Chapter Seventeen

PEREGRINE stared at his wife, hardly knowing what to say. Her speculations were disconcertingly close to the mark. An outright denial was out of the question; as his wife, Julia was entitled to his honesty. At the same time, he was uncertain how much of the truth Adam would countenance his telling her - or how much she would understand.

"I can't imagine what you mean," he said awkwardly. "We're certainly very good friends and professional colleagues. This bond you're alluding to may simply be the fact that we share many of the same… interests."

"Such as?"

Once again Peregrine found himself groping for an answer.

"Well - all manner of things," he said lamely, hoping he didn't sound as defensive as he felt. "History, antiques, objects d'art…"

As his voice trailed off, Julia gave him a dubious look.

"I suppose that's true enough," she said quietly. "Only I get the distinct feeling that for you, pursuing these interests is practically a vocation."

Peregrine gave a hollow laugh. "I suppose that being an artist does constitute a vocation - something you're called to do, as opposed to something you just do to make a living."

"No, it isn't just that," Julia said. "I know the difference between inspiration and - fascination, fixation. For instance, when we were going through the museum this morning, you stopped just outside one of those reconstructed gothic arches, and your eyes went all funny - sort of wide and vacant, but at the same time penetrating - as if you were looking at something far, far away."

He shrugged. "I guess I was distracted for a moment." "Distracted? I suppose you could call it that. But it isn't the first time I've seen that look in your eyes - and it isn't just an artist's way of looking at things. You get it almost every time we visit a museum or a monument. It always gives me the feeling that your perceptions aren't necessarily limited to the present time and place."

"You know that I'm an incurable romantic," he said uneasily. "Lots of artists get their inspiration from the past."

"No, this is different," she insisted. "I'll give you another example. That old tower house that Adam is restoring - the last time we rode out there with him, I accidentally overheard the two off you discussing how to decorate the laird's bedroom. He wanted to know if the original ceiling had been painted, and you said yes, it had, with garlands of flowers interspersed with verses taken from the Book of Proverbs. And you were able to tell him which ones, chapter and verse."

She stopped short and looked at him expectantly, and Peregrine knew that only the truth would now suffice - or at least a portion of it. He poked at a chunk of steak with his fork, chasing it into a pool of congealing gravy.

"What you're really wanting to know," he said quietly, not looking at her, "is, have I got some kind of special psychic ability. The answer is yes. Yes, I do."

He could hear her little gasp, but he dared not look up at her as he went on.

"My particular gift is being able to 'See' things - visual echoes - resonances, if you like - from other periods in time. As an artist, I'm sometimes able to draw what I 'See' in this manner. When it first started happening, it scared the hell out of me. That was shortly before I met you.

"But then your sainted godmother introduced me to Adam. I don't think she had any inkling what was happening, but she knew something was wrong and thought he might be able to help me - and she was right. But I didn't go to him until after she'd died, and I was feeling almost suicidal.

You see, I'd foreseen her death, and a part of me was afraid that I'd somehow caused it."

"But you couldn't have!" Julia breathed. "She had cancer, Peregrine."

"I know that now," he murmured, finally looking up at her, "but at the time, I was convinced there was some kind of causal connection. Anyway, Adam helped me pick up the pieces, and reassured me that what I had was a gift, not a curse. He taught me to control it, to use it in conjunction with my ability as an artist - and that ability now gives me the means to direct and control what I 'See.' '

"So now you don't mind Seeing things anymore?"

"Not most of the time. Sometimes it's useful."

"For instance, in the investigation of a crime." It wasn't a question. Lacing her slim fingers together in front of her, Julia leaned forward on her elbows. "Is that what you're doing when you go out with Adam and Noel? Are they psychic, too?"

"Their talents differ from mine," Peregrine said reluctantly, "but yes, on both counts."

"And they use their abilities to solve mysteries that no one else can solve?"

"When the need arises."

"Psychic investigators." She quirked him an uneasy grin. "It sounds like something out of an old Hammer horror film." Levelling a penetrating look at her husband, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"Perhaps I should have done," Peregrine admitted. "But a lot of what we do has got to be kept confidential."

"Don't you trust me to keep a secret?"

"Of course I do - as far as my secrets are concerned," he replied. "But some of the secrets we're talking about aren't mine to disclose. Artists are allowed certain eccentricities - we're almost expected to be a little fey - but if either Noel or Adam became publicly connected with some of the things we're obliged to do, the methods we use - well, you can probably imagine the hue and cry that would be raised. Professionally speaking, they'd both be ruined."

She stared at him for a long moment, taking it all in, then ventured, "You aren't doing anything - illegal, are you?"

He snorted. "Of course not. If we stand for anything, it's the upholding of the law. But sometimes it's a higher Law than some folk are even aware exists - and believe me, we have to answer to a far higher Judge."

She shivered and put down her fork. "You make it sound almost - cosmic."

He searched her face with his eyes, shaking his head. "I know it's a lot to take in - and I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. 1 wouldn't blame you for having doubts about my sanity, but honestly, I didn't want to risk - "

He broke off, wondering if perhaps he had already said too much, and Julia pounced on the one word he probably should not have used.

"Risk?" she repeated. "Peregrine, does - what you do involve an element of danger?"

Squirming inwardly, he nodded. "Now and then."

"What about now?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think so. Not in the short term, at any rate. After all, what could happen while watching a post-mortem? Besides, Adam would never allow any of us to endanger ourselves without good cause," he added stoutly.

"I'll have to take your word for that," she said, "at least for the moment. And it appears that Adam's behind all of this. He's your leader, isn't he?"

At his reluctant nod, she cocked her head thoughtfully. "What would happen if you decided to give up this line of work?''

"Adam would have to find someone else to do what I do. But I don't believe I could give it up, even if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

"Because the work itself would almost certainly find me out, with or without any active solicitation on my part," he said, "in much the same way that this talent of mine was asserting itself long before I learned how to harness it."

"But you didn't ask for the gift. It just came to you."

"That's precisely the point," Peregrine said. He frowned, groping for words. "Possessing a talent like this is a bit like being factor or manager on a big estate. Once you've been entrusted with something - money, property, whatever - you are thereafter responsible for making right and profitable use of it. And the only authority that can legitimately relieve you of that responsibility is the one who imposed it on you in the first place."

"Who, Adam? What right had he - "

"No, not Adam," Peregrine interjected. "Julia, you know that I'm not a particularly religious person, at least outwardly, but I - think I'd honestly have to say that it was God, in this case, Who gave me the assignment. And I don't see any sign that He wants to withdraw it." He squeezed her hand in appeal. "Is this making any sense at all, darling?"

Reluctantly she nodded, confusion but also acceptance lighting the blue eyes. "In a roundabout way, I suppose it does. I'll probably have to go away and think about it - perhaps while you're off at this post-mortem. Would it be out of line to ask what you're supposed to be looking for on this occasion?"

Peregrine relaxed just a little, bringing her hand to his lips in a fond kiss. "Adam just wants me to look," he said with a shrug. "That's usually what I do. If I See anything, I'll draw it. After that, it will be up to him and Noel to decide where and how we proceed."

"All right," Julia said, very matter-of-fact. "In that case, I'll go shopping and leave you to your work. Are you going to tell Adam about this conversation of ours?''

"I'll have to," Peregrine said. "It's important that he knows how much you know - for all our sakes. Besides, I wouldn't want to have any clouds hanging over us at dinner time; Adam's invited us for a meal tonight at the Colonial."

Julia's eyes widened slightly. "The Colonial? Very nice, indeed! Is this one of the perks of the job?"

Peregrine managed a droll smile. "I suppose it's one of the perks of being Adam's friend," he said lightly. "In this case, it will also be a salve to his conscience, for borrowing me when you and I should be on our honeymoon. Will you forgive him?"

She smiled. "Of course. And I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. He's always been the soul of generosity."

"Yes, he has," Peregrine replied, wondering whether the day would ever come when he might reveal just how far that generosity extended beyond the physical - for despite the privileges that Adam's wealth provided, his life was one of constant sacrifice.

"I'd better go now," he murmured, with a glance at his watch. "I've got to collect those photos before I meet Adam and Noel."

She nodded. "Do you want the car?"

"No, you take it. It'll be easier for me to taxi over to the Central Railway Station. Do you know how to get back to the guesthouse from here?"

"I'll manage. Where and when do you want me to meet up with you?"

"How about seven o'clock, at the guesthouse?" Peregrine suggested. "If anything comes up that spells a change of plans, I'll phone in and leave a message there. In the meantime, promise me you'll try to enjoy yourself!"

"I'm going off to spend some of our wedding money," she said with a coy grin. "Of course I'll enjoy myself!"

He paid the bill and accompanied Julia back to the car to pick up his portable sketchbox, continuing on toward the photo shop when she had driven off in the opposite direction. When he collected his enlargements, he continued to the next cross street, where he managed to hail a passing taxi.

He gave the photos a cursory look in the back seat as the driver headed on cross-town to the railway station, but the enhanced detail suggested few further revelations. He closed the prints into his sketchbox as the taxi pulled into Central Station, for he had already spotted McLeod's black BMW standing at the curb, with McLeod and Adam waiting outside so he could spot them, conversing across the roof.

"You're very prompt," McLeod commented, as he opened the rear door for Peregrine and Adam got in on the front passenger side. "It's spot-on half past one."

"Just to show you that marriage hasn't addled my brain," Peregrine quipped. He gave the inspector a grin in the rearview mirror as he settled into the seat. "I figured I'd better be on time, or I might find myself stranded."

"No danger of that," Adam replied, leaning an arm along the back of the seat as McLeod and Peregrine buckled up. "Let's see those photos, so Noel can have a look before we head out."

Dutifully Peregrine produced the envelope containing the enlargements and passed them forward for his superiors' inspection. As Adam handed them one by one to McLeod, the expression on his aquiline face was thoughtful.

"Interesting, that these should come along concurrent with those shots from Carnage Corridor," he observed, with a sidelong glance at his Second.

"Carnage Corridor?" Peregrine echoed, as McLeod nodded his agreement.

"A case we've been working on in your absence," Adam said.

Briefly he summarized how their investigations had led them to become involved with Claire Crawford, directing Peregrine to pull the relevant photographs from his briefcase for comparison.

"It was her astral image appearing in the photographs that supplied us with the vital clue," he explained at the end of his short recap of the case. "Having seen these shots of yours, I'm inclined to think we may be dealing with a different manifestation of the same phenomenon. When we all get back to Edinburgh, it might be interesting to have you take a look at the accident site - though, with Claire just about sorted out now, I don't really expect you'll see very much. Still, one never knows."

"I'm not sure I'm with you," Peregrine remarked as he shuffled through the glossy five-by-eights with Claire's image circled in red. "You say these are pictures of this woman's astral self?"

"That's right." McLeod pushed the aviator spectacles farther onto the bridge of his nose and turned the key in the ignition. "Adam's got a theory about that, but I'd better drive while he explains. We're due in Dumbarton by two."

"Indeed," Adam concurred, as McLeod pulled smoothly into traffic. "As near as I can make out, Claire Crawford's astral presence registered on film because she was generating exceptionally intense emotional resonances at the time. It may be related to the way that ghosts sometimes show up on film."

"Are you saying I saw a ghost?"

"Hmmm, perhaps something more akin to the historical resonances you See when you draw. Going on that assumption, it would seem to follow that this monkish character in your photographs was likewise generating personal resonances of a similarly powerful magnitude, perhaps at the time he killed Scanlan."

"But - " Peregrine glanced at the photos of Claire, then at the ones Adam had handed back. "I don't understand. If you're right about all this, why is her image so distinct, and the image of this monk so misty? And for that matter, why couldn't I See him when I Looked?"

Adam arched an elegant eyebrow and partially turned back toward the traffic ahead as McLeod eased the car onto Waterloo Street, heading for the M8 motorway.

"I have no easy answer for you on that one," Adam said, "but I can speculate. Claire Crawford was acting unconsciously, and for that reason was obviously making no attempt to conceal her presence - hence the projection and transmission of a clear visual image. Your monk, on the other hand, seems to have been operating from behind a screen of psychic defenses, warded in such a way that no Sighted observer - such as yourself, Peregrine - could have perceived who he was. Who could have predicted that his personal emanations might register on some impartially sensitive medium like photographic film?"

"Your theory explains the presence of a ghost-image in my pictures," Peregrine agreed. "But it doesn't even begin to explain who and what this Oriental monk might be, or what he could possibly be doing hovering over the body of a dead Irishman in a survival suit."

"You think that's odd?" McLeod muttered. "Try explaining what either of them could possibly have to do with a German U-boat, supposedly sunk off the Irish coast during the final stages of World War Two."

"U-boat?" Peregrine was thoroughly baffled now.

"I thought you'd appreciate that one," the inspector said with a dour grin. "Wait till you hear the whole story."