Dagger Magic

Barclay considered, eyeing the monks sidelong. ' 'That depends on how many passengers, sir, and precisely where you intend to go in Switzerland."

Raeburn glanced at the monks.

"We shall accompany you," the elder monk said. "And your course should be plotted to Bern, though we shall not go that far. We shall direct you from the Swiss border."

"You heard the man," Raeburn said to Barclay. "Four it is, going toward Bern."

The pilot dipped his head in agreement. "Right, sir. I'll need to do some book work first, to figure out the stages. The first part's easy enough, but fuel efficiency drops dramatically once we have to start climbing over mountains."

"How long before we can leave?" Raeburn interjected. "I trust you to deal with the logistic arrangements."

Barclay swallowed visibly, darting a glance at their orange-robed "visitors."

"With standard preflight, fuelling - say, maybe an hour or two."

"Then I suggest you get started right now," Raeburn said. "And have Pilar pack us each a bag. It appears that you and I have some unscheduled business waiting for us in Switzerland."

Chapter Fourteen

THAT same morning, unaware that an old adversary was being drawn back into combat by a new one not yet met, Adam Sinclair braved the early rush-hour traffic into Edinburgh to keep his appointment with McLeod. A tail-back on the Forth Road Bridge delayed him, so that when he pulled the big blue Range Rover into the hospital car park, a few minutes later than he had planned, the inspector's familiar black BMW was already angled into a visitor's space.

He found McLeod waiting on one of the couches near the news kiosk in the lobby, looking over the latest edition of The Scotsman. As soon as he caught sight of Adam, the inspector nicked the paper shut and laid it aside on the nearest coffee table, murmuring something to a denim-clad individual with a wiry red ponytail - a hatchet-nosed, thirtyish-looking man with piercing blue eyes and a prodigious crop of freckles, who towered over McLeod by nearly a head as both men got to their feet. The stranger stubbed out a cigarette and eased the strap of a battered art satchel over one shoulder as Adam came over to join them.

'"Morning, Adam," McLeod said. "This is Alec Peterson, the police artist I mentioned last night. Alec, this is Dr. Adam Sinclair, one of our psychiatric consultants."

Proffering a smile and a handshake, Adam said, "Hello, Mr. Peterson. Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Has Inspector McLeod explained to you what it is we're hoping to accomplish today?"

"Aye, sir." The artist's voice was softer-spoken and far deeper than Adam had expected. "He tells me you're going to interview a hit-and-run victim under hypnosis, to see if she can remember enough to give us a description of the driver. With luck, I may be able to reconstruct a recognizable likeness."

He sounded more than a little intrigued at the prospect, and McLeod gave him a darkling glance.

"I'll warn you again, laddie: Don't let your imagination run away with you. This is a clinical procedure we're talking about, not a stage-magic act."

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, Inspector."

Adam bit back a smile, prepared, for his part, to make allowances for the uninitiated Peterson.

"Relax, Mr. Peterson - or may I call you Alec? The outward form of what you're going to see may seem a trifle unorthodox, but I assure you its object is quite consistent with normal investigative procedures. The only restriction I'll impose on you is to ask that once the session is in progress, you must make no attempt to address Mrs. Crawford directly, unless I give you permission. She shouldn't be able to hear you, but it could be distracting. I realize that there'll be a need for interaction, once you've established your preliminary sketch. All I ask is that you let me facilitate the dialogue."

"I understand, sir," Alec said meekly. "I'll be ever so quiet."

The party repaired first to Adam's office, where he stopped long enough to slip on a lab coat and check his desk for messages. Having taken note of a staff meeting scheduled for the following week, he led his companions along to the low-security wing, where Claire's room was situated. The charge nurse was seated at the desk, making out a list of medication orders from a stack of charts at her elbow, but she looked up with a smile as Adam approached.

"Good morning, Dr. Sinclair. Here to see your new patient?"

"I am, indeed. Thank you," Adam said as she handed him Claire Crawford's chart. "Did she have a quiet night?"

"I believe she did, Doctor. It was a quiet night for the entire floor. Oh, and young Mr. Balfour asked if he might have a word with you. He's looking very cheerful, these last few days."

Adam paused in his perusal of Claire's chart and looked up. ' 'Colin Balfour is looking cheerful? We are making progress. I'll have a quick look-in after I've seen Mrs. Crawford, probably just before lunch. Will you tell him that for me?"

"Of course, Doctor."