‘Do you honestly think that any of this is going to help youT the investigator said, cryptically.
Kelly looked at him, wondering what he meant.
‘Fraser.’ There was more than a hint of anger in Vernon’s voice.
‘What are you looking for, doctor?’ the investigator demanded. ‘Or more
importantly, why are you looking?’
‘This isn’t the time or the place to …”
‘Perhaps if we knew about whatever it is you’ve managed to hide for so long then …’
Fraser’s words were choked back as Vernon lunged forward and grabbed him by the lapels. The older man’s face was flushed and there was a thin film of perspiration on his forehead. He fixed the investigator in his steely grey stare and held him there. Kelly looked on with concern and interest, wondering whether or not she should intervene.
‘This time, Fraser, you’ve gone too far,’ hissed the doctor. He pushed the investigator away, watching as he fell against the table. ‘Now get out of here. Out of this room. Out of this Institute. You’re finished here.’
Fraser dragged himself upright and steadied himself against the table.
‘Perhaps the police might be interested in what happened here today,’ he said, threateningly.
‘The police will be informed, when I think it’s necessary,’ Vernon told him.
‘Now, get out.’
Fraser looked at Vernon a moment longer, then at Kelly.
‘I’m sorry, Kelly,’ he said apologetically and made for the door. They both heard his footsteps echo away down the corridor.
Vernon pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped his face. He pulled a chair out from beneath the table and sat down, ignoring the bloodied fork which lay before him. Kelly watched as he popped a menthol sweet into his mouth and sucked it. His face was still tinged red with anger and he shuffled his fingers impatiently before him.
Kelly licked her lips, finding them dry, like her mouth. She wanted to ask Vernon what Fraser had meant, just as she had when he’d made the other cryptic remark two days before.
‘… whatever it is you’ve managed to hide for so long.’ Fraser’s words stood out clearly in her mind. Why had Vernon reacted so angrily?
‘Dr Vernon, Grant said that he’d killed his wife. It was like a confession,’
she said. ‘It’s all on the tape, every word.’
Vernon didn’t speak.
‘What could he have meant?’ she persisted.
it must have been the effects of the drug, you said he was hallucinating.’
‘Yes, but no one mentioned to him that a neighbour had identified a man like him the day his wife and son were butchered. Why should he say that?’
‘Look. Kelly, I think we have enough to worry about with what happened today,’
Vernon said, evasively. ‘And it would be best if you left here. I’ll call you in a fortnight or so, the research can’t continue until after the enquiry anyway.’
‘Can the authorities close the Institute?’ she wanted to know.
Vernon shook his head.
‘No. And don’t worry, your job will still be here when you come back.’
‘Why didn’t you accept my resignation?’ she asked.
‘Because what you did was based on sound theory. It was a chance which had to be taken eventually.’
Kelly nodded although it was not an explanation which wholly satisfied her.
Vernon appeared to have more than a scientific interest in the outcome of the research. The question was, why?
Finally, she slipped off her lab coat and decided it was time to leave. She and Vernon exchanged brief farewells and he repeated his promise to contact her in two weeks.
Vernon waited until she had left the room then he walked slowly around it, his eyes drawn occasionally to the spots and splashes of congealing blood, now slowly turning rusty as it solidified. There was a slight smell of copper in the air. He eventually reached the tape recorder. He pressed the re-wind button and watched as the twin spools spun in reverse. When the process was completed he took the full one and dropped it into his pocket, deciding to listen to it in the privacy of his office. As he made his way out of the room,
two cleaners were entering armed with mops and dusters. They set about removing all traces of the horrors which had occurred in there.
Vernon crunched his cough sweet up and replaced it with another as he walked up the stairs towards his office. His secretary had gone home an hour earlier so he had the place to himself.
Nonetheless, he locked his office door before settling down to listen to the tape.
Twice he played it through, his face impassive, even when Maurice Grant’s shrieks of agony began to erupt from the speaker. Halfway through the third play Vernon switched it off. He sat for what seemed like an eternity, his chair facing
the window, then he swung round and reached for the phone. He hurriedly dialled the number he wanted and tapped agitatedly on the desk top with his stubby fingers as he waited for the receiver to be picked up. He heard the click as it finally was.
‘The Metapsychic Centre?’ he asked. ‘This is Dr Stephen Vernon. I want to speak to Alain Joubert. Tell him it’s important.’
10.06 p.m.
Kelly folded the last of her clothes and laid the skirt gently on top of the other things. The only light in the bedroom came from a bedside lamp which cast a warm golden glow over the room. Kelly decided that she had packed enough clothes and lifted the case from the bed onto the floor. She felt stiff all over, her neck and shoulders in particular ached. She resolved to take a shower and have an early night.
She intended leaving early in the morning.
The day had been an exhausting one both mentally and physically and she felt the need to relax more than she usually did upon returning home in the evenings. She’d only half-eaten her dinner, washing it down with two or three Martinis. The effect of the drink was beginning to make her feel pleasantly drowsy. She unbuttoned her blouse, laying it over a chair before slipping out of her jeans and folding them carefully. Standing before the full length mirror on the wardrobe she unhooked her bra, her breasts remaining taut even when the garment was removed. Kelly skimmed off her panties and tossed them to one side, glancing at herself in the mirror. The reflection which stared back at her was a pleasing one.
Despite the fact that she was only five feet two inches tall, her slender frame gave her an appearance of striking elegance which was normally reserved for tailer women. She had small but plump breasts, her lower body tapering in to form a tiny waist and smooth lean hips. Her legs were slim, usually appearing longer when she wore the high heels she favoured.
Kelly walked through into the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping beneath its cleansing jets when it was at a suitable temperature. She stood motionless, allowing the
water to run over her face, washing away what little make-up she used. She began soaping herself.
As she stood beneath the spray she allowed her mind to back-track to the events of earlier in the day. To Vernon.
Why was he protecting her? It didn’t make sense. Unless, as Fraser had intimated, he did have something to hide. Vernon obviously saw Kelly as a useful tool.
As she closed her eyes, the vision of Maurice Grant, his eyes ripped from the sockets, flashed before her and she jerked her eyes open again.
She thought of his confession.
Had it been the drugs which had caused his outburst, she wondered? Instinct told her that there was more to it than that. And yet. how could he have killed his wife and son? She and three other people had seen him strapped down at the time the killings supposedly took place.
She stood beneath the shower a moment longer then flicked it off, dried herself and padded back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the phone.
