Except Carter knew his wasn’t a version but reality.
There had been powerful forces in that house and if they were gone a day later then they must have been there for a reason. As Sian had disappeared at the same time, then either she or Carter must have been the reason.
There was a knock at the door and Trudy, Crozier’s secretary, walked in with a tray of cups, saucers and a teapot. The reputation of the English government flourishing on a diet of afternoon tea and digestive biscuits was kept alive in this part of the establishment.
Carter needed to get away and think. For months now incidents had been building that could only partially be explained. They had culminated in the episode at the house but other events had occurred on a regular enough basis to alert someone with Carter’s abilities. He needed to go home and run through the notes he had been making.
The tea had been poured, the milk and sugar added and Crozier was nibbling on a digestive. ‘You see the position I find myself in, Robert?’
‘What position is that?’
‘Do I have to spell it out?’ The cat was preparing to pounce.
Carter finished his cup of tea, placed the cup delicately onto the saucer and smiled at Crozier. ‘I rather think you do, yes.’
Crozier stood and walked to the windows. Looking out he could see the traffic starting to build up. The roof of Buckingham Palace was visible a short distance away. The flag was flying, indicating the Queen was in residence. Strangely, since the Helen Mirren film had been so successful the popularity of Her Majesty, already generally high, had soared.
‘Very well.’ Crozier turned to Carter. ‘You fouled up, Robert. Made a complete balls-up of what should have been a simple poltergeist investigation. Christ, it was only a favor for a colleague because the house belonged to a member of their family. How could it go wrong?’
Carter stood, and although he hadn’t intended it to, the chair toppled over backwards. Crozier took a step back as though he had been threatened. ‘That was no simple haunting…’
‘So you say…’
‘I’m the expert, remember? It’s what I do. There were forces, very strong…that’s why Sian…’
‘Which brings us to the most serious aspect of the matter.’
If he hadn’t realized it before, he was under no illusions now. This was a disciplinary meeting. How Crozier must have enjoyed setting the agenda for this.
When Carter didn’t reply Crozier continued. ‘You lost an employee on a case. Not just lost but “mislaid.” Your verbal report cannot be substantiated, and the cleanup team has found not a single trace of evidence to support your apparent sightings. You lost it, Robert. Your nerve, your powers, what ever way you want to dress it up. You cost Sian Davies her life.’
Carter walked across to Crozier, nodded once, then hit him hard on the jaw.
CHAPTER SIX
The last few hundred yards were agony. They were breasting a hill and could see the Manse in the distance, but for Michael Bennett and Eddie Farrant it looked to be miles away. The other runners had left them behind halfway round the cross-country course, and the two men were tired, thirsty and thoroughly humiliated. Farrant glanced round at Bennett, who was trying and succeeding to match him pace for pace. He swore under his breath. Bennett was ten years older and twenty pounds heavier than him. The sweat was flowing freely down the older man’s face and his mouth sagged open, wheezing in breath after breath, trying to force air down into his lungs. His eyes were bleary and unfocused and his skin was bright pink, like a lobster just out of the pot.
In the distance Farrant could see the others reach the Manse and stop and collapse to the ground in exhaustion, but could also hear the whoops of triumph. They’d made it; they’d completed the course and were celebrating. He still had two hundred yards to run, on legs that felt like jelly, with his rival both here and at work, dogging his heels. With a sob of desperation, he tried to summon one last burst of energy. He couldn’t be beaten by Bennett. Not by him; anybody but him.
‘What kept you?’ Andrew Johnson said, as Eddie Farrant finally reached the Manse and collapsed on the ground beside him.
‘Twisted my ankle early on,’ Farrant lied, watching with satisfaction as Bennett took his last few steps, the agony plain to see on his face.
‘What’s up with him? Looks like he’s about to have a coronary.’
‘Yeah,’ Farrant said. ‘I nursed him home. Didn’t want to leave him behind in case something happened to him.’ He put a mask of concern over his features.
‘Regular Good Samaritan, aren’t you, Eddie?’ Jo Madley said, rubbing the sweat from her face with a towel. She turned to Casey Faraday and winked.
Casey smiled and pushed herself up. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said. ‘I stink like a pig.’
‘ We all do,’ Sheila Thomas said. ‘I just hope there’s enough hot water for us all.’ Last night she was last in the bathroom and the water had been running cold.
‘I could murder a pint,’ Andrew Johnson said.
‘Your round,’ Farrant said.
‘Care to join us for cocktails, girls?’ Johnson said.
Jo Madley ignored him. ‘Where’s Lomax? I thought he’d be here to meet us with his stopwatch.’
‘Don’t question it, Jo,’ Sheila said. ‘The bastard’s probably inside somewhere pulling the wings off flies.’
‘Or drowning kittens,’ Casey said.
Lomax, it turned out, was the keeper of the instructions from Waincraft. Part of his role was to set the group tasks for the day and measure the results. Today it had been a cross-country run. They were certain there were even more sadistic trials planned for later.
‘The point is, he’s not here, so let’s take advantage,’ Sheila said. ‘Race you to the bar.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Jo said, lethargically forcing herself to stand. She turned to Michael Bennett. ‘You okay, Mike?’
Bennett was still panting, trying to get his breath back. He nodded his head, unable to speak.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ she said, and took his arm.
‘You don’t have to,’ Bennett said, finally able to speak, and fell into step beside her, walking slowly.
‘I know,’ she said.
The others had almost reached the front door. Johnson looked back at them, a smirk on his face.
‘Cretin,’ Jo muttered under her breath. ‘Who does he think he is?’
‘God’s gift to the female species,’ Bennett said. He felt dreadful and was very conscious he didn’t cut a particularly heroic figure right now.
‘Then Heaven help us all,’ Jo said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you putting yourself through this?’
‘Vanity and pride, with a very large chunk of masochism thrown in,’ Bennett said. ‘Can you imagine the ribbing I would have endured at work if I’d chickened out? Those idiots would have made my life hell.’
‘Sod ‘em,’ Jo said. ‘You mustn’t let them get to you, Mike. It’s all wind and piss with them. What they lack in intellect they make up for in macho posturing. There were dozens like that at the last place I worked. I got fed up with them in the end; that’s why I left and joined Waincraft.’
‘And you find Waincraft better?’ It was the first time Jo had opened up about anything personal, even work related, although he knew her employment history from the staff files.
‘Marginally.’ That was the truth. One office was very much like another in her experience.
They reached the door and went inside. And immediately realized something was wrong.
‘What’s going on?’ Jo said.
Sheila and Casey were standing in the hallway, anxious looks on their faces. Of the other two men there was no sign.
‘There’s no one here,’ Sheila said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that. Everybody’s gone. Lomax, the house keeper, the kitchen staff, everybody.’
‘They’re probably somewhere else in the house. They can’t just hav
e gone,’ Michael Bennett said.
‘Andrew and Eddie are checking now, but when we got here the place was as silent as the grave. And then there was this.’ Sheila walked across to the entrance to the dining room and pointed at the floor. There was a dark, wet smear across the parquet. Michael Bennett crouched down and poked the smear with his finger. When he took his hand away his fingertip was stained red. ‘It’s blood,’ he said, staring at his finger with disgust.
‘Yes,’ Casey said. ‘But whose?’
‘And how did it get there?’ Sheila said. She shivered.
Johnson and Farrant appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘There’s no one up here,’ Johnson said. ‘The place is deserted.’ They came down and joined the others at the foot of the stairs.
‘And the phones are out,’ Farrant added.
‘Okay,’ Bennett said. ‘Let’s not panic. There’s probably a logical explanation.’
‘Who’s panicking?’ Johnson said. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Anyone care to join me?’ He walked through to the small bar area to the left of the dining room. There were a few easy chairs, a couple of coffee tables and the bar itself, well stocked with spirits and bottled beer. He helped himself to a triple vodka, grabbed a bottle of tonic water from the shelf behind the bar and went to sit down in one of the easy chairs. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his sweatpants he lit one and sat back to enjoy the nicotine rush.
‘What about your cell?’ Bennett said to Farrant as the younger man pushed past him on his way to the bar.
‘No signal. Haven’t had one since we arrived. Hardly surprising really. This is the back of beyond, after all.’
One by one the others helped themselves to drinks, except Bennett who never touched alcohol these days, not since he’d ended his love affair with the bottle four years previously.
Casey Faraday took a glass of white wine across to the window that looked out over the flagstoned patio. She took one sip of the pinot grigio, then dropped the glass to the floor and screamed. By the time the others reached her Casey was crying hysterically, pointing out through the window.
Sheila grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Casey, calm down. What’s wrong?’
Andrew Johnson followed the line of Casey’s pointing finger. ‘Holy shit!’ he said.
Eddie Farrant joined him, mouth open in astonishment, face rapidly draining of color. ‘Oh my God!’
They stared through the window at the patio. Tables and chairs had been overturned and umbrellas lay on their side, rocking gently back and forth in the afternoon breeze. In the center of the patio was Guy Lomax, but only his head, shoulders and right arm was visible; it was as if the rest of him had been swallowed by the patio, as if he had sunk into the flagstones.
‘I’m sorry,’ Michael Bennett said, ‘but that’s impossible. I’m going to take a closer look.’
‘Don’t go out there!’ Casey grabbed his arm.
Bennett yanked it away. ‘Don’t be stupid. We can’t just leave him there. Anyone else coming?’
‘You’re on your own, mate,’ Johnson said. He’d resumed his seat, but he no longer looked so self-assured. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but he was scared.
‘Eddie?’ Bennett turned to Farrant, hoping he wouldn’t have to go outside on his own.
‘No way.’ Farrant swallowed his drink and moved to the bar for another.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Jo said.
Bennett stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Let’s just do it.’ She walked to the door. Bennett stared at the other two men with barely concealed contempt, then spun round and followed Jo out of the bar.
‘Wanker!’ Andrew Johnson said as Bennett disappeared from view.
‘Just shut up, Andrew,’ Sheila said. ‘At least he’s got the guts to actually do something.’
Johnson looked at Eddie Farrant and raised his eyebrows. Farrant looked away.
‘It’s impossible,’ Bennett said again.
‘So you said. But obviously it’s not.’ Jo Madley was crouching down, staring at Lomax.
‘Is he dead?’ Bennett was worried about getting too close.
‘Yes, I think so.’ Jo studied Lomax’s face. The skin was white and pasty, eyes closed, lips clamped together in a thin line. His head was slumped forward, almost touching the flagstones. Tentatively she reached out and touched the stone. ‘It’s solid,’ she said. She inched her fingers forward until they reached the point where flesh and stone merged. There was no gap, not even a millimeter. The join was seamless. ‘This is too weird,’ she said, and then threw herself backwards as Lomax opened his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ!’
The thin line of his mouth split and opened wide. The scream that emerged was deafening and harrowing. And as the scream ended Lomax sunk another six inches into the ground so that only the top half of his head and one hand was visible. Seconds later he disappeared altogether, the flagstones rippling slightly before becoming solid once more.
Jo looked up at Bennett. ‘Mike, this isn’t right. We’ve got to get out of here,’ she said, and tears started to trickle down her cheeks.
Michael Bennett’s face was a pale, frightened mask. He nodded his head in a jerky, marionette-like movement, and helped Jo to her feet.
‘Okay,’ Andrew Johnson said. ‘We need a plan.’
They had gathered together in the bar once more. Both he and Eddie were nursing large vodkas. Jo was sitting in the corner, hands clasped around a brandy snifter containing a large measure of the spirit. She halfheartedly put the glass to her lips but the sickly smell of the brandy made her gag and she lowered it and stood up quickly. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said and ran from the room.
‘I’ve checked all the phones in the place,’ Johnson said, ignoring the interruption. ‘None of them work. The same goes for my cell. As Eddie said, no network.’
‘So we’ve got no way of contacting the mainland?’ Sheila asked.
‘Not unless you’ve got a radio transmitter stashed in your hand luggage. No, we’re stuffed. So, any ideas?’ He looked from face to face. They all stared back blankly at him. ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Just great!’
Jo Madley wiped her mouth on a paper towel, cupped her hand under the faucet, filled her palm with cold water and splashed it over her face. It helped, a little. She felt hollow inside, as if her guts had been reamed out. She couldn’t rid herself of the image of Lomax, screaming as he sank beneath the patio. She knew the sound of that scream would come to her in the nights ahead, invading her dreams, waking her; and in her dreams she would again see Lomax’s face, contorted in unimaginable agony, his hand flopping uselessly from side to side until it too was swallowed by the ground.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Are you okay, Jo?’
Sheila’s voice jerked her back to reality. ‘Yeah, fine. Just puked, that’s all.’
‘If you need anything…’
‘I’ll call you if I do.’
Actually, being alone in the bathroom was something of a relief. She was wondering now why she’d volunteered for this course. Being holed up on a remote island with a bunch of people she didn’t really care for was not her idea of Heaven. Bennett was all right in a wimpy kind of way, pleasant but harmless. But Andrew Johnson was an asshole, and Eddie Farrant wasn’t much better, content to hang on to Johnson’s coattails and bask in his reflected glory. Of the other two women she preferred Sheila. There was a kind of no-nonsense aura around her that commanded respect. Casey, on the other hand, was a fairly weak character with no hard, firm opinions of her own, and the possessor of a tabloid mentality who got her kicks from reading about the bedroom exploits of the rich and slightly famous. Jo had nothing in common with her, which made conversation all but impossible.
And then there was her, Jo Madley. Twenty-six, single, fairly pretty, if she looked at herself objectively, but unable to sustain relationships with the opposite sex for little more than a few days. Her problem was that she really didn’t like pe
ople very much, and trusted them even less. And that applied especially to men. She knew the fault was with her, and blamed her father who had run off with his secretary when she was just eight years old, leaving her mother to bring up Jo and her two brothers alone. To her credit her mother did a fine job. David, her eldest brother, was now a solicitor, whilst Ian, who was two years younger than her, was a professional pianist, earning his living providing mood music for the diners aboard various luxury ocean liners. If anything it was she who was the underachiever, flitting from one job to another, unable to settle into anything that could vaguely be called a career.
She poured water into her hands again and ran them through her hair, slicking it back from her face. She couldn’t languish in here forever, no matter how tempting it might seem. But she really didn’t want to go back and sit with the others. What she had witnessed on the patio had left her badly frightened. She just wanted to go home.
As she stared at herself in the mirror a movement behind her diverted her attention. The wall was moving, rippling slightly, white tiles starting to buckle and lift. As she watched, one came loose and fell, but instead of crashing to the floor it seemed to float down like tissue paper in an almost endless descent. It finally reached the stone floor and then exploded into a thousand jagged white pieces. But the explosion was silent, gentle.
One by one the tiles dropped from the wall, each taking a balletic eternity to land and smash. In falling they exposed a rough brick wall, russet red and dusty. She turned away from the mirror and went to investigate, her feet crunching over broken tiles. She traced the line of mortar between the bricks with her fingertip. It was powdery, insubstantial, crumbling away under her touch. As she prodded one of the bricks it wobbled slightly. The place is falling apart, she thought.
As if to echo her thoughts, the brick she was prodding slid backwards and fell into the cavity behind the wall. Again, like the tiles, the sound of the brick falling was muffled, as if it had dropped onto a cushion of foam rubber. She peered through the gap left by the brick but could see only blackness. She pressed against the surrounding brickwork and felt it give under the pressure. As more bricks started to tumble, a white hand thrust out through the gap and grabbed her around the throat.
Black Cathedral (department 18) Page 4
