Innocent Blood

Twelve

Astrid knocked on his door just after eleven. As soon as he let her in she clung to him and held him tight, without saying anything. A young musician with a beaky nose and curly, shoulder-length hair came out of the room next door and winked at him. ‘Looks like you’re all right there, mate.’

Frank said, ‘I’m OK, Astrid. Really, I’m OK.’ He disentangled himself from her arms and closed the door.

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day.’ She looked different – her hair was different, slicked back with gel, and she was wearing a white silk Spanish-style blouse and tight black satin pants, flared at the ankle.

‘I’m OK. The funeral was good for me.’

‘It didn’t upset you too much?’

He shook his head. ‘We sang some of Danny’s favorite hymns and some of his friends said a few words about him and everybody cried. And it was good. It wasn’t closure. Closure’s going to take a long, long time. But at least it gave me the chance to say goodbye to him. And sorry.’

‘I don’t know why you had to say sorry.’

‘Because Danny still blames me, that’s why. Even if it wasn’t really my fault.’

He went into the kitchen area and poured them both a vodka and tonic, with a slice of lime. Astrid sat cross-legged on the couch. ‘Nothing on television,’ she complained. ‘Nothing but bombs, bombs, bombs.’

‘Well, it’s getting serious,’ said Frank. ‘The whole industry’s in a state of total paralysis. They haven’t put Pigs on hold yet, but Mo reckons they’re going to make an announcement in the morning. Did you see that Hallmark have canceled Beltway? Disappointing ratings, that’s the excuse they gave. Actually it was doing pretty good. The only trouble was, the chief villain is a treacherous, lecherous, Middle-Eastern diplomat.’

‘I don’t want to talk about the bombing. It scares me.’

‘I think it scares everybody, and with damn good reason.’

‘It’s never going to be the same again, is it? Hollywood?’

He nodded. She was right, Hollywood had been changed forever. Not just the town itself, but the whole self-image of America that Hollywood had reflected in a million movies and television series. This wasn’t a fictitious threat from giant ants in the desert, or aliens with mile-long mother ships. This was a real threat that really killed people you knew, and it was everywhere and anywhere. You couldn’t escape it by walking out of the movie theater or switching it off.

You could never mow your lawn again, or invite your family around for Thanksgiving, or drive along the coast with the sun in your eyes, in the absolute certainty that because you were in America, you were safe. Dar Tariki Tariqat had murdered much more than people. They had murdered certainty, and left its blood running into the gutters.

Frank had ordered pepperoni pizza and they ate it, very messily, in bed.

‘What are you going to do about Margot?’ asked Astrid, sucking her fingers.

‘I don’t know what I can do. Give her some time to cool off, I guess.’

‘Do you think she will? Cool off, I mean.’

‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t actually say that he didn’t care, either, but he nearly did, and he surprised himself because he meant it. If he had cared, he wouldn’t be sitting in bed with Astrid on the night of their only child’s funeral. But, he thought to himself, I’m the last person in the world that Margot wants to console her. Just like she said, she might be able to forgive me one day, but she could never forget, and how could she bear to stay married to me, if she was always going to blame me for Danny’s death?

He looked at Astrid’s profile, limned by the light from the TV screen – her hooded eyes and sharp cheekbones and her sensual, slightly parted lips. He looked at her feet, her long toes with silver rings on every one of them. There was something elvish about her, a magical quality, as if she came from Middle Earth. He didn’t know if this relationship would develop into anything, but there was a strange sparkle about it that he had never known with Margot.

‘You were going to tell me something,’ he said.

‘Was I? What?’

‘I don’t know. You started to tell me on the phone but then you said you’d leave it till later.’

‘Oh, yes. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come away with me this weekend.’

‘Where did you have in mind?’

‘I have a friend who has a cottage in Rancho Santa Fe. It’s only an hour’s drive.’

‘And we could do what?’

‘Swim. Talk. Eat too many strawberries.’

‘Well . . . I probably won’t have any writing to do.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Yes, OK. It’s a yes.’

‘Good. You can sing me “The Girl With the Left-Footed Limp.”’

He tried to read her eyes. They were sparkling and alive, but he couldn’t decide if they were lit up with pleasure, or with something else altogether – the secret delight of a woman who has got exactly what she wants.

They slept in each other’s arms, restlessly, all tangled up, but they didn’t make love. In the small hours of the morning, when it was just beginning to grow light, Frank was woken up by somebody talking. At first he thought there was somebody in the living room, but then he realized that it was Astrid.

‘Believe it . . . in your head. It’s the only path. Dark . . . I know it is. Dark! Can’t you hear the fountain? Go through the garden and never come back.’

After a while she turned her back to him and started to breathe very deeply, as if she were trying to calm herself down. The sky outside grew lighter and lighter, and at last the sun came in, and lit up the bed. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

‘I was dreaming,’ she said.

Frank didn’t realize that he had overshot the entrance to Nevile’s house until he passed the Earth Mother Juice Stand by the side of the road. If you pass the Earth Mother Juice Stand, Nevile had told him, you’ve gone two hundred yards too far. He twisted around in his seat and backed his car up all the way.

The driveway to Nevile’s house sloped steeply downhill between two dark yew hedges. He followed it around a tight left-hand curve until he reached a wide shingled area in front of the house, where a skinny teenager in a splashy Hawaiian shirt was waxing Nevile’s Mercedes. Frank didn’t have to ask if Nevile was home. The house was walled almost entirely in glass, so that Frank could see right through the living room to the deck at the rear, where Nevile was pacing up and down with his cellphone.

He went to the front door and pushed the bell. A dumpy Mexican woman in a flowery apron stopped chopping red capsicums in the kitchen and came waddling along the shiny hardwood hallway.

‘Yes?’ she said, as if she were surprised to see anybody standing outside.

‘Frank Bell. Nevile’s expecting me.’

‘Hokay. You come inside.’

She showed him into the living room, which was furnished with low couches upholstered in natural linen and chrome-plated Italian chairs. A tall bronze statue of a naked woman stood in one corner, her hands covering her eyes. On the opposite wall hung an abstract painting of a scarlet triangle and a black square. It was titled Doubt.

Nevile saw Frank through the window and beckoned him out on to the deck. The back of the house was built up on pilings and it commanded a precipitous view of Laurel Canyon, with trees and rooftops and bright-blue swimming-pools, and the hazy city sprawling in the distance. Nevile gestured to Frank to sit down.

‘Yes,’ he snapped, into his cellphone. ‘That’s all it’s giving me. I’ve tried, believe me, but you wouldn’t want me to fabricate evidence, would you? Even psychic evidence.’ He dropped the cellphone into the pocket of his blue-black Armani shirt. ‘Lieutenant Chessman again,’ he said to Frank. ‘He gave me what was left of the driver’s seat from the catering truck, the one they used to bomb The Garry Sherman Show. He wants to know if I got any feedback from it.’

‘And did you?’

‘A couple of flashes, but they didn’t make any particular sense. One was somebody shouting; it sounded like an angry father telling off a child. The other was more like a dream . . . walking between two rows of cypress trees, with a full moon shining overhead.’

‘So what do you make out of that?’

‘Absolutely bugger all, so far. Both flashes obviously represent highly significant moments in the driver’s life, otherwise they wouldn’t have left such a strong resonance in his seat. It’s also likely that they’re both connected with his decision to act as a suicide bomber. But how, and why . . . well, your guess is as good as mine.’

‘You still don’t have any idea who these terrorists are?’

‘Not really. I get a strong feeling that there’s a religious motive behind it, although it’s impossible to say which religion. I also get the feeling that Dar Tariki Tariqat has a very powerful and charismatic leader behind it – somebody that these suicide bombers desperately wanted to impress. In almost every fragment I’ve picked up, there’s an extraordinary sensation of pride. That’s something I’ve never sensed at a crime scene before, even when the British Army had me sorting through bomb debris in Northern Ireland.’

Frank pulled a face. ‘Whoever they are, they’ve certainly done what they set out to do. Almost every new TV series is on hold, and three major movies have been closed down altogether.’

‘Why don’t you come inside?’ said Nevile. ‘Let’s see if Danny can’t give us some answers.’

Nevile showed him into his study. One wall was lined with reference books and leather-bound encyclopedias and files on the paranormal; another was clustered with photographs of Nevile with various famous people – Uri Geller, Elton John, Shirley Maclaine, Henry Kissinger. There was no desk, only a large, low table in the center of the room, made out of a solid square of highly polished black marble.

‘This is my pride and joy, this table. I had it shipped over from Delphi, where the oracle Pythia lived. You’ve heard of the Oracle of Delphi?’

‘Sure.’

‘The story is that she could tell the future by getting high on bay leaves. But I think there’s much more convincing evidence that she was a psychic. She was capable of giving accurate predictions of what was going to happen in the near future, but only in flashes and riddles, the same way that things come to me, and any other psychic detective. For instance, she foresaw that “wooden walls will save Athens from Persia,” and what happened? The Greek fleet defeated the invasion fleet of King Xerxes of Persia at the battle of Salamis, 480 BC. And she predicted dozens of other famous events.’

Frank said, ‘There’s one thing I wanted to ask you, before we started. If another spirit’s pretending to be Danny, how are we going to get in touch with the real Danny?’

‘I think he’ll make himself known, if he’s recovered. It’s my belief that he must have been just as shocked as Kathy Ashbee and all the other children, and so the last time I tried to contact him, his spirit was still very weak. The other spirit was much more mature and consequently much stronger and so it was able to drown him out. It jammed his signal, as it were. But I’m hoping very much that Danny is going to be able to talk to us, this time.’

‘OK, then. I understand. Let’s get on with it.’

Nevile sat up straight in his black leather armchair and focused on the wall just above Frank’s head. Frank sat up straight, too, although Nevile hadn’t asked him to.

There was a long, long silence. It was so quiet that Frank could hear Nevile breathing. After three or four moments, a clock chimed eleven. Outside the house, in the sunlight, the teenager in the Hawaiian shirt was giving a last brisk polish to the Mercedes’ front bumpers.

‘Is that you, Danny?’ asked Nevile suddenly. ‘I want to talk to Danny.’

Frank sat up even straighter, right on the edge of his chair. He looked at Nevile, trying to catch his attention, but Nevile’s eyes were still focused on the wall above his head.

‘I want to talk to Danny,’ Nevile repeated. ‘Nobody else.’

It was all Frank could do to stay in his seat. ‘Nevile,’ he demanded, ‘is somebody there?’

Nevile glanced at him quickly and nodded.

‘Is it Danny? Please, God, let it be Danny.’

There was another silence. Nevile slowly lowered his head, so that he was staring down at the shiny oak floor, and he nodded, and nodded again, as if he were listening.

Eventually, he said, ‘All right, if you’re really Danny, why don’t you give me a sign? Better yet, why don’t you show yourself?

Frank waited, his heart beating – thumpp, thumpp, thumpp – as slowly as a funeral drum.

Nevile nodded again and then he looked up. ‘He says you should forget about him and make a new life for yourself.’

‘What? How can I forget about him?’

‘He says that you have to look forward, not back.’

‘How do I know that it’s really him?’

‘He says he forgives you, he knows that it wasn’t really your fault. He was angry before because he didn’t realize that he was dead.’

‘Yes, but how do I know that it’s really him, and not this other spirit pretending to be him?’

Nevile covered his eyes with one hand, and didn’t say a word for more than a minute. At last he said, ‘Mr Rumbles. Does that mean anything to you?’

‘What?’

‘Mr Rumbles, his teddy bear. He says that you called it Mr Rumbles because you blamed it for your stomach rumbling when you were reading him a bedtime story. Green Eggs and Ham, that’s what you were reading him.’

Frank opened his mouth and closed it again. It was Danny. It had to be Danny. What other spirit could have known that? And Danny had said that he was forgiven. Unexpectedly, his eyes filled up with tears.

‘Danny! Danny, can you hear me, it’s Daddy!’

Nevile listened again, and then said, ‘Yes, he can hear you. He loves you. He just wants you to be happy. He says you should make a new life.’

‘Danny, I’m not going to forget you. Not ever.’

‘He says you should follow your heart. You’ve already met the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.’

Frank frowned at him. ‘I don’t understand. How does he know about that?’

‘Because he’s with you, wherever you go, and he always will be.’

‘Danny – who do you mean? Who are you talking about?’

Another pause. ‘He says her name begins with A. A is for aardvark.’

‘Who do you mean, Danny? Who are you talking about?’

Nevile waited, and waited. ‘No answer. I think he may have gone. Either that, or he’s too tired to talk to us anymore. It’s very exhausting, getting in touch with people who have passed over; and they find it very exhausting, too.’

Frank said, ‘You’re sure he’s gone?’ He looked around the room, half expecting to see Danny standing in one of the corners, or out on the deck.

‘I think so. I can’t hear anything, and I can’t feel any resonance.’

Frank pulled out a crumpled tissue and blew his nose. ‘I don’t know what to say. That was Danny, wasn’t it? I mean, he knew what his teddy bear was called, and why.’

‘I wouldn’t take that as conclusive proof, Frank. But it does seem very likely that it was him.’

‘God, I wish I could have heard him myself. But he forgives me, and that’s what I care about most.’

Nevile stood up and laid his hand on Frank’s shoulder. ‘I’m pleased about that. I’m really very pleased. But . . . I don’t know. There was one thing that didn’t quite ring true.’

Frank looked up at him and frowned.

‘It’s nothing much,’ said Nevile. ‘I just wonder why he was so enthusiastic about your starting a new life.’

‘Maybe he knows that Margot and I have reached the end of the road. I mean, if Margot can’t accept that I didn’t kill Danny on purpose—’

‘I don’t know. It seems to me that most eight-year-old boys would want their parents to stay together, no matter what.’

‘I guess he realizes that we’re never going to be happy.’

‘Hmm. That’s rather a grown-up assessment for an eight-year-old boy – particularly an eight-year-old boy who’s just been killed . . . But how about a drink? I’ve got some rather good Riesling if you like that kind of thing.’

‘No, thanks. I think I’d better be going. I have to get back to the studio to find out what’s happening with Pigs.’

‘Is there a woman in your life beginning with A?’

Frank hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Yes.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m being inquisitive. But when I come to write this up for my book, I’d like to be able to say if Danny hit the mark or not.’

‘Her name’s Astrid. I met her at The Cedars after the bomb went off. She’s very attractive, and I guess we get along pretty good, although I think it’s way too soon to think about spending the rest of my life with her.’

‘Of course.’

‘For one thing, she’s very secretive about her background. I don’t know where she lives or what she does for a living. I’ve never met any of her friends. For all I know, her name isn’t Astrid at all.’

‘That’s unusual. Not unheard of, I suppose, especially if she’s married. But unusual.’

‘I know. But she’s a very good listener, and she seems to understand how I feel, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all that matters for now.’ He stood up and took hold of Nevile’s hand. ‘I want to thank you for this. You’ve taken a load off my mind. Really.’

‘We should do it again. Perhaps we can find out more.’

Nevile opened the study door and Frank went into the hallway. As he did so, Danny stepped out of the living room, right in front of him, even though the walls were all glass and Frank hadn’t seen him waiting for him.

Frank heard himself saying, ‘Oh my God!’

Danny looked as solid as if he were still alive, except that his hair was wildly tousled and his face was deathly white. He was wearing a gray check shirt and khaki shorts and gray worn-out sneakers with no socks – clothes that Frank didn’t recognize. His shirt and his shorts were blotchy with dried blood, and there was dried blood on his left ear, as well as bruises on his forehead and briar scratches on his legs. His eyes were wide open but they stared at him like glass eyes in a stuffed animal, expressionless.

Frank felt as if his skin were shrinking. ‘Danny?’ he said hoarsely. He took a step forward, but Nevile grabbed hold of his arm.

‘Frank – don’t!’

‘You see him too?’

‘Yes, but it isn’t Danny. Believe me, Frank, Danny wouldn’t have the strength to do this.’

‘Danny?’ Frank repeated. ‘Danny, what the hell happened to you? Did somebody hurt you?’

He tried to pry Nevile’s fingers free from his arm, but now Nevile caught him around the waist as well, trying to pull him back. ‘Don’t, Frank! He could be dangerous!’

‘That’s Danny, Nevile! Look at him! That’s Danny!’

‘For God’s sake, he can’t be!’

‘Danny, who did this to you? Who hurt you? Let me go, Nevile. For Christ’s sake, let me go. I have to know who’s hurt him.’

Danny said nothing but continued to stare. Frank wrestled himself free from Nevile and took two or three steps toward him, holding out his hands.

‘Frank, will you listen to me – don’t!’

Frank went down on one knee. ‘Danny, don’t you know me? It’s Daddy. Who hurt you, Danny? Let me help you.’

Danny’s eyes turned toward him. They didn’t look like Danny’s, but there was something about them that Frank recognized, as if somebody familiar were watching him through the cut-out eyes of a Danny mask. ‘Daddy,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘Daddy hurt me.’

‘I don’t understand. I never beat up on you, not like this.’

‘Daddy hurt me.’

‘Danny, come here, let’s get you cleaned up.’

Nevile said, ‘He’s a spirit, Frank. You can’t clean him up. You can’t even touch him. He isn’t there.’

Frank turned around. ‘What the hell do you mean, he isn’t here? I can see him and I can hear him and he’s been hurt, and that’s good enough for me.’

‘Frank—’

But as Frank turned back again, Danny let out a scream of terror and hurtled against the wall. Then he was flung across the hallway, hitting his head and his shoulder against the leg of the side table. A glass vase toppled off the table and smashed on the floor. Danny slid feet-first toward the front door, as if he were being dragged by his ankles.

Frank tried to grab his hands and pull him back. He felt a sharp slice across his knuckles but there was nothing there. No hands, no Danny. Danny had vanished, instantly, in the same way that he had appeared. Frank stood up, shaking, confused, blood dripping from his elbow. He had cut himself on a curved piece of broken glass vase.

‘What happened? Where is he?’

‘I told you, Frank. You could see him but he wasn’t there.’

‘He knocked the vase off the table! If he wasn’t there, how could he knock the vase off the table?’

‘Psychokinetic energy, that’s all, like a poltergeist. Here, come into the kitchen. Let’s take a look at that cut.’

‘He was there, Nevile. He was right there in front of me.’

‘I know. I saw him too. But he was only in our minds.’

The dumpy cook stared disapprovingly as Nevile held Frank’s knuckles under cold running water. Then Nevile tore off a sheet of paper towel for him, so that he could dry his hand and stem the bleeding.

‘There – it’s not serious. You’ll live.’

‘That looked so much like Danny . . . I just can’t get my head round it.’

‘I know, Frank, but it wasn’t him. I think it was probably the same spirit we saw on your patio.’

‘But why? What does it want?’

‘I imagine it’s trying to tell you something, trying to explain something to you, but God alone knows what. Spirits are like the Oracle of Delphi. They have a frustrating habit of speaking in riddles, and suggestions, and hints.’

They went out on to the deck and Frank sat down, still trembling. Nevile opened the bottle of wine and handed him a glass. ‘Unless you’d rather have a brandy?’

‘No, this is fine.’

Nevile sat opposite him, and held his glass of wine up to the sunlight. ‘Beautiful color, isn’t it? Pure gold.’

‘What do I do now?’ Frank asked him.

‘Under normal circumstances I’d say forget it, leave well enough alone.’

‘But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?’

‘No. And I think that your first instinct was right. You’re being led somewhere, for some reason. It may be nothing more than a prank. Some dead people have a very strange sense of humor. But I don’t think this is being done for fun. We need to find out what this spirit is trying to say to you, and urgently.’