possibility of severe mental damage. Many unstable personalities couldn’t cope when a charlatan persuaded them that their current psychological problems stemmed from some unresolved conflict in a previous existence.
‘I only wanted to show him that it isn’t all over – when you die, I mean – and that he mustn’t be sad to have lived for such a short time because life goes on.’
‘Tell me you’re joking.’
She shook her head. ‘I took him to Dr Tiefensee. He’s a qualified psychologist and gives courses at the university. Not a charlatan, whatever you may think.’
‘What happened?’
‘He hypnotized the boy. Not a great deal happened, actually. Simon couldn’t remember much under hypnosis. He just said he was in a dark cellar and could hear voices. Voices saying nasty things.’
Stern grimaced with discomfort. The cold creeping up his back was becoming steadily more unpleasant, but that wasn’t his only reason for wanting to get away as soon as possible. Somewhere in the distance a freight train was rumbling past. Carina was whispering now, just as he himself had at the start of their conversation.
‘Tiefensee initially failed to rouse Simon from his hypnotic trance. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and when he woke up he told us what he told you just now. He thinks he used to be a murderer.’
Stern felt an urge to wipe his hands on his hair, but it, too, was wet with rain.
‘The whole idea is nonsense, Carina, and you know it. All I’m wondering is, what’s it got to do with me?’
‘Simon has a profound sense of right and wrong. He insists on going to the police.’
‘That’s right, I do.’
They both swung round. The boy had stolen up behind them unobserved. The wind was stirring the mass of curls on his forehead. Stern wondered why he had any hair at all. He must surely have had to undergo chemotherapy.
‘I’m a murderer, and that’s wrong. I want to turn myself in, but I won’t say a thing unless my lawyer’s present.’
Carina smiled sadly. ‘He picked that up from television, and you’re the only defence lawyer I know.’
Stern avoided her eye. Instead, he stared at the muddy ground as if his hand-sewn Oxfords could tell him how to respond to this lunacy.
‘Well?’ he heard Simon say.
‘Well what?’ Stern raised his head and looked straight at the boy, surprised to see that he was smiling again.
‘Are you my lawyer now? I can pay you.’
Rather awkwardly, Simon fished a little purse out of the pocket of his jeans.
‘I’ve got some money, you see.’
Stern shook his head. Almost imperceptibly at first, then more and more violently.
‘I have,’ Simon insisted. ‘Honestly.’
‘No,’ said Stern, glaring at Carina now. ‘This is all beside the point, am I right? You didn’t get me out here as a lawyer, did you?’
Now it was her turn to stare at the ground.
‘No, I didn’t,’ she admitted quietly.
With a sigh, Stern tossed the unopened umbrella back into the boot of the car. Pushing a briefcase aside, he opened the first-aid locker and removed a torch. He checked the beam by shining it on the tumbledown shed Simon had indicated earlier.
‘All right, let’s get this over with.’
He patted Simon’s head with his free hand, unable to believe that he was really saying this to a ten-year-old boy:
‘Show me exactly where you say you killed this man.’
3
Simon led them around the back of the shed. A two-storey building must have occupied the site many years ago, but it had been destroyed by fire. All that now jutted into the overcast evening sky were isolated sections of soot-stained brickwork resembling mutilated hands.
‘You see? There’s nothing here.’
Stern played the beam of his torch slowly over the ruins.
‘But it must be somewhere here,’ said Simon. He might have been talking about a lost glove, not a dead body. He too had come armed with a light source: a little plastic rod that emitted a fluorescent glow when you bent
‘I only wanted to show him that it isn’t all over – when you die, I mean – and that he mustn’t be sad to have lived for such a short time because life goes on.’
‘Tell me you’re joking.’
She shook her head. ‘I took him to Dr Tiefensee. He’s a qualified psychologist and gives courses at the university. Not a charlatan, whatever you may think.’
‘What happened?’
‘He hypnotized the boy. Not a great deal happened, actually. Simon couldn’t remember much under hypnosis. He just said he was in a dark cellar and could hear voices. Voices saying nasty things.’
Stern grimaced with discomfort. The cold creeping up his back was becoming steadily more unpleasant, but that wasn’t his only reason for wanting to get away as soon as possible. Somewhere in the distance a freight train was rumbling past. Carina was whispering now, just as he himself had at the start of their conversation.
‘Tiefensee initially failed to rouse Simon from his hypnotic trance. He had fallen into a deep sleep, and when he woke up he told us what he told you just now. He thinks he used to be a murderer.’
Stern felt an urge to wipe his hands on his hair, but it, too, was wet with rain.
‘The whole idea is nonsense, Carina, and you know it. All I’m wondering is, what’s it got to do with me?’
‘Simon has a profound sense of right and wrong. He insists on going to the police.’
‘That’s right, I do.’
They both swung round. The boy had stolen up behind them unobserved. The wind was stirring the mass of curls on his forehead. Stern wondered why he had any hair at all. He must surely have had to undergo chemotherapy.
‘I’m a murderer, and that’s wrong. I want to turn myself in, but I won’t say a thing unless my lawyer’s present.’
Carina smiled sadly. ‘He picked that up from television, and you’re the only defence lawyer I know.’
Stern avoided her eye. Instead, he stared at the muddy ground as if his hand-sewn Oxfords could tell him how to respond to this lunacy.
‘Well?’ he heard Simon say.
‘Well what?’ Stern raised his head and looked straight at the boy, surprised to see that he was smiling again.
‘Are you my lawyer now? I can pay you.’
Rather awkwardly, Simon fished a little purse out of the pocket of his jeans.
‘I’ve got some money, you see.’
Stern shook his head. Almost imperceptibly at first, then more and more violently.
‘I have,’ Simon insisted. ‘Honestly.’
‘No,’ said Stern, glaring at Carina now. ‘This is all beside the point, am I right? You didn’t get me out here as a lawyer, did you?’
Now it was her turn to stare at the ground.
‘No, I didn’t,’ she admitted quietly.
With a sigh, Stern tossed the unopened umbrella back into the boot of the car. Pushing a briefcase aside, he opened the first-aid locker and removed a torch. He checked the beam by shining it on the tumbledown shed Simon had indicated earlier.
‘All right, let’s get this over with.’
He patted Simon’s head with his free hand, unable to believe that he was really saying this to a ten-year-old boy:
‘Show me exactly where you say you killed this man.’
3
Simon led them around the back of the shed. A two-storey building must have occupied the site many years ago, but it had been destroyed by fire. All that now jutted into the overcast evening sky were isolated sections of soot-stained brickwork resembling mutilated hands.
‘You see? There’s nothing here.’
Stern played the beam of his torch slowly over the ruins.
‘But it must be somewhere here,’ said Simon. He might have been talking about a lost glove, not a dead body. He too had come armed with a light source: a little plastic rod that emitted a fluorescent glow when you bent
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