Casey brought him to me because she was staying on in London, which she loved, and was preparing to adorn the walls of her mews cottage by way of a going-away present from Daddy. She chose two overpriced pictures by a self-taught young man from Orkney who was currently enjoying a surprising popularity. Daddy signed the cheque, I attached “Sold” stickers to the frames, and Casey said she would call back later to collect. They had other calls to make. I said that would be fine as long as she returned before seven, when I close. Something in her smile and a handshake that was more of a squeeze made me curious, but I decided I was reading too much into it. My thinking changed when she sent away the taxi in which she arrived at two minutes to seven. How did she propose to transport her two paintings? While I pondered, she asked if she might browse. “Or am I keeping you from something?”“No, not at at all.” Not anticipating refusal, she was examining once again exhibits she had seen earlier. Coleman. The last name was common enough; there could be several different Dr. Colemans in the area. Or in fact, the appointment could be with the woman she was thinking of, but it had nothing to do with her mother's condition.Unless...Unless the flaw in Laurie's thinking hadn't happened today, but two weeks ago. She couldn't recall the conversation exactly, especially since she wasn't supposed to be listening to it, but she had assumed that the word "condition" meant a medical condition. But now that she thought about it, it could just as well be psychological.But what kind of psychological condition could be treated by a mysterious machine hidden in a locked closet? The whole thing was beginning to sound like some kind of horror movie. The object must be some kind of nasty machine that her parents used to gruesomely torture victims that they lured into their closet. She laughed as the image of her parents as a couple of psychopaths popped into her head. No, that was certainly not.
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