of his professional-grade knives. Which one should I use?
The bread knife.
Really? Why?
Because it hurts more.
I understand.
I knew you would.