The Sister(196)

‘Oh, I see, it was a health warning was it. I don’t take much notice of things like that. How can you live a rich and fulfilling life, if you worry about every little thing?’

‘Look, my three best friends, my girlfriend.’

‘It was just bad luck; that’s all. How many millions of people smoke and don’t get cancer?’

‘Hardly the same thing.’

She arched her brow at him and traced the outline of his tattoo with a well-manicured fingernail. ‘With all the excitement over my tattoo, I forgot to ask you about yours. Tell me, what does it mean?’

‘It means, 'Keep me away from wicked things’ or something like that.’

Carla licked his chest and nibbled at him; throwing the covers off she went further down. ‘Well it hasn’t worked has it?’ she said, as she took him in her mouth.





Chapter 151



Hot water from the shower pummelled his upturned face with needle-like jets, as he moved around in a clockwise circle offering his head, neck and shoulders the benefits of the same high-pressure treatment. Without opening his eyes, he fumbled for the shampoo he’d balanced on the soap dish. Locating it, he squeezed a blob of the viscous liquid into his palm and washed his hair. He thought about Stella, the last time they'd spoken she told him she’d be in touch when she was ready. I’ll give it until the end of the day and then if I don’t hear anything; I’m calling her.

He was drying himself off, when the telephone rang; quickly wiping his hands, he answered it.

‘Carla?’ He dried around his neck and nestled the phone between his jaw and shoulder.

‘You know you told me about that case, the researcher on cults, Michael Simpson?’ The question was slanted with suspicion.

‘Yes, is everything all right?’ he said, sipping from a bottle of mineral water.

‘Well, no actually. There I was asking all kinds of questions about his murder and you got me arrested—’

‘What!’ he spluttered, almost choking.

‘That’s right; the post-mortem revealed he was murdered.’

‘I told you someone was trying to kill him and then he was found dead—’

‘‘Yes you did, but you didn’t tell me no one else knew that, did you? I got arrested, thank you very much, Mr Miller!’

‘Whoa. When I gave you that tip off, I didn’t expect that you'd go in like a bull in a china shop.’

‘I haven’t finished yet!’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘The police wanted to know why I was asking questions related to a murder enquiry that had not been officially announced. As far as the press was concerned, it was an accident. And they wanted to know where I got my information from.’

‘You didn’t tell them!’ The few seconds she took to answer was intended to keep him in suspense.

‘You’ll be relieved to know I didn’t, I blagged my way out of it, saying it was a hunch, but the thing is… How did you know? You told me on the train three weeks ago, before you'd had your meeting with The Sister, so I’m a little bit confused about what the truth is here.’

Miller cleared his throat, unsure of the best way to tell her. ‘Carla, look, it’s complicated.’

‘How did I know it would be? We’ll come back to the question in a minute. Anyway, I’ve done some digging; it seems he was investigating a religious cult in Spain.’

Miller felt a cold chill creeping over him; an electrifying wave swept over his flesh, across the follicles of his skin. The hair on his forearms stood on end. He had a sense of foreboding. What’s going on with you lately, Miller, have you turned into a magnet for strange coincidences?

‘Apparently, he wrote a book about cults in the early eighties and he’d returned to researching to see how they'd moved with modern times. His studies show…’ Carla carried on talking in the background…The larger ones have done very well, might even be regarded as respectable. Her voice faded as Miller’s perceptions shifted, triggered by something she said. He had a glimpse, a view he recognised. It was a trail that led him back through his memories… he was in the car with Kirk again that rainy night when he was nineteen…Look it up … he transported himself into the morning after, back into the library, the book in his hands in his mind’s eye ... he folded it shut. He focused on the author’s name on the front. Michael Simpson!

Carla hadn’t noticed his mind was on something else. He tuned into her voice once more as he returned to his normal self.

‘This particular one seems to have been resurrected and rebranded from an older version. In other words, only the name has changed. The questionable practices are the same. I’ve heard rumours they launder and recycle money in the same way as drug cartels. In fact, according to my sources, there’s evidence to support the supposition that this cult is under the control of a major criminal. Simpson was in Amsterdam unravelling connections to the drugs and arms trade, when he met with his accident. I think I’m going to need help on this one.’

Miller bit his lip, unsure about her continuing with the investigation he’d set her off on. He knew she wouldn’t just drop it, he’d have to do something, but he couldn’t afford to compromise his position with the work he was doing for Kale. He needed more answers. ‘Did you find out anything else, Carla?’