Read Online The Lazarus Prophecy by F. G. Cottam - Free Book Online Page A

loop?’
    â€˜I mean as part of a major murder investigation.’
    â€˜Sorry, of course.’
    â€˜Have a think about what kind of individual might be in possession of the academic credentials the Scholar has. Have a think about how and where he might have acquired them. Iwant to narrow the field. I want a precise picture of who we’re looking for and you can help provide that.’
    â€˜Do you ever stop working? Do you ever sleep?’
    â€˜I’ll go home and grab a few hours after I’ve spoken to Charlotte Reynard. I really don’t think this setback will discourage him. I’ll rest once he’s caught.’
    â€˜Good luck.’
    â€˜One more thing: what do you think of when I say the word ‘kismet’?’
    â€˜It’s a Hollywood film starring Ronald Colman and Marlene Dietrich.’
    â€˜You need a hobby, Jacob. Something like sailing or hiking would be good.’
    â€˜It’s an old word from the Muslim cultural tradition. It’s Arabic in origin and refers to a predetermined course of events we’d describe in English as fate or destiny. You find the same word with the same essential meaning in the Persian and Turkish languages.’
    Charlotte Reynard was a smaller woman than she expected. Television cameras made everyone bigger than they were in life. And ballerinas had bodies with lots of detail because there was no fat to conceal it. But they were petite as a breed, weren’t they? They had to be shorter than the male leads sometimes lifting them. They had to perform precise and dainty steps without it seeming comical.
    She looked younger, too, than her age. Jane was a good and practiced judge and would have put her at no more than about 28. She had pale blue eyes with almost a transparency about them. Her face wore the grey paleness of a freshly inflicted bruise. Her lips were full but almost bloodless. The lower lip was swollen on the left side from its earlier impact with the pavement. She wasn’t far off a state of shock.
    She wasn’t alone in the room. There was a family liaison officer Jane assumed was responsible for the sweet-smelling mug of tea on the table at which the dancer sat. Tea was a marvelous restorative beverage in some circumstances. It wasn’t going to work, though, on this occasion. She nodded at the officer to leave and, when she’d risen from her chair and done so, sat down opposite the nearest person the case had so far given them to a witness.
    She introduced herself.
    Charlotte smiled, or tried to. It was a brave attempt but the result was more like a wince. She said, ‘You’re the detective in charge of the Scholar investigation. I caught the midday news.’
    â€˜How long have you possessed your psychic gift?’
    â€˜The police don’t believe in that sort of thing.’
    â€˜You’d be surprised. Could you answer my question?’
    â€˜You can’t make this public.’
    â€˜And you have my word that I won’t.’
    â€˜I’d been vaguely aware of it since my teens. I could do the tombola at the school fete and I’d know which numbers would come up. Not always, but more often than not. More than the law of averages would allow.’
    â€˜Then what happened?’
    â€˜I ignored it. It got much stronger after my children were born. They were born quite close together. Hunches became certainties.’
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜I knew that my son was ill. There were no visible symptoms when that came to me. He was playing happily with his building bricks on the rug and the pile came tumbling down and I knew.’
    â€˜It must be disconcerting.’
    â€˜The early diagnosis gave him a fighting chance. And when Nick was having chemo, when he was wasted in a hospital bed all tiny with drips and his hair all fallen out I knew he’d live. So it works both ways. I believe it saved my life tonight.’
    â€˜I believe it