I trudged back up the stairs to get the recordings, bracing for battle with Terry and Tuckman.
CHAPTER 16
Tuckman was still snake-oiling the rest of the séance sitters at the top of the stairs. Terry had disappeared. I walked back and spotted him in the observation room. The Nebraska-sized chip on his shoulder left me wondering what he had to be defensive about, since it now seemed unlikely that Tuck-man had a saboteur.
I whispered to Tuckman's back, "Keep the remaining sitters here while I review the video with Terry. I want to get a better look at what happened. Cara thinks one of the others threw that thing at her and if so, we need to find out who, right away.”
He made a twitch of one shoulder and I hoped that was agreement, not dismissal.
I ducked into the observation room.
Terry was poking buttons on the video recording equipment. He didn't look up.
"Now what do you want?" he demanded.
I closed the door and pulled a chair around to sit in. Terry was a little in front of me and to the side, so I could see most of his profile as well as the tense set of his shoulders and back. "I want to know what your problem is.”
"You.”
"Don't think so," I said. "You don't even know me and I haven't done anything or said more than a dozen words to you since this ridiculous investigation began.”
"Ridiculous is right." He kept his head forward, but he pulled his hands away from the controls, balling them into fists and resting his wrists on the console.
"Ah. Now we're getting somewhere. This investigation bugs you?”
"Damn straight it does.”
"Why? It makes you angry. Do you think it's critical of you? Or are you afraid of it? You have something to hide?" I didn't think so; he didn't have any Grey connection to the poltergeist that I could see or to anything else. But he did have a big, angry red aura, shot through with white sparks.
He spun his chair to glare at me, thumping his fists onto his thighs. "No! If Tuck thinks I'm padding his results, he should come out and say so! I'm not a cheat! I earned everything I ever got—I worked my ass off for it! I got no reason to undermine this project. If this goes down in flames, I go, too. And there's Tuck saying the results are too good. Too good! He says he's going to bring in an independent investigator to check the group. And here comes you—you snooping, sneaky nobody, poking into our stuff, into our records and methods like you know any damn thing. Which you don't. You had to bring someone with you just to understand the machines.”
"I admit to being lost on certain subjects. I rely on experts to tell me what I don't know, like I'm relying on you to help me with that video.”
He stared at me, his fury slackening into surprise, the furious light around him dimming.
"Terry, it's true that you're in a good position to sweeten or skew the results. But so is Denise Francisco or almost any of the people sitting in that room every Sunday and Wednesday—even Tuckman himself. I have to know what can be done before I can tell if it has been done.”
"Are you saying you don't think it's me?”
"Yes and no. I'm saying I'm not sure that Tuckman's right about the problem. What happened today was so spectacular it should make or break Tuckman's belief in a saboteur. So what I want is to find out if what I saw through that benighted glass is the same thing the camera saw. I'm trusting that you haven't been up here doctoring that recording.”
He scoffed. "It would take a lot more than fifteen minutes and the equipment we have in here to do that.”
"Then show me the recording.”
Terry chewed on the idea for a while, then scooted his chair to the side and let me sit next to him while he cued the video. "I've got three angles, but this one's the best.”
"Three? The recordings you gave me before were only one angle.”
He shrugged and didn't look at me. "You didn't really need the other stuff, anyway, just general records—that's what Tuck said.”
I sighed. I didn't think Terry's spite was going to make any difference and I supposed I should be glad I hadn't waded through three times as much video to end up in the same place.
We watched the short session from every angle twice. By the end, we were both shaking our heads in amazement.
"That thing just popped in from nowhere and hung there in the air," Terry marveled, pointing at the close-up. "That. . that's just. .
"That's an apport," I supplied.
"It's cool. The certifiable, real, live thing. The Philip group thought they could get one, but Tuck said he didn't think it was possible.”
"Tuck seems to be wrong." I stood up and looked at him. "Thanks, Terry.”
He gave me an embarrassed nod.
In the séance room, most of the remaining project members had re-gathered with Tuckman. Wayne Hopke, Ana, and Ian were lined up on the couch. Ian had his arm over Ana's shoulders, but she was looking away from him—at the floor or at Tuckman, who was sitting at the table with Ken and Patricia. Ken was frowning, his jaw tight, and listening intently to Tuckman while Patricia clutched his nearest hand and continued to sniffle. Wayne seemed oddly outside it all, just sitting beside Ana, nodding. Looking through the glass, I couldn't tell what might be happening in the Grey. There was no indication at all now—not even the wisps and lights I'd seen the last time.
Terry turned up the volume from the audio monitors.
"… sure it's not true. Cara was overwrought—momentary hysteria at having been hit. It's natural to feel stunned or shocked.”
"We'd better tell him they can go home," I said. "None of them threw that brooch.”
Terry stood up, stretching his back and legs with a series of small pops. "I'll do it.”
In a few moments, he walked into the séance room and whispered to Tuckman, who nodded and put his hands together in his sincere salesman pose and smiled. "They've finished looking at the tape and everything's fine. No one threw anything at anyone. I'll speak to Cara and for now we can assume that the project is going ahead. Thank you for being so patient. I know this has been a very difficult day.”
The sitters began stirring, sluggishly. Tuckman removed himself a little faster. A few seconds later, he strode into the booth.
"What's going on now?" he demanded.
"Nothing you shouldn't be spectacularly happy about," I replied. I nodded at the image on the monitor screen. "Looks like a legitimate apport.”
He narrowed his eyes and looked at the screen. He shook his head. "How are they doing that?”
I shrugged, though I still felt a little dizzy from my brush with Celia. "Power of the mind? Terry's been running it through everything he can think of and there's no sign of wires or strings or that it's just been tossed there. You can run it back and forth from every angle and it just appears there. It's the real thing.”
Tuckman stared at the image, his face blank.
"Tuckman?”
He scowled and flipped a dismissive hand at me. "Just finish it up." Then he turned and stalked out.
I put a hand through my hair, rubbing the impending headache developing in the top of my head. I was tired and feeling somewhat queasy and irritable. I hoped the hollow ache in my skull wasn't going to be a migraine, though Tuckman's attitude seemed good enough reason to feel irritated and worn-out all on its own.
"Do you want this one?" Terry asked.
"No. I think I can remember this. Besides, I'm almost done and that recording doesn't prove anything Tuckman wants to acknowledge.”