Silas Nash Book 1: Hush Hush Honeysuckle: Chapter 22

‘We should talk.’

‘Of course. Shall I come to you?’

Jessica sounded repulsed. ‘No. Text me your address, please, and I’ll come to you.’

With the arrangements made, she pulled up outside Amanda Key’s house. There were no skulls or broomsticks. That was a good start. Amanda met her at the door with a warm smile that Jess had no intention of reciprocating. ‘Let’s just get this shit show over with, shall we? How did you know my dad was going to have a heart attack?’

‘Are you going to shout at me on the doorstep, or would you rather come inside and do it?’ The smile was still there, and in other circumstances, it would appear genuine and interested.

Amanda led them to a bright kitchen that was as welcoming as its host. There were no black and purple throws used as wall hangings and no crystal balls in the middle of the dining room table or burning incense.

‘Shall we sit, and I’ll answer all your questions.’ Amanda brought a teapot and cups over on a tray. She laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ Jess wasn’t amused, even if her hostess was.

‘I’m sorry. I was just given your last thought. My guide told me you’d rather throw the chair at my head than sit in this crazy house. Do I need a protective helmet?’

Jess almost laughed with her but stopped as the sound formed on her lips. That was exactly what she’d thought, word for word. Not close enough, not in the ballpark to take a punt on. She thought that exact phrase and needed to sit down. She accepted the cup of tea with gratitude.

‘How do you do it? Is it a trick?’

‘No, love. No tricks. Just something that’s been around as long as time. We all have these abilities and a spirit guide when we’re born, and most of us lose them as we get past the age of five. Our guides see us through early life, and then when the time’s right and we don’t need their help anymore, they leave us to help somebody else. Occasionally, as in my case, we retain the ability and carry it through our lives. I don’t know why I was chosen.’

Jess’s expression must have shown her opinion, or maybe the witch read her mind again—but either way, what she picked up wasn’t very pleasant. ‘Talk to me about my dad, specifically. How did you know? What did you do to him? Why?’

‘First, let’s get one thing straight, or I’ll show you out with no hard feelings on my part, and that will be the end of it. I did not make your dad ill.’

‘How could you possibly know he was going to be, then?’

‘Sven, my spirit guide told me.’

‘Sven? Okay, stop right there. I’ve had enough. If you’re going to insult my intelligence, I’m out of here. Thank you for the tea.’ She stood up and collected her bag.

‘I know you’ve put your phone on to record, and it’s in your bag under a pink scarf. You were worried that the sound wouldn’t carry through.’

Jess sat down.

‘This morning, you threw your kitchen clock out because it wasn’t keeping good time. And yes, I know you live on Rapier Street. I could have taken some of that from social media, I suppose. So how about this? You’ve been thinking of coming out of the shipyard and have been offered a job in marketing in Chester. You haven’t spoken to anybody about it because you feel that the timing couldn’t be worse—because of your sister.’

Jess took a gulp of the tea, and it was too strong and still too hot.

‘What do you know about my sister?’

‘That’s why you’re here, love.’

‘Go on.’

‘I realised that I had to make you believe me and only had a very short window of opportunity to do that before you wrote me off as a quack or a charlatan. Believe me. I’ve had both. You build a thick skin fast in my job.’

‘I’m listening. What do you know about my sister?’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, and I know she was murdered.’

‘It was in the papers.’

‘I’ve just been shown the bathroom and how she was left. I can describe it if you’d like me to, but I’d prefer to spare you from going through it again. I’m sure it haunts you. I know she was killed elsewhere and brought home to be found. She wasn’t breathing when she was put in the bath. I’ve been told to tell you that it was quick in the end. ’

‘You’ve just been shown? I suppose Sven showed you that.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t Casper? Is Sven a doctor as well now, then? He seems to know a lot.’

‘Ask me anything you like, and I’ll do my best for you. It might be more productive for both of us if we can lower the aggressive stance you’re taking, but as long as you’re here and listening, I don’t care how we get it done. If that’s how you need to be before we talk properly, I understand. I’ve just seen how she was left, and I’m struggling to be professional.’

‘Yes, awful the way he pushed her face underwater like that.’

Amanda sat back and appraised the other woman. ‘I don’t want to say it, love, but we both know her face wasn’t submerged in the bath of coffee.’

Jess gasped. Nobody knew the details. And then she cried. ‘The bastard cut my sister’s head off and left it on the corner of the bath.’

‘I know, love. It’s horrible. Just to give you further proof, she had long hair, and it was loose and flowing into the bath. Sven wants you to know her hair was tied up when she was killed. It was in a messy bun, and the killer took a plain black scrunchie.’

‘I haven’t been told that. If that’s the truth, the police haven’t released it to me. Do you have a source there?’

‘The police won’t have realised. Do you need a moment to process?’

Jess shook her head and managed a weak smile. If this woman was full of crap, she was damned good at it. She was good, Jess had to give her that, but logic and reason were dominant traits in her mind and personality. They won over fancy and mysticism every time. However, Jess couldn’t argue with the facts of what she was saying. Jess felt that she was a fact-over-fate kind of person—but in this instance, the fact was that Amanda was telling her things she couldn’t know. ‘I still don’t get it. If you’re as straight as you say you are, why won’t the police let you work with them? Do you know Conrad Snow? He does what you do, and I saw a programme on the TV about him. He lives in Cumbria now, but he said he’d worked with the police when he lived in London.’

‘I don’t know why they won’t let me help them. Maybe the police in big inner-city forces are more progressive than up here. And yes, I know Conrad. We’ve worked together a couple of times. He’s highly respected.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to have a go at you. I’m finding it hard to take all of this in. I used to have a sister, and now she’s dead, and I’m talking to a psychic. It’s all new to me.’

Amanda patted her hand, ‘Do you want me to go on?’

‘Yes, please. I’m confused and struggling, but I’m intrigued by what you have to say, too.’

‘I’m being shown another image. The killer is walking through the bedroom. Pink, there’s a lot of pinks. He opens a drawer and takes out a square pink gift box. He takes the lid off. Inside there’s a butterfly broach with coloured jewels. It’s costume jewellery, and there’s no real value to it. He—I’m assuming it’s a man, but I can only see the hand. I’m looking through his eyes, and he’s wearing black gloves—he returns the lid and puts the box in his pocket. Sven wants you to know that the killer has the box and the broach.’

Jess covered her mouth with her hand and let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

‘I didn’t know it was missing. Yes, the butterfly broach. Mum and Dad bought it for her as a stocking filler a few years ago. I had an identical one, but I broke the clasp on a night out and lost it soon after. It’s a standing joke that I only get cheap jewellery because I either break or lose any good stuff. Who killed her?’

‘I wish I could tell you. It doesn’t work like that.’

Jess had been thawing, but she got angry again. ‘If you can look through his eyes, why can’t you look in a mirror? You can tell me about pink bedrooms and shit butterflies, but when it comes to the stuff that matters, like a name or even an idea of what he looks like, good old Sven is as silent as a Victorian ghoul spewing ectoplasm like a snow machine.’

‘Let me try to explain. Sometimes we get different things in different orders. It can be a name. I hear information that’s spoken and see images. Sometimes it can be a jumble of images and noises, smells and other attacks on the senses that I have to try to decipher. Sometimes, we get cryptic fragments, and the information can be wrong. I don’t know why Sven can get some information but can’t cut straight to the chase. All I can do is take what I’m given and try to make it work.’

‘Not an exact science, then? Have you thought of introducing Sven to Wikipedia?’

‘I’m trying to get you on side. So I don’t want to go into Sven’s age. This time what he’s got is a walk-through. So he’s taking me through the house—sorry flat, and I’m seeing it through the killer’s eyes.’

Jess understood what Amanda was saying and was animated. ‘The mirror. you’re rummaging through Paige’s dressing table drawer, and there’s a mirror above it.’

‘He had his head down the whole time.’

‘You must be able to see something.’

‘Nothing helpful. The one glance I had in the mirror only showed a black ski mask. There’s no hair visible, no facial features. He’s wearing black gloves. They don’t have a label, no skin showing, and no visible tattoos, I’m afraid. It’s not like the movies. I’m sorry. He seems to be quite small, below average height, I think, but he’s crouched, so I can’t even be sure about that.’

‘If you want me to believe you, can you give me anything? Anything else at all that’s something I can go to the police with. You need credence. And speaking of which, if you’re so good, why aren’t you working with the police on this? Sorry, but it is a point.’

‘No offence taken. Your first question. I can get more. I know I can. I’ve had flickering images at night, and we can go through them together and see what’s relevant. And for your second point, the police won’t have anything to do with me. They are aware of my work. They think I’m a charlatan and in this for the fame. I don’t take any payments, so they can’t accuse me of that. I won’t lie to you. I’m here to help, and that means being honest. If I can’t give you anything more than the bits and pieces I’m getting, it’s been a waste of both of our time—but surely it’s worth a try, isn’t it?’

‘If it helps me get this bastard put away for my Paige, then I’ll try anything. It—you—are against everything I believe in. I don’t think you’re for real, and I don’t particularly like you, but I’m drowning here, and I’ll do anything to get justice for my sister.

‘Exactly. I have a question, and it might seem odd because I don’t think it’s correct. I’m getting an image of a boy of about twelve playing in a hotel corridor. And yet, I’m not getting a brother vibe. Do you have a younger brother, Jess? No, you don’t, do you?’

‘No, it’s just Paige and me. It was.’

‘I’m still seeing a little boy. Maybe he’s the killer’s next victim?’

‘Really?’ Jess tried to be polite, but she couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice.

‘Sometimes we get crossed wires, and things that are unrelated to the person I’m working with come through. This child could be from my last appointment or even my next one. It makes it difficult to be believed and to have things fit. Did either of you have a blue Mini?’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s anything to do with you. Can I take a moment to focus, please?’

‘Would it help if I told you more about Paige?’

‘No. Absolutely not. I like to work blind. You might tell me something that influences my reading, and it can cloud the input.’ Amanda took a pen and paper from her bag and sat up straight with her eyes closed, drawing circles. Within seconds the paper looked like a child’s Spirograph drawing with circles interconnecting circles into other circles.

‘Grandma passed away. When?’ she asked Sven. ‘Okay, yes, about three years ago.’

‘Yes.’

‘Background, just background, give me something specific. He’s showing me grandma’s garden. I’m walking through an arch. There are flowers. Lots of summer flowers.’

‘The killer’s in Grandma’s garden?’ Jess sounded horrified.

‘No. No, love. This is just images. He’s not here. But there’s something about the flowers. I’m led to the arch with the flowers. What? Give me more.’

‘I understand the reference. But I’m not allowed to talk about some specific points from the case.’

‘Okay, good. If you understand it, that’s all that matters, and I don’t need to.’ She went back to drawing circles. ‘They are linked. Sven won’t let me come away from the flowers until I see what I’m meant to. In the flat. In the bathroom, the same flowers are everywhere. Flowers with long purple stamens—honeysuckle, maybe? I’m no botanist, but does the killer leave these flowers at the scene? Is that his thing?’

‘Yes. They call him The Florist in the papers and on social media.’

‘Okay, yes, I’ve seen all that. But I try to avoid the news; occupational hazard in this game. I get bombarded with stuff. I’m being shown a picture. Lots of pictures. Pictures on walls, hundreds of them all blanked out. The frames. Frame? Does a picture frame mean anything to you?’

‘We have them. Everybody has picture frames. But no, not especially.’

‘Okay, I’d like to try something else. Do you understand what psychometry is?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Okay, it’s using something belonging to the victim to build a bridge between them and us. I warn you that things can come thick and fast, and it can be overwhelming. Or we might not get anything. Are you willing to give it a go?’

‘Yes.’