Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase
have got there quicker, but that’s because you’re three kids messing about, who have nothing better to do. Be that as it may, I’ve looked into the connection with this Hugo Blake and I think he’s guilty. I arrested him today.’
My heart leaped. ‘Good!’
‘However’ – Barnes had stopped outside a plain iron door – ‘fifty years on, Blake still denies it all. He sayshe dropped the girl off at the house and never went inside.’
‘He’s lying,’ I said.
‘I’m sure he is, but I’d like more evidence. And that’s where you come in. All right, in you go, please.’
Before I could speak he had ushered me past the door and into a small dark room, empty except for two steel-and-leather chairs and a little table. The chairs faced the opposite wall, which consisted of a single pane of fogged grey glass. There was a switch built into the table, and also a black telephone receiver.
‘Sit down, Miss Carlyle.’ Barnes picked up the receiver and spoke into it. ‘OK? Is he there? That’s fine.’
I stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? Please tell me what’s going on.’
‘Psychic links like you had with the dead girl,’ Barnes said, ‘are very subjective things. Hard to put into words. You remember some things and forget others. Basically, they mess with your mind. So it’s possible that the ghost did communicate more about her killing than you recall. The face of her murderer, for instance.’
I shook my head, suddenly understanding. ‘You mean Blake? No. I just saw a photo of him now. It didn’t mean a thing to me.’
‘It may be different in the flesh,’ Barnes said. ‘We’ll see, shall we?’
Panic filled me. ‘Mr Barnes, I really don’t want to do this. I’ve told you everything.’
‘Just take a look. He won’t be able to see you. It’s one-way glass. He won’t even know you’re there.’
‘No, please, Mr Barnes . . .’
The inspector ignored me. He pressed the switch on the table. In front of us, bright light split the centre of the pane of glass. The brightness widened. Internal shutters drew aside like curtains to reveal a spot-lit room.
A man sat on a metal chair in the centre of that room, facing towards us. If you disregarded the one-way glass, he was about two or three metres away.
He was an elderly gentleman in a smart suit, black with a thin pink pinstripe. His shoes were brightly polished, his tie bright pink; a crush-pink handkerchief erupted from his breast pocket like a flame. Hugo Blake clearly retained the dandyish taste that he’d displayed in that black-and-white photo, fifty years before. The hair was slate-grey, but still long and still luxuriant; it brushed against his shoulders with soft, indulgent curls.
So much, then, was still the same – but not the face.
The smooth, complacent looks of youth had been replaced by a ravaged expanse, gaunt and grey and lined. Bones jutted like ploughshares beneath the skin. The nose had a net of thick blue veins that had begun to spread across the cheeks and chin. The lips were shrunken – tight and thin and hard. And the eyes—
The eyes were the worst. Sunk deep in hollow sockets,they were bright and cold, and full of anger and intelligence. They moved ceaselessly, staring all about, scanning the surface of the blank glass wall. The man’s fury was apparent. His hands dug like claws into his knees. He was speaking, but I couldn’t hear the words.
‘Blake’s rich,’ Barnes chuckled, ‘and used to getting his own way. He’s not at all happy to be here. But that’s not your problem. Take a good look, Miss Carlyle. Let your mind empty; think back to what you got from the girl. Does this trigger anything?’
I took a deep breath, squashed my anxiety down. After all, it was going to be OK. He couldn’t actually see me. I’d do what Barnes wanted, then be gone.
I focused my attention on the face—
And as I did so, the old man’s eyes locked suddenly into mine. They became quite still. It was as if he saw straight through the barrier and knew that I was there.
He smiled at me. It was a smile full of teeth.
I jolted right back in my seat. ‘No!’ I said. ‘That’s enough! I don’t get anything. It’s triggered nothing. Please. Please stop now! That’s enough.’
Barnes hesitated, then pressed the button. The shutters drew together, unhurriedly blocking out the spot-lit, smiling man.
15
‘Lucy,’ Lockwood said. ‘Stop. You need to talk to me.’
‘No. No, I really
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