wish to be too forward with his own views – I respect that, it is an admirable quality; you wish to gather all information first, yes, of course, naturally. Perhaps, then, it would be of interest to you to know that Patel was one of Khan’s closest confidants, and that if Khan revealed anything about his impending death, it would have been to that young gentleman? Awan, of course, was linked to Mr Guy Lee, who I’m sure you know of, a close associate of Mr Bakker’s. Koshdel was a gentleman who had very strong, perhaps too strong, views about the appropriate use of power, and liked to get involved. Pensley, one of my closest associates, yes, indeed, a tragedy for Pensley considering he was only doing as asked – Dhawan, a sorcerer like you, I’m sure you must have met him on occasion, and of course, he too knew Bakker. Akute… remains something of a mystery, but I suspect once we’ve had more time to research the nature of her demise, a link of sorts will transpire. Nothing provable, of course, nothing solid, there were never any witnesses, naturally, naturally! – and you always need more than motive. Theory, you understand, conjecture, nothing more, and Bakker is, after all, such an outstanding citizen.”
I raised my head slowly, for fear that if I rushed anything, I’d lose control. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “Are you hoping I’m going to say that Bakker attacked me?”
“No, no, I do not wish to impute any such suppositions to you!”
“He didn’t.”
“Of course not, no, I never thought…”
“I saw no one attack me.”
“But you have an idea who might have…”
“Yes.”
“May I be so bold as to enquire…”
“You can enquire; I don’t think I’ll answer yet. I don’t think I know enough. I don’t know you.”
He let out a little tired-uncle-left-with-the-children sigh. “I take it then, you have no interest in these other deaths.”
“They interest me very much. I knew some of them. And the manner of their deaths is disturbing.”
He let out an impatient sigh. “Do you know, sir, why I mentioned Robert James Bakker?”
“I take it you see some connection between him and these deaths.”
“All who have died are in some way linked to him; indeed, yes, it is most true. Including you, I believe? You and Robert Bakker … were very closely linked indeed, were you not?”
“Where is he now?”
“No one is entirely sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“He moves around. He is very difficult to find. These last few years… he has become more than just a recluse. No one knows where he’s based, or where he will be at any moment. It is suggestive, in itself. Do you know?”
“Me?”
“You knew him.”
“I guess so.”
“Come now, let us not be too coy, sir! I know that on the day you died, you met Robert Bakker at St Thomas’s Hospital. I know you argued with him, I know that you left him and walked along the river; all this is on record, sir, all this the police themselves turned up, quite without help from me, I may add. I know that a few hours after leaving him, you were found missing, but a lot of your blood was found very much present, sir. More, sir, more, I know that the people currently inhabiting your house are employees of a company that indeed, sir, is ultimately owned by Bakker’s own corporation, and that there was a good deal of external pressure from his lawyers to see your property and your assets divided as soon as possible after your presumed demise – such as there was. I’m sure, sir, why you understand my concern, yes indeed.”
“You know so much, why talk to me? I’ve said what I have to. I don’t know your reasons for being interested in Bakker, nor who you are, and I don’t really care. I’m only here to find the person who attacked me, and…” I stopped myself, but too late.
Sinclair’s eyes glowed with the reflected light of the city. “Yes,” he said, taking a long time to get the sound out. “And of course, ‘the one who brought you back’. That was the phrase you were looking for, was it not, Mr Swift? And she was right – you have most unusual eyes.”
“Is that relevant?”
“You must understand, Mr Swift. I have spent a considerable amount of time studying both your demise, and the unfortunate deaths of these people I have named, among others. It is… you may say… an invested interest. In this time I feel I have come to know you, or at least know what part of yourself you chose to leave behind to posterity – which may, in truth, not be much. I know what you look like, every detail of your face; I know your habits, your dispositions. I know that when you walked into that courtyard by the Thames your eyes were brown, and now when I look at you, your eyes are very much blue. And I find myself wondering – is this the same Matthew Swift after all, or is it some fraud? Perhaps… neither? Perhaps you do not experience the kind of death that I am given to believe you did by the state of your clothes when they were found, by the blood and the mess it made – forensic science, you see, marvellous thing. Perhaps you do not experience such things and come away the same. Perhaps you change to survive, yes?”
I looked away.
“There was one thing about the death of Matthew Swift that struck me most,” he explained after a pause.
“What was that?”
“His fingerprints were found, in blood, on the receiver of a telephone booth just a few metres from where we find the first pool of blood. He dragged himself to the booth, lifted the receiver, but did not dial 999. Instead, the body disappears, leaving merely the shredded remains of bloody clothes, a few loose pieces of skin and the odd vital fluid from the occasional organ.”
“So you think Bakker had me attacked?”
“I do sir, indeed yes, I do. I think you may be so inclined as well – at least, your curiosity must have been aroused – unless of course you know something that I don’t, in which case I would implore you to share such knowledge.”
“Didn’t see anyone I knew.”
“But of course you saw something?” He was almost panting, the sweat trickling down his cheek. We could smell the salt in it, feel the heat from his face. “The police think that Swift took a long time to die, yes? You must have seen something!”
I thought about it. We didn’t trust this man; but on the other hand, what he seemed to know already was enough to make him interesting. “It was a shadow,” I said. “That’s all.”
“Come now! Come!” he proclaimed. “I’m sure there must be more!”
Abruptly I stood up. “Mr Sinclair,” I said, “you have a lot of information. Yes, I talked with Bakker, I quarrelled with Bakker. But whether he is behind what happened to me, I will not say. Until I know more, I will not trust you. I have learnt too many lessons to take that chance, and we are still new to this game.”
“We?” his voice cut in, sharp and harsh.
I ignored it. “You want my help with something. What is it?”
He got to his feet, and now there was no friendliness in his face, just a full, sweeping stare, trying to read every part of my mind and heart. “Matthew Swift,” he said, slow and deliberate. “I do not know with what power you must have consorted to stay alive, when so many others died who, I think, had been more knowledgeable, powerful, careful and aware than you ever were. But if what sustains your life now becomes a threat to me, I will eliminate it, do you understand?”
We shook our head. “We are not here for you,” we explained, and for a moment there was fear in his eyes. I folded my arms. “So, Mr Sinclair. Tell me. What exactly do you want?”
He thought about it, stretching up to his full, not-too-impressive height, and folding his hands behind his back in a formal posture. Finally he said, “Let us be blunt with each other. I am interested in finding out more about Mr Bakker’s organisation, his friends, his purpose, his abilities and his history. I, and some other… concerned citizens… suspect that this gentleman may be exploiting his many advantages for a level of personal gain which may endanger others of my persuasion.”
“And what persuasion is that?”
