Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [91]
“Yes,” Lee said. “Go on.”
“The pagan faith has in common with Buddhism the belief in reincarnation,” Perkins continued, “though there are differences in the way we believe it manifests. Well, when we became members of the Old Religion, as we call it, we discovered that we in fact were reincarnated souls from the nineteenth century—husband and wife, to be exact. No doubt you observed a certain old-fashioned style in our manner of dress,” he added.
“Now that you mention it,” Lee said, “I did.”
Perkins indicated a pair of portraits hanging over the parlor grand piano.
“That’s us,” he said casually. “Or rather, that was us about a hundred and fifty years ago.”
Lee rose to study the portraits. One was of a handsome man of middle years, with thick black hair, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a full mouth. The hair was oiled and slicked back, but from the rogue curls around his temples, it was clear that had taken some effort. The likeness was so remarkable that Lee could have been looking at a painting of himself. Taken aback, he turned to look at the woman. To his relief, she looked like no one he knew. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face, full lips and large, intelligent gray eyes.
He turned back to Perkins, who smiled. “No doubt you are struck by the resemblance between Mr. McLean and yourself. I too noticed it when we first met. Perhaps that accounts for the certain … simpatico between us.”
Lee felt no such thing, but he nodded. He wanted to keep Perkins talking.
“That’s your ancestor?” Butts said. Lee thought he was being deliberately dense.
“Not my ancestor, Detective,” Perkins corrected him. “That is the man whose soul I now possess.”
Butts stared at him, then muttered, “Oh, yeah—right.”
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” Perkins said, pouring himself more tea. “Few people outside of the Old Religion do, of course. But those of us who know better—well, let’s just say our number is small, but our membership is growing.”
“And was Ana Watkins one of your new members?” Butts asked.
Well done, Lee thought, catch him off guard.
But Perkins didn’t answer immediately, no doubt giving himself time to formulate a response that wouldn’t let slip anything he didn’t want revealed. He rose and took the plate of shortbread from the tray, offering it to Butts.
“Would you care for a lemon cream tea biscuit?”
“Thanks,” Butts said. Taking one, he settled his stocky body back in the armchair. Without taking his eyes off Perkins, he waited for his answer.
Lee relaxed. Butts was back on form, playing his hand like the pro he was. It was a mistake to ever let your feelings toward a suspect get in the way of the job you had to do, which was to get information.
Perkins took a piece of shortbread and sat back down on the chaise longue.
“Ana Watkins,” he declared, “was a very confused young woman. At least, she was when she came to me. She was making progress, though—real progress,” he added, shaking his head sadly. “That’s what makes her death a double tragedy—not only did she have her entire life in front of her but she was beginning to take control of it.”
“So was she a member of—the ‘Old Religion?'” Butts persisted.
Perkins bit his cookie in half and chewed thoughtfully. “Ana was an interesting case. She had repressed memories, you know—terrible things had happened in her past, and I
was using hypnosis to free up those memories. And while she was under hypnosis, she began having other memories as well—recollections of a past life.”
“So you helped her to ‘remember’ this past life?” Butts said.
“Well, yes. Once she started having these experiences, naturally I was there to facilitate anything that came up.”
“I see. And what form did this ‘facilitating’ take?”
“Nothing dramatic, Detective, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Perkins replied. “I merely wrote down what she said under hypnosis so she could read it later. Like a lot of people, she had almost complete amnesia regarding what went on during her sessions, once she came out of them.”
“Oh, really?” Butts said.