Andover came into the room and picked up the briefcase. It didnt explode.
I thought I must have left it here, he said. To tell the truth, Mr Sixsmith, Im glad I had an excuse to come back
The phone rang, postponing the possibly homicidal reasons for Andovers gladness.
Hello! said Joe.
Chivers, growled the phone.
Sergeant Chivers. Well, hello, Sergeant. You got some news for me, Sergeant?
Look, I know what my rank is, said Chivers. About that info you so kindly passed on?
Yes?
Theres definitely been a crime committed.
Youre sure? said Joe, looking fearfully towards the patiently waiting Andover.
Certain. And you know what crime it is, Sixsmith? Its called wasting police time! To wit, Detective-Constable Doberleys time. Hes just got back from the Andover residence where he found Mrs Gina Andover and her sister, Mrs Maria Rocca, having tea with their parents, Mr and Mrs Tomassetti.
You mean theyre alive? said Joe, dropping his voice.
Of course theyre alive! I know that Doberley sings in the same church choir as you, Sixsmith, but that dont mean hes so far gone he cant distinguish the quick from the sodding dead. And heres something else. On his way out, Doberley met the brother-in-law, Carlo Rocca. They had a little chat. Your Mr Andover was mentioned. Doberley asked if hed been acting funny lately.
Sixsmith saw that Andover was opening his briefcase. He had a very strange look on his face. He certainly looked like a man who was acting funny now.
Chivers went on, Rocca was very forthcoming. Said that his brother-in-law had been talking a bit strange in the last few days, going on about dreams and slitting throats, all sorts of crazy stuff.
Andovers hand was sliding into the case.
Thats what I told you, Sergeant, hissed Joe urgently. Thats why I rang
Yeah. Trouble is, you got the wrong number. So do me a favour. Next time you get a nut in your office, ring the psycho department at the Royal Infirmary!
The phone went dead.
And Mr Andover slowly withdrew his hand from his case.
It held a tube of indigestion tablets.
He belched. His funny look disappeared. He popped a tablet into his mouth and smiled apologetically.
Nervous dyspepsia, he said. Ive been suffering a lot lately. Look, Mr Sixsmith, I wanted to say Im sorry for my behaviour earlier. I realized once I had time to think about it that I must have made quite the wrong impression. Its my job training, you see
You mean, you really were trying to sell me insurance? Joe cut in.
No, of course not. What I mean is, on the training courses, they teach you that the most important thing is, hit hard. Get the customers attention. You follow me?
Not really, said Joe.
What I mean is, I wanted to talk to someone about this thing. And I got very anxious about it, so I just let my training take over and when I came in here, I may have been a bit over-dramatic Look, I know in my mind that Ginas safe at home, and Maria and Momma and Poppa Tomassetti too, but sometimes what you feel is realer than what you know, do you know what I mean?
Youre losing me again, said Joe. Why dont we go somewhere and have a coffee
While reassured that he wasnt facing a multi-murderer, he still liked the idea of having more company than Whitey, who with a look of great resignation had re-entered his drawer.
Andover glanced at his watch.
I dont think Ive got time, he said. My brother-in-laws picking me up at half past. He borrowed the car today to go for an interview in Biggleswade and we arranged to meet at my office, but when I realized I had to come back here for my case, I left a message for him to come on here, I hope you dont mind.
Be my guest, said Joe. At least sit down while were talking.
A man in a chair is less of a threat than a man on his feet.
Andover sat down and resumed talking.
The thing is, Ive been having these dreams. At first they were vague, undetailed. I just used to wake up with a general sense of something being very wrong, and this stayed with me all day. A sense of something unpleasant somewhere over the horizon. Then they started getting clearer. And clearer. And well, what it boils down to is this. I arrive home. I go in the house. No one answers my call. And there they all are. Gina and Maria and Momma and Poppa sitting round the coffee table and there are cups and saucers and a half-eaten Victoria sponge cake and theyre all dead, Mr Sixsmith theyre all dead!
His voice which had almost faltered to a halt suddenly rose to a shout.
Ah, said Joe with a briskness born of a determination not to do anything which might suggest he wasnt taking Andover seriously. So what you came to report to me was not a murder but a dream of a murder.
Yes, thats right, said the man, back to normal level. But more than a dream, Im sure. Such vividness, such detail, has got to be more than just a dream. Im convinced its a warning, Mr Sixsmith. I believe unless I do something, it will happen. And if it happens, it will be my fault. A sin of omission, or even God help me, of commission.
Pardon? said Joe.
Andover leaned across the desk and fixed him with a gaze which would have sold freezer insurance to Eskimos. Perhaps thats what sbhahk meant.
This is the worst of my dream, he said. Im not sure when I wake up if I feel like I do simply because Ive found the bodies or whether its because Im the one who killed them!
Joe glanced at his watch.
Will your brother-in-law come up for you or will he be looking for you outside the building? he asked.
Hell wait outside. Ill see if hes there, shall I?
Andover came round the desk to look out of the window.
Joe, who didnt fancy being outflanked, stood up too and sauntered to his filing cabinet.
Cant see him, said Andover. I hope he hasnt got held up at Biggleswade.
It was on the tip of Joes tongue to say, no, Mr Rocca had arrived home about half an hour ago. But on second thoughts it didnt seem a good idea to let on hed brought the police into it.
He pulled open a drawer of the cabinet in the interests of verisimilitude and said as he examined its contents (two tins of cat food and a tennis ball), Whyd you come to me, Mr Andover? Why not go to the cops?
Youre joking. Theyd just laugh at me, said Andover.
Joe thought of DS Chivers and couldnt disagree.
But I had to talk to someone professionally, Andover went on. I dont mean a shrink. Someone whod take what I said seriously, and maybe investigate, not just prescribe a lot of pills but it had to be someone truly sympathetic
Like a primitive, you mean? said Joe, recalling their first exchange.
Look, I didnt mean anything. Im not racist. I married into an Italian family, for Gods sake! Its just you once did some work for our Claims people and I remembered what they said about you
It had been a last-minute job. A negligence case against a private clinic by a man whod ended up in a wheelchair after a simple cosmetic operation had left Falcon facing a million pound payout. Suspecting, or at least hoping for fraud, they had decided to keep a close watch on the patient. Then the claims investigator concerned had fallen off a ladder and, needing a replacement in a hurry, Falcon had hired Joe. He, however, between the briefing and his office, had contrived to lose the file.
It had been a last-minute job. A negligence case against a private clinic by a man whod ended up in a wheelchair after a simple cosmetic operation had left Falcon facing a million pound payout. Suspecting, or at least hoping for fraud, they had decided to keep a close watch on the patient. Then the claims investigator concerned had fallen off a ladder and, needing a replacement in a hurry, Falcon had hired Joe. He, however, between the briefing and his office, had contrived to lose the file.
Reluctant to admit his incompetence, he had managed to recall not the patients details, but the name and address of the doctor whod performed the operation. Thinking to bluff the other essential details out of her, hed called at her house in the Bedfordshire countryside. When there was no reply to his knock, hed wandered round the back in case she was in the garden and found that indeed she was, being humped in a hammock by a large red-headed man, whose temper proved as fiery as his hair. Joe had fled to his car, literally falling in, and the first thing he saw from his worms eye view was the lost file under the seat. There was a photo of the suspect patient pinned to it. He was a large man with red hair.
It had been a nice scam. The lady doctor had made the right incisions, coached the guy in his responses, fixed him up with drugs to help fool the insurance experts, and told her sympathetic colleagues that it had all been too much for her and she was emigrating to Australia to start afresh.
So I came recommended, said Joe.
Sort of, said Andover. Some people said you were just lucky. But one or two reckoned there had to be something else, something intuitive, a kind of natural instinct that made you head straight for the doctor. I mean, no one else would have dreamt of suspecting her, not in a million years. So when I got to wondering who I could talk to about investigating dreams, not any Freudian crap, but the sort of dreaming which was like a real world you could move in, maybe manipulate, all I could come up with was you.
He spoke with a resigned bitterness which wasnt very complimentary, but Joe was not about to be offended. In fact he was starting to feel rather sorry for the guy, which wasnt all that clever, seeing that there was no honest way to make a client out of him, even if sight of Joe hadnt put him off the idea.
Mr Andover, Im sorry, Im strictly a wideawake PI. Could be what you really need is a travel agent, take a nice holiday. Now if you dont mind Im closing shop, time to head home for my tea
Yes, of course. Im sorry, Ive been foolish. It was just that I nodded off after lunch today and I had the dream with such intensity, I had to do something Where on earth is Carlo?
Perhaps hes having trouble parking? suggested Joe.
Not Carlo. He still drives and parks like he was in Rome. Hed be right out there in the street if he was coming. Mind if I call my office?
He picked up the phone and dialled without waiting for an answer.
Debbie? Hello. Its me. My brother-in-law been in yet? Thank you.
Damn the man, he said putting the phone down. I cant afford to be late tonight. Gina and I are going to the theatre He looked at Joe speculatively. You wouldnt happen to be going my way, Sixsmith?
Joe sighed. He was, vaguely, in so far as the concrete blockhouses of the Rasselas Estate were within mortar-bombing distance of the mock-Tudor villas of Coningsby Rise.
Come on, he said.
The old Morris Oxford had a few rattles and squeaks, but none of them to do with the engine. An aptitude for crosswords Joe might not have, but when it came to machinery, he could make an engine purr like Whitey in anticipation of a fish supper.
Casa Mia was impressive, even in an area that reeked of Gold Cards and overdrafts. Maybe it was the bold decision to abandon the traditional black and white half-timbering and go for scarlet and gold that made it stand out. Must be money in the insurance game, thought Joe. Though not enough left over to spend on a decent tailor?
Theres room to turn at the top of the drive, said Andover.
Joe drove in. No sign of any other car, so presumably Carlo Rocca had set out to pick up his brother-in-law. Tough.
Andover got out by the classically porticoed porch which looked like it had been recently stuck on to the studded oak front door.
Like a drink? he said.
No, thanks, said Joe firmly.
OK. Thanks for the lift. Bye.
Andover went inside. Joe carefully negotiated the ornamental cherry which marked the hub of the turning circle in the gravelled drive.
Ahead was the gateway. Behind, he hoped forever, was Mr Andover and his crazy dreams. He noticed that someone had recently done a racing start here, scattering gravel all over the elegant lawn.
Mr Sixsmith!
He heard his name screamed. In the mirror he saw Andover rush out of the house, waving his arms and staggering like a closing time drunk.
It felt like it might be a good time to follow the example laid out before him and burn rubber.
Instead he stopped, said to Whitey whod reclaimed the passenger seat reluctantly given up to Andover, You stay still, and got out.
Andover was leaning against the cherry tree, his face so pale his freckles stood out like raisins in bread dough.
Inside, he gasped, then, as if in visual aid, he was violently sick.
Joe went towards the house, not hurrying. He had little doubt what he was going to find and it wasnt something you hurried to. Also he felt his limbs were moving with the strange slow floating action of a man in a dream. Someone elses dream.
The front door opened into a panelled vestibule, tailor made for sporting prints and an elephant-foot umbrella stand.
Instead, the walls were lined with photos of bright Mediterranean scenes framed in white plastic, and the only thing on the floor was a womans body. Her throat had been slit, more than slit, almost severed, and the handle of the fatal knife still protruded from the gaping wound.
There were open doors to the left and the right. The one on the left led into a kitchen. On the floor were strewn the shards of a china teapot in a broad pool of pale amber tea.
Gingerly Joe stepped over the body so he could see through the doorway on the right. It led into a lounge, and he was glad his sense of professional procedure gave him a reason for not crossing the threshold.
There were three more bodies here, an elderly couple and a youngish woman. The couple were slumped against each other on a garishly upholstered sofa. The woman lay on her side by a low table on which stood four cups and saucers, and a half-eaten Victoria sponge.
All three had had their throats cut.
Sixsmith turned back to the hallway. By the main door was a wall phone, with a fixed mouthpiece and separate earphone, like the ones reporters use in the old American movies. Carefully cloaking his fingers with his handkerchief (something else hed seen in the movies), Joe dialled the police.
DS Chivers, please.
Sorry, the Sergeants out on a call, sir. Can I help?
Im at a house called Casa Mia, number twenty-one Coningsby Rise
Hold on, sir. Weve had that call already, thats where the Sergeants gone. He should be with you any time now.
This is real service, said Joe.
He stepped out into the fresh air and drew in a deep breath.