Evil Never Dies

by S M Hardy

  Brogan lifted his red-rimmed eyes to mine, his bloodhound expression getting longer. ‘How did you meet?’

  I shifted in my chair. It was something I didn’t like speaking about; in fact, the majority of it I couldn’t speak about. ‘We served together.’

  ‘In the forces?’ the sidekick asked, glancing away from his notebook, his pencil hovering above the page.

  ‘Yep,’ I said.

  ‘What were you in?’

  I met him eye to eye and I don’t think he liked what he saw. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he didn’t look away. I leant back in my seat. ‘And the relevance is …?’

  ‘So, Simon Pomeroy would know how to look after himself?’ Brogan said, jumping in.

  ‘He did then, but we’re talking years ago and you’ve met Simon, he’s clearly not very well.’

  Brogan nodded. ‘I understand Laura Simmons is due to arrive sometime today.’

  I gave him the same long look I’d given his colleague. ‘Yes, I understand she is.’

  ‘And you’ll be … leaving?’

  I continued the stare. ‘Once we’ve made sure Simon’s OK, perhaps.’

  ‘You know he phoned me yesterday,’ he said.

  Ah-ha, I wondered when we’d get to this. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You went to this Goldsmere House with him.’

  ‘We both did,’ Emma said, shifting forward on the seat so she was perched on the edge. She had definitely noticed the plummeting of the temperature between me and the two policemen.

  ‘Why do you think Mr Pomeroy didn’t choose to phone me before he went to Goldsmere House?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ I said.

  ‘I think Simon was hoping there’d been some sort of terrible mistake,’ Emma chipped in.

  ‘But there hadn’t?’

  ‘No, apparently not,’ Emma said.

  I was getting a tad annoyed. I knew when someone was trying to play with me. ‘Simon had just lost his brother only to find he’d been hiding a terrible secret from him.’

  ‘Being?’ Peters asked.

  I’m surprised my mouth didn’t drop open – maybe it did a bit. ‘What do you think?’ I snapped. ‘Simon had been led to believe his older brother was killed almost forty years ago only to discover he’d been alive all that time and living in a mental institution. Oh, and by the way, his other brother knew all about it and hadn’t told him.’

  ‘And you hadn’t any previous knowledge of this?’

  ‘Why on earth should I? I hadn’t spoken to Simon in years and I didn’t know Oliver at all except to say hello to.’

  ‘Why, then, did Simon Pomeroy ask you to come and stay at Kingsmead?’

  I forced myself to stay very still and not lean back and cross my arms. It’s meant to be a defensive gesture – this is how he would see it, anyway – in my case it was to stop me from punching someone’s lights out.

  ‘Everyone can do with a friend sometimes and sadly I don’t think Simon has many of those any more.’

  Brogan levered himself out of the chair, this time he made it to his feet. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said. ‘No need to show us out.’

  ‘What about Edward Pomeroy?’ I asked. ‘We’ve been told he’s a very dangerous man.’

  He turned back to me with an ill-disguised sigh. ‘We have it in hand. A recent photograph provided by Goldsmere House has been circulated and the local radio and television stations are asking for the public to contact us immediately, should he be spotted.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’d be possible for us to have a copy, since neither of us have the faintest idea what Edward looks like?’

  He gave an abrupt nod and glanced at the other policeman. ‘See to it, will you. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ and with that he stalked from the room.

  His sidekick gave us a grim smile, which was more like a grimace, and they were gone.

  I got up and marched over to the drinks’ cabinet. ‘Want a drink?’

  Emma nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

  ‘VAT?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said, then, ‘What was it with them? Why did I suddenly feel we were being treated like criminals?’

  I gave her a large one, with a splash of tonic. She accepted it gratefully, but I could see she was fuming. I poured myself two fingers, then sploshed in another.

  ‘Jed?’

  I sat down next to her, clinking my glass against hers with a ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Detective Inspector Brogan made me feel really uncomfortable.’

  ‘He was fishing.’

  ‘What for?’

  I thought about it for a moment. ‘Damned if I know.’

  ‘Do you think Laura will mind us staying on?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Two chances,’ I said. ‘If she chucks us out, I’m sure there’ll be an inn or hotel somewhere nearby.’

  She swirled the ice cubes around in her glass, staring down at them as though they contained the answers to all the questions the universe might throw at us. ‘I hate mysteries,’ she eventually said, which made me laugh. ‘What?’

  ‘You love mysteries.’ She scowled at me. ‘Admit it.’

  It took a few seconds before her expression gradually began to thaw and she laughed. ‘You know me too well, Jed Cummings.’

  ‘Now,’ I said. ‘Shall we go back upstairs and try and work out the mystery of what Simon’s attacker was trying to find while we still have the run of the house?’

  She grinned at me and swigged the last of her drink. I knocked mine back and jumped to my feet, taking her hand, and pulling her onto hers and into my arms. She gave me a peck on the cheek.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’d better get moving. Laura could arrive at any minute.’

  The room was more or less as we’d left it. I stooped down to grab one of the books lying on the floor. It was an old, leather-bound novel, with gold-edged pages, by someone I’d never heard of. I dropped it on the bed with the others.

  ‘I guess we can assume he never found what he was looking for,’ I said. ‘He was still in here rummaging around when I called out.’

  Emma stood at the bottom of the bed and turned full circle. ‘Looks to me like he’s been through everywhere there is to search.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She was right, but from experience I knew if people had secrets or things they wanted to keep safe they usually found clever little places to hide them. I closed my eyes and imagined I was Oliver or Edward, it had once been his room, after all. Yes – if I were Edward where would I hide my secrets? It had been years, but I suddenly had the same surge of excitement and expectation I used to get when on a mission. I opened my eyes and smiled. If there was something to find I’d find it.

  First, I had a quick look in the en suite bathroom. It was sparkling clean and smelt vaguely of bleach. Did even unoccupied rooms get regularly cleaned? From what I knew of Mrs Walters I suspected they did. I checked the low flush toilet cistern and there was nothing hidden there, and all the cabinets and drawers were empty except for cleaning products.

  Back in the bedroom I searched the few drawers that hadn’t already been dumped on the floor, pulling them right out and checking beneath them and inside the carcase in case something had been taped underneath or behind them. Disappointingly there was nothing – that would have been far too easy. Next, I checked all the cupboards for loose boards at the bottom or hidden compartments. When I looked up from what I was doing, Emms was sitting on the bed watching me.

  ‘You’ve done this sort of thing before,’ she said.

  I gave a distracted grunt. ‘Back in the day.’

  ‘Can I do anything useful?’

  To be truthful, I’d have rather done it myself; I knew what I was looking for, but it was hardly fair on Emms and everyone likes to feel they have a purpose. ‘You can go through all the books,’ I said. ‘Flick through the pages making sure there are no underlined words, marked pages or anything hidden or unusual.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Very J
ames Bond-ish,’ she said. I just smiled. I hadn’t told Emms what I’d been or done when I was in the forces. I knew Reggie never had and I told myself by not telling her I was keeping his secrets as well as mine. I was lying even to myself. Some of the things we’d had to do were not of the sort a person could discuss with their nearest and dearest – or would want to. It could change their perception of you for ever and not in a good way.

  I dragged a chair over to the wardrobe and climbed onto it to take a look on top – nothing except dust, fluff and cobwebs. I jumped down and pulled the door wide open. Two suits hung there, like the ghosts of a dead man. I ran my hands down the sleeves, checked the pockets and beneath the lapels. I felt like I was desecrating the dead. Even so I carried on, the dead sometimes did tell tales.

  Disappointingly I didn’t find a thing. As a last resort I would go over the suits and coats piled on the bed. My gut told me this wouldn’t be where I would find what the mystery man had been seeking. If there had been something to find he would have found it. When I’d been in the job, my instincts had been what made me better than most. What they told me now was if we found what the man had been looking for, we could well be halfway there to solving a murder. Whether we would understand its significance or not was another matter.

  I laid the two suits over the chair, leaving the wardrobe empty. It was huge. An antique piece and, by the rule of ugly, should be worth a fortune. It was a monstrosity. I ran my hands down the back, now and then rapping against the wood. Nothing appeared untoward.

  Taking a step back I studied the size and shape, making comparisons between the inside and outside. The top and base were both ornately carved with an oak leaf and acorn pattern. The top was shaped upwards and behind it, as I’d discovered, there was nothing but bare wood. The base went down to floor level and had sunk into the carpet. I knelt to take another look inside: the bottom was flush with the door frame, meaning there was a good five inches between the bottom inner panel and the floor. This was nothing unusual I supposed and yet I felt a little hiccup of excitement inside my chest. I reached into the wardrobe, my fingers hovering above the bottom and they began to tingle. I didn’t need to rap the wooden panel, I knew what it would tell me. I had found Edward’s stash, whatever it might be. Now I just had to find a way of getting to it.

  ‘Found something?’ Emma asked, dropping the book she had been flicking through onto the bed to come and stand behind me.

  ‘I think so.’ I ran my fingers around the inside of the wardrobe’s base. The wood didn’t shift at all under pressure and I couldn’t find any hidden locks or opening devices. I rocked back on my haunches to examine the carved detail. It was identical to the top. Swirls of oak leaves carved into the dark wood, with the occasional acorn thrown in for good measure. I ran my fingers over the ornate design, the tingling sensation in their tips increasing until it was almost a burn.

  Emma crouched down beside me. ‘Do you think there’s a hidden drawer?’

  ‘If there is, I can’t see any way of opening it.’

  Once again I ran my fingertips across the wood, this time very slowly, and each time my fingers ran across the carvings, in exactly the same two places, my skin began to prickle to such a degree it was like hot needles were being pressed into my skin. I knelt back studying the design. In both the places where my fingers burned there was a carved acorn.

  ‘I think there might be some sort of mechanism,’ I said, pressing each of the acorns first one at a time then both together, but nothing.

  I sat back on my heels. ‘It’s no good. I’m sure there’s something, but I can’t see how to get it open.’

  ‘Well, we can hardly take a crowbar to it.’

  ‘Hmm.’ One more time I leant forward and rested my fingertips on the wood then closed my eyes. A little bit of help would be useful. I wasn’t really expecting a response and I definitely wasn’t expecting the snarl and feeling of such intense, white-hot rage that surged through me. I rocked back so violently I almost fell.

  ‘Easy,’ Emms said, grabbing hold of my arm.

  Shaken, I pulled myself onto my knees. What had that been all about? Someone was very angry indeed and I wondered who and why? Even so, despite their anger, they had told me what I wanted to know. Dragging my concentration back to the wardrobe I reached out to put my forefingers above each of the acorns and pushed down on them in a sliding motion. For a moment there was no movement and then abruptly they gave and shot downwards, there was a quiet click and a drawer sprung open a crack, partially held in by the thick carpet.

  ‘Good God,’ Emma said.

  I smiled. ‘I think we’ve found our hidden treasure.’

  I carefully drew out the drawer, the pile of the carpet slowing down the process as it kept catching on the wood but, with a bit of a fiddle, eventually it opened right out. There were three things in the drawer. A large, brown-padded envelope, a plush navy jewellery case, the kind you’d keep a necklace or string of pearls in, and a Polaroid camera.

  ‘We’d better take this lot back to our room.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Just in case someone comes creeping in here to have a nosy around. I doubt we’re the only ones wondering what was worth breaking in and clobbering Simon to find.’

  Emma got to her feet. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said.

  Back in our room I dropped our ill-gotten gains on the bed. Now I had the treasure I was a little nervous as to what I might find. Our visit so far had hardly turned out the way I’d been expecting.

  Emma sat on the bed and ran her finger across the lid of the jewellery case. ‘Whoever he bought this for had expensive taste.’

  ‘Who says he bought it for someone?’

  ‘I’d put money on it containing a gold and possibly diamond necklace or maybe even sapphire or ruby.’ Her brow creased into a frown. ‘Oh,’ she said, jerking her hand away from the box as if burnt. ‘Sugar!’

  ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘You were right. Whoever he was didn’t buy this for someone else. It was his and,’ her expression became puzzled, ‘I’m not at all sure whether he loved what’s inside or loathed it.’

  I laid my hand on the top of the case. A strange feeling flowed through me, one I couldn’t quite place. It was like – adoration – no. No, it was more reverence and it filled me with a sense of unease.

  ‘What do you think?’ Emma asked. ‘I can see from your face you felt something too.’

  The vision I’d seen back at the clearing shot into my head and with it came the same rush of emotion I’d felt in Edward’s room. It lasted little more than a split second and was gone, but whatever was in the case made someone very angry. I pulled over a chair and sat facing the small case lying on the bed. At the front there was a small brass clasp. I flicked it into the open position and putting a hand on either side of the lid, my unease increasing, lifted it with my thumbs and forefingers.

  Emma gasped. I was somehow not as surprised as I should have been. Lying curled upon dark blue velvet was a jet-beaded silver chain, just like the one I’d seen in my vision, and surrounded by the glossy, black beads was a crucifix – an inverted crucifix.

  ‘This was not what I was expecting,’ Emma said.

  I shook my head and reached out to touch the silver effigy with my forefinger. Once again the feeling of rage flowed through me. Rage and shock. He had been caught unawares. His betrayal had come out of the blue and he’d had no inkling of what was about to happen until it was too late.

  I tucked my finger under the beads and lifted it out of the box, letting it twist and spin, until the crucifix was at eye level. It was beautiful in a terrible sort of way. The depiction of Christ in his final agony had been fashioned by a master. The delicately inscribed features of the figure were filled with unimaginable anguish and it occurred to me that they were replicated by the immense feelings the owner had experienced in his last moments.

  The chain slowly stopped spinning and came to a halt. E
ngraved on the back of the cross was an inscription. I leant forward, squinting. I couldn’t quite make out what it said.

  ‘Pass me my glasses, could you?’ I said, gesturing towards the bedside table.

  Emma stretched across the bed and handed them to me. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s some sort of inscription,’ I said, fumbling one-handed with my specs. I perched them on the end of my nose and tried again. ‘Oh?’

  Emma scrambled off the bed to crouch beside me and, resting her hand on my knee, she too, peered at the back of the cross.

  We exchanged a glance and I dropped the cross onto my palm, pushed my glasses further along my nose and looked again. Inscribed in swirling script on the back of the crucifix were the words ‘Celebrant Edward Pomeroy’.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘I could be wrong, but I think this confirms it. Oliver and Edward were members of a cult.’

  ‘I think you could well be right,’ Emma said as I reached for the envelope.

  I didn’t like to think what nonsense it contained. Because this was what Satanism was – stupid, bloody nonsense and a good excuse for people who should know better to get their kit off for extramarital nooky. I was about to upend the contents onto the bed when a knock on the door made me jump and had me scrabbling to shove them, the camera and the jewellery case under the bedcovers and out of sight, while Emma hurried to the door.

  ‘Mrs Walters?’ I heard her say.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Cummings, but I thought you might like to know that Miss Laura has arrived.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. Where is she now?’

  ‘I’ve settled her in a room in the East Wing. I thought you might all like to meet for drinks at six to give you time to get to know each other before dinner.’

  ‘That’s most thoughtful of you.’

  ‘The poor lass is probably at a bit of a loss. And of course, with Mr Simon in hospital …’ she tailed off.

  ‘Quite. We’ll be down at six.’

  ‘Mrs Cummings,’ I heard the housekeeper say and then the pad of receding footsteps as Emma closed the door, leaning against it.