‘It’s not the best news I’ve heard today,’ McKinley said.
‘No, but that’s the way the land lies, so I suppose we’d better make the best of it. Has anybody got anything else?’
Carter looked at the others and then spoke. ‘From what I’ve learned from these files,’ he hefted the buff-colored folders in the air, ‘once we get onto the island we’ll have no time to worry about who is or isn’t funding the investigation. There is going to be some serious work to be done. I’ve had time recently — a well-earned rest for those who haven’t heard the reason — to check some details of recent investigations. There are things that link Kulsay with a much wider picture. I still need to finish digging into it but if what I suspect is happening, then autonomy of finances isn’t going to worry anyone.’
Nobody spoke. They were still taking in what Jane had told them, and wondering if it really mattered, once the job began. Now Carter was confirming that view but giving them even more to be concerned about.
Jane saw the anxious faces and decided action was the best cure. ‘Okay, we’ll meet in the car park in…’ She checked her watch. ‘Fifty minutes.’
Without a further word they rose from their seats and filed out of the room, until only Jane and McKinley remained. Jane gathered her papers and slipped them into her briefcase.
McKinley unfolded himself from his seat. ‘Tell me, Jane, is there any point in me coming along?’
Jane frowned. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ She knew exactly what he was going to say.
‘You didn’t tell me that Carter was on the team. Don’t you think I’m up to the task?’
‘That’s not the case at all, John. I have every faith in your abilities. Robert’s coming along because it was a precondition of the Minister that he be included.’
‘And you don’t believe in the Jonah principle?’
‘What do you mean?’ She genuinely didn’t understand the reference.
McKinley shrugged. ‘Some people are born unlucky, and some spread that bad luck to those around them…as Sian Davies found.’
Jane felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. ‘Look, John, let’s get one thing clear,’ she said. ‘Any problems you may have with Robert, you leave them here. If you can’t do that then tell me now, because it’s not too late to drop you from the team. I don’t want to do that because I think your contribution to this investigation will be vital, but I won’t stand by and watch the whole thing unravel because of personal resentments. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ he said with as easy smile. ‘And I’ll consider my knuckles well and truly rapped. But I figure we’ll all have to watch each other’s backs, and I hate to think that one of us will have his head so far up his own ass that he won’t be able to do that.’
‘I trust Robert,’ Jane said. ‘He won’t let us down.’
‘If you say so, Jane. You’re the boss,’ he said and left the room.
‘Yes,’ Jane said quietly to herself. ‘Yes, I am.’ She shook her head and suddenly wished she wasn’t.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The flight to Aberdeen was uneventful. A Land Cruiser had been hired to carry them and their equipment on to Peterhead. McKinley drove, glancing in his mirror occasionally at Carter who sat in the back, talking to no one, his head buried in more thick files, keeping his distance from the rest of the team for the moment.
They reached Peterhead a little after three in the afternoon, and set about finding the hotel. The directions they’d been given were inadequate and it was running close to four thirty before they finally found it.
The Cleeves Hotel stood well back from the road as if embarrassed to show itself. It was an ugly modern structure, built in the late 1980s but looked in dire need of renovation. Paint peeled from the window frames and the brickwork was stained with damp.
‘Looks like Crozier blew the bud get when he found this place,’ John McKinley said with a smile as they walked into the lobby.
‘It’s not as if he knew,’ Jane said, still anxious to avoid any reason for friction, but disliked the defensive echo in her words.
‘I just checked the tariff,’ Raj said as he joined them at the desk. ‘That must have given him a clue if nothing else. This must be one of the cheapest hotels in Scotland.’
‘It’s only for one night,’ Jane said. ‘Let’s make the best of it.’ She approached the reception desk.
A plump receptionist stared at her dead-eyed. ‘Yes?’
‘You have rooms booked, in the name of Talbot.’
The girl checked the screen on her computer. ‘Yes.’ She reached under the desk and produced a clutch of key cards. ‘You’re all on the second floor. Rooms 201 through 203. Lift’s at the end of the passageway.’
‘Can we book a meal?’ Jane said to the receptionist.
The girl took a while staring at her watch. ‘The kitchens don’t open until six.’
‘Good. Then we’ve got time to rest up first?’
‘Last serving is at nine, sharp,’ the plump girl said. She was wearing a name tag over her ample left breast. Fiona Whyte.
‘Well, thank you, Fiona,’ Jane said to her. ‘We’ll bear that in mind.’
The girl gave her a look as if to say, what ever.
Jane turned to the others and said quietly, ‘And they said good service was a thing of the past,’ and then, louder. ‘Kirby, you’re with me. Raj, here’s your key, you and Robert, and John, you’re on your own.’
‘It’s because I’m black isn’t it?’ he said with a grin.
‘No, it’s because you’re the biggest and the single room has a bigger bed.’
‘Fair enough. I snore as well.’
‘Good,’ Jane said, and went back to the desk. ‘We’ll book a meal for seven.’
Fiona Whyte sighed and tapped in something on the computer. ‘Table for five,’ she said. ‘Seven o’clock.’
‘Thank you again, Fiona,’ Jane said with a smile. ‘Does the bar stay open all day?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘Opens at five thirty,’ she said.
‘Right. Good.’ She rejoined the others. ‘We’ll meet in the bar at six,’ she said. ‘Everybody okay with that?’
There was a murmur of agreement.
‘Robert? You happy with that?’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ he said, picking up his bag and heading off down the corridor to the elevator. He knew he hadn’t contributed much to the team banter yet but there was a nagging premonition in his head, and the closer they had gotten to the hotel the stronger it had become. The problem was that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his concern.
‘He’s going to be fun,’ Kirby said in Jane’s ear.
‘Don’t you start,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’s only for one night. Once we get to the Manse on the island we’ll be too busy for personality clashes, moody silences or anything vaguely human.’
Kirby chased a leathery steak listlessly around her plate.
‘Not enjoying your meal?’ McKinley said to her.
‘I ordered it rare. This has been cremated.’
‘Send it back.’ He had no patience with poor service, and even less with people who were too polite to complain about it.
‘No. I’m going to take it home and have it mounted; hang it on the wall. A trophy of my first and last trip to the Cleeves Hotel.’
After coffee they retired to their rooms.
Raj Kumar sat on the bed surrounded by cameras and lenses. His lank, long hair was tied back in a ponytail, which accentuated his wispy goatee. With a puffer-brush he cleaned dust from a telephoto lens. There were three cameras on the bed. He had others stowed away with the rest of his equipment, but these three rarely left his side. They were his babies and he cherished them; spending many hours cleaning and servicing them. There was a Hasselblad with a digital back and two Canon SLRs, work horses; one loaded with regular film, the other containing infrared stock. They rewarded his dedication to them by never once letting him down.
Cart
er was lying on the other bed, reading by the anemic light of a dusty bedside lamp.
‘We went out together, you know,’ Raj said.
‘Sorry?’ Carter had heard what he said but needed a moment to control his emotions.
‘Sian and me. We went out together.’
Carter put the file down. ‘I didn’t realize you two…’
‘Oh, we weren’t. At least, not properly. Just a few evenings for drinks and stuff.’ Raj was concentrating on his lenses, not looking at Carter. ‘She was a good kid.’
‘Yes,’ Carter said. ‘She was.’ He wasn’t sure what agenda Kumar was setting. The words seemed innocent but Carter guessed there was more to come.
Raj lapsed into silence and Carter picked up the files again and started to read. He could wait for Kumar to make his point; he had all night.
‘I wanted to get to know her better,’ Raj said, putting the thoroughly cleaned lens back in its case and picking up another from the bed.
With an inward sigh Carter closed the file and laid it on the bed. ‘Why didn’t you then?’
‘There was no point. I could tell it wasn’t going anywhere.’ Again Carter could tell Raj was skirting round what he really wanted to say.
‘Really? Did you try to take it further?’ He didn’t want intimate details. In truth he was just being polite. All he could think about were the events contained in the files.
‘She knew how I felt about her. But there was someone else.’
‘Too bad.’
Raj stopped cleaning and turned to look at him. ‘She was in love with you,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ Carter hadn’t been expecting that.
‘Absolutely besotted, she was. She was living in the hope that you might…well, you can imagine…’
Carter was stunned. ‘I had no idea.’
‘No, no you probably didn’t. The rest of us could see it though. She’d get that dreamy look in her eyes whenever she looked at you. Once I tried to tell her she was wasting her time, but hope is a very powerful emotion. She was convinced that one day you’d notice her. Pathetic really. Silly little cow. I could have made her happy…if she’d given me a chance.’
Carter swung his legs to the floor and slipped on his shoes.
‘Going somewhere?’
Carter walked to the door. ‘I’m going to get some air.’
Raj watched the door close behind him and smiled. ‘That was for you, Sian,’ he said to the room. ‘He knows now. Let’s hope he beats himself up over it.’
The night air was warm and sultry, heavy with salt from the sea. The rain had passed over for a while, leaving behind a clear sky, which was turning a deeper shade of blue as the last of the daylight slipped away. Out over the water it was darker, where more storm clouds were slowly massing.
Carter walked through the grounds of the hotel, his mind trying to get to grips with Raj Kumar’s revelation. He’d had no idea that Sian Davies felt that way about him. She had never said anything or done anything to show him that might be the case. Or maybe she had and he’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice. That was the more likely scenario. What was the point of having his gifts, of being psychic, if he couldn’t even pick up on the most basic of human emotions?
He found himself standing by a small fountain in the grounds of the hotel. The fountain was a remnant of a previous time, suggesting that a much grander building once stood in the space now blighted by the stained concrete and glass of the Cleeves Hotel. It was a stone-built circle with three cherubs on the top of an ornate plinth, their faces pointing skywards, lips pursed, ready to deliver their spouts of water. But it was a long time since anything had passed their lips and they all wore yellow beards of lichen.
The water in the fountain was weed-choked and murky. A few straggly water lilies were making a brave attempt to survive in the inhospitable surroundings, but it was a battle they were destined to lose. Three frogs had found the occasional gaps in the weed and were lying partly submerged, eyes above the surface, on the lookout for passing bugs, their next meal.
He felt incredibly depressed. What the hell was he doing here? He was out of his depth; if his conclusions were correct they were all out of their depths, of that he was certain. Perhaps it would be best to just pack his bags and go home. He was sure he wouldn’t be missed. In fact he was sure the majority would welcome his leaving. Damn it! That’s exactly what he would do. He’d go back to the hotel, pick up his things and head back down south.
He sat on the edge of the fountain and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the night air. Behind him there was a small splash as one of the frogs ducked beneath the surface, followed by the grinding sound of stone on stone. He glanced behind him. The cherubs had moved; their faces were no longer staring at the stars. Now they were looking down at him; all three faces grinning malevolently. He made to rise, but two arms burst from the cover of the blanket weed. White, clawlike hands grabbed his shoulders and he was dragged backwards, over the edge of the fountain and down into the green, stagnant water.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The iron gates protecting the Anderson house hissed open on well-oiled hinges. The S-Class Mercedes swept through, tires crunching on the wide gravel drive, and pulled up outside the house. The chauffeur stepped out and opened the back door of the car. Jessica emerged wreathed in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Chanel № 5. She walked briskly up the four stone steps to the front door, which opened as her foot hit the top step. A butler dressed in an immaculate black pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt and navy blue tie stood to one side to allow her to enter.
‘Good to have you home, miss,’ he said, a flawless English accent exaggerated but natural.
‘Good to be back, Foxworth. Terrible flight though. Delayed for two hours at Heathrow and turbulence most of the way.’
He smiled sympathetically.
‘Is my father here?’
‘He arrived home just before you. I believe he’s in the study,’ Foxworth said. ‘Would you like me to let him know you’re home?’
‘No, it’s okay. I’ll surprise him. Can you fix me a sandwich? I haven’t eaten since I left New York. You know how I hate in-flight catering.’
‘Very well, miss. Turkey or ham?’
‘Turkey sounds good.’ She glanced back at the chauffeur who was hauling her suitcases from the trunk of the car. ‘Jennings, take the bags straight up to my room, and get Maria to unpack for me. After I’ve eaten I’m going to crash.’
Jennings, the chauffeur, flicked the peak of his cap and carried on unloading. Like Foxworth he knew when to speak and when to stay silent.
‘The study you say?’ she said turning to Foxworth.
The butler nodded.
She made her way up the stairs to the first floor where her father had his study. She hesitated for a moment outside the door, then took a breath and opened it.
Carl Anderson sat at a large walnut-veneered desk, tapping away at the keyboard of his laptop. As Jessica entered the room he looked up, stopped typing and stared up at her, a welcome in his eyes. ‘You’re late,’ he said. ‘I was getting worried.’
He had now entered his sixtieth year, but he was still a good-looking man. His thick hair had turned silver and was swept away from a smooth, tanned face. He was taller than Jessica by a foot, and his well-muscled, gym-toned body strained the material of the pale blue sports shirt. The fawn slacks were immaculately creased, but they were in sharp contrast to his black loafers, which were scuffed and well worn. He’d deliberately chosen comfort over style, a minor allowance to the advancing years and to his mildly bunioned feet.
‘I’ve asked Foxworth to fix me a sandwich. Have you eaten?’ Ever the dutiful and attentive daughter, especially when she wanted something.
‘I ate at the tennis club.’ He was the master of negotiation, having taught his daughter as much as she could learn at this stage in her business development.
‘I rang you there to tell you the flight was delayed.’ She pulled up
a chair and sat down at the desk opposite him.
‘Sorry, I didn’t get the call. I was in the middle of a game with Oliver Marchant. Beat the old bastard two sets to one.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I trust everything went to plan.’
‘They’re on their way. They’ll arrive on the island in a few hours.’
‘Well, let’s hope they can sort this mess out. What did you make of Crozier?’
‘He has a sharp mind. The man’s no fool though he plays the part of one quite well. He needs watching. He wasn’t at all pleased with the arrangement we made with the Minister.’
‘Too bad. The Minister was quite happy to accept our offer…and of course there was also the contribution we made to his party’s election fund. He never acknowledged it of course, but I’m sure he found it very generous.’
The door opened and Foxworth entered the room carrying a tray containing a plate of sandwiches, a cafetiere of freshly brewed coffee and two cups. He laid the tray down on the desk. ‘Will there be anything else?’ he said.
‘No, that’s fine,’ Jessica said. ‘Thanks.’
Once he’d left the room she poured coffee into the cups and slid one across the desk to her father.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a sandwich?’
He shook his head.
She took one from the plate and bit into it, savoring the tender turkey smothered in creamy mayonnaise. ‘It’s good to eat,’ she said as she swallowed the mouthful.
‘Evidently,’ Anderson said, watching her with an expression of mild amusement.
‘I hate England,’ she said. ‘It’s so buttoned down. Everything’s so precise, so formal. Everywhere feels constipated.’ A vision of Crozier crossed her mind and she quickly tried to dispel it.
‘I did warn you, but it was your choice to get involved with the Kulsay venture. Nobody twisted your arm. I could have given it to Levy or Baxter, and then they’d be suffering now. But you seemed so insistent.’
‘It appeared to be a golden opportunity,’ she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. She knew what she was doing, thought she knew what she was doing. She just wished, for once, her father could show his approval of something she achieved.
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