She ran a hand over the envelope, smoothing the package lovingly as if it were a gift.
Viktor hesitated. His good sense advised him not to let Anna into the house.
She's dangerous.
The evidence so far was damning: Anna Glass wasn't who she claimed to be. He knew for a fact that her name belonged to a student who had been poisoned at the Park. But this woman, whoever she was, held the key to Josy's disappearance. If he didn't seize his chance, he might never answer the questions that were driving him to distraction.
And since he was desperate to know who she was and why she thought they had ‘unfinished business’, he decided to ask her whatever he wanted. It didn't matter anymore if she clammed up or stormed out because she had already given him the final chapters of Charlotte's story.
‘Wait,’ he said quickly, opening the door fully. ‘Why don't you come in for a moment? You must be frozen out there.’
‘Thanks.’ Anna shook the rain out of her long blonde hair and stepped nervously into the warmth.
He ushered her into the sitting room while he lingered in the hall. As soon as he was alone, he opened the bottom drawer of the bureau, took out Halberstaedt's package and ran his fingers over the crumpled paper. The string fell away as the knot came free.
‘Could I possibly have a cup of tea?’
Viktor stood up sharply and dropped the half-opened package. Anna was standing in the corridor. She had taken off her coat and was wearing black trousers with a sheer slate-grey blouse that was buttoned all wrong.
‘Of course,’ he said, taking a handkerchief out of the drawer and closing it quickly. As far as he could tell, she hadn't noticed what was in the parcel.
After steering her back into the sitting room, he hurried to the kitchen and reappeared a few minutes later with the tea. He was feeling so drained that carrying a full pot seemed downright impossible, so he had only filled it halfway.
‘Thank you.’
Anna barely seemed to notice him and didn't appear in the least surprised when he stopped to mop the sweat from his brow before stumbling to his desk.
‘I should probably get going,’ she said as soon as he sat down.
‘But you haven't touched your tea!’
He slipped the first sheet out of the envelope and read the title: The Passage.
To his surprise, it was a laser-printed manuscript. She had obviously brought her laptop with her and talked Trudi, the proprietor of the Anchor, into letting her use the printer in the office.
‘Please, Dr Larenz, I really can't stay.’
‘OK, I'll read the manuscript later,’ he said, shoving the page clumsily into the envelope. ‘But while you're here, I'd like to ask you about last night. What—’ He looked up at Anna and stopped short.
There was definitely something the matter. Anna's eyes were fixed nervously on the ceiling and she was clenching her fists. Whatever was raging inside her seemed determined to get out. He desperately wanted to know whether she had broken into his house and why she had lied about her name, but he knew it would be irresponsible to bother her in her present state. No matter how much he wanted some answers, there could be no justification for precipitating a psychotic episode in a patient who needed his help. At last he decided to tackle the reason she had come to him in the first place: her schizophrenia.
‘How long have you got?’ he asked gently.
‘Till the next episode?’
‘Yes.’
‘A day? Twelve hours? I don't know. The symptoms are there already,’ she said in a strained voice.
‘Colours?’
‘Yes, everything around me is brighter, more intense. It looks as if someone has varnished the trees and turned the sea a deep, shiny blue. I can hardly bear to look away; it's so incredibly radiant, even in the rain. And the smell is fabulous too. I can smell the salt in the air. It's like everything is steeped in the most wonderful perfume and no one can smell it except me.’
It was roughly what Viktor had expected her to say, but it was sobering all the same. He couldn't say for sure whether Anna was dangerous, but she was definitely ill. And dealing with a schizophrenic patient in the grip of a delusion was no joke – especially on an island in the middle of nowhere.
‘Any voices?’
Anna shook her head. ‘No, but it's only a matter of time. I'm a textbook schizophrenic: heightened colours, imaginary voices, then the visual hallucinations. At least I won't have to worry about seeing Charlotte this time.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Charlotte won't be coming back. She's gone for good.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘You'll know if you read the manuscript. I—’
Viktor wasn't able to hear the rest because the telephone rang and Anna fell silent.
‘What happened to Charlotte?’ he persisted.
‘You should answer the phone, Dr Larenz. I've resigned myself to it ringing while I'm here. Besides, I wasn't intending to stay.’
‘I can't let you go. You're on the brink of another episode; you need help.’
And I need some answers. What happened to Charlotte?
‘Stay right here,’ he instructed her. Anna stared at the floor, rubbing her index finger nervously against her thumbnail. Viktor noticed that the cuticle was red raw. She obviously had a nervous tick.
‘Fine, I'll stay for a bit,’ she agreed. ‘But stop that awful ringing.’
30
He answered the phone in the kitchen.
‘I was beginning to think you were out,’ said Kai impatiently. ‘You're never going to believe what happened.’
‘Hang on a second,’ whispered Viktor, placing the receiver on the work surface next to the sink. He pulled off his slippers and crept, barefoot, into the hall, talking loudly as if he were on the phone.
‘Yes . . . Really? . . . All right . . . Leave it to me.’
Peering into the sitting room, he was relieved to see that Anna was sitting exactly where he had left her.
‘OK, we can talk,’ he said when he was back in the kitchen.
‘She's not there, is she?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought we had an agreement.’
‘She turned up on the doorstep, and I couldn't exactly turn her away. It's not safe to be outside in this weather. Anyway, I thought you wanted to tell me something?’
‘A fax arrived at the office today.’
‘Who from?’
‘I don't know. I'd like you to take a look at it.’
‘What does it say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You're ringing to tell me that you received a blank fax?’
‘I didn't say it was blank. There's no message; just a picture.’
‘A picture? What's it got to do with me?’
‘I think it's from your daughter. I think Josy drew it.’
Trembling, Viktor leant back against the fridge and closed his eyes.
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When did you get the fax?’
‘About an hour ago. It was sent directly to me. Only a handful of people know my private number.’
Viktor took a deep breath and ended up coughing again. ‘I don't know what to make of it.’
‘Do you have a fax machine at your end?’
‘It's on the desk in the sitting room.’
‘Great. I'll fax it through in ten minutes. In the meantime, get that woman out of the house. I'll call back in a bit so you can tell me what you think.’
Viktor reeled off his fax number and hung up.
As soon as he was in the hall, he saw that the door to the sitting room was closed. Cursing inwardly, he immediately suspected that Anna had done another disappearing act. He yanked the door open and heaved a sigh of relief. Anna was still there. She was standing at the desk with her back to him.
‘Hello again,’ he said in a voice so hoarse that it was barely a whisper.
His relief gave way to horr
or. Anna hadn't heard him come in: she still had her back to him and was stirring white powder into his tea.
31
‘Get out of my house!’
Anna turned round slowly and looked at him blankly.
‘Goodness me, Doctor, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Is something wrong?’
‘Wrong? My tea has tasted bitter for days, I've been feeling wretched ever since you came to the island, and now I know why!’
‘For heaven's sake, Dr Larenz, you're going to make yourself ill. Calm down and take a seat.’
‘Of course I'm ill! You've been spiking my tea with . . . Well, you tell me!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What the hell have you been putting in my tea?’ bellowed Viktor. The words seemed to scrape against the inside of his throat, making his voice quiver hysterically.
‘Pull yourself together,’ she said briskly.
‘WHAT'S IN MY TEA?’
‘Paracetamol.’
‘Paracetamol?’
‘Yes, it's great for colds.’ She opened her grey designer handbag. ‘See for yourself. I had such an ordeal with Charlotte that I never leave home without it.’ She paused. ‘You looked so awful that I wanted to help. I was going to tell you before you drank it, but then . . . Oh heavens, you didn't think I was trying to poison you, did you?’
Viktor was thinking all sorts of things, but he didn't know what to believe.
His dog had disappeared, and he himself was suffering from diarrhoea, a temperature and myalgia – classic symptoms of a viral infection. Or poison. Cough medicine and painkillers didn't seem to help.
And two people had warned him independently about Anna.
Be careful; she's dangerous.
‘Look,’ said Anna, showing him her cup. ‘I put paracetamol in mine as well. I thought it might do us some good. I'd hardly want to poison myself, would I? I've drunk a few sips already.’
Viktor stared at her, aghast. He was still too agitated to find the right words. ‘What am I supposed to think?’ he shouted. ‘None of it makes any sense! Why the hell would you break into my house in the middle of the night? What would you want with a weapon? Why would anyone buy fishing twine and a carving knife from the hardware store? What did I ever do to you?’
It occurred to Viktor that the accusations would be ludicrous if they weren't completely true. ‘You even lied about your name!’
‘I'm afraid you've lost me, Dr Larenz. Do you think I've got some kind of grudge against you, is that the problem?’
‘You tell me! According to Michael Burg, we've got “unfinished business”!’
‘Are you feverish?’
Of course I'm bloody feverish. Isn't that your intention?
‘I haven't said a word to Burg since he ferried me over.’ Now Anna was losing her temper too. ‘I don't know what you're talking about!’
She stood up and smoothed her trousers.
Someone was lying. Either Halberstaedt had made it up or Anna wasn't telling the truth.
‘Fine,’ she said furiously. ‘If that's your opinion of me, we may as well end our sessions here.’
For the first time since their therapy started, Anna was beside herself with rage.
She grabbed her coat and bag and barged past him. Then she stopped in the hall and charged back in. Before Viktor could stop her, she took her revenge in the worst possible way.
Snatching the manila envelope from the desk, she hurled it into the fireplace. The paper went up in flames.
‘No!’
Viktor wanted to sprint across the room, but couldn't muster the strength to take a single step.
‘Why should you care about my story? You won't be seeing me again!’
‘Stop!’ he shouted after her, but Anna marched out without looking back. The front door slammed behind her.
Anna Glass was gone for good – and with her any chance of finding out what had happened to Josy. The truth was smouldering in the fireplace, escaping through the chimney in a column of black smoke.
32
Groaning, Viktor dropped on to the couch.
What was going on? What was happening on the island?
He drew up his knees and hugged his shins.
Oh God.
He was sweating furiously and his old friend Mr Shivers had returned.
What's wrong with me? I'll never find out the truth about Josy.
You were being poisoned, said a voice inside him.
It was only paracetamol, his conscience replied.
It took a few moments for him to stop shaking and stand up.
The tea was cold by the time he summoned the strength to load the crockery on to a tray. He shuffled to the kitchen, staring at the cups in bewilderment. Distracted by the shocking evidence, he forgot to look where he was going, stumbled and let go of the tray. Everything crashed to the floor. Tea spilt everywhere, robbing him of the proof, but he knew for certain what he had seen.
Both cups were full to the brim.
He was willing to bet that Anna hadn't taken a single sip of tea.
Before he could fetch a dishcloth from the kitchen, a humming and rattling alerted him to the arrival of a fax on his old-fashioned machine.
Leaving the tray and broken china on the floor, he retraced his steps to the desk. Before he got there, he could tell there was a problem. The machine had disgorged a single piece of paper, which he picked up slowly and held under the lamp. He could turn it this way and that and study it for as long as he liked, but it wasn't going to get him any further. Not even a microscope would have helped. The fax was blank. There was no sign of a picture drawn by Josy, only a thick black line.
33
By the time Halberstaedt arrived with the awful news, Viktor was so worked up that he could barely remember his own telephone number, let alone Kai Strathmann's. The PI had failed to call about the fax. After waiting in vain for twenty minutes, Viktor had decided to ring Kai himself. Unfortunately, he was still so feverish that his memory seemed to be melting. Names and numbers were slopping around in his head like alphabet soup and it felt as if someone had given them a thorough stir. He couldn't remember Kai's number, so he couldn't ring him to tell him that the fax hadn't worked.
But the blank fax was the least of his problems. The thought that he might have been poisoned was driving him insane. His back felt excruciatingly tender, as if the skin had been burnt to a crisp, and his migraine had worked its way from the base of his skull to his forehead. Naturally, with the exception of himself, no one on Parkum knew anything about medicine, and the gusts had reached such a speed that even a military chopper would only leave the mainland in the event of an emergency. And he wasn't even sure that it was an emergency. Maybe Anna had been telling the truth and the powder was only paracetamol. Or maybe he had been poisoned in small doses, day by day.
Like Charlotte? Like Josy?
Had Anna had sufficient opportunity to poison him by degrees? He decided to give it a few more hours. The weather was atrocious and he didn't want the paramedics to risk their lives on his behalf. It would be unforgivable to make them fly through a hurricane if it turned out that he was suffering from the flu. Luckily he had packed some activated charcoal and other absorbent agents, which he took with some high-powered antibiotics, just in case.
Looking back on events, it occurred to Viktor that it was probably a good thing that he had been in a state of near physical exhaustion when Halberstaedt arrived with the shocking news. His brain, numbed by pain and the cocktail of tablets, was too weary and muddled to process the grisly details delivered to him on the porch.
‘I'm sorry, Doctor,’ said the mayor. He was holding a black cloth cap in both hands and spinning it with his fingers.
Viktor almost toppled over as he tried to crouch beside the body of his dog.
‘I found Sindbad by the dustbins at the back of the Anchor.’
Viktor felt as if he were listening to a script from the wrong side of a theatre curtain. He knel
t down and stroked the lifeless body of the golden retriever. It was obvious that the dog had been tortured. His hind legs, jawbone and maybe his spine were broken. ‘You know who's staying there, don't you?’
‘Pardon?’ Viktor wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up at the mayor. Sindbad had been garrotted with a length of fishing twine that was buried in the flesh around his throat.
‘Her, of course. That woman I warned you about. She's staying at the Anchor. You can bet your life she killed him.’
Viktor's instinct was to agree. He thought about asking Halberstaedt to wait while he fetched the gun so they could shoot her. Then he pulled himself together.
‘Listen, Patrick, I don't want to talk about it. And I can't discuss the conduct of my patients.’
Something fishy. Fishing twine.
‘You think she'll be back, do you? From what I saw, she was pretty het up when she left here. She was crying hysterically.’
‘It's none of your business,’ said Viktor in a strained, angry voice.
Halberstaedt raised his hands in surrender. ‘Calm down, Doctor, I was only trying to help. You look pretty poorly.’
‘It's hardly surprising, is it?’
‘Even accounting for the fact that your dog has been murdered, you don't look yourself. Is there anything I can do?’
‘No.’ Viktor stared at the ravaged body of his dog. He suddenly noticed the stab marks in its belly. The knife had penetrated the abdomen.
A long blade, like a carving knife.
‘Actually, there is something you could do.’ He got to his feet. ‘You could bury Sindbad for me. I'm not up to it.’ He didn't have the mental toughness, let alone the physical strength.
‘No problem.’ Halberstaedt tipped his cap at him. ‘I'd best fetch a shovel.’ He turned towards the toolshed and stopped. ‘There's something else I wanted to show you. I'm hoping you'll take my warnings more seriously after this.’
‘After what?’
Halberstaedt handed Viktor a green sheet of paper smeared with blood. ‘It was in Sindbad's mouth when I found him.’
Viktor smoothed it out.
‘It looks like a . . .’
‘Exactly. It's a bank statement. And unless I'm much mistaken, it belongs to you.’