Evil Never Dies

by S M Hardy

  That, unfortunately, was the problem: I didn’t think there was any. If he wanted Laura, all he had to do was bide his time. Why complicate matters by involving me? Someone he would know had once been a highly trained—And that was it, this was what could keep Emma alive. He knew what I was – or had been – and he knew if he harmed her he’d better make damn sure I was dead otherwise he would be for ever looking over his shoulder, because I would find him, if it took for ever and a day I would find him.

  After Brogan left I couldn’t settle. Dawn was fast approaching and there was little point going to bed. I wouldn’t sleep, my mind was running at nineteen to the dozen. I went upstairs, laid on the bed, the bed I’d shared with Emma, and my heart felt hollow. I tried closing my eyes, but it didn’t help, it made it one hundred times worse.

  I got up, had a long, hot shower, hoping to ease my aches and pains. The left side of my chest was a black and blue mess, but it was a small price to pay for the blade preventing the damage that could have been caused. I dressed and then began to pace. I sat down, stood and paced again. It was pointless walking back and forth in my room so, as apart from the few plod guarding the grounds, the house was empty, I decided to explore. I walked from room to room. In some I had a little tickle at the back of my neck, but no one apparently wanted to talk to me.

  Simon’s room was as he’d left it and I could almost imagine the door swinging open and him striding in. Funnily enough, in my head I saw him as he’d been, a rash and reckless twenty-something. And it choked me up that even then he hadn’t been the man I thought, he had been involved in whatever weirdness his brothers had introduced him to.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed I let my gaze wander around the room. It hadn’t changed an awful lot since the last time I’d been inside it. He’d always been meticulously tidy, then we all had: him, me and Reggie. It was something engrained into us from being in the forces.

  There were a couple of pictures on the mantelpiece. I got to my feet and went to take a look. I was surprised to see there was one of Simon, Reggie and me despite us all having fallen out in quite a spectacular way. It was reminiscent of the photo of the three brothers. We were all laughing, happy. I turned the picture over in my hands, unclipping it from the frame to check the back. It was inscribed with our names, a place and a date from almost thirty years ago.

  I returned the photo to where it had come from. There were others, but none of the three brothers together and I found this strange. He had a thirty-year-old picture of himself with two people he was estranged from, but none of his beloved brother Edward who, until recently, he believed to be dead. Nor was there one of his other brother Oliver, who he’d told me he had relied upon so much after his family had been torn apart by the, now known to be fabricated, tragedy. Could it be the divide between Simon and Oliver had been greater than I’d been led to believe? Had Simon learnt things about both his brothers since returning from the forces that had destroyed the bond he’d had with them?

  From nowhere another thought floated into my head. Why had Simon been in Edward’s room that night? Having found out that Edward had been alive for all the time he’d thought him dead, had he gone there to search for an indication of his whereabouts only to find one of Oliver’s people ransacking the room? If so, what were they searching for? Was it for the photographs hidden in Edward’s room with Edward’s medallion? In which case, how did Oliver know they existed?

  If only Simon had told me what was going on. If he’d been straight with me from the very start, maybe he’d be alive and Emma would be safely here with me. I stood and slowly turned around. Was there anything in this room that might tell me what this had all been about? Starting with his bedside table I began to search. There wasn’t much to find. A few odds and ends, which had probably been languishing in the drawers since I’d last visited. Some toiletries, a dish heaped with loose change, a wallet containing business cards and an out-of-date address book.

  The chest of drawers didn’t reveal anything other than freshly laundered underwear, shirts and socks. In the wardrobe there were several suits, jackets, silk ties and pairs of trousers. Simon didn’t go in for jeans and T-shirts. Never had and now he never would. A wave of emotion washed over me. I breathed in deep. I had to hold it together.

  He told me it was over.

  I rocked on my feet. ‘Simon?’

  When Ed ‘died’ he told me he was done with it. The last words a sigh. He lied.

  ‘Simon? Simon – talk to me.’ I closed my eyes and waited, but if he had anything else to say he kept it to himself.

  I thumped the mantelpiece in frustration. ‘Not good enough, Simon. Not nearly good enough.’ His only response was silence.

  I stalked towards the door. I was angry with Simon and his psychotic family. I was scared for Emma. I was worried about Laura and, to some extent, Dan. They were all emotions that were making it hard to think clearly. When I was in ‘the business’ I kept my feelings in check, we all did, we had to. This was different – this was personal.

  I stopped on the threshold and looked back. His desk – I hadn’t been through Simon’s desk and where else would there be paperwork to be found if not his writing desk?

  There was only one locked drawer. The large bottom one to the right. I went through all the others first hoping, while looking, I would come across a key to the locked drawer. This would, of course, be far too easy. It didn’t matter, it was antique furniture and the locks didn’t take a lot of fiddling with to open if you knew what you were doing and, for my sins, I did. With the help of a couple of old paper clips and a little bit of patience I had it open in a matter of minutes. In the old days it would have been seconds – even so, I was pretty pleased with myself.

  I had a few butterflies when I pulled it open. I didn’t know what to expect. Surprise, surprise there were more files – and a briefcase. I took out the briefcase and laid it on the desk. I’d save the best for last.

  I quickly flicked through the first couple of files. They were nothing more exciting than very old bank and credit card statements. Of course they’d be old, he didn’t live at Kingsmead any longer.

  Shutting the drawer I turned my attention to his briefcase. It was locked, of course. A combination lock.

  Pushing back the chair, I sat the briefcase on my lap, raising my hands above the numbered wheels and closing my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. I let my mind empty, lowered my fingers onto the wheels and, in my head, I saw two sets of four numbers. Zero, zero, zero, zero on the left and the same on the right. And one by one each number slowly rolled downwards one, two, three, four, stop. Then the next and the next and while this was happening I rolled my forefinger on the corresponding wheel until all eight numbers were done.

  I opened my eyes and with a press of both thumbs the catches sprang open and I lifted the lid to reveal more files. I inhaled long and slow and then exhaled. The first file was on Laura and contained pages of photographs like the one we had found in Edward’s room. I even found the place from where the page had been removed. It soon became evident Simon had lied to me. He had known her parents were dead for a long time and certainly before Oliver’s faked death. I flicked through the pages, depressed by what I found. There were photographs of her friends and boyfriends, with details so intrusive I knew he must have used his position to get hold of them.

  The next file was on DI Brogan and again it was clear the pictures we’d found in the envelope were originally surveillance photos taken for Simon, though there was no indication of why he had this information collated. The file on Tanith Bloxborough was a mere couple of pages plus copies of the same photographs as in Brogan’s file. There was no record of where she was from or where she’d been. No passport, no driving licence, nothing. She was an enigma, and it made me wonder – had she once been in the business?

  Then I came to Dan Crouchley’s file and whatever I might have thought about Simon and his later career choices he was one of the best at what h
e did. He knew every last thing about Dan. He knew his name was Dan Foley. He knew his sister had gone missing after allegedly setting off to a party held at Kingsmead and he knew he had taken the position at the estate to get answers to his questions about his sister’s disappearance. And how did he know all this? Because Dan Crouchley or, should I say Foley, was working for Simon at MI triple X and a half or whatever his department was called. Simon had spotted his potential and recruited him.

  I slumped back in the chair. It was damn stupid for Simon to have this file in his possession at the house. Had Oliver found it, I would imagine Dan would be as dead as … as dead as Simon. But Simon thought Oliver was dead, he’d thought Edward was dead. I shivered, goosebumps pimpling my arms. Was this why Simon had been killed? Was it because Oliver had found out he and his household were under surveillance by his own brother? And suddenly Simon’s words began to make a lot of sense.

  He told me it was over. When Ed ‘died’ he told me he was done with it. He lied. Simon had known Laura’s parents were dead and I’d bet my Jag that he’d known exactly how they’d died and the file containing this information had already been in his possession back at his office in Whitehall or wherever the hell he had been based. He had known they’d been ritually killed and, being as Edward was presumed dead, he put the blame squarely on Oliver’s shoulders. Simon had always been fond of William and this was why he and Oliver had become estranged. Simon knew what he’d done, but couldn’t prove it. Or more likely didn’t want to prove it. If he had it would have opened up a can of worms I doubted his career would have survived.

  Thoroughly depressed, I laid the file on top of the others and took the last one out of the briefcase. I almost laughed, but not quite. I should have known. It was a file on me. I didn’t bother to read it. I knew what it would say. I dropped the files back into the briefcase and, after locking it, returned it to the drawer.

  It was close to seven-thirty by the time I made my way downstairs. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to eat. I needed energy. I also needed a very strong coffee, while I thought about all I now knew and what I was going to do about it and how. My first priority would be to find Emma.

  At the bottom of the stairs I caught my first whiff of fried bacon and when I crossed the hallway I saw the dining-room door ajar. I pushed the door open. The table had been laid for one and there was a steaming coffee pot and a rack of toast waiting.

  ‘You have to be kidding me,’ I murmured as I walked to my seat.

  ‘Eggs and bacon,’ Maddy said from right behind me.

  I spun around and she stepped back, a flicker of fear passing across her face. ‘You’re serving me breakfast?’ I said, my expression must have been mean as she took another step away from me.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How did you even get back in here?’ I asked. ‘The place is surrounded by coppers,’ which was a bit of an overstatement. I’d seen two.

  She gave a dainty sniff. ‘This is an old house. The aristocracy always had their own secret ways in and out for whenever the mood took them,’ she said, gesturing that I sit. ‘Coffee?’

  I raised an eyebrow and she laughed. ‘No need to fear,’ she said, ‘I’m not your enemy.’

  ‘How about Mr and Mrs Walters?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask them.’

  ‘Are they here?’

  She poured me a cup of coffee. ‘Eggs and bacon?’

  ‘Why not?’ I said and hoped that I wouldn’t be passing out face down into my plate if I ate them.

  She filled my plate and it did cross my mind that perhaps this was the condemned man’s last breakfast. As long as it wasn’t the food that was going to kill me, for the moment I didn’t care. I was suddenly very hungry.

  ‘Do you know where my wife is?’ I asked.

  Her head turned this way and that as though looking for eavesdroppers. ‘She’s safe – so far,’ she whispered. ‘It’s you she’s interested in,’ and she bit her lip glancing around.

  ‘She?’ I asked.

  She swallowed and, keeping her eyes down, said, ‘I can’t say. I’ve said too much already.’

  ‘Do you mean Tanith?’ I asked. ‘Tanith Bloxborough?’

  Her expression was enough to tell me I was right. Her eyes widened and her hand jumped to her throat. ‘You know about her?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve met her – or least I’ve seen her. She was at the hospital.’

  Maddy went very still, staring me directly in the eyes as if questioning whether I was telling the truth until realisation dawned that I was. ‘I wondered why—’ She clamped her lips together.

  ‘You wondered what, Maddy?’

  ‘I have to get on,’ she said.

  As she went to leave, I reached out and grabbed her wrist. ‘Will he come for me here?’

  She gave a barely perceptible nod of the head. I held on for a second longer, then let her go. She had been trembling; she was scared of him and the mysterious Tanith. Very scared indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I finished my breakfast alone and, when it appeared Maddy wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, I left the table taking a cup of coffee with me. I ensconced myself in the study. With no one to stop me I was going to see if there was anything hidden away from which I could find out more about Oliver and the repellent Tanith Bloxborough.

  Tanith Bloxborough – it was interesting the reaction people − even her lover − had when she was mentioned. In my head I relived seeing her strutting towards us along the hospital corridor, the way our eyes locked as we passed each other and how her confident smile slipped a notch. I remembered the hiccup of fear and the tightening of my chest as my sixth sense went into overdrive telling me something was wrong. Had she had a similar premonition of foreboding when her eyes met mine?

  Another memory came to mind: the two spirits who had kept me awake for hours. Had it been Tanith they had both been talking about when they said there had been a guest to the house who had scared them so much – a devil’s child? I had a feeling she could well be.

  With these thoughts whirling around in my head I started with the paperwork on the top of the desk. As one would expect it consisted mainly of bills and general correspondence. I pushed the pile to one side and started on the drawers. Boring, boring, boring. Stationery of varying descriptions: envelopes, writing paper, pens, pencils, paper clips and the like. The contents of the deep bottom drawer looked as though it could be a little more interesting; more buff-coloured folders in bottle-green suspension files. I was wrong. How could a man such as Oliver be so dull?

  He had files for everything, so many it was obsessive. Household expenses, stable costs, invoices for groceries – each had their own file and there were more. Travel documents: it appeared he had a penchant for the South of France. Cars: he had six, with a subfolder for each one containing registration documents, MOTs, insurance and running costs. Apparently, a few months ago he’d pranged his Aston Martin. I winced when I came to the total of the repair bill. He had richer blood than me. I would have expected a brand-new car for the amount he’d paid out.

  I dropped the last file in its hanger and shoved the drawer shut and turned to the two others to my left. Disappointingly there was only more of the same. This left the narrow top drawer running along above the leg space. Once again there was nothing to write home about: loose change, a book of matches, a reel of black silk ribbon and some red sealing wax, but no seal and I recalled he wore a signet ring with an engraved agate at its centre, as had Simon. There were a few other bits and pieces including a packet of condoms pushed right to the back. They were in date by a good few years so a fairly recent purchase.

  Disheartened by my lack of progress I pushed the drawer shut. Perhaps I should try finding his bedroom in the other wing, the one he had shared with his latest wife. I doubted I would find anything there. The reason he had kept things in Edward’s bedroom was to hide them from the latest Mrs Pomeroy.

  I was thinking about it when there was
a knock and Mrs Walters tentatively put her head around the door. I did wonder at the cheek of the woman. She and her husband had stood there and watched me be gunned down.

  She came in and pushed the door shut behind her. ‘I have a message for you,’ she said, coming straight to the point.

  I folded my arms and stared at her, not saying a word. She crossed her own arms as though hugging herself. ‘Be here at ten o’clock tonight with Miss Laura. You’ll get further instructions then. Do this and your wife will be freed.’ I remained silent and she shifted uncomfortably. ‘If you don’t,’ she swallowed. ‘If you don’t …’

  ‘If I don’t?’

  Her lips pressed together. ‘He’ll sacrifice her in Miss Laura’s place.’

  ‘Sacrifice? Why don’t you say what you mean? Oliver Pomeroy will murder my wife.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said and strangely enough I believed her.

  ‘How exactly am I meant to get Laura here? She’s at the hospital with Dan Crouchley and I somehow don’t think she’s going to leave him for me, particularly when she knows there are people in this household who are out to do her serious harm.’

  ‘But you must,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘If you don’t … He means it you know. He will kill her.’

  ‘Then you had better give him a message from me. If any harm comes to my wife, I will seek him out and, believe you me, I will find him and, when I do, he will wish he’d never been born.’

  Her hand went to her throat. ‘I’ll tell him, but he thinks he’s invincible.’

  I laughed. ‘Well, here’s the thing – I don’t – and if anything happens to Emma I won’t rest until he’s in his grave.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Make sure he does.’

  She looked down at her feet and when she raised her eyes back to mine whispered, ‘It’s not only him. That woman’ – she wriggled her shoulders – ‘that woman is evil. I’ve never met anyone as wicked as her. Make sure if you go after Mr Oliver you take her down too, because if anything happens to your wife, Tanith Bloxborough will have goaded him into it.’