Black Cathedral (department 18)

by L. H. Maynard

  Closing his book with a sigh, Carter stared out over the bleak landscape. Even with a watery sun spilling its light over the heather and gorse, the place still managed to look depressing. ‘Sian’s still alive,’ he said without looking at her.

  She took a breath. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do.’ His mouth had the stubborn landscape she remembered from the end of the affair.

  ‘I see,’ she said, though nothing was further from the truth. How did he know Sian was alive? Where was she?

  ‘I doubt that.’

  ‘I want to help you.’ She began to lose her patience with him. If he had material information that affected this investigation, it was his duty to tell her.

  ‘What makes you think I need your help…or anybody else’s for that matter?’

  Reining in her growing annoyance she tried the sympathetic approach. ‘What happened last night, when I saw you out by the fountain?’

  ‘Leave it, Jane. I’m not ready to talk about it.’ Carter’s voice rose and Kirby looked over at Jane, who gave her a ‘leave it’ signal with her eyes.

  ‘Christ, you’re pigheaded,’ Jane said.

  ‘No, I’m not. And I’m not being contrary either, but I need to get a few things clear in my own mind first.’ At last his tone began to soften and something of the old Robert peered out.

  ‘Well, as soon as you have, come and tell me.’ She’d had enough of fencing with him.

  ‘You’ll be the first to know,’ he said. He didn’t patronize her with a smile, but his voice was friendly.

  ‘Make sure I am,’ she said, and sat back in her seat, gazing out through the window. He was impossible when he was like this. She’d encountered his stubbornness many times in the past. It didn’t get any easier to deal with. She didn’t speak to him again until they reached the Manse.

  Jane lifted her suitcase onto the bed and started to unpack. Obviously the KDC had spared no expense on the refurbishment of the old house. The decor was modern; the fittings of the bathroom state of the art, but the bedroom had an impersonal, anonymous feel to it. It could have been a room in any of the countless hotels she had stayed at in the past. Smartly furnished and comfortable, luxurious even, but unsympathetic and out of keeping with the traditional ambience of the Manse. At least there were no bloodstains on the floor.

  She took a framed photograph of Gemma and Amy from her suitcase, set it down on the bedside cabinet and stared at it for a moment, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. She wanted things to return to the way they were. She wanted her marriage back. Sitting down on the bed she picked up the photograph and traced the outline of the girls’ faces with her fingertips. How on earth was she going to break the news to them that Daddy had left and wouldn’t be coming back? Amy was too young to really comprehend the news, but Gemma would understand what she was being told. The father of another little girl in her class at school had been killed in a car crash just four months ago and Gemma had shown an almost macabre fascination for the details. She’d talked about it endlessly for three days; asking about Heaven, about funerals, about what it was like to die. ‘Will you die, Mummy? Will I die? What happens when you die?’ The questions went on forever. And Gemma took the answers she was offered and absorbed them, assimilated them with a pragmatism that only children can summon.

  Her enquiring eight-year-old mind wouldn’t take the news of a marriage breakup at face value. There would be questions; difficult questions that would require even more difficult answers. It was going to be hell.

  A tap at the door brought her back to the present. She replaced the photograph on the cabinet and went across to the door.

  Kirby was standing in the hallway, two mugs of tea in her hand, a hesitant smile hovering on her lips. ‘Sustenance for the troops,’ she said.

  ‘Kirby, you’re a lifesaver.’

  The girl set the mugs down on the cabinet, sat down on the bed and picked up the photograph. ‘Are these your kids?’

  Jane nodded. ‘Gemma and Amy.’

  Kirby smiled. ‘They’re so pretty. How old are they?’

  ‘Gemma’s eight, Amy’s five.’ God, where did the time go? It seemed like a few hours since she had given birth.

  ‘Gemma looks like you. Does Amy look like her father?’ Kirby held the photograph in both hands, as if she was holding the children themselves and didn’t want to hurt them.

  ‘No, not really, she takes after my grandmother, all red hair and freckles.’

  ‘She looks like a pickle.’

  ‘Oh, she is, believe me. She’s as fiery as Gemma is placid. She’s impetuous, whereas Gemma won’t even get out of bed in the morning without exploring all her options first. Chalk and cheese.’

  Kirby set the photograph down again. ‘You’re very lucky.’ There was something in her tone that made Jane think she wasn’t just being polite.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so. I was pregnant once. Lost it. Still hurts.’ The last two words were said with characteristic lightness but Jane could tell the pain was still heavy.

  ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

  ‘It was a long time ago. Before I started with the Department.’ She lifted her legs onto the bed and laid back. ‘I often wonder what she would have been like.’

  ‘You knew it was a girl?’ Jane was surprised.

  ‘Sacha. Had a name and everything.’

  Jane sat down on the bed and took Kirby’s hand in hers. There were tears in the younger woman’s eyes. She rubbed her other hand across them impatiently.

  ‘Stupid! Bringing all this up now. I don’t know what’s got into me. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologize.’

  Kirby leant herself up onto her elbow. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘So what’s the plan?’

  Jane recognized the need to move away from personal issues and instantly became businesslike. ‘The usual, I think. Let Raj and you do your stuff; set all the cameras and wire the place to record anything out of the ordinary, then we’ll sit back for twenty-four hours and see if we pick up anything.’

  ‘So you think the house is the focus?’ Concentration on a task was often the best way to overcome emotional pain.

  Jane stood and moved away from the bed. ‘Not necessarily, but it’s as good a place as any to start.’

  ‘Are you planning any séances?’

  ‘Not today.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I want Robert to try one, but I don’t think he’s in the right state of mind at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.’

  ‘I don’t like them,’ Kirby said, lifting her mug from the cabinet and taking a mouthful of the sweet tea. ‘Séances. They freak me out a little.’

  ‘Me too,’ Jane admitted, ‘but they have their uses. Sometimes they can stir things up a bit.’

  ‘And do we want to stir things up?’ Kirby wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but she was scared.

  ‘I want to find out what happened here. Not for the Department, certainly not for the KDC, but I want to know. I don’t like mysteries.’ What David had done had upset her more than she could have imagined. It had also given her an anger that needed an outlet. What ever had happened on this island, solving what had happened was a good way to purge the rage inside her.

  ‘Then you couldn’t have picked a worse career.’ Kirby looked serious.

  ‘I didn’t. It picked me.’

  ‘Really?’ Kirby’s eyes widened questioningly.

  Jane smiled and patted her hand. ‘I’ll tell you about it sometime. But not now. I’m going to check in with Simon. Let him know we’ve arrived safely.’

  Kirby took that as her cue to leave. She swung her legs to the floor and walked to the door. ‘Sorry about the baby stuff. Stupid.’

  ‘Forget it. Please.’

  The door closed and Jane picked up the phone.

  ‘Crozier.’

  ‘Simon, it’s Jane. We’ve arrived.’

  ‘Good. How is the place?’

  ‘Seems comfortable enough.’

>   ‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Anything to report yet?’

  ‘Nothing concrete. But there does seem to be some kind of atmosphere about the island itself.’

  ‘Describe. Not a report, just your first impressions.’

  ‘A kind of melancholy. It’s already affected Kirby; raising all kinds of ghosts from her past.’

  ‘Can you feel it?’

  ‘Slightly.’

  ‘Be careful. You remember Hayden Towers?’

  Hayden Towers was an apartment building in North London where the suicide rate was apparently eight times the national average. It was demolished once it was realized the block had been built on the site of a plague pit. It was never established whether the high occurrences of people taking their own lives was directly attributable to the pit, but many thought there was a connection. No one ever built on the site again.

  Mass suicide. She considered this for a moment, imagining the members of the Waincraft team throwing themselves into the sea like lemmings. ‘It’s an interesting possibility. Do you think the explanation could be that simple?’ She couldn’t keep the skeptical note out of her voice. Anyway hadn’t she read recently that lemmings don’t actually throw themselves to certain death?

  ‘I’d welcome a simple solution, Jane,’ Crozier said.

  ‘So would I,’ she said. ‘But I’m not optimistic that this thing will be solved that easily. What about the MOD people? Do you know if they were affected by the place?’

  ‘As I told you before, they were giving nothing away. All I know is that a team of three went out to Kulsay, and three returned. I don’t even know who they sent.’

  ‘Could you ask around? Call in a few favors. I’d be interested to know their findings. Any feedback at all would be helpful.’ For all its depth the report Impey had collated was low on detail about the MOD involvement.

  Crozier sighed. ‘I’ll do my best, Jane, but it’s like getting blood out of a stone. I don’t hold out much hope. I’m afraid the favors they owed me are all used up.’

  ‘What about the Minister? Could he bring pressure to bear?’

  ‘I doubt it. He’s locked into a budgetary conflict with Henderson, the Defense Minister. Apparently they can’t stand the sight of each other.’ Crozier loved the little snippets of gossip he was privy to, and traded them discreetly in bars and restaurants as a substitute for popularity.

  ‘Do what you can. I’ll call you again tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine, but I may not have an answer for you that quickly…if ever. Anything else to report?’

  Jane hesitated. She had outlined some of her plans to Kirby but she preferred acting on instinct. Once her ideas were shared with Crozier she knew he would consider them set in concrete. ‘I’m going to try to persuade Robert to hold a séance tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll go for it?’

  ‘He may.’ She tried to keep her options vague.

  ‘Good luck.’ He sounded as sincere as a TV game show host.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

  She would. They all would. Beneath the house, far beneath the island, there was movement. Stretching far and wide, using powers and secrets long kept dormant, many things were stirring. They had waited a long, long time. Soon the waiting would be over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Okay, everyone, listen up,’ Jane began, and waited while attention switched onto her. She had a glass of brandy in one hand and took a tentative sip, hoping she wouldn’t choke on its strength.

  ‘Dutch courage, Jane?’ Raj joked.

  She smiled. ‘We may need all our courage for this one. You’ve all volunteered, and you’ve got my thanks for that. As volunteers you’ve had the briefing so you know the position. Missing people, not experts on survival, nothing heard from them now for weeks. Our job is to find them.’

  ‘Dead or alive,’ John McKinley murmured.

  Jane turned to face him. ‘It’s not a “missing presumed dead assignment,” John. We’re here to find them, but if we can’t then we have to learn everything we can about what may have happened. People can’t just disappear from an island in the twenty-first century.’

  She took a sip of her brandy and looked at their faces. No, if she was honest she didn’t look at the faces of all of them. Raj was smiling, as usual, and returned her glance with a grin; McKinley gave a curt nod that acknowledged his understanding of the task; with Carter, she avoided eye contact. She looked at a place on his forehead somewhere between the eyes. It was technique she had perfected years ago when she and her father played staring games for fun — look as if you are staring the other in the eyes but avoid direct eye contact. Except Carter knew the method and employed a counterstrategy; he stood up and walked across to her.

  Jane involuntarily turned away, then instantly aware how unprofessional that was, swung back round just as Carter stood next to her. Jane’s hand knocked his arm, and for a moment they started to apologize to each other for mutual clumsiness. It was Carter who took her arm, smiled ruefully and shifted his position so that his back was to the others.

  It was in her thoughts as they stood together. Everything they had shared and yet here they stood saying sorry about a clumsy greeting, almost like strangers at a train station, muttering sorry while thinking about the menu for the evening meal. Surely, she thought, we are closer than that. Then she realized it wasn’t a casual thought, they had been close, and her random thought was nearer to hope than she wanted to admit.

  ‘You don’t believe all that?’ Carter said quietly to her.

  It took her a second to adjust to what he was saying; her mind was preoccupied with more sensual matters. ‘About what?’

  Carter was watching for her reaction. Surely Crozier hadn’t kept the facts from her, not if she was being asked to lead the team. But it wouldn’t be Crozier’s call; Jessica Anderson would have the final say, and she would want Jane to come in unprepared. Not as a simple ploy, not as a maneuver, but so she would argue for his own inclusion in the team. That would be the reason; he wouldn’t be allowed to lead a team himself, not directly, not with his maverick reputation, but if the mission was sold subtly enough to Jane she would, despite their personal track record, insist he was included.

  When he didn’t reply Jane looked away. ‘I’m sorry about Sian.’

  She heard his intake of breath. ‘They’re probably all dead anyway,’ he said.

  Jane knew whom he meant but didn’t understand what made him think that. ‘Crozier gave me the dossier. Waincraft haven’t heard a word from them. There’s been no news.’

  ‘Not officially,’ Carter said tightly. ‘I get my information from a variety of sources, and because of Sian’s disappearing act I’ve been doing some checking; recent missing persons in certain circumstances, possible department links, you know the type of thing.’

  Jane understood what he was saying, and she remembered the various whispers and snaps of information that seemed to come his way as if by magic; although it was actually of course from a very sophisticated intelligence network that he set up gradually and slowly so no one was aware of it, and no one could infiltrate it. ‘I can’t say for certain about all of them, but at least half of the “missing” group is dead.’

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  She caught up with Carter on the patio. He was sitting at one of the tables, sipping a glass of lager, staring out across the garden. The sun was high in the sky and she could feel its welcome warmth on her face.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ she said, pulling up a chair.

  He shook his head. ‘Something very bad happened here.’

  ‘Here in general, or here specifically?’ He handed her an open bottle of beer. He had anticipated she would join him.

  ‘Here, on the patio. There.’ He pointed at the ground not two yards from where they sat.

  ‘Do you know what exactly?’

  ‘I can’t get a fix on it. Just random impressions.’ He turned t
o look at her. ‘ We shouldn’t be here, Jane. It’s too dangerous.’ There was serious concern in his face.

  ‘We’re here to do a job.’ Jane had become used to her role of persuader.

  He took another mouthful of lager, swilling the beer over his tongue before swallowing. It did nothing to take away the coppery taste in his mouth. It was the taste of fear and he was all too familiar with it.

  ‘I want you to hold a séance tomorrow,’ she said. The sudden change of immediate subject was designed to deflect any further anxiety.

  ‘Yes, I think I should.’ Carter nodded vigorously.

  ‘Pardon?’ His quick agreement took her by surprise.

  He drank some more beer. ‘I think I should. And I’m not going to wait for tomorrow. I’ll hold one to night. After dinner.’

  Jane frowned. ‘I thought you’d object.’

  ‘Why should I?’ Carter said. ‘I’m as anxious as you are to know what’s going on here.’ He swilled the beer around in his glass. ‘Have you noticed the gloom hanging over this place? You can almost taste it. There’s something here.’

  ‘I was saying as much to Crozier earlier. Kirby seems quite badly affected.’

  ‘So’s McKinley. He’s even more morose than usual. What about you?’

  ‘It’s not too bad, but I’m not completely immune to it.’

  ‘Me neither, but I know how to protect myself. As does McKinley. He hasn’t opened up since we got here, and quite honestly I don’t blame him. But I’m not sure the others are as prepared as us. Kirby especially — she’s like an open nerve. It’s like we’re sitting in a lion’s den, and the lion’s watching us, biding its time until it’s ready to pounce. It’s unnerving.’

  ‘We’ll have to watch out for each other,’ she said, remembering the conversation with McKinley earlier. ‘Crozier raised the possibility that what happened here could be a case of mass suicide.’

  ‘No,’ Carter said. ‘He’s wrong. It’s nothing like that. These people didn’t choose what happened to them.’

  ‘Can you be sure? Another beer?’ She got two more bottles from the bar and waited for his reply.