‘I know people like her.’
‘She knows what I’ve been going through, but she knows nothing about it – the subject, I mean – so she’s envious that you can help me, that’s all. And she’s weak and hard on herself and sees threats where there are none.’
‘I understand. She means everything to you, doesn’t she?’
‘My family is my life, Sylvia.’
‘I can’t imagine ever understanding someone like you’ve just spoken of Clare.’
‘I sometimes wonder if I even understand myself half as well. Especially since the stabbing and all this head stuff started.’
As Crosbie appeared at the door he waved and approached their table. His walk was brisk, businesslike. He had the air of an accountant or another professional. It was reassuring to Valentine, who still couldn’t quite decide if the man was a kook or not. The officers rose. Valentine and Crosbie exchanged handshakes.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ said McCormack.
‘A soft drink would be fine,’ said Crosbie.
He settled into the vacant chair as McCormack made for the bar. He didn’t bother with small talk, instead addressing Valentine’s problem directly.
‘Sylvia tells me you are experiencing some level of distress.’
‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it.’
Crosbie removed his scarf and jacket, placing them over the back of his chair. His black lambswool jumper made him look like clergy to Valentine, who tried to suppress the image as Crosbie spoke again. ‘Everyone goes through this shock when they discover these abilities. I felt like I was walking on the moon when I realised I could use the sight.’
‘The sight?’
‘I always found that a strange term myself, especially as it’s more of a feeling. Perhaps insight would be better.’
Valentine watched McCormack put down Crosbie’s drink. He thanked her. ‘Sylvia says you had pains relating to your victims’ passing. I want to assure you that’s very common. There’s nothing to fear at all – it’s just a means of communication.’
‘Isn’t that just your interpretation?’ said Valentine. ‘I mean couldn’t it just be a coincidence?’
‘No. Not to me. But you can think that if you like. I don’t know how far you’d get blocking them out, mind you.’
The DI felt he had ruffled Crosbie. ‘I don’t mean to sound disrespectful.’
‘You don’t. You sound sceptical, just as you did when we last spoke. I told you then not to try and rationalise any of this or understand it with the tools you use in the everyday world.’
‘I just find that very difficult. It goes against the grain for me.’
‘Because you’re a rational man, Bob. You use reason and deduction daily, you use your mind to rationalise what you don’t understand, but this . . . these discoveries you are experiencing can’t be understood that way – they won’t subject themselves to the rational mind.’
‘That’s what I have a problem with.’
‘OK. Then let me ask you this. How do you read? How do you write? Spell? Add up?’
‘You just do, just the way you were taught.’
‘You missed the question. I didn’t ask how it was done, but how you do it, how your mind does it? No one can answer that – it’s a mystery. The mind is the greatest mystery of them all; no one can understand or explain how it works, but you seem to demand just that. Your belief isn’t tied to understanding, it exists in and of itself, whether you accept it or not.’
Valentine was silenced. He understood perfectly what Crosbie was telling him, but it made little difference to what he was experiencing. He raised his glass, hoping to hide the contemplation on his face.
McCormack spoke. ‘I think Bob’s a bit shell shocked by it all.’
‘Of course,’ said Crosbie. ‘And you’re not the first either, Bob. I was just as sceptical as you.’
‘Then how did you reach this level of understanding?’ said Valentine.
‘I accepted nothing, but I trusted myself. So I tested myself. I asked questions of these abilities, and I got answers. I suppose I became a little obsessed then. I asked lots of questions – looked at lots of answers too. I didn’t realise it, but I was training my sight, this insight, and soon I realised that it was so effective that I couldn’t question it. That’s when I found acceptance, and you will too, Bob, when you stop doubting yourself.’
Valentine reached for his drink and drew a large draught. He felt the pressure of contradiction all around him. He found he could agree and disagree with Crosbie at the same time. If he played with these thoughts enough, he knew, he would reach only mental exhaustion. But he would have to concede to one strain of thought at some point.
‘And how do you test yourself?’ said the DI.
‘How do you test anything? Set a challenge. Don’t wait for it to come to you, don’t wait for spirits to channel through you, call on them.’