Dead Famous

DAY THIRTY-FIVE. 10 p.m.

Coleridge’s team had to deal with thousands of calls from cranks. Every second ring of the phone heralded yet another clairvoyant who had seen the culprit in a dream.

Hooper kept a little tally. “Dervla appears in most of the male clairvoyants’ dreams, and Jazz in the birds’. Funny that, isn’t it?”

This call was different, though. It came just as the closing credits of the House Arrest Eviction Special were rolling on the TV in the police incident room. When Hooper picked up the phone there was something about the caller’s calm and steady tone that made him decide to listen.

“I am a Catholic priest,” said the rather formal, foreign-sounding voice. “I recently heard a confession from a very distressed young woman. I cannot of course tell you any details, but I believe you should be looking not only at the people who remain in the house, but also those who have left it.”

“Have you been speaking to Layla, sir?” Hooper replied. “Because we have so far been unable to locate her.”

“I can’t say anything more, except that I believe that you should continue trying to find her.” At that the priest clearly felt that he had already said enough, because he abruptly concluded the conversation and rang off.