On the kitchen table is an old-fashioned manual typewriter. An ashtray overflows with cigarette stubs. There are sticky rings and two unwashed glass tumblers.
‘I have three rooms in this house that I’ve tried to use as studies,’ Black says. ‘And this is the only place I can work.’
As his new friend pours water and ground coffee into a machine, Joe sees a long narrow garden beyond the window. The door to the rest of the house is open and Joe can see a hallway with black and white square tiles, a wide staircase and a wood-panelled, under-stairs cupboard.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asks, when the coffee arrives.
‘Twelve years. Three different families have lived in number twenty-two in that time. No one ever stays long. Splash of bourbon in that?’
Joe declines. ‘I can’t talk about my patient,’ he says. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘’Course.’ Black invites him to sit and takes the stool opposite. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why do you call it the “murder house”?’
‘Bloke went mad and killed his family. Cut his wife to pieces and then did the same thing to his little girl. Then he killed himself.’
Joe feels his breakfast churning in his stomach. He thinks he might, actually, be about to throw up on a stranger’s kitchen floor.
‘Actually,’ he says. ‘I will have a splash of bourbon. Thanks.’
‘Thought you might.’ Grinning, Black sloshes some amber liquid into Joe’s cup. Joe drinks. The burning liquor has an instant, calming effect. ‘That’s quite a story,’ Joe says, when the immediate threat of vomiting has passed. ‘Is this common knowledge?’
‘Absolutely. There are ghost tours of old Salisbury. Tourist things, and they usually include a visit here. Nice little earner for me.’
‘Do you know the name of the family?’
‘Lloyd. Struck a chord with me because my mother’s maiden name was Lloyd. Her family came from the valleys.’
‘And they all died? No survivors?’
Black shakes his head, and the tiny smile doesn’t leave his face. ‘Bodies all found in the under-stairs cupboard.’
* * *
It is pouring with rain when Joe arrives back in Cambridge and he is soaked to the skin by the time he reaches Torquil’s boat. The cabin smells of the river and of fried onions.
‘Well, that can’t be right,’ Torquil says, when Joe has finished his story. ‘Felicity’s still alive. Was there a sibling?’
‘Who knows? To be honest, I suspect a combination of Chinese whispers, overactive imagination and love of an audience,’ Joe says. ‘The guy gets money from showing people around his house so it’s in his interests to make it as lurid as possible. But there must be some truth in it. Felicity has a thing about under-stairs cupboards. And there was some major trauma involving her parents when she was about three years old, so the timing’s right. She talked about “bad men” though, as in “Don’t give me to the bad men, Daddy”. In Felicity’s subconscious, her father is an abuser.’
His supervisor looks thoughtful.
‘And she definitely told me her parents are dead.’
‘Maybe she witnessed her father killing her mother,’ Torquil suggests. ‘Maybe she hid in the under-stairs cupboard, which is how she survived.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘If murder was committed, there’ll be a record. Have you done a search?’
Joe shakes his head. ‘Nothing on the internet, but it was over twenty years ago. Mum should be able to dig it all up, so to speak. She won’t like it, but I can twist her arm.’
Torquil drops his eyes.
‘What?’ Joe says.
‘I don’t doubt you can find out exactly what went on twenty-five years ago, which will probably bear some resemblance, but not much, to the story you were told today. What I’m less sure about is what you’d gain.’
This takes Joe by surprise. ‘How about the truth?’
‘Felicity told you, in no uncertain terms, that she doesn’t want to find out anything more about her past life,’ Torquil says. ‘She can’t cope with it right now. And you cannot force a patient into therapy she isn’t ready for. You’re not going to like this, Joe, but—’
Joe gets to his feet. ‘I know,’ he agrees. ‘Back away, stay away, she’s not my problem any more.’
He has never seen his supervisor looking so worried. ‘You won’t, will you?’ he says.
‘No.’
* * *
At lunchtime the next day, Joe drives to the offices of the British Antarctic Survey on Cambridge’s west campus. Two women are behind the reception desk, one staring at a computer screen, the other on her knees packing boxes.
‘Hi,’ Joe says, when the woman at the computer looks up. ‘I was hoping to catch Felicity. Has she left for lunch yet?’
Turning up at her office will surprise her, maybe even embarrass her, but it still feels more professional than going to her house.
‘Felicity isn’t here.’ The woman has a puzzled look on her face. ‘Can anyone else help you?’
Joe forces a cheery smile. ‘No, she’s a mate. I hoped she might have time for some lunch.’
The receptionist frowns. ‘Felicity doesn’t work here any more.’
‘Oh, she does work here.’ The other woman has looked up from her box-packing. ‘She just doesn’t work here. She’s on assignment.’
‘She’s finished already?’ Joe says. ‘I thought that was a couple of weeks away.’
‘No, she finished on Friday,’ the other woman says. ‘We had a drinks party for her. I’m not sure if she’s left the city yet. Do you know, Lucy?’
‘I don’t think she mentioned when she was flying out,’ the woman called Lucy says. ‘She talked about spending some time in South America though. You may catch her at home. We can’t give out her address, but if you’re a friend…’
‘I know where she lives,’ Joe says. ‘Thanks.’
He has his hand on the door before he thinks of something.
‘I’ve got some stuff of hers,’ he says. ‘If she’s gone already, can you help me get in touch with her husband? I could pass it on to him.’
Both women look at him blankly.
‘Her husband, Freddie?’ he prompts.
The two women look at each other. ‘Did you know Felicity was married?’ the one called Lucy says.
The other shakes her head
‘Sorry,’ Lucy says. ‘She never mentioned a husband.’
* * *
Joe is on the ground floor, ready to leave the building, when the other lift opens and a pair of heels clicks out.
‘Wait a sec!’
He turns to see that Lucy has followed him down. Now that she is away from the reception desk he can see that she is heavily pregnant.
‘I don’t want you to think we’re being unhelpful,’ she says. ‘You took us a bit by surprise. But I remembered when you’d gone, there was someone else asking after Felicity. He came in a couple of times. He never left his name, but I did press him once on what he wanted.’ She puts her hand to her stomach and takes a deep breath. ‘We get a lot of reps trying to get meetings with our scientists,’ she goes on. ‘Anyway, he said he was family. So, it could have been him, couldn’t it? Tall guy? Blonde? Good looking? A bit older than she is?’