by S W Kane
Patrick Calder had befriended Helen Linehan. He’d had to – he desperately wanted to buy Marsh House. She’d been on the brink of selling when she announced that she’d changed her mind. By way of explanation, she had confided in Calder that she had found her long-lost nephew and that she was finally going to make some small amends for the wrong that had been inflicted upon him by her family – by leaving him Marsh House. Until that point, it might never have crossed Calder’s mind to kill Ena; or at least, not seriously. With Sarah Carswell’s long-lost son on the scene, however, Calder suddenly had a fall guy, or possibly an accomplice.
Not only that, but the two men had begun an affair, the feelings seemingly genuine on Palmer’s side, but whether Calder was simply using him remained to be seen. Or that’s how Kirby was seeing things, as he gunned it towards Blackwater.
Anderson was on his way to Marsh House with Palmer, to pick up the only key to the folly. No one knew where Calder was – his secretary had no idea, there was nothing in his diary, and his wife, who was at home preparing supper, hadn’t heard from him since the morning. The site manager, Kaplinsky, had met Calder earlier that day at the asylum, but had no idea of his whereabouts now. He could be anywhere. Kirby had tried calling Connie’s number several times, but it had gone straight to voicemail. He just had to hope that Patrick Calder was anywhere but the asylum.
He came to a halt at some traffic lights, and while he waited for them to change he thought about the conversation he’d just had with Hamer. Kirby had expected his boss to be pleased – this was a major breakthrough – but instead he’d been circumspect. There was something Hamer wasn’t telling him, and Kirby was sure it was connected to Calder.
The lights changed and he took off, swerving to avoid a fox as it ran into the road and narrowly avoided becoming a new roadkill project for Anderson.
His phone rang and Kobrak’s animated voice came down the speakerphone.
‘Calder lied,’ Kobrak began. ‘Sort of.’
‘What do you mean, sort of?’
‘He did go to Edinburgh on Tuesday morning, the 6.45 a.m. from Gatwick, and he did return from Edinburgh on the 6.05 a.m. flight on Friday morning.’
‘Yeah, we checked the flights,’ said Kirby.
‘But we didn’t check the charter helicopters. Calder flew back to London on Tuesday afternoon, private charter into Battersea, and then flew back up on Wednesday morning.’
Kirby cursed, banging the steering wheel. ‘How the fuck did we miss that?’
‘Because we weren’t looking,’ said Kobrak, unhelpfully.
Kobrak was right. Calder hadn’t really been a key suspect, and Hamer hadn’t wanted to make things any more difficult with him than they already were. Patrick Calder had been under their nose from the word ‘go’; he had access – and now, it appeared, he had a motive. Kirby hung up and, taking a corner too fast, skidded on the icy road, narrowly missing a Mini parked on a double yellow. ‘Fuck,’ he muttered under his breath as he regained control of the Corsa. He turned into Battersea Fields Drive and came to a sliding halt outside the main gates to the asylum.
He jumped out of the car and pushed the buzzer. No reply. He buzzed again. Where the fuck was the security guard? He tried the number he had for the Portakabin and was about to hang up when the guard appeared.
‘Sorry,’ the man said, his breath streaming out of his mouth. He’d clearly jogged to the gate and was out of puff. ‘I thought I saw something on the Daylesford Road camera. I went back to check, but it must’ve been Mr Sweet coming home. He’s the only one who uses that entrance so it must’ve been him. I was a bit on edge after you called.’
Alarm bells went off in Kirby’s head; Raymond was with Connie.
‘Have you got the key?’ he asked impatiently.
‘Here,’ said the guard, handing it to him. ‘Sorry—’
‘If you see anyone else coming or going, including Mr Calder, call the station immediately,’ Kirby said, getting into the car. He did a U-turn on Battersea Fields Drive and then hung a right down Daylesford Road towards the river. Someone else had entered the grounds, and he hoped it wasn’t Calder. He banged the steering wheel again in frustration.
As he neared the river, mist funnelled up the road, becoming thicker as he approached the water; it was like the John Carpenter movie, The Fog. Suddenly, the phone box on the left loomed into view, its receiver hanging uselessly from its cord, swaying gently like the dead pigeon in Keats Ward. Kirby slowed down and pulled up outside Raymond’s entrance and got out. The familiar smell of the Thames prickled the inside of his nose – it was particularly strong, its pungency amplified by the damp and the cold. As if on cue, the one street light that was there flickered and finally gave up, shrouding the road in dim shadow. He struggled with the padlock on the gate; it was so cold that it might as well have been carved from ice. Eventually it opened, and within seconds he’d slipped into the gloomy, eerily silent grounds of Blackwater and begun making his way towards the Old Lodge.
CHAPTER 43
Raymond had run back to the Old Lodge as fast as he could, veering off course, tripping and at one point finding himself about to hurtle on to the frozen lake. He paused for breath only once, at the mortuary, sure then that he wasn’t being followed, and ran the final distance at full pelt. He was now back, the door locked, all the lights on. He stood in the kitchen, panting, his breath misting the small space like a cheap magic-show effect. He began to shiver, the sweat he’d built up running now turning to cold, icy rivulets that ran down his back and sides. Looking down at his coat, he realised that he was covered in caked snow from where he’d fallen. He took off the coat and shook it, but the room was so cold that the frozen snow only clung to the fabric like some scaly second skin. He draped it over the back of a chair and lit the paraffin heater. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him three goes to light the match. Once it was lit, he sat down as near as he dared without setting himself on fire.
An unopened packet of Jaffa Cakes sat on the table, a treat forgotten after Connie’s arrival – or, as Mrs Muir would have said, after his day had gone tits up. He reached for the packet and ripped it open, popping the first biscuit in whole. He barely chewed it, squashing the cake part with his tongue before swallowing the disc of rubber-like orange jelly. Before he knew it, he’d done the same with the next, and the next, and the next – until there was only one left.
He pushed the packet aside and sank his head into his hands. He felt terrible. He’d left Connie alone in the lake room with Lloyd, and he knew what Lloyd did to ladies. Why hadn’t he stood up to him? Lloyd could make his life hell, he knew – him and Calder between them. Raymond loathed them both; his victory in court over Calder had, in truth, been bittersweet. He had every right to stay at the Lodge, the court had said so, but that didn’t mean Calder would make his life easy. Especially when he had pricks like Lloyd to do his dirty work.
Raymond suddenly realised his face was wet and that he’d been crying. He rubbed away the tears with his hands and popped the last Jaffa into his mouth, this time managing to chew, and thought about Connie. He had to go back, he had to help her. She’d promised to watch his film with him, and she’d never do that if he didn’t go back and help her. He liked her, as well, and she looked at him when she spoke – not many people did that, let alone someone as pretty as her.
He needed to pull himself together and began looking around the room for anything that might be useful as a weapon – not that he had any real notion of what he’d do with a weapon, only that it would make him feel safer if he was carrying one. He remembered something Mrs Muir had once said, while they were watching an action movie. The element of surprise, Raymond, that’s what’s needed. He turned the phrase over in his mind as he looked around the Lodge. He didn’t like knives, knew they could be dangerous, so he quickly ruled out the one chopping knife that he had.
Eventually, his eyes came to rest on the kitchen shelf above the kettle, where he kept his teabags and su
gar – and the urn. He got up, and after crossing himself he took down the urn containing his mother’s ashes. His mother had died in a house fire, so Raymond was under no illusions and knew that what he actually held in his hands was more likely to be the remains of the two-up, two-down that they had lived in on Pike’s Road. Maybe even a bit of their cat and the budgie.
He carefully prised open the lid of the urn containing Cynthia Mae Sweet’s ashes and set it down on the table. He slid his hand inside and slipped his fingers between the bag of ashes and the cold metal wall of its surroundings. Suddenly, his fingers felt something small, round and smooth, and with care he pulled it out; it was as good as new. He remembered the day his mother had bought it. She’d been so pleased. He turned it round in his fingers, pulled the old wine cork off the end and tested its end on his thumb. Ouch, it was still sharp. It was perfect.
Replacing the cork, he quickly put the lid back on the urn and returned it to the shelf. He turned off the paraffin heater and put his coat back on, slipping his mother’s hatpin into his outer pocket, a real sense of urgency racing through his veins. He’d recently been rescuing the dead from the dark confines of the bone jar, but today he was going to save someone living. The element of surprise, he whispered to himself as he left the Lodge.
He was going to save Connie Darke.
CHAPTER 44
Now that they were alone, Connie took a proper look at the man who had pulled Skinny off her, and to her surprise recognised him as Charles Palmer.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Um, yes, I think so. Thanks for what you did just now. That could have ended, um, badly.’ Her heart rate was slowing back to normal, but she could still feel her hands shaking. She must be in some kind of shock. ‘That man, who was he?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Palmer, brusquely. ‘Right, shall we get you out of here, back to the house where you can warm up?’
‘Yes, thanks, that would be good, although—’ She wondered about Raymond, he’d be worried. She hoped that Skinny hadn’t harmed him in any way.
‘Although?’ asked Palmer. ‘Surely you don’t want to go back the other way? Fine by me if you do.’ He shrugged.
Palmer had obviously been home and changed, as he was out of the stuffy suit and in jeans and a sweatshirt. Even so, he still looked like someone who had private healthcare – Bonaro fitted into that category too. Christ, Bonaro! She’d just remembered. He’d be wondering where she was, or at least why she hadn’t called.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I just need to make a call when we get outside.’
‘Excellent.’ Palmer gestured towards the tunnel leading to Marsh House. ‘After you.’
‘By the way, what were you doing down here?’ she asked, as they walked along the rusted subterranean tunnel.
‘I was fetching something from the boathouse and thought I heard something.’
She wondered how that was possible but was just relieved that he had – she didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t. Her hand gripped the comforting shape of her phone, icy-cold to the touch, in her pocket. She’d call Kirby as soon as she was above ground and tell him where she was. She was concerned about Raymond, hoping that Skinny had just frightened him off and nothing more serious.
They were nearing the end of the tunnel, and she could see the spiral staircase ahead. As she climbed the stairs, she thought about Palmer again. What had he been doing in the boathouse at this time? And, now she thought about it, how could he possibly have heard her screams from the garden? She listened to his feet on the metal staircase behind her, and an unexpected wave of new fear swept over her. And there was something else – what was it Skinny had said, after he’d been pulled off her? Why do you always spoil my fun? Despite the cold, she felt herself break out in a sweat – they knew each other.
Don’t be daft, she told herself. Why would a wealthy man like Palmer know a sleazeball like Skinny? And, in any case, hadn’t Kirby said he wasn’t the one to worry about?
Reaching the top of the spiral stairs, she briefly considered whether she could swing round and push him back down and make a run for it, but the gate to the folly was padlocked – she could see it clearly as she stepped up into the small brick building.
‘Here, let me,’ said Palmer, coming up the steps and joining her in the cramped space. The same sense of claustrophobia that she’d felt earlier in the house with him, in the upstairs room, returned. He took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the padlock. ‘You never know these days. Danger can come from the most unexpected of places,’ he said, smiling as he held the gate open. She stepped through and was aware of him right behind her.
‘This way,’ he said, gently steering her by the elbow to their left.
‘Aren’t you going to lock up?’
‘It can wait,’ he said curtly.
She had no idea of the time, but since she’d spoken to Kirby from the folly it had not only got much darker, but also freezing fog was coming off the river, blurring the already-white garden into a series of opaque shapes that seemed to shift before her eyes. Her sense of direction felt distorted, as though emerging from the subterranean tunnels had skewed her senses, although she instinctively felt as though they were walking towards the river and not the house.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. There was a sharp tang in the air and sudden cold patches, like when you swim in the sea and move from warm to cold water. She shivered and pulled the zip of her parka up as far as it would go.
‘To the house, of course,’ he replied casually, over his shoulder. ‘Where else?’
CHAPTER 45
Once inside the asylum’s grounds, Kirby found himself in almost complete darkness. He thought he knew where the path through the trees was – it had been trampled enough by SOCOs after all – and yet he found himself disorientated and lost. The mist seemed even worse within the grounds, clinging to the foliage and following him like a lost ghost. Using the torch on his phone, he made his way through the undergrowth, but before long he realised that he’d gone round in a loop, when he saw the same broken tree stump twice. He was about to try calling Connie again when he detected a faint glow ahead and made a beeline for it.
Every light was on at the Old Lodge, and Kirby breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the clearing – Raymond and Connie were here and safe. Just as he was about to knock on the front door it burst open, and Raymond appeared. He had something brown smeared down one cheek and it looked as though he’d been crying.
‘What’s going on?’ Kirby asked, alarmed. ‘Where’s Connie?’
‘She – she’s with Lloyd in the room under the lake. I should never have left her . . .’ Raymond spluttered, trying to push past.
Kirby caught him by the arm. ‘Who’s Lloyd, Raymond?’
‘I didn’t mean to leave her,’ he said, blinking and wiping his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Honestly. Only, Lloyd came and said if I didn’t go he’d come and burn my house down and take my mother and that he’d tell everyone what I’ve been doing and—’ He was talking so fast that Kirby could barely follow.
‘Raymond, slow down.’ He noticed Raymond’s coat was covered in chunks of ice, as though he’d fallen in the snow. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
Raymond took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, and then began talking. ‘She wanted to see the bone jar—’
‘Bone jar?’ Kirby cut in.
‘It’s the room under the lake,’ said Raymond. ‘It’s where the Creeper gets in.’
‘Shit. Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I took her, and when we got there she wanted to see where the other tunnel went. I said I’d stay and keep watch – only, when she was gone, Lloyd showed up and told me I had to go—’ He stopped suddenly, and opened his eyes. ‘Have I got chocolate on my face?’
‘Who’s Lloyd, Raymond? What’s his surname?’ Kirby was desperately racking his brains trying to remember anyone called Llo
yd who’d been interviewed in the case.
‘Templeton. He does things for Mr Calder.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘Anything.’ He sniffed.
Kirby wondered why someone like Calder would use someone like Lloyd; assuming Raymond was telling the truth.
‘We need to go. Now,’ said Raymond.
‘Have you seen Calder tonight, anywhere?’
‘No . . .’ stammered Raymond. ‘Will I be in trouble with him?’
Kirby shook his head. ‘You’ll be fine. Now, show me this lake room.’ He pulled out his phone and punched the autodial for Kobrak, as Raymond led him away from the Old Lodge and into the darkness of the asylum grounds.
‘How did Lloyd get into Blackwater?’ asked Kirby, as he waited for the call to connect to Kobrak.
‘He must have a key,’ said Raymond.
‘Fuck,’ muttered Kirby. Kobrak came on the line, and as briefly as he could, Kirby explained the situation while trying to keep up with Raymond. ‘Looks like we have a suspect on the premises, a Lloyd Templeton. He has a key to the Daylesford Road entrance – get someone over there now. And tell Pete.’ Then he hung up and concentrated on not breaking a leg or losing an eyeball.
Despite the darkness and the mist, Raymond moved through the grounds with an impressive ease. Kirby tried not to think about what might be happening to Connie as they tramped through the snow and round the lake, eventually coming out near Keats Ward.
‘Over here,’ said Raymond, pointing ahead to an area so overgrown it looked impenetrable.
Suddenly, out of the gloom, a figure appeared. ‘Lloyd,’ gasped Raymond.
‘What the fuck you doing here, Raymond? Didn’t I tell you—’ Lloyd saw Kirby and stopped. ‘Fucking filth.’
Before Kirby had a chance to say anything, Lloyd darted past both of them and ran towards the lake.
‘Wait here,’ he said to Raymond as he went after him, crashing through the undergrowth like a blind elephant. After a minute or so, he realised it was pointless; branches and trees blocked his every move, and at one point he nearly ran straight into what was left of a wall, isolated and adrift in a morass of snow-covered vegetation. He stopped to catch his breath. Lloyd was gone, and the sound of his footfall slowly dissipated until silence engulfed Kirby. He had to leave Lloyd to whoever was at the gate on Daylesford Road – and he hoped to God that someone was. His priority now was Connie, and he ran back to where he’d left Raymond only to find him gone.
