Dagger Magic

He shook his head, blinked, and tried again. His efforts brought no improvement to the imaging. A quick inspection of his glasses showed nothing to account for the fuzziness. Clucking his tongue impatiently, he unscrewed the lens and held it to the light from both directions - perfectly clean - then replaced it and looked again. The results were still no better. Though his vision by itself seemed clear enough, the picture seen through the lens remained curiously blurred.

Perplexed, Peregrine went ahead and shot several different angles of the body, focused as best he could, then sat back on his heels and scowled as he contemplated this peculiar development. The absence of anything like a logical explanation aroused hitherto dormant suspicions, and made him begin to wonder what would happen if he were to try his luck with a sketch.

He decided to test his perceptions before going to the bother of fetching his sketchbook. For Peregrine, the act of drawing was the means by which he could both activate and direct his own distinctive powers of psychic perception. Laying the camera on a nest of sea grass behind him, he settled gingerly on a rock beside the body and composed himself, momentarily closing his eyes. Calling now upon the training given him by Adam, he drew several deep, measured breaths. The centrifugal whirl of his thoughts and emotions fell away, leaving him centered in an island of calm. Grounded in that calm, he opened his eyes again, simultaneously willing himself to See.

For a moment, he could envision nothing but the piebald shape of the corpse itself. As he continued to watch, however, another, hazier image began to form, hovering over the body like a ghost. Insubstantial as mist, it assumed a vaguely human shape. But as soon as Peregrine attempted to bring that shape into sharper focus, it abruptly dissolved.

With a hard-won patience born of self-discipline, he set himself to try again. Before he could reestablish any degree of perception, however, a sudden surge in the tide lifted the dead man's body from its grounding on the beach. The wave's backwash started to pull the corpse with it, tumbling it back in the direction of the open sea.

Peregrine roused himself with a jerk and made a hasty lunge to recapture it. A splash of cold brine left him wet to the knees, but he managed to get a hand around one orange-clad wrist. While he was struggling to maintain his grip, his eyes lighted for the first time on an irregular three-cornered tear in the back of the man's wet suit.

A wound?

His curiosity piqued, Peregrine towed the body back to its resting place at the waterline, then bent down for a closer look. He could see no immediate evidence of any wound beneath the tear, but he refrained from poking and prodding. Even if his work with McLeod had not taught him a healthy respect for proper forensic procedure, he was strongly disinclined to have anything more to do with the dead man's remains than he absolutely had to". He took the minimal measures necessary to get the body beached, retrieved the camera and put it away, then sat back on a nearby rock to guard the body and await reinforcements.

A full hour passed before the distinctive purr of a familiar engine brought him to his feet. When the Alvis swung into view, Peregrine was relieved to see that it was accompanied by a white Range Rover bearing the fluorescent yellow side stripe and door insignia of the Strathclyde Police.

Julia stopped the Alvis where she had parked before and sprang out as the police car slowed to a halt a yard or two behind the Alvis' rear bumper. Two uniformed policemen alighted and came to join her on the shoulder, falling in behind her as she led the way down to the beach. As soon as she reached the sand, Julia broke away from her escort and ran forward to greet her husband.

"Sorry it took me so long," she said. "I couldn't find a public telephone anywhere between here and Campbeltown, and once I got there I had a bit of trouble finding the police station. This is Sergeant MacDonald, and that's P.C. Williamson." Turning back to the two police officers, she added, "This is my husband."

"Gentlemen." Peregrine acknowledged the introduction with a nod. "Thank you for coming out."

"Not at all, Mr. Lovat," the sergeant replied, directing his subordinate toward the castaway corpse. "Sorry you and Mrs. Lovat have had your stay here in Kintyre so rudely interrupted. I'm thankful to say we don't get many calls like this. We'll try to run through the formalities as quickly as possible, so that you and your wife can get back to your holiday."

Delving into the breast pocket of his police tunic, he took out a notebook and pen.

"Mrs. Lovat has already given us a statement," he told Peregrine. "While we're waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me your version."