“It’s preventative, oui? Also, it helps with arthritis.”
“I haven’t got that, either.”
“And a range of other things, including blood sugar levels, heart disease, diabetes…”
Logan threw the contents of the cup out through the open door of the minibus, and passed the environmentally friendly container across the aisle to where André sat on the other front-most passenger seat.
The bus was several years old, but it had been well kept. The seats had been reupholstered. At least, Logan assumed the original manufacturer hadn’t fitted them with the range of colourful tie-dyed fabrics that currently covered them.
“Thanks anyway,” the DCI said, his tongue flicking across his lips like he was trying to get rid of the taste. “But I’m more of a Tetley’s man myself.”
André smiled as he took the cup and set it on the floor at his feet. “It’s something of an acquired taste,” he said, then he surprised Logan with his next remark. “I knew you were coming.”
“Did you now?” Logan asked. “And how did you know that?”
“Ah. Now. There’s a question,” André said. He shuffled around in the chair like he was settling in for a long story. “I could tell you, but I don’t think your mind is open enough to the possibilities.”
“To what possibilities?”
“To the possibilities of the Universe. Of the human consciousness.”
“Oh. Those possibilities,” Logan said. He shook his head. “No, you’re right. Not really.”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Detective Chief Inspector?”
“No.”
André gave a single curt nod. Clearly, this was the response he’d been expecting. “What do you think happens to people when they die?”
“They cut short my day off,” Logan said.
André hadn’t been expecting that response. He frowned, like he was struggling to translate the reply in his head. “Pardon?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Logan said. “What’s the point you’re trying to make here, son?”
“I believe—we at Westerly Wellness believe—that the spirits of the dead are all around us. Some of us—the most fortunate—are selected to be their vessels. The conduits between their world and this one.”
“And let me guess, you think you’re one of them.”
“Think? Non. I know.” André sat forward so he was leaning halfway across the aisle. “Do you know what a telephone is, Detective Chief Inspector?”
Logan didn’t bother answering that one, and instead just fixed the other man with a flat, unblinking stare, assuming it was a rhetorical question. André just sat there watching him, though, apparently waiting for a response.
“Of course I know what a bloody telephone is.”
“And you know how it works, oui?”
“Aye, you talk into one end and it comes out at the other.”
“Non. That is what it does, not how it works,” André said. “écoute. It works with a diaphragm. There is a coil attached to this diaphragm, and a magnet below. Pressure from the voice flexes the diaphragm, and the magnet generates a current that translates your words into an electrical signal and pings them across the whole world.”
Logan blinked slowly. “And?”
“And I am that diaphragm. And that coil. And that magnet.”
He sat back and unclasped his hands, but held them close together like he was presenting the detective with an invisible bowl.
“You’re saying you’re a telephone?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes! The spirits talk through me. They tell me things. They were the ones who told me you were coming.”
Logan sighed, shrugged, then nodded. “Aye. Fine,” he said, not wishing to get into any further discussion on that particular matter. “I’m here about Bernie.”
“Bernie?” echoed André, sitting back in surprise.
“Oh, so the spirits didn’t tell you why I was coming, then? Funny that,” Logan said. “I believe they call him Bernie—”
“The Beacon. Yes. Everyone knows Bernie. We here at the centre better than most.”
“Why’s that? He a…” Logan gestured vaguely down in the direction of the lighthouse. “…patient?”
“These people are not ill, Detective Chief Inspector. They are on a path to enlightenment,” André explained, and the manner in which he said it suggested it was a stock response he’d been called on to use many times before. “Bernie, on the other hand… Bernie was ill.” He tapped the side of his head. “Up here. And probably elsewhere, too, but up here most of all.”