The Memory of Blood(85)

‘Oh, that’s easy enough. Didn’t I regress you to your past lives once?’

‘Yes. You went back too far. I couldn’t speak, remember?’

‘Oh that’s right, I think I turned you into protoplasm. It’s not my fault that you’re so susceptible. Go and make yourself comfortable on the chaise longue, I’ll brew us some seaweed tea. What exactly do you need to remember?’

‘I gave all my file notes to the girl who was helping me with my memoirs. I told her I remembered everything, but I don’t. Now she’s dead and I need to find out what it was in those notes that killed her.’

‘Well, that’s as clear as mud. You weren’t there when her soul departed, were you?’

‘No.’

‘Good, I can’t be dealing with a case of possession tonight, I haven’t got enough salt. You need to recover what you wrote, yes? So let’s go back through the process. Hang on a minute.’

She returned with bowls of tea the colour of a rough sea, and a covered plate. ‘Take a couple of these first. They’ll help you relax.’

‘What are they?’ Bryant peeked under a tea towel.

‘Custard creams. They always work for me. Now, you need to find yourself in a comfortable place.’

‘I can’t, I’m in your house.’

‘I mean, imagine you’re on a beach.’

Bryant closed his eyes, laced his fingers and lay back. ‘All right, Hastings.’

‘Not Hastings. Not somewhere with a burnt-down pier and a juvenile delinquency problem. Pick somewhere warm, safe and relaxing.’

‘All right, I’m at home with Alma sitting in front of the fire, reading my copy of London’s Disused Underground Stations 1920–1959 Volume 3, the annotated version.’

‘You don’t have to tell me everything, just imagine it. It’s warm and you’re feeling sleepy. Your heartbeat is slowing down—’

Bryant opened one eye. ‘Is that a good idea?’

‘It’s fine. You’re relaxed. You’re starting to fall asleep.’

Bryant promptly fell asleep.

‘No, you’re not supposed to actually fall asleep. Wake up.’

Bryant released a snore. His head lolled. Maggie slapped his face gently. Then harder.

‘Ow. What’s happening? Did you do it?’

‘You fell asleep.’

‘You told me to.’

‘Let’s try again. I’m going to count back from ten to one, and you will feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of relaxation.’

Maggie counted back, and Bryant slipped into a light hypnotic state. In fact, he relaxed so much that he almost vanished into the sofa. Bryant had always been open to new ideas and beliefs. He was highly susceptible and in many ways naïve, but she loved him for his refusal to become regimented in his habits and thoughts.

‘You are in your office, assembling your notes and thinking about your memoirs. They are laid out in front of you on your desk. What cases are you considering for inclusion in the first volume?’

‘The Palace Phantom, the Deptford Demon, the Belles of Westminster, the Battersea Cat Batterer, the Flying Dragons of Soho, the Blood Thrower of Belsize Park, the Butterfly Killer, and that strange business in the Elephant and Castle Odeon that led to the building being demolished. We called the case the Fall of the House of Usherettes—’

‘Apart from the criminal cases, was there anything that would have breached the Official Secrets Act or any freedom of information rulings? Try to see yourself typing up the pages, and wondering Should I be putting this down on paper?’

‘Oh, I never think that. Put it all down, I say.’

‘Didn’t you have a problem with the Ministry of Defence?’

‘What kind of problem?’

‘I don’t know, you came around here and told me about it.’

‘When was this?’

‘About seven years ago.’

‘Oh, that’s right. The researchers.’

‘Tell me about them.’

‘They were working on a secret project down in Wiltshire. Some kind of weapon. The work had been outsourced to a private company jointly owned by US and UK executive bodies. There had been a high number of suicides over the year, research scientists, all males in their twenties, mostly Asian. None of them had shown suicidal tendencies before, and all were working on the same project.’

‘What was your involvement?’

‘We’d been called in by an independent think tank to look at the situation. I handled the assignment personally, as a favour. I didn’t involve John. I delivered a report, but no action was ever taken. My findings were ignored.’