Evil Never Dies

by S M Hardy

  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.’

  After about forty minutes of searching we’d found nothing else. I couldn’t help but be disappointed. I’d been so sure there would be some sort of clue, albeit a small one. I closed my eyes. He was still there hovering on the edge of my consciousness, but if he had something to tell me he was keeping it to himself.

  Kicking at the earth as I went, I wandered over to Emma. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘let’s start back.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘There’s nothing for us here.’ I slung my arm around her shoulders. ‘Perhaps what I saw will mean something to Simon,’ I said, though I doubted it.

  When we arrived back at the house Simon was on the phone, so we didn’t get a chance to speak until we met for pre-dinner drinks. Despite my reservations, as we were about to eat, I told him about the chase across the lawns and fields and how Oliver had been hunted down by masked figures. His reaction wasn’t what I’d expected. His eyes had narrowed and sparked with anger, but he didn’t question what I said I’d seen. In fact, he didn’t even appear shocked or surprised, but maybe his ministerial post had left him jaded to the horrors of the world.

  His questioning of me carried on throughout the meal and, consequently, as the subject matter wasn’t particularly conducive to eating, we ate very little and drank far too much, which was why, against my better judgement, I agreed we would stay a few more days.

  This necessitated yet another drink in celebration and, tongues loosened by the wine and a few too many nightcaps, I asked one of those questions, which one really shouldn’t in polite society and to which one would usually obtain no reply.

  ‘So, I suppose this all belongs to you now?’ I said and received a nudge in the ribs from Emma for my trouble. ‘What?’ I asked and she gave me a look my eyes were too bleary to appreciate.

  Simon didn’t notice; he was more sloshed than me. ‘Now, that’s where you’d be wrong,’ he said, and I put his flushed cheeks down to the drink. ‘I don’t get a thing, zilch, nada.’

  Emma and I stared at him, flabbergasted. ‘You’re joking?’ I eventually said.

  He leant back in his seat and shook his head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then who …?’

  ‘Everything goes to his long-lost granddaughter.’

  ‘Granddaughter? What granddaughter?’ I asked.

  He laughed at my no doubt confused expression. ‘Laura, the daughter of Oliver’s son William, by his first wife, Constance.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had been married before.’

  ‘Ah well, there was a reason for that. Oliver married Constance when they were both very young and little William turned up about six months after the wedding.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm. It didn’t go down at all well with the family, as you can imagine. Constance was a really nice girl, though; I liked her a lot. Then when William was three or four she fell pregnant again.’ His shoulders sagged and his expression grew pained. ‘She was almost full term when she had a nasty fall on the stairs. Neither she nor the baby survived it.’

  ‘How dreadful,’ Emma said.

  ‘It was a terrible time. Ollie, as you can imagine, was distraught. Then only a matter of weeks later Edward died. It was then things got really bad in the house. Mother was like a wraith and Father started drinking heavily and spending a lot of time away. If it wasn’t for Ollie and William it would’ve been unbearable.’

  ‘So what happened between Oliver and his son? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Emma said.

  Simon ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed. ‘It was like history repeating itself. William suddenly announced he was getting married to some girl he’d met. I don’t know what Ollie’s objection was – he’d been roughly the same age when he’d married – anyway he and Ollie had a terrible row and next thing I knew William was gone and Ollie refused to have his name mentioned in his hearing ever again. Of course, Mother and Father had both passed away by this point, so there was no one to reason with him and he certainly wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘And yet he’s left his estate to his estranged son’s daughter?’ Emma said.

  ‘As Brandon told you, Ollie changed his will only days before he died.’

  ‘It must have been quite a shock to you,’ she said.

  Simon shrugged. ‘It would have gone to William in the normal course of events and I sort of always thought when it came to it, it would.’

  ‘What do you think William makes of it all?’ I asked and wondered whether this was possibly causing a family rift of its own.

  ‘Well,’ Simon said, and paused for a moment staring into his drink, ‘here’s the thing. I had no idea until a few days ago, but William’s dead.’ He took a swig of his drink and looked up. ‘He and his wife were murdered.’

  I was suddenly feeling an awful lot more sober than I’d been a few minutes before. ‘They were murdered?’

  Simon nodded. ‘Nearly sixteen years ago and,’ he hesitated, his expression strained, ‘there are apparently some similarities to how Oliver was killed.’

  Emma and I shared a look. I didn’t like this one little bit. ‘I don’t suppose your “contact” will be getting you a copy of the police report for their murders as well?’

  Simon studied the bottom of his glass. When he raised his eyes to mine his expression was a calculated neutral, which reminded me of why we’d fallen out all those years ago. He was lying to me. I wasn’t sure what about, but he was definitely lying. ‘It’s on its way.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘Fancy going for a ride this morning?’ Emma asked as I came out of the bathroom. ‘It would be a good way to see the rest of the estate.’

  I sat on the edge of the bed towelling dry my hair and wondering whether the dull ache at the front of my forehead would go away if I had a little fresh air. ‘I’d quite like to go back to where Donald Walters found Oliver’s body,’ I said.

  Emma glanced over at me, lipstick poised, hovering millimetres from her lips. ‘Why? What do you expect to find today that we didn’t find yesterday?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I opened my mouth to say more, then shut it again. I couldn’t explain why I needed to go back there – I just did. After Simon’s revelation about Oliver’s son and daughter-in-law I felt like there might be something else I could learn from being there.

  She ran the lipstick over her lips then studied herself critically in the dressing-table mirror befo
re rummaging in her make-up bag for another of the mysterious lotions, potions or salves women keep in the damned things. ‘Do you think Donald Walters is the housekeeper’s husband? They have the same surname.’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ I said.

  ‘He seems like a nice man.’

  I gave a distracted nod, masked figures swarming through my head like a pack of jackals intent on bringing down their prey. There was something I hadn’t mentioned to Emma. I had told her he had been badly beaten, so badly I was surprised he could walk let alone run, and how he had then been stabbed to death. What I hadn’t told her was about the awful injuries they had inflicted upon the man once he had lost his race for life. They had cut out his tongue and, as if this wasn’t enough, they had finished him off by gouging out his eyes.

  Why had they done such a terrible and brutal thing? And why had they made him run? Was it to give him some hope, although in truth there was none? It was vicious and cruel in the extreme and it made me wonder – was it a punishment for some crime? And if so, what about William and his wife? Were they also murdered in some act of retribution?

  ‘Penny for them,’ Emma said.

  I gave a little start. ‘Oh, just mulling things over.’

  ‘Oliver’s murder or his son’s?’

  ‘Both, really. Such terrible things happening to one member of a family is bad enough – but three, if you include William’s wife? There must be a connection.’

  ‘Sixteen years apart?’ Emma said, looking doubtful. ‘That’s an awfully long time.’

  In normal circumstances I would tend to agree, but people who would mutilate a man after hunting him down were most likely capable of anything. What I said was, ‘Let’s go for that ride this morning,’ I said. ‘We can kill two birds with one stone.’

  Simon was already at the table when we went down for breakfast. He greeted us with an excited smile, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. ‘I have some news,’ he said. ‘Laura will be joining us tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘Really?’ Emma said, glancing my way with a concerned frown. ‘Is this really a good time with Oliver’s murder unresolved?’

  ‘It made sense for her to come now,’ he replied. ‘It means I can show her around and answer any questions she might have before I leave. Anyway, I would like to meet the girl. I was quite fond of William.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Back home to Sussex. I haven’t lived at Kingsmead for years now, since I left the forces, in fact.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emma said, pouring us both a cup of coffee from a very old, antique silver coffee pot. ‘I didn’t realise. I thought Kingsmead was your home.’

  He helped himself to some toast. ‘No, when I came back it wasn’t the same. Ollie wasn’t the same.’ He paused while buttering his toast, his expression thoughtful, and whatever he was remembering, from the gentle curl of his lips, I surmised it was bitter-sweet. Then it was almost like he had slammed the door on those memories. His face hardened and he attacked the slice of toast with the slender butter knife. ‘Anyway, I’d made a place for myself in the City. I’d bagged a good job and commuting from the West Country wasn’t an option.’ He glanced my way and his nostrils flared. ‘It was the best thing I ever did.’

  I ignored the dig and passed no comment. It was about this time when the friendship between the three of us began to unravel. His new job changed him. He had moved up the chain of command and become one of the mandarins we had all so hated when we’d been in service. One of those faceless men who made decisions, which could cost a man his life, and not worry about the consequences. In my naivety I thought he would change the system. He had once served on the ground; he knew what it was like; he would be on the side of the troops. Reggie had known differently, he had known it would be Simon who would change and not for the better. I hadn’t believed Reggie, my best friend in the world, and we’d had words about it, eventually agreeing to differ. And this is what had hurt me most, Simon’s betrayal of my trust when he had proved me wrong.

  ‘We thought we’d go for a ride this morning,’ I said, changing the subject before it became contentious. Simon knew exactly what I thought about his job and how he did it. I forced my expression to remain neutral. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’ll probably be tied up most of the morning, anyway. I have some work to get on with and also there are a few things that need doing in preparation for Laura’s arrival. You go ahead.’ He knocked back the last of his coffee, dabbed his lips again with his napkin, threw it down on the table and got to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you at lunch.’

  ‘See you later,’ I said and he was gone.

  Emma waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared into the distance. ‘Did I notice a sudden chill descend between the two of you?’

  I gave a grunt and helped myself to some eggs and bacon, waving away the hovering maid.

  ‘Jed?’

  ‘I told you, Emms. It’s all water under the bridge.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She cradled her coffee cup in her hands and took a sip. ‘It didn’t look that way just then. The temperature dropped so low, I thought we were in for a heavy frost.’

  ‘I wonder what this Laura’s like,’ I said, not wanting to continue with Emma’s line of conversation, especially as the maid hadn’t taken the hint and was still hanging around, probably hoping we’d hurry up and leave so she could get on with clearing the table. ‘She must have had a pretty sad upbringing losing both parents at such a young age, and this place will be a bit of a shock to her, I would have thought.’

  Emma regarded me over her cup. ‘We’ll no doubt find out tomorrow. That is, if we’re still staying.’

  The maid cleared Simon’s plate and disappeared out the door.

  My eyes met Emma’s. ‘I think I have to stay now,’ I said, keeping my voice low, ‘though it might not be such a bad idea if you went home.’

  She gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘No way.’

  ‘It might be safer.’

  ‘For whom?’

  I put down my knife and fork. ‘We’re talking about three people having been murdered …’

  She rested a fingertip against my lips. ‘If you’re staying, so am I. Anyway, two heads are better than one.’ She wrapped her other hand around mine. ‘Now, if you’ve finished filling your face, shall we go for that ride?’

  The old Land Rover was parked in the stable yard, next to a battered motorbike I doubted was road legal. As we drew closer to the stable block music drifted out of the open door. Inside it was pretty empty now most of the horses had gone, though there was one chap at work cleaning out the stalls. He looked away from what he was doing as we strolled over and straightened with a slow, easy smile.

  ‘Hallo there,’ he drawled, putting down his shovel and wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. ‘Can I help you with anything?’ He had a slight Irish lilt to his voice and the black curls and deep blue eyes to go with it. He was as tall as me and with his bad-boy good looks I reckoned he’d broken many a young woman’s heart.

  ‘Mr Pomeroy said we could take a couple of the horses for a ride,’ Emma said.

  He smiled at Emma and I might as well have not been there. He was a ladies’ man, that was for sure. ‘I think we can sort you a couple out,’ he said. ‘I’m Dan Crouchley, by the way.’

  ‘I’m Emma and this is my husband, Jed.’

  He gave me a nod, before his attention returned to Emma. ‘Are you up for Horse of the Year or would you prefer a more gentle ride?’

  ‘Slow and steady,’ Emma told him. ‘I haven’t ridden for years.’

  ‘Never fear,’ he said with a laugh. ‘We have just the girl.’

  He gestured we follow him along the line of stalls and stopped halfway down. ‘This is Angel, so named for her gentle nature. She’ll give you no trouble.’ A white and tan head stretched over the door and nuzzled at Dan’s shoulder. He reached out to pet her muzzle.

  ‘She’s
beautiful,’ Emma said.

  ‘You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you, sweetheart,’ he said, stroking the filly’s head. He turned to me. ‘And how about sir?’

  I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Jed, call me Jed.’ The master–servant thing had never sat well with me and I was too old to get used to the idea now.

  His smile broadened, showing very white teeth. ‘Well, Jed, we have Jericho, who is a steady lad, or Satan, who isn’t as bad as his name would have you believe, though he can be a little lively if he doesn’t have a firm hand.’

  ‘Can I take a look?’ I asked.

  Dan moved on to the next stall. ‘This is Jericho,’ he said.

  Jericho was a beautiful creature, his coat a glossy chestnut and with eyes the darkest of browns. He whinnied softly and trotted over for some attention. I scratched his forehead and he stretched his neck, pushing against my hand.

  When I’d finished petting the creature I wandered along to the next stall. I didn’t need an explanation as to why the magnificent beast inside had been given the name Satan. He was absolutely massive, as black as coal, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if, when he looked up, his eyes had glowed red. Seeing me he flicked his tail and shook his huge head, snorting.

  Dan murmured his name and the beast came over, ducking his head for a stroke, and allowed me to give him a scratch.

  ‘He’s a big brute,’ I said.

  Dan reached in and handed him a sugar cube on the palm of his hand, which Satan took with a kiss of his big, velvety lips. ‘Deep down he’s a big softy,’ he said, with a laugh.

  ‘Maybe I’ll give him a try tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re staying on for a bit, then?’