by S M Hardy
He patted Satan’s neck and sat back in the saddle. ‘As far as I can make out it all started with Lord Francis Pomeroy. He was allegedly a member of the original Hellfire Club, but had very quickly become disillusioned. Apparently it wasn’t hardcore enough for him, so he decided to build his own’ – he did the quotation marks thingy with his fingers – ‘“country retreat” where he could get up to all sorts of things he didn’t want to get back to his contemporaries in London where he was a Member of Parliament.’
‘Huh,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t seem like politicians have changed much over the centuries.’
Dan laughed. ‘You’re probably right, but he was into more than booze, drugs and weird sex games. He hooked up with some right strange characters and they formed an organisation he called the Order of the Blood, and wow did they go in for some unpleasant practices: devil worship, necromancy and sadomasochism being the least of it.’
Now he had my full attention. ‘He was a Satanist?’
Dan pulled a face. ‘Near as damn it, I suppose, but there isn’t much documented. It was one of those societies where to reveal their secrets earned you an instant death sentence. All the information I found was hearsay written by one of his ancestors more than a hundred years after Francis shuffled off this mortal coil.’
‘So the Order didn’t carry on after he died?’ Emma said.
‘Well, here’s the thing – the man who wrote all this was compiling a family history, like they did in times gone by. Only a few copies were published, mainly for the family and maybe a few friends, but within a few months of it being printed he was murdered.’
‘And you think the publication of the book and his murder were connected?’ I said and I guess I must have appeared doubtful as his expression became grim.
‘Knowing what I know now – yes.’ His eyes met mine. ‘He was found in that there wood, where Mr Oliver died, and just like him his tongue and eyes had been cut out.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘No,’ Emma said. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Emms …’
‘Matter closed,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘If you’re staying here so am I.’
‘It’s only because—’
She raised a hand. ‘Enough. I will not discuss it any more.’
I sank down onto the bed. ‘If something happened to you …’
Her frown instantly smoothed away and she came over to sit beside me and took my hand. ‘Nothing is going to happen to me, you lovely man. You will make sure it doesn’t.’
‘I’m not Superman, Emms.’
‘You’re my Superman,’ she said, stroking my cheek.
‘And you’re my Kryptonite.’
‘I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.’
‘It means if someone used you to threaten me, I’d be neutralised.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘And if that isn’t spy-speak I don’t know what is. What was it you and Reggie did?’
I took her hand in both of mine. She had long, slender fingers that always felt soft, even after an afternoon in the garden pulling up weeds from her vegetable patch. I loved her hands, I loved all of her and I didn’t want to tell her something that might make her stop loving me or Reggie. She had meant the world to him as she did to me. I hoped he’d be happy for us; I think he would. Out of all of those who had passed over I wish he had spoken to me. I wish he’d given his blessing.
‘Jed?’
I gave a start. I was getting maudlin. ‘It’s probably best you don’t know.’
She took hold of my chin and turned my head so I was looking at her. ‘Shall I tell you what I think?’ She didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘I know you were in Military Intelligence. I think you and Reggie were more spies than soldiers. Not like James Bond, but probably as dangerous. And, if it came to it, I bet you could be just as dangerous now.’
‘It was a long time ago, Emms.’
‘Hmm. A leopard never loses his spots.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s “changes his spots”.’
She gave a dismissive flap of the hand. ‘I know what I mean.’ She took my head between her hands and leant in close. ‘I know exactly what I mean,’ she whispered as her lips touched mine.
We were late down for lunch. It didn’t really matter as it was usually something light like a salad and we served ourselves. Dinner was the more important meal of the day and, although we didn’t dress for dinner, we did smarten ourselves up a bit. Laura didn’t appear to have started to eat and I hoped we hadn’t kept her waiting.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ I said as we took our seats.
‘No problem. I’ve only just got off the phone to the detective inspector.’
‘Really?’ I said.
‘He is such an old woman.’
I paused, salad server in hand. ‘What makes you say that?’
She sniffed. ‘He recommends I return to London until they’ve solved grandfather’s murder and located Uncle Edward. I told him I couldn’t.’
‘If there’s any possibility you’re in danger, perhaps you should,’ Emma said.
Laura’s shoulders sagged. ‘How can I? If I haven’t moved in permanently by the end of the month—’
‘Which is tomorrow,’ I interrupted.
‘I will forego my rights to my inheritance.’
I finished filling my plate and sat back in my chair. ‘Did Brandon give you any idea at all who would be next in line?’
She shook her head. ‘I presumed it would be Uncle Simon, but now, it could be anyone.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘This was all meant to be a dream come true, a new start, a new life, instead it’s becoming a nightmare and I can’t leave because this is all I have.’
Emma hurried around the table to put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. Her eyes met mine and she was as unsure what to do or say as I was.
I dropped my napkin onto the table. I’d lost any appetite I might have had. ‘I promised I’d stay for as long as you needed me to and I will,’ I said.
‘We will,’ Emma said, giving me one of her killer looks.
‘We will,’ I agreed half-heartedly. ‘But I can’t promise to protect you from an unknown enemy.’
‘Then we shall just have to find out who it is,’ Emma said. ‘And if anyone can it’s Jed.’
‘Hmm,’ and something occurred to me. ‘Why is it so important that Laura move into Kingsmead by the end of the month?’ I said to no one in particular. ‘And what was it that scared Brandon so much?’
When I looked up both women were staring at me across the table as though I was about to do something miraculous like solve world poverty. Sadly, they were going to be very disappointed.
As we wouldn’t be visiting a patient we decided that, for what we needed to do, we should visit the hospital straight after lunch and hoped we might get a chance to speak to Doctor Rani. Laura said she couldn’t face going there again, which was a relief. I’d be able to ask questions I couldn’t had she been around.
‘I’m worried about Laura,’ Emma said as we started off along the drive out of the estate.
I gave her a sideways glance. ‘So am I.’
‘But what can we do?’
‘I don’t know, Emms. It’s weird. I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle – or more like I have the piece, but don’t realise the implications of it or where it fits.’
‘It was odd Brogan didn’t know his sergeant had been to speak to Laura,’ Emma said.
I stared through the windscreen at the winding drive ahead. At the time it had struck me as strange. ‘It is a bit, but then they’ve probably got a lot on their plates at the moment.’
‘Brogan certainly has,’ she said with a sniff and I knew what she was thinking, or should I say of whom. Brogan had probably been sneaking off for illicit nooky with the predatory Ms Bloxborough when he should have been working.
A sudden thought crossed my mind. ‘How did Peters know to call and see Laura if Brogan never received my
message?’
Emma tapped her bottom lip with her forefinger. Over the years I’d come to recognise it as her tell that she was concentrating. Usually when she was doing a crossword or Sudoku it would be with a pencil. ‘Maybe he came to see her about something else. They hadn’t spoken to her before and she was Oliver’s granddaughter and beneficiary of his will. Perhaps they had to tick one more box and he was being thorough.’
I was unconvinced. ‘I would have thought Peters would have gone straight to his boss. The effigy, dressed in Laura’s clothes and with a mask made from a photo of her face, would have rung all sorts of alarm bells to me, even without adding Oliver’s murder into the equation.’
‘Perhaps he’s trying to make a name for himself. The detective inspector isn’t exactly inspiring.’
I pulled to a stop in front of the gate and, while I waited for it to open, thought about Detective Inspector Brogan. He gave the impression of having been around the block a few times. And – his involvement with Ms Bloxborough aside – I didn’t for one minute imagine he was stupid. His association with her was at worst ill-advised, though if what he would have us believe was true, he hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, the dates on the photographs proved their relationship had been going on for a long time before Oliver’s murder.
The gate slowly opened and I drove on through. Who was this Tanith Bloxborough? And why had she picked on the DI? Was it all part of the plan? All this conjecture, with no real hard facts, was making my head ache.
‘It’s another beautiful day,’ Emma said as we pulled out into the country lane leading to the village. ‘We’re having such good weather for the time of year.’
‘I really should go back home and cut the grass,’ I said. ‘It’ll be up to our armpits if I leave it much longer.’
‘Tilly’s brother Jude is doing it for us.’
‘Huh,’ I said, with a grunt. ‘I hope he’s making a good job of it.’
‘Well, if he isn’t, I’m quite sure you’ll put it right when we get back. At least it won’t be up to our armpits.’
I frowned at the windscreen. Jude was all right, I supposed. It was just that he was away with the fairies most of the time and didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing, though I guessed there wasn’t too much he could get wrong when all he had to do was sit on a lawnmower and drive back and forth across the grass for a few hours.
I took the same cut through as before, hoping we wouldn’t have a repeat of our previous journey. There were still skid marks on the tarmac from where the horsebox had slithered across the road, and deep furrows in the verge where the white van had gone into the ditch, but no queue of cars. It was actually very quiet with no other traffic. Why hadn’t it been like this the day Simon died? We would have arrived at the hospital twenty minutes earlier and maybe, just maybe, he would still be alive.
I felt Emma’s hand on my leg and glanced her way. ‘It won’t bring him back,’ she said.
‘What won’t?’
‘You feeling guilty.’
‘I don’t,’ but she was right – I did. Stupid, I know. If I had taken the other road I still wouldn’t have got us there in time.
There was plenty of space to park, the rush wouldn’t start until ten or fifteen minutes before visiting time. When we climbed out of the car, and I looked at the hospital towering above us, all my energy and optimism drained away.
‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’
Emma slipped her arm through mine. ‘Do you think Doctor Rani will see us?’
My shoulders slumped. ‘I doubt it. The poor bugger’s probably rushed off his feet.’
She pulled me to a halt. ‘Jed,’ she said, looking at my face. ‘Stop it.’
She didn’t need to tell me what she meant. I asked anyway. ‘What?’
She pursed her lips and her eyes flashed angrily. ‘You know very well what. You tell me you’re not Superman and then let the weight of the world fall on your shoulders.’
‘I—’
‘No,’ she said, with that determined look I recognised. ‘You will work this out. You and I, together, will work this out. And do you know why?’
‘I suspect you’re going to tell me.’
She ignored me. ‘Because Simon was your friend. Maybe not recently, but he was once. So, Jed Cummings, you stop this feeling sorry for yourself. You have nothing to be guilty about. You might not have been able to save Simon, but now Laura needs you and you can save her.’
I took a deep breath. Emms was right. It was Laura I needed to concentrate on now. And if I could get some kind of closure for the girls in the poolroom as well, I’d be happy.
‘Right,’ I said, shoulders back, eyes front. ‘Let’s do this.’ Emma squeezed my arm and we marched inside through the sliding doors.
We made straight for the private rooms, guessing this would be where they would have kept Simon’s things. There wouldn’t be much, only the nightclothes he’d been wearing when he’d been brought in and the bits and pieces Donald Walters had brought to keep him going. He had been wearing his Rolex and his signet ring, but otherwise no other jewellery. He wasn’t that sort of bloke. Then I remembered the silver and jet-beaded chain with inverted crucifix and felt my lips curl into a grim smile. I somehow doubted he’d been wearing that at the time of his attack – then who’s to say? Had I been asked whether Simon had belonged to some Satanic order I would have laughed out loud. Strangely enough I wasn’t laughing now.
The nurses’ station was at the end of the corridor of private rooms, directly next to where Simon had spent his last hours. A curly-haired male nurse, who I thought I recognised from when we’d last visited, was behind the desk.
Upon seeing us he gave a welcoming smile. ‘How can I help?’ he asked.
‘We’re here to collect Simon Pomeroy’s effects,’ I said.
His smile immediately slipped into a gentle, sympathetic expression. ‘Are you family?’ he asked.
‘No, close family friends,’ I said. ‘His grandniece is too upset to come herself,’ and I gave my name.
‘If you’d just give me one minute, Mr Cummings, I’ll get someone to see you.’ He gestured toward some chairs. ‘Please take a seat,’ and immediately disappeared.
Emma sat; I paced. After about two minutes she called my name and patted the seat next to her. ‘For goodness’ sake sit down. You’re making me nervous.’
Shoving my hands in the pockets of my trousers I slumped down in the chair. ‘I hate hospitals.’
‘Be thankful neither of us are in need of one and are only visiting,’ she said, putting her hand on my knee.
She was right. We should count our blessings. Waiting didn’t help, though. As the minutes ticked by my mind began to sink down into some very dark places, so much so, when the nurse called my name Emma had to give me a nudge to bring me back to the here and now.
I hurried to the desk. ‘I am sorry to have kept you. I had trouble finding Doctor Rani and there was a note on file saying he would like to have a word with you.’
It made me wonder. True – we wanted to talk to him, but why would he want to speak with us?
The nurse placed a large grey plastic bag on the desk. A printed sheet of paper was stapled to the top right-hand corner. ‘If you’d just like to check the contents to the list and sign, please. A copy of the list is inside the bag for your records.’
I opened the bag. Inside was a pile of folded clothing, on the top sat the Rolex and ring beside a small wash bag and wallet. I ran my figure down the list. There was nothing of interest: shirt, trousers, underwear, pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers, wash bag plus a sublist of its contents, the watch of course, and wallet with another sublist recording two ten-pound notes, one fiver and three pounds twenty-eight in coins. A wave of emotion washed over me, it was too sad and final. It was the young man I had once known I mourned for, though I think he had faded away a long time ago.
I signed the inventory and, tearing it from the bag, handed it to the
nurse. He smiled his thanks. ‘Doctor Rani won’t be long.’
Scrunching the top of the bag together in my fist I took it back to where Emma was sitting and slouched down beside her, dropping it on the floor between us.
It was another ten minutes before the doctor came rushing along the corridor. He had the look of a man who was racing against the clock and losing. His eyes rested on us and he hurried over.
‘Mr and Mrs Cummings,’ he said, grabbing a chair and pulling it over so he was sitting opposite, his knees almost touching ours. ‘Thanks for waiting.’
‘You wanted to see us?’ I said.
He grimaced and his eyes went to his hands clasped together on his knees. When he raised them to meet mine his expression was strained. ‘A police officer has been to see me and … I thought I should let you know.’
I frowned at him. Surely if the police were involved it would be better if he didn’t speak to anyone who knew Simon?
‘Thank you,’ I said. This was going to be easier than I’d thought. ‘So you’re treating Simon’s … Mr Pomeroy’s death as suspicious?’
‘No, not really. It was very sudden and totally unexpected and then, when I looked through his notes after you left, it became clear he wasn’t a well man. Among other ailments, he’d been taking medication for a cardiovascular condition for some time, so it’s possible his heart just gave out. But here’s the thing. The detective turned up practically straight after you left,’ he paused, his expression worried, ‘and he knew. He knew Mr Pomeroy was dead. How could that be? Even if you had phoned him as soon as it happened, how could he get here so quickly? You didn’t phone him, did you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, I didn’t.’
His eyes narrowed, staring into space and he gave a little nod as though making a decision. ‘He knew he was dead and the questions he asked were … odd.’
‘How do you mean?’
He scratched his chin. ‘He didn’t ask how he had died or when or anything you’d expect. He asked about visitors, who Mr Pomeroy had seen over the few days he was here. I told him I couldn’t say. He wasn’t my patient, I only happened to be on duty when he died. Then he asked about you.’
