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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Dark Devon Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
The village of Slyford St James is no stranger to supernatural happenings, as long-time residents Jed and Emma know all too well. When Jed receives a letter from an old friend, he is intrigued. Though he and Simon were like brothers during their army days, they have lost touch over the years. However, the invitation to the Pomeroy family estate isn't quite the reunion he was hoping for - Simon's eldest brother has been brutally murdered, and he wants Jed to use his connection to the dead to help solve the crime. When they arrive at the estate, Jed is shocked by how fragile and fearful his friend has become. As Jed calls upon the spirit world, the results are dramatic, and a gruesome warning reveals dark and dangerous family secrets that threaten the safety of them all.
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Seitenzahl: 534
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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Evil Never Dies
S. M. HARDY
To the big guy my cousin Tony
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Emma found me in the conservatory nursing a glass of good malt and contemplating the intricacies of life. Looking out over the brightly coloured and sweet-smelling flower beds, watching the birds and other wildlife scampering across the freshly mown lawns revitalised my soul. It was a haven of peace and calm and, given half the chance, this bright and airy room would be where I’d spend the majority of my time. For one thing it was a place where the dead appeared to keep their distance.
‘Ah, there you are,’ she said, stooping to press a soft kiss against my cheek. She smelt so damn good; I could breathe in her scent all day long and then some. She looked pretty fantastic too. She had let her blonde hair grow a little longer than she used to wear it; still cut in soft layers it now curled down below the collar of her cream jacket.
‘How was the committee meeting?’
She pulled a face. ‘Tedious, as usual.’ I gave a non-committal grunt; she knew what I thought about her committee meetings. ‘I was going to ask if you wanted a drink, but I see you already have one.’
I folded the letter I’d been pondering and stuffed it back inside its envelope.
‘Bad news?’ she asked.
‘Hmm. Couldn’t get much worse, I suppose.’
I ignored her expectant look and took a gulp of whisky as she sank down into the chair opposite me. When I wasn’t forthcoming she raised an eyebrow.
‘Are you going to elaborate?’
‘It’s from an old friend. He wants us to go and visit him.’
Seeing my no doubt glum expression she laid her hand on mine. I wrapped my fingers around hers, instantly feeling a lot better than I had a right to.
‘We should go. It would do you good to meet up with one of your old friends.’
‘I’m not so sure it would; not at the moment.’
She leant forward. ‘Why?’
My hand went to my beard, a nervous habit of mine, then, realising what I was doing, I let it drop back into my lap. ‘His brother has just died.’ I kept my eyes on my drink.
‘That’s sad. Had he been ill?’
I grasped the glass a little tighter. ‘No, not as far as I’m aware.’
‘Oh dear. It was sudden?’
I took a quick peek at her face and knew I couldn’t put off telling her without being subjected to the third degree. ‘Yes – he was murdered.’
She blinked and stared at me for a moment, as if making her mind up whether I was joking or not. ‘Really? How? When?’
I shrugged and went back to my drink.
‘Jed Cummings, you can’t drop something like that into a conversation and not explain it,’ she said, pulling her hand from mine.
‘I can’t tell you something I don’t know,’ I said, I thought quite reasonably.
She made a huffing sound. ‘Then tell me what you do know.’ With a sigh of defeat, I pushed the letter my old friend Simon had sent me across the table. She turned the ivory envelope over in her fingers. ‘Nice stationery,’ she commented, running her forefinger over the embossed coat of arms on the flap, before flicking it open to slip out the letter.
She carefully unfolded the two sheets of paper and spread them out on the table before delving into her jacket pocket for her glasses. Once perched on her nose she began to read.
Leaning back in my seat I watched her face. By the time she’d reached the second page her expression was full of sympathy.
‘How terrible,’ she said, returning the letter into the envelope and sliding it back across the table to me. ‘Did you know his brother Oliver?’
I shoved the letter in my pocket. ‘I met him on a couple of occasions. I stayed at Kingsmead several times when Simon and I were home on leave together.’
‘So you were good friends with Simon?’
I nodded, feeling a little guilty. We’d been best mates at one time; him, me and Reggie. If I dropped this last bit of information into the pot, I knew exactly what would happen: if Emma had any idea her late husband was one of the three amigos, our bags would be packed by the morning.
‘We sort of lost touch once we left the forces,’ I told her. There was more to it, but it had been many years ago and best forgotten.
‘Perhaps this would be a good opportunity to reacquaint yourselves.’
I doubted it would. Then I started to think about all the good times we’d had, and we did have a lot of them. We were young, we were reckless and we thought we could rule the world. Maybe Emms was right. He had offered an olive branch and perhaps I should accept it.
‘It would do you good. It would do us both good to get away,’ she pushed.
I gave a morose laugh. ‘To visit a crime scene? You really think?’
‘You’d be helping out a friend in need.’
Knocking back the last of my drink I said, ‘I don’t do that sort of thing any more.’
‘And you miss it.’
I slowly shook my head. ‘No, I don’t.’
She very sensibly kept any thoughts she might have on the subject to herself, instead asking, ‘Do you want another?’
I contemplated my empty glass. ‘Maybe just the one,’ I replied.
With a smile she took my glass into the next room and, while I waited for her to return, I thought about Simon and how fond he’d been of Oliver. They had grown close when they’d lost their elder brother, Edward. From memory Oliver had been a couple of years younger, but there had been a full ten years or more between him and Simon. He hadn’t talked about it much, but from what I remembered Edward had died in a freak accident and the family had never been the same afterwards. On one occasion, when Simon was in his cups, he’d told me that after Edward’s death it had been like living in a mausoleum – hence Simon joining the forces as soon as he could.
‘Well?’ Emma asked, when she returned with the drinks.
‘What?’
‘Are you going to call your friend and say we’ll be coming?’
I thought about it a moment longer. We wouldn’t be meeting again under the happiest of circumstances, but if we were ever to make amends, now was probably the time, neither of us were getting any younger. ‘All right,’ I said.
‘Really?’ she said, with a surprised smile.
‘Yes, really. Just for a few days.’
She didn’t argue. She’d won the battle. She’d concentrate on winning her never-ending war to get me to go away on a proper holiday upon our return. I didn’t mind; she kept me on my toes.
Simon had been uncharacteristically grateful when I called to tell him we’d be on our way for the weekend and it brought me up short. Had he changed so much? Had I also changed into a man he would barely recognise? Maybe this was a mistake.
Emma brushed aside my concerns. ‘The poor man is probably still reeling from the shock of losing his brother,’ she said as she packed my suitcase. ‘Besides you both will have changed. How long ago was it since you last saw him?’
I sat down on the bed beside the suitcase. ‘Do we really need all this for two or three days?’
‘Yes,’ she said, slapping my hand away when I reached into the case to check what she’d packed for me.
I knew when to give in and went back to trying to remember when Simon and I had parted company. ‘It must have been twenty-five years or more,’ I said.
She gave me a sideways look. ‘Did he and Reggie know each other?’
‘Hmm,’ I said and decided now we were going to Kingsmead I might as well tell her − it was bound to come out over the course of the next few days, anyway. ‘They did, but towards the end they didn’t get on.’
‘Really?’ she said with a frown. ‘Why ever not?’
‘You know what toffs are like.’
‘Reggie was not a toff.’
That made me laugh. ‘Yes, he bloody was. Simon and him were both old school tie. Why Reggie ever chose to be friends with me I have no idea.’
She stopped what she was doing to look at me. ‘Because you were both good men, perhaps?’ Emma’s smile had returned. I knew she would always love Reggie, but I didn’t mind as long as there was a little bit left for me. ‘And if I recall rightly, you spent your formative years at a rather good boarding school.’
‘Huh, it was no Eton or Gordonstoun.’
‘Still …’
Grabbing her hand, I pulled her towards me. Standing above me, her knees touching the bed between my legs, she began to laugh before leaning forward and, cupping my cheek, planted a kiss on my lips.
‘I am not, and never will be, a member of the “Old Boys’ Club”,’ I grumbled.
‘And I wouldn’t want you to be any different to the man you are.’ She stroked my cheek, her eyes sparkling, and any concerns I had about our forthcoming trip melted away. There would be time enough to worry in the morning.
CHAPTER TWO
‘Good Lord,’ Emma muttered as the Jaguar rumbled to a halt outside the six-foot-high electric gates blocking our entry into Kingsmead. ‘They certainly take their security seriously.’
‘Not seriously enough, judging by recent events,’ I said, winding down my window to announce our arrival into the intercom at the side of the gate. A disinterested voice took my name and the gates began to slowly swing open.
‘Was it like this when you were here last?’ she asked.
Gazing up at the razor wire strung out across the top of the ten-foot-high brick walls I gave a grunt. ‘More or less. I seem to recall Simon saying sometime, way back when, one of the Pomeroys was a politician and we all know how popular they are. I believe they used to have Dobermanns running around the grounds at night.’
‘Not now?’ Emma said, peering through the gates.
Emma loved dogs, I’m surprised she never had one, but even she would draw the line at a pack of Dobes. Or perhaps not – knowing her I wouldn’t be surprised if she had them rolling over to have their tummies tickled within five minutes of meeting them.
‘Fortunately not.’ As I guessed, her expression was slightly disappointed.
I put the Jaguar into gear and rolled forward through the still-opening gates and onto the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tyres as we rumbled along.
‘When you said Kingsmead was a country estate, I didn’t for one minute think it would be so huge.’
‘It’s smaller than Reggie’s family pile.’
Emma shifted in her seat, leaning back and folding her arms. ‘I only went there once and it was dark.’
I glanced her way and could have bitten my tongue. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and I’m sure if I could have looked more closely her eyes would have been sparkling with unshed tears.
Reggie’s family, for some incomprehensible reason, had disapproved of his choice of wife and, when they told him to choose between them and her, he chose Emma. Out of all his siblings he was the only one to have had a happy marriage, and this alone should have vindicated his decision, but his family never forgave him and not one of them attended his funeral. This had hurt Emma more than anything they might have ever said about her.
We carried on along the tree-flanked drive, meandering through vast expanses of manicured lawns. I had left the window open and the scent of freshly mown grass filled the car. Last time I’d been here there’d been a team of gardeners keeping the grounds in check. I doubted this had changed much throughout the years, though the motorised lawnmowers had probably become more efficient.
Then we reached the brow of the gentle upward slope and there, spread out below us, was Kingsmead Manor. I drew the Jag to a halt so Emma could get the full effect.
She actually gasped. ‘My God, it’s massive.’
It was impressive. I had forgotten how huge the H-shaped building was, and the woodland beyond the fields behind it, a mass of relentless green disappearing into the distance for as far as the eye could see.
We started down the slope. It was too late to turn back now, and I had a moment of stomach-fluttering disquiet. We hadn’t even reached the building and I was already experiencing the tingling sensation at the back of my neck I usually get when someone from beyond the veil wants to make themselves known. I hunched my shoulders, ignoring it, and concentrated on the driveway ahead.
Out front of the house I swung the Jag in next to a blue Mercedes convertible parked close to a low, ornate stone pillar wall separating the drive from more lush lawns as smooth and green as any snooker table.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we’re here.’
‘Do you think they dress for dinner?’ Emma asked, peering out at the steps leading to the front door.
I frowned at her. ‘What?’
‘I packed you a suit, but—’
‘Emms, he’s just lost his brother – the last thing he’ll be thinking of is dinner parties.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
I took her hand in mine. ‘Emma, you have wined and dined dukes and duchesses and heads of state, why are you getting in a panic over this?’
She exhaled – slowly. ‘I know I’m being stupid.’
‘Err, yes. If anyone’s going to muck up it’ll be me, so stop stressing.’ She laughed and leant in to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s get this over with.’
I slid out of the car and, by the time I’d crunched my way across the gravel to open the passenger door, Emma was already pushing it closed behind her. I hefted the cases from the boot and, as I slammed down the lid, a blonde, floppy-haired young man, in white shirt and black trousers, came hurrying down the steps to take them from me. His smile was a little tentative and nervous. I guessed he hadn’t worked here long and, judging from his fading acne, was probably not a lot older than seventeen. He gestured we go first and followed us up the marble steps to the front entrance.
A tall, grey-haired woman stood in the doorway waiting. Dressed in a black, calf-length dress with a bunch of keys hanging from her belt she was the epitome of the country estate housekeeper.
‘Mr and Mrs Cummings,’ she said, greeting us with a convivial smile. ‘How nice to meet you. Please come in. I’m Sarah Walters and if I can help you with anything during your visit please don’t hesitate to ask.’ She stepped back. ‘This way, if you please. I’m afraid Mr Simon has been caught up on the phone.’
She led us through the spacious entrance hall, the echo of Emma’s heels clicking on the white, grey and black veined marble tiles making it as welcoming as a mausoleum and I had to hold in a shudder. I remembered it as being carpeted, and fragranced by vase upon vase of colourful, scented flowers sitting upon small tables around the periphery of the hallway. No flowers today, only the aroma of lavender furniture polish. Looking around there was plenty of wood to be kept shiny; the small tables remained, and huge chestnut-coloured banisters swept from the centre of the hall to the first floor. It was weird and almost as though the hall had been drained of any colour or life in the twenty-five or so years since I’d last crossed the threshold. It was a house in mourning, though I somehow doubted it had been any different in the years prior to Oliver’s death.
This place was full of ghosts. Always had been and it hadn’t got any better. I had an inkling it had probably got a lot worse. The first time I’d visited I’d hardly slept the first couple of nights, there had been so many of them vying for my attention. By the last time I’d been invited to stay I’d apparently become boring. By the tickle at the top of my spine I guessed their interest had been renewed.
Mrs Walters showed us into a room I remembered as being the study. My memory wasn’t failing me and the room had changed hardly at all; it was still a clutter of old books, hunting memorabilia and sagging leather chairs. The same couldn’t be said for my old friend. I hoped the shock didn’t show in my expression. I forced a smile onto my face as he ended his phone call and hurried around the desk, a candle-wax-hued hand outstretched to greet me.
‘Jed,’ he said. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’ He pumped my hand, his fingers icy in mine, and unexpectedly pulled me into a hug. After a second’s hesitation I wrapped my arms around him and had I not been concerned about his health before I certainly was after his bony frame pressed against mine. Beneath his jacket he was all sharp, jutting angles with hardly any flesh cushioning his body. He pulled away from me. ‘You’ve hardly changed at all.’
I managed a laugh. ‘I know that’s not true,’ I told him.
His attention turned to Emma. His smile was genuine and bright. ‘And you must be Emma,’ he said and took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it. ‘Enchanté.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Simon,’ Emma said, ‘and I’m only sorry it’s not under better circumstances.’
He grimaced, deep lines etching his forehead and, with his sallow and waxy complexion, I could have been looking at the death mask of a man decades older. ‘Yes, it hasn’t been easy.’ Then he snapped into host mode. ‘Come, I’ll show you to your room. It’ll give you the chance to settle in before dinner.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we meet for pre-dinner drinks at say, seven? Jed, you remember where the sitting room is?’
Our bedroom was on the first floor and at the back of the house, giving us a panoramic view of the gardens, fields and the forest of trees behind them. As soon as we were alone, Emma made straight for the French windows and the balcony outside.
‘This is beautiful.’
I stood in the centre of the room taking it all in. ‘I prefer The Grange.’
She glanced back at me over her shoulder and laughed. ‘Only because there’s less lawn to mow.’
‘Hmm.’ I slowly turned full circle. There was a large fireplace with a pile of logs stacked decoratively to one side and I could imagine, with a fire roaring away in the winter months, it would make the room warm and cosy. On a bright, spring day the room was dreary and a bit like the master bedrooms on show to the public in the many stately homes scattered around the countryside. I was surprised there wasn’t a protective plastic sheet over the Persian carpet.
Vellum yellow wallpaper, decorated with blue and green birds interspersed with twisted vines, no doubt created by one of the masters of design in the Arts and Crafts period, covered the walls. All credit to whoever put it up, it must have been a bugger to hang and get the pattern aligned. Antique furnishings littered the room and I made a mental note of where anything vaguely breakable was located, so when I stumbled around half-asleep in the morning I knew where to avoid.
The bed was a four-poster and very nice too – if you were five foot five or so. The frame was beautifully carved and swathed with colourful tapestries. Some might find it romantic – to me it was just an impractical dust trap. But if anyone had ever died in this room they had moved on – and for this reason alone I’d put up with a cramped night’s sleep.
‘A four-poster bed,’ Emma said, coming over to link her arm through mine. ‘How lovely.’ Then she began to laugh. I made a humphing sound, which made her laugh even more. ‘It’s only for a few nights.’
‘Just as well.’
‘We’ll have to snuggle,’ she said, with a naughty grin.
I sucked in air through my teeth and followed it with a dramatic sigh. ‘I guess it’ll be a sacrifice, but to help an old friend …’ She thumped me on the shoulder and then she was in my arms and the cramped bed instantly became a lot more inviting.
Dinner was excellent and surprisingly the conversation flowed. So much so it could have been only a few months since Simon and I last broke bread together. It was as it had been before and I wished we hadn’t left it so long, mainly because I was pretty sure Simon was dying. It wasn’t only how he looked. There was what I can only describe as an aura around him: a dark grey, writhing mist gradually deepening to black at the extremities. If nothing else this made me determined to help him if I could. A man shouldn’t die without knowing who had killed a loved one and why.
It wasn’t until we had finished dinner and retired to the sitting room for after-dinner drinks that he got to the point of our visit.
‘I am really grateful to you for coming,’ he said, handing me a glass of good whisky.
I settled into the corner of the leather Chesterfield settee, slightly at an angle so my knee was practically touching Emma’s. ‘What happened?’ I asked him. ‘You said Oliver had been murdered, but not much else.’
He slumped back in his matching high-backed chair, his expression pained, his eyes wet and rheumy. I hadn’t noticed before, I’d been so shocked by his fragility, but his once-cornflower-blue eyes had faded to a clouded opaque.
‘It was nearly a month ago and, as I said in my letter, the police are getting nowhere and … I just need to know. I need to understand why.’ His voice broke and he turned his head away for a moment while he fought to control his emotions.
Emma gave me a helpless glance. I wasn’t much better; I didn’t know what to do either.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Emma replied, her voice gentle and tinged with sympathy. ‘It’s quite understandable. His death is still raw.’
He nodded, raising the crystal tumbler to his lips. His hand was trembling.
‘Where did it happen?’ I asked.
Simon swallowed and, cradling the glass on his knee, sagged into his chair. ‘Here. Here on the estate.’
‘Not in the house,’ I said, and it wasn’t a question. Many things had happened in Kingsmead, I sensed terrible things, but not this.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not in the house. In the woodland at the back.’ He pushed himself out of his chair. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’
Emma leant forward. ‘Can you feel anything?’ she whispered.
‘No, not anything connected to Oliver’s death, anyhow.’
‘This house has its own vibe,’ she said and shivered.
‘You feel it?’ I asked. Emma was by no means as psychic as I am, but she did sometimes sense things, sometimes things I didn’t.
She took a sip of her drink and gave an abrupt bob of the head.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
She gave me a shaky smile. ‘I think so. It’s just …’ She didn’t get to finish what she was about to say as Simon returned, bringing with him a Manila file.
‘Here,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘Don’t read it now; it’ll give you nightmares. The morning will be soon enough.’
I held the file on my lap for a moment and rested my hand on the cover. The unease I’d felt as we approached the house swept over me. I was sure he was right; the contents of the file were the stuff of bad dreams and night chills. I dropped it on the settee between Emma and me. I would read it by the light of day.
‘Why did you fall out?’ Emma asked as she took off her earrings and dropped them into a small crystal dish on the bedside table.
I pulled off my shirt and padded towards the bathroom. ‘Water under the bridge, Emms. It was such a long time ago.’
‘It must have been serious.’
I grunted in reply and shut the bathroom door, hoping she’d take the hint. It was something I didn’t want to talk about. I was here now, when he needed me. It’d have to be enough.
She was sitting in bed, a pillow plumped behind her, when I came back out, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she pored over her latest read. I stripped off and slipped beneath the sheets beside her.
‘I packed pyjamas,’ she said, not looking away from the page.
‘I can see,’ I said, running a finger down the sleeve of the silky, lilac pyjama jacket she was wearing and I had never seen before.
‘What if there’s a fire?’
‘I would do the same as I would back at home – run from the house stark bollock naked.’
She gave me a sideways look. ‘I really believe you would.’
I grinned at her. ‘It would give the fire brigade a laugh if nothing else.’
She dumped the book on the bedside table and folded her glasses, dropping them on top. ‘You are the limit,’ she said with a laugh and flicked off her light. ‘Goodnight, Jed.’
I clicked off mine and snuggled down under the covers to give her a kiss on the forehead. ‘Goodnight, sweetheart,’ I whispered and wrapped my arms around her.
CHAPTER THREE
We had agreed to meet with Simon for breakfast at eight-thirty. We made it by a whisker, having overslept. I felt a bit guilty, as I hadn’t had a chance to look at the file he’d given me, but was let off the hook when during breakfast he received a phone call, which had him apologising and saying he had an unexpected meeting with his solicitor.
‘Make yourselves at home,’ he said, wiping his lips with his snow-white napkin. ‘It’s a nice day − go for a walk around the grounds or use the swimming pool. Jed, you know where everything is.’
‘Swimming pool?’ I said. ‘I don’t remember a swimming pool.’
He dropped the napkin on the table. ‘Of course not – I was forgetting. Oliver had it put in about fifteen years ago. It’s in a conservatory off the west wing.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you later. If not before, lunch is at one.’
‘Great,’ I said and, with a smile, he was gone.
‘A swimming pool,’ Emma said. ‘I wish I’d brought a costume.’
‘I’m sure your underwear will do.’
‘Hmm. I don’t s’pose there’ll be anyone else around.’
‘We could always skinny-dip.’
She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Typical man.’
‘Just a suggestion.’
‘Come on, shall we take a look?’ she said.
I threw down my napkin. ‘Why not? Maybe there’s somewhere local where we can go and get you a costume if you fancy a dip.’
We found the poolroom without too much trouble. You could hardly miss it, it was bloody enormous. When Simon had said a conservatory, I was expecting a glass and white UPVC lean-to tucked on the corner of the building. In reality, it stretched across the whole end of the wing and was a glass and dark green wrought iron, decorative structure, which wouldn’t have been out of place in Kew Gardens.
The inside, I imagined, would hold its own against the mightiest of hotel poolrooms. It had somehow been integrated into the back of the original building rather than being added on. Consequently the grey-and-black-veined white marble flooring, covering the whole ground floor of the house, continued into the room to surround the pool and the line of changing rooms stretched along the inner back wall, together with an open showering area for a quick washdown before and after your dip. There was even a fully stocked bar.
Several white wrought iron tables and chairs were scattered around the pool area together with white-painted wicker sunloungers and matching drinks tables.
‘My goodness,’ Emma said when we reached the edge of the pool. ‘This is stunning.’
It wasn’t the expression I would have used; once again a feeling of disquiet flowed over me. The interior of the pool had been tiled completely in a very dark blue, which gave no perspective at all of its depth and, for anyone brave enough to try diving into it, would give the impression of throwing oneself into a bottomless void. I shivered. Nothing on earth would get me into the pool.
‘A very unusual choice of colour,’ Emma said.
‘Hmm. Shall we take a walk around the gardens?’ I said, wanting to get away from the place as soon as possible. There was something unwholesome about the room and it had set my nerves a-jangling. And when I looked into the pool, a growing sense of dread rose from the pit of my stomach. I could sense something was there – just below the surface – watching me.
Emma linked her arm through mine as we left and it was on the tip of my tongue to say something about the pool but, as she hadn’t a costume with her, I thought why bother? I did make a mental note to scupper any mention of the possibility of a visit to town to get her one. I didn’t want her going anywhere near the pool, especially on her own.
About three-quarters of an hour before lunch we went back to our bedroom to freshen up. I also wanted to spend some time looking at the file Simon had given me − after all, its contents included details of Oliver’s death and this was the reason we were here.
While Emma washed and changed and did all those time-consuming things women do, I sat out on the balcony in the sunshine with the file. With a dyspeptic feeling in my gut I flicked it open. I wasn’t sure what I expected to find inside, but it certainly wasn’t a copy of the police report. I quickly riffled through the pages and yes, it was a copy of an official police file.
‘Typical bloody Simon,’ I muttered under my breath.
By the time I’d worked my way through and reached the end, the disquiet I’d been feeling, from almost as soon as we’d arrived, had grown into full-blown anxiety. I should never have brought Emma here.
She appeared through the door on a waft of Chanel to sit beside me. ‘Interesting?’ she asked.
‘Horrifying, more like,’ I muttered.
She put her hand on my wrist. ‘What’s the matter?’
Shutting the file, I tapped the front cover. ‘This is a copy of the official police report, forensics, photos, witness statements, the lot.’
She frowned at me. ‘Is it usual for the victim’s family to have a copy?’
‘Nooo. It could cause all sorts of problems should someone be charged and it go to court.’
‘How do you think Simon got hold of it?’
I stared down at the file. ‘I have no idea,’ I said. I was lying – I had a very good idea how Simon had got his hands on it and I could feel all the old resentment creeping back. He hadn’t changed. I’d been a fool to believe he had.
‘Can I take a look?’
‘Better you don’t,’ I said with a grimace. ‘There’re some very gruesome pictures. In fact, it’s all pretty grisly stuff.’
‘Then tell me.’
I slumped back in my chair and she took hold of my hand. ‘Oliver was quite literally slaughtered. There’s no other word for it.’ I needed a drink and I really hoped there’d be some with lunch. ‘He was so badly disfigured by his wounds he was identified by his signet ring and a tattoo he had on his left shoulder.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘The pathologist said he had never before in all his years seen such a vicious and sustained attack.’ I squeezed her hand. ‘I’m beginning to think maybe I should do what Simon wants and then we should get ourselves away from here.’
She put her palm against my cheek. ‘Jed, you never run away from anything. Never have and never will.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. If I’m putting us in danger by being here, I will run as far away as it takes to make us safe again.’
‘No, darling. You’re not thinking about “us”, you’re worrying about me.’
I gave a sort of half-shrug. The woman could read me like a book. ‘If something happened to you …’
She stroked my cheek. ‘Nothing is going to happen to me.’
‘You don’t know that. Who would have thought—?’ I stopped mid sentence, I didn’t need to go on, she knew exactly what I was talking about.
‘That is all in the past and I know I’m perfectly safe if you have anything to do with it. Now, let’s go down and have a nice lunch with Simon and see if we can help him with his problem,’ she said, getting to her feet.
I grabbed her as she went to go inside and wrapped my arms around her. ‘I love you,’ I murmured against her hair. It was funny, she meant so much to me, but I still had trouble spitting out the words.
‘I know,’ she whispered.
Simon wasn’t alone in the sitting room. ‘Jed, Emma,’ he said upon seeing us come in, ‘let me introduce you to Brandon Fredericks, my old friend and the family legal advisor.’
The solicitor must have been well past retirement age. A big, rotund man who, judging by his ruddy cheeks and bulbous nose, clearly enjoyed the better things in life. He was dressed for business, in navy suit and waistcoat, white shirt and navy tie; he even had a gold fob watch and chain stretched across his ample belly. For all that, he had a genuinely friendly smile and a twinkle in his eye, making it easy to take an instant liking to him.
‘How nice to meet you at last,’ he said, pumping my hand. ‘Simon has told me so much about you.’
‘Jed and I go back a long way,’ Simon chirped in. ‘Can I get you both a drink?’
While Simon sorted out a VAT for Emma and a whisky for me, we made small talk for a few minutes; about the usual sort of thing, where are you from, how long have you lived there?
‘Simon told me you’re some sort of clairvoyant,’ Brandon said.
Emma cast me a worried look. I didn’t take offence, Brandon’s expression was interested, not disparaging.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I went to a spiritualist once,’ he said. ‘What she said … Well, in retrospect, it was probably what she told all bereaved clients.’
I smiled sympathetically; there were a lot of frauds out there preying upon the vulnerable and I despised them. What they did was mercenary and cruel. ‘Sadly, that’s most likely true. Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to know who’s the real deal or who’s a fake. I tell people true psychics shouldn’t charge, other than for expenses if, say, they have to travel to see a client and so forth. If they ask for money – well, I’d avoid them like the plague.’
‘You don’t charge a fee?’ he was surprised.
‘Nope. It would be immoral. What I have is a gift. Whether it comes from a higher being or not’ – I shrugged – ‘I couldn’t tell you, but I don’t believe I should profit from it.’
Simon handed us our drinks. ‘Did you have a good morning?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Emma said. ‘We took a walk around your lovely gardens and had a look at the swimming pool; it’s beautiful.’
‘It is rather spectacular,’ he said, ‘though not for the faint-hearted. There’s no shallow end and it’s over six feet deep all the way across.’
‘That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?’ she asked.
Simon laughed. ‘That was Oliver for you. He never did things the way other people did.’ He paused, his smile all but disappearing. ‘Maybe it’s what got him killed.’
‘It was most strange,’ Brandon said. ‘It was almost as though he knew his time was limited.’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked.
‘A week before he died he changed his will, and was adamant it was done immediately.’
‘A coincidence, surely?’ Simon said. ‘He must have been meaning to do it for ages. He’d been split from that dreadful woman for at least five years.’ He glanced my way. ‘Oliver married a totally unsuitable young woman about ten years or so ago,’ he explained. ‘It didn’t last very long and they eventually separated. Of course, he never got around to divorcing her or changing his will. You know what it’s like, we all think we’re going to live for ever.’
‘He must have had a premonition, then,’ Brandon said, ‘and a good thing too – if he hadn’t, she would have inherited the lot.’
‘What? All this?’ Emma said.
Brandon nodded sagely. ‘His stocks, his shares, this estate, everything.’
It made me wonder: men had been murdered for less. ‘Could she contest it?’ I asked.
Brandon’s smile was wolfish. ‘She could try, but Oliver had me tie it up so tight she’d never see a penny, even if she took it to the highest court in the land.’
‘Brandon has tried tracing her, just to let her know about Ollie,’ Simon said.
‘It’s a waste of time, really,’ Brandon said. ‘Oliver told me the last he’d heard of Carla she’d joined some weird cult and was living in a commune in Texas.’
I was surprised, not so much that she’d debunked to a commune, but that she couldn’t be found. Simon could find anyone he wanted if he put his mind to it, I was quite sure. I didn’t get the chance to voice this opinion as we were called in for lunch.
Brandon was good company and a witty raconteur, having us all in stitches throughout the meal. Simon was enjoying himself; he had even gained a little colour to his cheeks and it was good to see.
When Brandon was leaving he drew me slightly away from the others. ‘I’m glad you and Simon have put aside your differences,’ he said. ‘I can hardly believe the change in him. You being here has worked wonders.’
‘I’m not sure why.’
He beamed at me. ‘We all need friends, Jed, and I think at the moment Simon needs you,’ and with that he went off to say his goodbyes to Emma and Simon and was on his way.
‘Did you read the file?’ Simon asked. We had adjourned to the courtyard at the back of the house outside the poolroom, to finish our drinks in the sunshine.
‘Yes,’ I said and hesitated, wondering quite how I could ask the obvious.
Emma had no such hang-ups. ‘How did you get a copy of the police report?’
Simon shifted in his chair a mite uncomfortably. ‘I have a contact,’ he said, after a pause long enough to make me think he knew what my reaction would be. I passed no comment, just gave him a long, hard stare. He grew a little flustered. ‘I had to do something, damn it. The police weren’t telling me what was going on, or even doing anything, as far as I could see. I have to know why it happened, Jed. I have to know who killed my brother.’
I took a swig of my drink. I did understand, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘Will you try and contact him?’ Simon asked, a plea for help if ever I heard one and making it difficult to refuse, despite my promise to myself never to deliberately seek out the dead again.
I thought about it for a bit. If I did as he asked I couldn’t do it in the house: holding a seance in Kingsmead would open the floodgates to a whole load of trouble.
‘Can you take me to where he died?’
Simon gave a short, sharp bob of the head. I took a deep breath; this was probably a mistake, but it was what I was here for. ‘All right.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Give me half an hour to change.’
‘Us,’ Emma said. ‘Give us half an hour.’
I was about to argue, but one look at her told me I’d be wasting my breath. ‘Give us half an hour.’
‘You’ll need sturdy shoes or boots,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of a walk.’
We agreed to meet in the courtyard. Emma and I arrived first, dressed for a five-mile hike. Fortunately, she had brought our walking gear with us on the off-chance we might go exploring across the estate. Emma likes her walks and since we married had coerced me into joining her whenever she set off on one of her jaunts. Consequently, I was the fittest I’d been for years.
We stood there, her arm through mine, looking out across the gardens and fields to the woods beyond. The sky was blue with hardly a cloud in the sky, and it was already the warmest spring we’d had for many a year. Of course, the fanatics were screaming global warming. It was probably just as well they hadn’t been about in the summer of ’76: I’d hate to think what they’d have made of the four or so months of no rain and constant sunshine.
‘It’s quite a trek to make to murder someone,’ Emma said, her hand shading her eyes as she peered into the distance. It was, and she had a point. ‘He was battered to death?’
Following her gaze, I squinted against the sun. ‘It was worse than that, Emms. After the beating he’d been stabbed multiple times and possibly with multiple, but identical, weapons.’
Her head whipped around so she was facing me. ‘You mean it could be he was killed by more than one person?’
I blew out through pursed lips. ‘The forensic pathology report was inconclusive; there were so many wounds, but it said there were a couple that could have been made by a left-handed assailant.’
‘So possibly two people? Or more?’
‘Possibly.’
Emma hung onto my arm and moved a little closer. ‘That’s horrible.’
I looked back at the forest of trees. It was a long walk to commit murder. Why not kill him in the gardens or fields? Unless they wanted his body to remain hidden, though if this was the case it hadn’t worked. The report reckoned he hadn’t been dead more than twelve hours when he’d been found.
There was a thud of boots on stone behind us and when I glanced around Simon was hurrying towards us with a tall, mousey-haired chap walking along beside him in long, easy strides. Dressed in an olive tweed jacket, beige trousers, shirt, brown boots and cheese-cutter cap I guessed he was the estate manager or gamekeeper. He was about my age and looked vaguely familiar. I supposed it was possible he’d been a stable hand when I last visited and had worked his way upwards. It was usually the way of such things in these country estates.
‘Jed, Emma, this is Donald Walters, he manages the grounds.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Cummings.’
‘It was Donald who found Oliver.’
‘How terrible, it must have been dreadful for you,’ Emma said.
The groundskeeper grimaced. ‘It was pretty grim,’ he agreed.
I glanced at Simon. ‘Are you sure you want to come? It’s a long walk.’
He hesitated long enough for me to know he was thinking the same thing.
‘I could take us in the Land Rover, Mr Pomeroy,’ Donald suggested.
‘Maybe it would be for the best,’ Simon said. ‘I haven’t been in the best of health recently.’
Donald gave a bob of the head. ‘I won’t be a tick,’ he said and headed off towards the stables and garages.
‘Do you still keep horses?’ I asked.
Simon tore his eyes away from Donald’s back. ‘Oh yes, though only three now. Ollie sold the others last year. It was a shame, but they weren’t getting ridden as much as they should and it was taking a lot of Donald’s time exercising them. If you fancy going for a trot, feel free. Donald will be happy for another chore being taken off his hands.’
‘I haven’t ridden for years,’ Emma said, her tone wistful. ‘I used to go with Reggie, but when he took sick …’
‘I was sorry to hear about Reggie,’ Simon said, but I knew he was only being polite. The last time the two of them had spoken, their final words to each other had been beyond vitriolic and I’d had to step between them. Less than two years later Simon and I had parted on similar terms, so I suppose this must say something. I pushed it from my mind – there was no point going over old scores, they would only make me angry and neither of us needed it right now.
After a few minutes, with the growl of an engine and the rumble of tyres, a battered khaki-coloured Land Rover swung into the courtyard with Donald at the wheel. He ground to a halt directly in front of us and hopped out to open the front passenger door for Simon and the back doors for Emma and me.
It was a typical working country estate vehicle. The inside smelling of diesel and straw and the back seats scuffed and sagging. We all bundled in and, as soon as we’d settled, Donald stuck his foot down and we roared out of the yard and along a track leading past the gardens and lawn and onto the fields.
It was a bumpy ride. A couple of weeks with very little rain had turned the ground rock-solid and it was pretty unforgiving on the spine as we bounced along. Several times my head brushed the inside of the roof as we were thrown up and down and from side to side while Donald expertly manoeuvred the vehicle along the rutted and cratered track. He did have to stop a couple of times to negotiate gates, which I jumped out to open and close for him, otherwise it was full pelt ahead and only when the track entered the treeline did he slow to a more leisurely pace. I think it was then we all lost our smiles – I certainly did.
Inside the woodland the temperature plummeted and it grew dark and, to my mind, foreboding. I felt Emma shiver against me, and I wondered whether she was experiencing the same sense of unease. The back of my neck began to tingle and I was aware of a presence on the periphery of my psyche.
The Land Rover slowed and rolled to a halt. ‘We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot, I’m afraid,’ Donald said, glancing at us over his shoulder.
We all piled out of the car into the small clearing. Although the track continued on through the trees it had narrowed to a path, which was just about wide enough for us to walk two abreast. Simon and Donald went ahead, with us following behind and Emma clinging onto my arm.
We exchanged a look and she whispered, ‘I don’t like it here.’
I would have said it was because she knew something terrible had happened in this place; I knew differently – we could both feel the prevalent evil. And it was quiet, too damned quiet, the only sound being the crunch of leaf litter beneath our feet and the creak of the occasional branch above us. There was no birdsong, no sound of creatures scampering away from us through the vegetation, nothing. It was like we were in a bubble, cocooned from the outside world.
After about ten minutes, during which I found myself getting edgier and edgier, we walked into a large, circular clearing, so round it made me wonder whether it had been deliberately cleared of trees and vegetation at some time in the past. I didn’t need telling this was the place. Donald’s grim expression and the presence waiting on the edge of my consciousness conveyed the message quite eloquently – and the fluttering remnants of blue and white police crime scene tape strung out between the trees.
‘It was here,’ Donald said, pointing to a spot slap bang in the middle of the clearing.
I walked to the centre, turned full circle taking in the other narrow paths leading off in various directions and the tall pines surrounding us, then stopped and closed my eyes.
Sometimes I have to ask for the dead to speak to me. On this occasion I didn’t get the chance; he hit me like a sledgehammer. I think I gasped. I heard Emma ask if I was all right and then in my head I was running – running for my life.
My heart pounded, my chest wheezed and I could taste blood. My nose was broken and one eye was swollen shut, making it hard to see. From behind me I could hear whooping and jeering as my shoes skidded and slipped on the rain-soaked grass.
Desperation flooded through me. Then straight ahead the woodland loomed against the night sky, the trees towering, gaunt grey ghosts in the moonlight. If I could make it through and out the other side I might stand a chance.
The shouting behind me was getting ever closer as I stumbled on; slipping, sliding, falling then dragging myself to my feet. I could feel the rain against my face. I could feel the mud beneath my feet.
I staggered into the forest and behind me there was a roar of frustration. They were close, but not close enough. I thrashed through the vegetation, brambles tearing at my flesh, my clothes, my hair. Panic drove me on. My chest was on fire and my side burned with pain.
Then I was in a clearing. And I fell to my knees as the realisation hit me that they had me where they had wanted me all along. I couldn’t afford for them to find me here. I struggled to stand.
A light flared. I could hardly see through the rain and my blood and tears. Cloudy, ghostly figures closed in around me, their blurred faces obliterated by masks. Hands grabbed me, holding me tight. Fingers gripped my chin, forcing my head back as another pinched my nose. A knife rose and fell, a blast of terrible pain and I was choking. Then I was surrounded and more blades rained down on me, slashing and hacking and turning my body on fire. As I slipped to the ground a face loomed over me. Ruby-red lips smiling and laughing as she reached towards my face, fingers splayed, thumbs pointing inwards towards my eyes. Then everything blurred and turned to blood as the real agony began and I couldn’t even beg, I couldn’t even scream, I could only hope I would die and die soon. It was a blessed relief when my pounding heart finally slowed and then stuttered to a standstill, my life slipped away and everything went black, as I descended into oblivion.
‘Jed, Jed. Are you all right?’ As the mist spiralled away the voice grew louder and clearer.
‘Emma?’
‘Thank God,’ and then I was being held.
I opened my eyes and I was kneeling with both Simon and Donald crouched down in front of me, anxious expressions clouding their faces while Emma hugged me so tight I thought my ribs might break.
‘Emms,’ I managed to gasp, ‘I think you can let go of me now.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Emma wanted us to go back with Simon and Donald in the Land Rover, but I needed to clear my head – and think about what I had seen. I had never had an experience like it before and my mind was reeling with all the images and emotions whirling around inside it.
‘You go back,’ I told Simon.
‘What did you see? Did Ollie speak to you?’ he asked.
I closed my eyes for a moment. The presence was still there – it was almost like he was waiting for something, but I wasn’t sure what.
‘I need to get my thoughts in order. I’ll speak with you when we get back,’ and I gave a sideways glance at Donald. Simon took the hint. It wasn’t something we should be discussing in front of the groundskeeper. ‘You go with Donald. Emms and I will make the most of this glorious afternoon and walk back.’
He gave me a tight-lipped nod and started off along the track to the Land Rover.
‘I can come back for you a bit later if you want,’ Donald said quietly to me.
‘Thank you, but I really could do with a walk.’
With a smile, he tipped his cap to me, then Emma, and followed after Simon. We stood there watching them until they were out of sight and I relaxed a mite.
‘So?’ Emma said. ‘What happened?’
I shook my head. ‘I have no bloody idea. I’ve never had an experience like it before. In fact, I’ve never heard of anything like it happening to anyone, other than—’ I stopped, not wanting to go there.
Emma stroked my cheek with her knuckles. ‘Are you all right?’
I took her fingers in mine and kissed the back of her hand.
‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t push it. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Shall we start heading back?’
‘Uh-uh − I want to take a look around here first.’
Her brow crinkled into a frown. ‘What for?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest. But Oliver was killed here for a reason. He was deliberately herded to this place.’
Her frown grew deeper. ‘Herded? By whom?’
‘I don’t know; all I can tell you is there was a pack of them.’
‘You are joking? You said there might have been more than one – but a pack?’
I grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t joke about something like this,’ I told her. ‘It was like I was seeing it through Oliver’s eyes and living it through his body. He was hunted down, like an animal.’
‘And you’ve never had anything like this happen before?’ she said, biting her lip.
‘There’s no need to worry,’ I told her.
She sniffed. ‘Of course not, why would there be? You tell me you experienced something similar to a friend of ours before he …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t even want to think about it’
‘I saw a vision, Emms. Not dead people walking around like he did.’ She dipped her head. ‘Emma,’ I said and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me. She kept her chin down. ‘Look at me.’ She gave a little shake of her head. I put my fingers under her chin and raised her head so I could see her face. Her eyes were full of tears. This was not my rock-steady, strong Emma. ‘Hey, what are these for?’ I asked, wiping a teardrop away with the pad of my thumb.
She gave a sniff and lowered her eyes away from mine. ‘Most people aren’t lucky enough to find one good man, let alone two. I don’t want to lose you as well.’
‘You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere – at least not without you.’ She managed a weak smile, though I could tell she wasn’t convinced. ‘Let’s take a look around and see if we can find anything the police might have missed.’ She nodded and I gave her a quick peck on the cheek before letting her go. ‘You start here and I’ll start over there,’ I said, pointing across to the other side of the clearing, ‘and we can meet in the middle.’
I began to scuff the leaves away with the edge of my boot. It had been pouring with rain in my vision so the area would have been a whole mess of footprints, though if there had been a mention of this in the report I’d seen, I’d missed it. I supposed if it had continued raining like it had been for the whole twelve hours after Oliver had died it could have washed most of them away, or made it difficult to tell whether the footprints were new or old.
Beneath the leaf litter the mud was still thick and sticky in places. It was a churned mess and there was no real evidence of anything other than the ground having been trampled at some point when it had been very wet. I carried on scraping, gradually working around my side of the perimeter and towards the centre. Occasionally I would glance Emma’s way to see how she was doing. She was taking playing detective very seriously, an expression of determined concentration etched upon her lovely face. I watched her for a minute – even scrabbling amongst leaves and mud she managed to appear graceful – and for the millionth time I wondered what she saw in me.
She hesitated a moment, frowning, and crouched down at the far edge of the clearing where the earth was less disturbed.
‘Found something?’
‘I’m … No, not really. Just some strange prints.’ I wandered over and dropped down beside her. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘What are they, do you think?’
I peered at the imprints in the soil. ‘Some kind of hoofed animal,’ I said.
‘They’re pretty big.’
‘Well, they’re cloven, so not a horse. A cow, perhaps?’
‘How would a cow get in here? I haven’t seen any cattle on the estate, have you?’
She was right. Unless things had changed a lot over the years the Pomeroys had never been into farming. Maybe a hundred years or so ago, but not recently. ‘A neighbour’s maybe?’ I said, standing before my knees seized up. ‘Interesting, but not evidence left by a possible murder suspect.’ I took her hand, pulling her to her feet.
‘No,’ she said, with a shaky smile. ‘I suppose not.’
‘What’s the matter?’
She gave a little shiver. ‘I’m not sure,’ she hesitated, looking down at the hoof prints. ‘It’s nothing. I just felt a little’ – she wriggled her shoulders – ‘I don’t know. I had the strangest feeling.’ She forced a smile. ‘It’s this place. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies.’
‘Do you want to go back?’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. Let’s finish what we’ve started.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Of course. It’s what we’re here for.’
