Blink.
‘And do you know what she said about the garden?’ Marvel waited for Latham to respond, but when he didn’t, he flipped open his notebook and read from the interview with Anna Buck. ‘She said, There was just something a bit wrong with it. Like it wasn’t real.’
He closed the notebook. ‘Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?’
Richard Latham looked down at the spoon stirring his coffee. Click, click, click. ‘A garden is a common spiritual motif, Mr Marvel.’
‘You remember what you said when you were shown Edie’s picture a year ago?’
‘Not really.’
‘I do,’ said Marvel. He didn’t bother opening the file. ‘You said, She’s looking at a garden through a window, but there’s something strange about it. As if it’s not real.’
He looked steadily at Latham, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged and said, ‘Well.’
‘That’s some coincidence.’ said Marvel.
‘If you believe in coincidence,’ said Latham.
‘I don’t,’ said Marvel,
‘Nor me.’
‘Well then, Mr Latham, it can’t be a coincidence that Anna Buck comes to your church. It can’t be a coincidence that she has a private consultation with you about her missing son, when you were involved in the hunt for another missing child. And it can’t be a coincidence that a few weeks later she has the same so-called vision as you claim to have had a year earlier.’
‘I grant you, that is strange,’ said Latham.
‘I don’t think it’s strange at all,’ said Marvel. ‘I think it’s a logical progression with one important step left out. You told her about the Edie Evans case.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘You tell her, she tells us, we tell the family. And, somewhere along the line, somebody pays you for more of your useless information. Simple.’
‘But I didn’t tell her.’
Marvel gave a grim smile. ‘This is all in a day’s work to you, Latham. You squeeze suckers over lost dogs and dead relatives every week at your so-called church. But missing kids pay better than dogs, don’t they? You know that, if anybody does.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Marvel. I’m not in this for the money.’
‘Yeah, but it never hurts, does it?’ sneered Marvel. ‘Puts a few slates on the church roof, right?’
Latham shrugged. ‘It’s a big roof. And a small church. All donations are gratefully received.’
Marvel lowered his voice menacingly. ‘You took two grand off us and gave us nothing.’
Latham looked at him with amphibian eyes. ‘I did all anyone could for Edie Evans.’
Maybe,’ said Marvel. ‘Maybe not. Or maybe Anna Buck is just better at this psychic stuff than you are. I mean, if you didn’t tell her about Edie Evans … if she really did see something in this photo that even you can’t … Maybe she’s the real shut eye, Latham. Maybe you just weren’t up to the job.’
Latham’s lips tightened and Marvel knew he’d scored a direct hit on the man’s fat ego.
‘You forget something, Mr Marvel,’ said Latham. ‘First and foremost, it was your job to find Edie Evans. Your job. And you couldn’t do it.’
Marvel’s fist twitched. ‘Excuse me?’
Latham shrugged and went on. ‘I’m not blaming you. I’m sure you did your best, but I suppose you can’t win ’em all.’
‘You can’t win ’em all?’ said Marvel angrily. ‘That’s your answer?’
Latham shrugged, picked up his napkin and carefully wiped his buttery fingers. ‘Either way,’ he sighed, ‘it makes no difference in the end.’
Marvel wanted to smash his face in. ‘It made a big difference to Edie Evans!’ he shouted. People were looking at them now; Marvel didn’t care. ‘Your stupid fantasies about white wheels and broken glass. Wasting our time. Wasting her time.’
‘You’re wrong about wasting time,’ said Latham, who had somehow regained an infuriating air of calm. ‘To people like you, life’s a long line that starts here and ends there. But existence is a continuum of life and death, a grand circle, and a circle never ends. Life and death are one and the same, and time is irrelevant.’
Marvel snorted and Latham smiled. ‘You snort at Einstein, Mr Marvel. Did you know that his theory of general relativity postulates that the past and the future may exist simultaneously? So is it so unscientific to think that some of us can see that nexus, right here and now? And I do see it. Not all of it, and, believe me, I don’t always want to see it. But—’
He leaned across the table and stared intently at Marvel through his thick lenses. ‘Your future,’ he whispered, ‘is my memory.’
Marvel felt an illogical chill. For one gut-wrenching moment he was on a precipice, with his own destiny gaping blackly before him and the past at his back, pressing him gently but firmly towards the edge. Somewhere in his soul he could hear the overhang crumbling under his frightened feet; pieces of stone clicking away like unlucky dice— ‘Can you remember next week’s Lottery numbers?’ said Brady.
They both ignored him, but it broke the spell, and Marvel leaned across the table so that his nose almost touched Latham’s.
‘Mumbo. Fucking. Jumbo. You can’t see Edie Evans and you never could. You see nothing but money. I see your future, Latham, and it’s in handcuffs.’
Latham dabbed carefully at his mouth with the napkin. ‘Is that some kind of threat, Mr Marvel?’
‘You bet your arse it is,’ said Marvel. ‘And DS Brady is my witness.’
Latham screwed up the napkin and dropped it into his teacup, where it browned and swelled. ‘Then next time you’re feeling guilty about Edie Evans, Mr Marvel, don’t come crying to me.’