Black Cathedral

keeping with the traditional ambience of the Manse. At least there were no bloodstains on the floor.

She took a framed photograph of Gemma and Amy from her suitcase, set it down on the bedside cabinet and stared at it for a moment, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. She wanted things to return to the way they were. She wanted her marriage back. Sitting down on the bed she picked up the photograph and traced the outline of the girls’ faces with her fingertips. How on earth was she going to break the news to them that Daddy had left and wouldn’t be coming back? Amy was too young to really comprehend the news, but Gemma would understand what she was being told. The father of another little girl in her class at school had been killed in a car crash just four months ago and Gemma had shown an almost macabre fascination for the details. She’d talked about it endlessly for three days; asking about Heaven, about funerals, about what it was like to die. ‘Will you die, Mummy? Will I die? What happens when you die?’ The questions went on forever. And Gemma took the answers she was offered and absorbed them, assimilated them with a pragmatism that only children can summon.

Her enquiring eight-year-old mind wouldn’t take the news of a marriage breakup at face value. There would be questions; difficult questions that would require even more difficult answers. It was going to be hell.

A tap at the door brought her back to the present. She replaced the photograph on the cabinet and went across to the door.

Kirby was standing in the hallway, two mugs of tea in her hand, a hesitant smile hovering on her lips. ‘Sustenance for the troops,’ she said.

‘Kirby, you’re a lifesaver.’

The girl set the mugs down on the cabinet, sat down on the bed and picked up the photograph. ‘Are these your kids?’

Jane nodded. ‘Gemma and Amy.’

Kirby smiled. ‘They’re so pretty. How old are they?’

‘Gemma’s eight, Amy’s five.’ God, where did the time go? It seemed like a few hours since she had given birth.

‘Gemma looks like you. Does Amy look like her father?’ Kirby held the photograph in both hands, as if she was holding the children themselves and didn’t want to hurt them.

‘No, not really, she takes after my grandmother, all red hair and freckles.’

‘She looks like a pickle.’

‘Oh, she is, believe me. She’s as fiery as Gemma is placid. She’s impetuous, whereas Gemma won’t even get out of bed in the morning without exploring all her options first. Chalk and cheese.’

Kirby set the photograph down again. ‘You’re very lucky.’ There was something in her tone that made Jane think she wasn’t just being polite.

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. I was pregnant once. Lost it. Still hurts.’ The last two words were said with characteristic lightness but Jane could tell the pain was still heavy.

‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘It was a long time ago. Before I started with the Department.’ She lifted her legs onto the bed and laid back. ‘I often wonder what she would have been like.’

‘You knew it was a girl?’ Jane was surprised.

‘Sacha. Had a name and everything.’

Jane sat down on the bed and took Kirby’s hand in hers. There were tears in the younger woman’s eyes. She rubbed her other hand across them impatiently.

‘Stupid! Bringing all this up now. I don’t know what’s got into me. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologize.’

Kirby leant herself up onto her elbow. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘So what’s the plan?’

Jane recognized the need to move away from personal issues and instantly became businesslike. ‘The usual, I think. Let Raj and you do your stuff; set all the cameras and wire the place to record anything out of the ordinary, then we’ll sit back for twenty-four hours and see if we pick up anything.’

‘So you think the house is the focus?’ Concentration on a task was often the best way to overcome emotional pain.

Jane stood and moved away from the bed. ‘Not necessarily, but it’s as good a place as any to start.’

‘Are you planning any seances?’

‘Not today.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I want Robert to try one, but I don’t think he’s in the right state of mind at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.’

‘I don’t like them,’ Kirby said, lifting her mug from the cabinet and taking a mouthful of the sweet tea. ‘Seances. They freak me out a little.’

‘Me too,’ Jane admitted, ‘but they have their uses. Sometimes they can stir things up a bit.’

‘And do we want to stir things up?’ Kirby wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she was scared.

‘I want to find out what happened here. Not for the Department, certainly not for the KDC, but I want to know. I don’t like mysteries.’ What David had done had upset her more than she could have imagined. It had also given her an anger that needed an outlet. What ever had happened on this island, solving what had happened was a good way to purge the rage inside her.

‘Then you couldn’t have picked a worse career.’ Kirby looked serious.

‘I didn’t. It picked me.’

‘Really?’ Kirby’s eyes widened questioningly.

Jane smiled and patted her hand. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime. But not now. I’m going to check in with Simon. Let him know we’ve arrived safely.’

Kirby took that as her cue to leave. She swung her legs to the floor and walked to the door. ‘Sorry about the baby stuff. Stupid.’

‘Forget it. Please.’

The door closed and Jane picked up the phone.

‘Crozier.’

‘Simon, it’s Jane. We’ve arrived.’

‘Good. How is the place?’

‘Seems comfortable enough.’

‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Anything to report yet?’

‘Nothing concrete. But there does seem to be some kind of atmosphere about the island itself.’

‘Describe. Not a report, just your first impressions.’

‘A kind of melancholy. It’s already affected Kirby; raising all kinds of ghosts from her past.’

‘Can you feel it?’

‘Slightly.’

‘Be careful. You remember Hayden Towers?’

Hayden Towers was an apartment building in North London where the suicide rate was apparently eight times the national average. It was demolished once it was realized the block had been built on the site of a plague pit. It was never established whether the high occurrences of people taking their own lives was directly attributable to the pit, but many thought there was a connection. No one ever built on the site again.

Mass suicide. She considered this for a moment, imagining the members of the Waincraft team throwing themselves into the sea like lemmings. ‘It’s an interesting possibility. Do you think the explanation could be that simple?’ She couldn’t keep the skeptical note out of her voice. Anyway hadn’t she read recently that lemmings don’t actually throw themselves to certain death?

‘I’d welcome a simple solution, Jane,’ Crozier said.

‘So would I,’ she said. ‘But I’m not optimistic that this thing will be solved that easily. What about the MOD people? Do you know if they were affected by the place?’

‘As I told you before, they were giving nothing away. All I know is that a team of three went out to Kulsay, and three returned. I don’t even know who they sent.’

‘Could you ask around? Call in a few favors. I’d be interested to know their findings. Any feedback at all would be helpful.’ For all its depth the report Impey had collated was low on detail about the MOD involvement.

Crozier sighed. ‘I’ll do my best, Jane, but it’s like getting blood out of a stone. I don’t hold out much hope.