*
At first glance, the conservatory appeared deserted, though it was hard to say with the exuberant masses of foliage filling up the space. Erin held still and listened. A rustle of leaves in the far corner provided a starting point, and she followed the blue and yellow mosaic path through the forest of ferns.
After rounding a corner, she spotted Niels, half-hidden behind a soaring plant with large indented leaves.
He dipped a cloth into a brass bowl and wrung it out, wiping down one of the leaves with steady strokes, front and back. His expression was blank, his movements mechanical. She hesitated before approaching him.
‘Niels?’
He wet the cloth again and wiped down another leaf. When she drew closer, he spoke. ‘In another life,’ he said, leaning in to flick something from one of the glossy leaves, ‘I might have been a gardener.’ He dabbed another leaf gently, as if cleaning a child’s face. ‘I find it soothing.’ He rubbed a stem between his fingers. ‘And they seem to like the attention.’
They? Erin perched on a brocade ottoman under the boughs of a date palm. ‘Do you talk to them?’
‘Not usually. But sometimes I come in here when I can’t sleep. Mostly I like to listen to them breathe.’
Erin was taken aback. What could she say to this? Niels, always dependable and a stickler for rules, communing with the foliage in the dead of night. Apparently, there were layers to his character, she had yet to discover. Or did his odd mood have something to do with that woman she’d seen him with last week? Erin had been at the coffee house near the clinic when Niels passed by the window, his progress dogged by an angry woman in a red parka, her blonde dreadlocks streaming from a grimy knit cap. She was shouting at him as she punched her fists in the air. Erin had ducked down, so he wouldn’t see her through the glass. Though Niels seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed on the pavement, and his face creased with exasperation.
‘I’m just back from Greenlake. I wanted you to know I’ve decided to take the case.’
‘Good. The board will be pleased.’ He leaned in to examine a yellow spot on a particularly large leaf. ‘I was afraid you might back out.’
She fingered a tassel on the ottoman. ‘I thought I might,’ she said, leaning in to sniff a bright red flower. ‘But we seemed to make a connection, the patient and I.’
‘A connection? With a schizophrenic?’
‘It happens.’
If Niels wasn’t acting so strangely, she would have welcomed his thoughts on the case. What, for instance, would he make of the fact that the patient’s father had stepped forward to take in his son? Or about Tim’s claim he had no memory of the crime? Or that three days after the murders, he was found two hundred miles away, stumbling along a logging road on the New York–Vermont border? Was it psychosis, a fugue state, amnesia? All these things and more she would have liked to discuss with Niels, but as he appeared to have entered a fugue state of his own, it seemed prudent to say nothing.
She tried another tack. ‘Any news about Cassie Gray?’
‘Cassie Gray?’ Niels scanned the vaulted glass above their heads as if trying to recall the name. ‘Not that I know of. But, come to think of it, we’ve had a couple of phone hang-ups. One late last night, the other early this morning. Probably just kids fooling around.’
Last night and this morning? How annoying, exactly the time she was away. She hated hang-ups. It could have been Cassie, or someone else in need of help who lost their nerve. Or, worse, someone looking for her. But that was a train of thought she didn’t care to follow.
When she glanced over at Niels, his face was placid as a pudding, his eyes unfocused. Whatever was wrong, he wasn’t going to tell her.
*
That evening, Erin pulled into her street to find an ambulance parked in front of the house, its red light flashing like a beating heart. She stopped the car and rushed over to find her pregnant neighbour strapped to a gurney, moaning in pain. Her distraught husband hovered by her side.
‘Is she okay?’ Erin said, touching his arm. ‘Qué pasa?’
His eyes were wild with fright. ‘Accidente. Baby coming.’
The paramedics bundled him into the back of the ambulance with his wife and sped away in the dark, lights flashing, siren wailing. Only after they’d gone did Erin notice her landlady standing on the front porch in a dressing gown, shivering in the cold.
‘Mrs Deptford, you should go in. It’s freezing out here.’ Erin pushed open the front door and herded her inside.
Her landlady dropped into a chair, her face distraught. ‘Poor thing. She slipped and fell in the kitchen, apparently. I heard a tremendous clatter above my head. A pan knocked off the stove, full of hot soup. I do hope she’ll be all right. She was so excited about the baby. Not that I could talk to her all that much. Her English is poor, and I don’t know any Spanish.’
Erin laid her hand on Mrs Deptford’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right. The doctors will take good care of her. Shall I make you a cup of tea?’
‘You’re a dear for asking, but I’ll be fine. It’s that poor girl I’m worried about.’ She patted Erin on the arm. ‘Go on upstairs. By the looks of you, you’ve had a long day.’ She stood shakily and turned to go. ‘Oh heavens,’ she smacked her forehead. ‘Silly me, I almost forgot. A letter came for you the other day. It was
