Chapter Sixteen

THAT same morning, in Glasgow, Peregrine Lovat was completing his second orbit around a block near the city center, looking for a place to park.

"I still don't understand why you were so keen to have that roll of film developed," Julia remarked as he began a third circuit. "What's so urgent about those Kintyre snaps, that they won't wait till we get back to Strathmourne?"

Peregrine's eyes flicked ahead, still hopeful that someone might leave. "If I said it was merely a fit of artistic caprice, would that satisfy you?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that," she replied, with a lift of one fair eyebrow.

Peregrine summoned a sidelong grin and rolled his eyes heavenward in an exaggerated show of resignation.

"All right, I'll come clean. I'm really a top secret agent for MIS, and the photographer's shop is a front for our Glasgow operation."

Julia merely echoed his gesture of resignation and returned his grin. They had arrived in Glasgow the previous night, having booked into a period guesthouse not far from here. This morning, after the usual hearty breakfast in which tourists usually indulged, they had set out to begin touring the city's museums, starting with the Burrell Collection, an eclectic and sometimes eccentric assemblage of ceramics, textiles, furniture, stained glass, and a particularly good selection of nineteenth-century French paintings.

But Peregrine had spotted the photography shop the night before, as they pulled into their guesthouse; and it had been an easy matter to slip out this morning, while Julia was in the shower, and drop off the roll of film in question for one-hour processing. He had also had the camera checked; it was working perfectly.

Now, with the necessity to collect the processed film, he was aware of a prickly feeling of anticipation that had nothing to do with his desire to shield Julia from whatever unpleasantness the photos might hold. Ever since leaving Kintyre two days before, he had found himself strangely preoccupied, haunted by the elusive ghost-image that he had sensed hovering over the body of the dead man - an image he had not been able to commit to paper. He wondered if there would be anything in his photos to show that the strange ghost-effect he'd observed was more than a mere trick of his imagination.

"Peregrine?" his wife broke in softly. "Is there something on that roll of film that you don't want me to see?"

The look that went with the question was as blue and unwavering as a kitten's, and Peregrine found himself incapable of dissembling.

"Actually, there is," he admitted with a sigh. "Back on Kintyre, while you were off fetching the police, I took some photos of the dead man. It occurred to me this morning that while we're here in Glasgow, we probably ought to turn the prints over to the Strathclyde Police, in case there's anything in them that might assist them in their investigation."

"Ah," said Julia. "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Peregrine grimaced. "I thought you could probably do without the reminder."

"Well, that's very gallant of you," she said affectionately, "but it isn't really necessary. How soon we forget! Whatever concerns you concerns me - for better or for worse!''

"Point taken," Peregrine agreed with a sheepish grin, "though I hardly think it need extend to ruining your honeymoon - our honeymoon."

"There you go again!" she declared, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "I told you it isn't possible to do that."

He was grinning as they completed their third circuit of the block, but he still had not found any legal place to park.

Switching on his left-turn indicator, he pulled the Alvis into a designated loading zone a short distance up the street from the shop and pulled on the hand brake.

"You'd better shift into the driver's seat, in case a traffic warden comes along," he told Julia. "I'll be back as quickly as I can."

Waiting for traffic before easing open the door, he alighted from the car and sprinted off up the sidewalk to the entrance to the photographer's shop. The premises seemed dim after the bright sunshine outside. The shop's proprietor was at the counter, offering advice to a middle-aged couple who spoke English with an accent that might have been Dutch. When at last they turned and started for the door, Peregrine darted forward and presented his claim slip.

"The name's Lovat," he murmured, watching as the man began rooting in a drawer beneath the counter. "I left in a roll of film earlier this morning for one-hour processing."

"Here it is," the man said, handing over a large yellow-and-orange film envelope. "That'll be six pounds eighty, please."

Peregrine gave the man a ten-pound note, received his change, and pocketed it as he stepped over to the window, pulling the prints out of their envelope to examine them. The photos on top were all views of Kintyre, most of them with him or Julia in the foreground, a few of them showing architectural details of some of the castles and country houses they had visited in the preceding days. These he hurriedly passed over in favor of the more sober forensic studies he was looking for.

The abrupt shift in motifs made him flinch. Though his first instinct was to avert his gaze, he forced himself to take a closer look - and was startled to discover that there was, indeed, more caught in the photos than he had been able to see clearly at the time.

The shimmer he had observed on the beach at Mull of Kintyre had resolved on film into a ghostly figure. Though the details still were a bit blurred, the robed form hovering over the dead man appeared to be that of a Hare Krishna, or perhaps a Buddhist monk, with shaven head and dressed in flowing orangey robes. The figure's hands were clasped as if in prayer, but there seemed to be an implement of some kind extending below the palm. Different aspects of the image appeared in the two closer shots, which had been shot from different angles.

Peregrine stared at the photos, hardly knowing what to make of them. Had the monk-image been confined to a single frame, he might have been able to convince himself that it was nothing more than a freakish trick of the light. As it was, that possibility was negated by the fact that parts of the mysterious secondary figure were present in all three of the shots he had taken. Conscious of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he began seeking other possible explanations. Was it possible that his film had registered the presence of a ghost? If so, the likeness ought to have been that of the dead man himself, not some mysterious robed figure.

The resonance of some other past life of the dead man, then? Peregrine thought that equally improbable. While it was true that he had glimpsed ghostly reflections of other past identities in Adam and some of his fellow Huntsmen, those residual images had always been subordinate to the personality of the present day. Even in the days before Adam had begun teaching him to control his Sight, he had never known such resonances to linger after death - and the man in the water surely had been dead for several days, at least. Besides that, the more he studied the photos, the more convinced he became that there was something sinister about the secondary figure in the pictures. Vainly he peered and squinted, even borrowing a magnifying lens from the shop owner, trying to discern what the strange monk might be holding in his hands - but he could not identify it.

Failure left him more convinced than ever that he had inadvertently stumbled across something that was going to demand further investigation. He considered asking to use the phone, but decided to wait and ring Adam from wherever he and Julia ended up having lunch.

"Listen, can you do enlargements in an hour, or do they need to be sent out?'' he asked.

The man shrugged. "I usually send them out, but I can do them here. It'll cost you double, though."

"That's fine," Peregrine said. He slipped the innocuous honeymoon photos back into the envelope and pulled out the negatives, which he laid on the counter beside the three photos in question. "How much for eight-by-tens?"

"For the three? Say, fifteen pounds," the man said, raising an eyebrow as he picked up the negatives and glanced at the photos.

"They're some trick shots I've put together for a photography class," Peregrine explained, suddenly aware how odd the photos might appear to a casual viewer. "I do need them back in an hour, though."

"They'll be ready," the proprietor assured him.

Outside, the Alvis was still where he had left it.

"No sign of any wardens," Julia announced cheerfully from the driver's seat, as he slid in beside her. "Where to now?''

Peregrine tossed the photos on the dash and took a moment to do up his seat belt.

"Lunch, I think," he said distractedly. "And I need to make a phone call. How about that pub we passed while we were orbiting, just up the street?''

"All right." She slipped the car into gear with a sidelong glance at him, released the brake, and eased out into traffic. "I do hope I'm going to get to see the photos that have gotten you all in a tizzy."

He glanced at her sharply, then returned his gaze to the pub coming up ahead of them.

"Not right now, I'm afraid," he murmured. "I left them in for enlargements."

"After lunch, then?"

"I don't know." He gestured toward the entrance to a car park just beyond the pub. "Put the car in there."

She parked the car in silence, refraining from further comment as they got out, though she did retrieve the envelope of photos from the dash.

"Sorry I barked at you," he murmured, already looking distractedly for the phone as they went in. "Listen, why don't you get us a table, and I'll join you in a few minutes. I promise I'll explain then. Meanwhile, you can order me a half of Smithwick's while you look at those."

The telephone was in a cubicle between the doors to the men's and women's toilets. Closing the door behind him, Peregrine fished in his pocket for change and soon had dialled Adam's number.

"Strathmourne Manor," said a self-effacing voice from the other end of the line.

"Hello, Humphrey, this is Peregrine. I'm ringing from Glasgow. If Sir Adam is in, I'd very much like a word with him."

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Lovat, but Sir Adam has gone out for the day. I believe he planned to be at the hospital all morning, but he neglected to mention where he might be going after that."

Which suggested that Adam's plans for the afternoon had been in a state of flux. Peregrine suppressed a sigh of frustration.

"That's all right, Humphrey. I'll check with Inspector McLeod and see if he has any idea. If Sir Adam should happen to check in with you later, I'd be obliged if you'd let him know I'm trying to reach him."

"I'll certainly do that, sir."

"Thank you, and goodbye."

He had to look up McLeod's number at police headquarters. Here his call was received by McLeod's aide, Donald Cochrane, who seemed mildly surprised to learn who was phoning.

"Mr. Lovat? Congratulations on your wedding! No, the inspector's not here. He left about half an hour ago, along with Dr. Sinclair."

"Do you know where they went?"

"Aye, they're heading over to Dumbarton, to attend the post-mortem on that bloke you and your wife found washed up on the beach at Kintyre. It isn't due to begin before two o'clock, so I don't imagine they'll be back till late."

This was all news to Peregrine - and suggested that McLeod and Adam had, indeed, found cause to check further on the body Peregrine had found.

"I see," he murmured. "Do you know if Inspector McLeod took his cell phone with him?"

"He usually does. You could certainly try to reach him. Shall I give you the number?"

"No, thanks, I've got it."

"Well, then, you ought to be able to get through to him in the car, no bother."

Cochrane's prediction proved accurate. Scarcely had Peregrine dialled than he heard a responding click, and a familiar gruff voice saying, "McLeod here."

"Hullo, Noel. It's Peregrine."

"Peregrine? Good Lord! Where are you calling from?"

"From a pub in downtown Glasgow," Peregrine replied. ' 'Listen, something else odd has come up, and I need to talk with Adam. Donald told me he might be with you."

"And so he is," McLeod replied. "Hang on and I'll hand you to him."

The next voice Peregrine heard was Adam's. "What's up, Peregrine?"

"Trouble, I think," Peregrine said, mindful of the need to be discreet. "I've just picked up a set of photos including some shots I took over in Kintyre. I thought you might be interested to know that the results were - rather extraordinary."

"Indeed?" Adam's voice took on a slight edge. "Can you tell me in what way?"

"They - ah - showed up what I was trying to draw. I think you ought to see them - perhaps before this afternoon's appointment. I'm having enlargements printed, and they'll be ready in an hour."

"I see," Adam said, after a brief silence. "You said you're calling from Glasgow?"

"That's right," Peregrine acknowledged. "Shall I try to meet you somewhere?"

"I think so," Adam said. "In fact, I wonder… Hold on a minute, would you?"

The sound went muffled for a moment, as if Adam had put his hand over the mouthpiece to consult with McLeod; then came on again, a note of apology in his voice.

"Listen, I hate do this to you, but do you think Julia would mind letting you out on loan for a few hours? I think it might be a good idea if you brought your sketchbox along to this afternoon's venture, if you can possibly manage it."

Despite Adam's bland tone and the ambiguity of his words, Peregrine experienced a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, for urgency was there as well. And the thought of witnessing an autopsy -

"Oh, I'm sure she'll mind," he said gamely, "but I think she'll understand. I already have some explaining to do. We'd planned to do some browsing in Princes' Square, but I expect she won't object too strongly to being left to shop on her own. She did say something about wanting to surprise me with something she'd glimpsed in the window of an antique shop we passed on our way through the city center." "Do whatever you have to do to buy yourself a temporary leave of absence," Adam said with a chuckle. "For my own part, by way of making amends, perhaps you'll allow me to take the pair of you to dinner tonight. What would you say to a meal at the Colonial?"

Peregrine grinned. The Colonial was a Glasgow fixture, with a reputation for serving fine Indian food.

"I expect that would be more than adequate compensation," he said, "provided she's still speaking to me. I just hope I'll be in a fit state to do justice to the menu. I've never attended a - ah - an examination like this before."

"I have every confidence in your fortitude," Adam said bracingly. "Now, about rendezvousing - Noel and I are still a good half hour out of Glasgow, and the noontime traffic will be heavy, once we get off the motorway. Why don't we aim to collect you outside the main entrance to the Central Railway Station round about half past one? We're in Noel's BMW."

"Right you are," Peregrine said. "See you then."

Having rung off, he stood for a moment with his hand on the receiver, collecting his thoughts, then made his way into the pub, where he soon spotted Julia ensconced at a table in a back corner. She was shifting through the photos and sipping at a half-pint. Another half-pint was set at the place across from her. She looked up as he slid into the seat.

"Did you reach him?" she asked.

"Aye." He took a long pull at his Smithwick's, then set it aside. ' 'Listen, did you really mean it last night when you said you wouldn't mind giving me the slip for a little while today, in order to do some shopping for my birthday?"

"They want you, don't they?" she replied, question in her blue eyes. "Peregrine, what is going on? You promised you'd explain."

"So I did - and I shall," he said with a nod, mentally crossing his fingers against the things he could not explain. "The photos have some - details - that may be useful for the police investigation in progress. Adam's with Noel. They're on their way to the post-mortem on the man we found. It's at two this afternoon, up in Dumbarton. They'd like me to join them."

Briefly he outlined the rendezvous arrangements he had made with Adam, after which there was an awkward pause.

"Well, that sounds straightforward enough," Julia finally said. "I suppose you'd better go."

Peregrine eyed his wife uncertainly. "You really don't mind?"

Julia shrugged. "I'd prefer to have your company, of course, but I daresay I'll manage. Do you have time for a bite of lunch first? I've already ordered us steak and kidney pie."

Peregrine glanced down at his watch. It was ten minutes past noon. "It'll have to be fairly quick."

Even as he said it, a waitress appeared with their lunch, plunking down plates replete with generous servings of tender-crusted steak and kidney pie with roast potatoes, chips, and peas.

"Quick enough?" Julia said with a droll grin, when the waitress had departed. "I expected something like this might happen."

They began eating in silence, but after a few token mouth-fuls Peregrine discovered he had no appetite for food. When he had pushed the peas around on his plate for several minutes, Julia reached over and laid a hand on his wrist.

"Will you please stop playing with your food?" she murmured, not unkindly. "If this isn't what you wanted, there's still time for you to get something else."

Peregrine shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "I guess I'm just not hungry," he murmured.

Julia studied his face for a moment, her own expression one of mingled sympathy and exasperation. "I can see you're not exactly thrilled about this autopsy thing," she observed. "Why don't you bow out?"

Peregrine shook his head again. "I can't."

"Why not? It isn't as if your presence is vitally necessary. What would they have done if you hadn't called just when you did? You're an artist, not a forensics expert. What could you possibly be expected to contribute?"

"I won't know until I get there," he said quietly.

Julia subjected him to a long, searching look. "In other words, you're going to wait and see."

Peregrine looked up at her sharply. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"I'm not sure I know where I'm going," Julia admitted readily. "Probably somewhere out of my depth. But I haven't been engaged to you for more than a year without noticing how often Noel McLeod calls on you and Adam to lend a hand in his police work - even though the police have their own forensic artists on staff, and Adam has more than enough to do in his psychiatric practice without taking on any extra commissions from outside."

She gazed down at her plate, poking at a bit of crust. "More and more often, I find myself wondering what it is that binds the three of you so inextricably together. Oh, I know you're friends," she went on, "but even if you weren't, somehow I sense that this bond - whatever it is - would still exist."

Peregrine felt his jaw drop.

"This same quality that you have in common with one other," Julia continued thoughtfully, "seems to set you apart from everyone else in your professions. Maybe it's just the fact that each of you is exceptionally gifted at what he does. But it seems to have more to do with the way you use your individual gifts to help each other in your respective pursuits. Whenever you work together, you're like a well-rehearsed team - as if all your actions were dictated by some underlying goal or purpose. It's - " She shook her head. "I don't know how to ask this. Do - do the three of you perhaps belong to some sort of - of fraternal organization or secret society, maybe something like the Masons, but - help me, darling. I don't know exactly what I'm trying to ask, but I know there's something going on here."