shake off the cloak of melancholy. A smile spread
across his face. ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘How are you, Kelly? Have you any plans to marry?’
She looked at him aghast.
‘Definitely not,’ she said.
‘You mean there is no man waiting to sweep you off your feet?’ He chuckled.
‘If there is he’s keeping himself well hidden,’ Kelly replied.
Lasalle laughed, an infectious sound which cut through the babble in the restaurant and caused a couple of heads to turn.
Her tone changed slightly.
‘Michel, about this man who had the precognitive vision. Decard you say his name was?’
Lasalle nodded.
‘What exactly did he see?’
The Frenchman told her.
‘And was Joubert present when this happened?’ Kelly asked.
‘Yes, he seemed quite excited by it all.’
Kelly brushed a hand through her hair, stroking the back of it with her palm.
Why hadn’t Joubert told her about the incident? Why the secrecy? When the two Institutes were supposed to be working together it seemed only natural that information as important as that should be available.
She wondered what else the Frenchman had neglected to tell her.
Lasalle looked at his watch.
‘I suppose we should be getting back,’ he said.
Kelly got to her feet and the two of them made their way towards the exit.
Outside it was still raining, the banks of dark cloud overhead showing no promise of respite.
As they ran towards Lasalle’s car, Kelly wondered if Joubert’s attitude might change as the afternoon wore on. Somehow she doubted it.
Using a small wooden spatula Lasalle gently applied the sticky conductant to three places on Joubert’s face. One at each temple and another just above the bridge of his nose.
Kelly attached the electrodes carefully and Joubert himself re-adjusted them, lifting his head slightly as Lasalle pressed the last two against the back of his head.
That done, Joubert lay back on the couch, hands clasped across his chest. The Frenchman lay motionless, his eyes peering at some point on the ceiling.
Lasalle reached for his hand. He fumbled along the wrist and located the pulse which he took and noted on a clipboard. Then, like a doctor examining a patient, he took a penlight from his pocket and shone it in his companion’s eyes, checking the pupillary reactions.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
Joubert nodded gently.
Lasalle turned to Kelly who flicked a switch on the EEG and, immediately, the five tracers began to move back and forth gently across the paper.
The Frenchman reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket watch. He dangled it before Joubert, the golden timepiece twisting round slowly.
‘Now, keep your eyes on the watch,’ he said, seeing that his colleague’s gaze had drifted to the spinning object. Lasalle began rolling the chain between his thumb and index finger.
‘You can hear only my voice,’ he said. Then, to Kelly: ‘Turn off the lights will you?’
She left the EEG and scuttled across to the light switch, flicking it off. The room was immersed in darkness, lit only by a spotlamp near the foot of the couch. The single beam
occasionally glinted on the watch making it look as if it were glowing.
‘You can see nothing but the watch,’ said Lasalle. ‘You can hear nothing but my voice. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Joubert, throatily.
‘I am going to count to five and, as I do, you will become increasingly more
tired. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘By the time I reach five you will be asleep but you will still be able to hear me. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
Kelly moved slowly and quietly back towards the EEG, glancing down at the read-out. The lines made by the tracers were still relatively level. None showed too much movement. Just a gentle sweep back and forth.
Lasalle began counting.
He saw his companion’s eyelids begin to droop but he kept spinning the watch even after Joubert had finally closed his eyes.
Kelly looked on with interest.
‘You are now in a deep sleep,’ said Lasalle. ‘But, you are able to hear everything I say. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Alain Joubert.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty-six.’
Kelly glanced at the EEG read-out once again, noticing that the five tracers had begun to slow their movements until they were practically running in straight lines, only the occasional movement interrupting their unerring course.
“What is my name?’ Lasalle asked.
Joubert told him.
‘Can you tell me if there is anyone else present in the toom?’
‘A woman. I can see her.’
Lasalle frowned and inspected his colleague’s eyelids more closely. They were firmly shut. He reached back to the trolley behind him and picked up a stack of cards, each bearing a word.
‘Tell me what this word is,’ he said, running his eyes over the card marked DOG.
Joubert told him.
‘And this one?’
‘Cat.’
‘Again.’
‘Pig.’
Kelly noticed some slight movement from the fifth of the tracers.
Lasalle went through another ten cards and each time Joubert was correct.
‘I feel cold,’ Joubert said, unasked. Indeed, his body was quivering slightly and, when Lasalle gripped his hand the flesh was ice cold.
The movement from the fifth tracer became more pronounced. The other four, however, did not deviate from their almost arrow-straight course. Kelly swallowed hard. There was something distinctly familiar about this type of read-out. The vision of Maurice Grant flashed into her mind as the fifth tracer began to trace a jerky, erratic path on the paper. Whilst in a drugged, subdued state, it had been the same area of Grant’s brain which had shown activity. Now it was happening with Joubert.
‘I can see …” Joubert words trailed away.
‘What can you see?’ Lasalle asked him, urgently.
‘A room. Like this one but there is a woman working in it. She’s sitting at a typewriter with her back to me,’ Joubert said. ‘She doesn’t know I’m behind her, she didn’t hear me open the door.’
Kelly saw that the fifth tracer was now hurtling back and forth with such speed it threatened to carve a hole in the paper.
‘Who is this woman?’ Lasalle asked. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen her many times before.’
