by Rob Campbell
“We’re going to see that painting,” I said before turning on my heels and heading off back towards the main road.
“How?” Monkey shouted, racing to keep up.
“I don’t know. But mark my words – this is not over!”
Monkey grinned across at me. “I like it when you’re like this, Lorna!”
I’d never thought of myself as selfish, but somehow, this afternoon had pushed me over the edge. God forbid anybody who stood in my way over this. To me, the concerns of Lester Hawkstone, Dylan Fogg, Ramón Blanco, the vicar of St Stephen’s, Charles Gooch and anybody else who had a dog in the game, were a secondary consideration now.
Whatever it took, we’d gaze at that painting, and we’d follow this lead until we discovered the truth.
Chapter 28
I was surprised to get an invite to Lester’s in the daytime, but I suppose he knew that both Monkey and I were on our half-term breaks.
“Any idea what he wants with us?” I asked Monkey whilst we were waiting at the bus stop. Lester had mentioned in his message that Frank was busy first thing, so we’d decided to catch the bus for a change.
Monkey held out his hand to stop the bus. “Nope. Just got the same message as you.”
“I wonder if it’s something about the Reverend?” I said as we climbed aboard. Maybe Lester had found something out about his advisor’s sudden change of beliefs. Monkey gave one of his trademark shrugs. I still hadn’t worked out whether that meant he didn’t know or couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to care.
We’d not been on the seat at the back of the bus long when Monkey turned all serious. “Have you thought how we’re going to get a look at the painting?” he asked in a hushed tone.
I was about to tell him that this probably wasn’t the best place to discuss the matter, but given that the only other passengers in earshot were a couple of old ladies, loudly discussing the best place to buy cut-price turkey, I didn’t see the harm.
“I haven’t thought about much else, to be honest.”
“Me neither. So, what’s the plan?”
“There isn’t one yet. Have you got any ideas?”
“Not good ones,” he mumbled.
“Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something,” I said, noticing him slipping into one of his mournful moods.
The bus wound its way through the hills above Culverton Beck, a fine mist accompanying the soft rain that pitter-pattered on the windows. I gazed out as we passed Morning Tower Reservoir Country Park, my breath frosting the glass. Wiping away the condensation, I could just make out the tower above the treeline, the image conjuring bittersweet memories. It was the place where last summer, Monkey and I had been enjoying a pleasant day, including him climbing the first level of the tower, before Goofy Muldoon and his crew had chased us down. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Monkey scratching at his arm. With today’s weather, it was covered by his rain jacket, though I couldn’t help but remember the red welts that lay underneath, the result of Goofy burning my friend with his cigarette butt. Was he still remembering what happened that day as the bus sped past the site of the incident?
We got off the bus at a stop on a country road that was a ten-minute walk from the end of Lester’s driveway. When we reached the gates and pressed the intercom, one of Lester’s maids released the lock remotely. We’d visited so many times that most of his staff recognised us by now, and I suppose that was true of our voices as well.
There was a familiar car parked next to the house. I was sure that I’d seen the blue Ford Fiesta somewhere before. I recognised the end of the number plate and the scrape on the driver’s door, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it.
“Thanks for coming,” Lester said as he greeted us at the door.
We exchanged pleasantries before he showed us into the lounge and had some juice and biscuits brought in. There wasn’t any point in asking why he’d asked us here today; I’d learned a long time ago that, much like a meandering river, Lester moved at his own pace and would reveal all when he was good and ready. Besides, what better way to spend a gloomy autumn day than enjoying the free hospitality of a millionaire in his luxurious home?
I was starting on my third chocolate biscuit, relaxing into the comfortable embrace of one of Lester’s plush armchairs, when I heard the unmistakable click of heels on the stairs out in the hall, signalling the arrival of Victoria Halfpenny.
“Morning, Lorna, Monkey,” she said as she breezed into the room, stopping to peck Lester on the cheek before continuing through to the kitchen. I chewed my biscuit slowly, pretending that what had just happened was entirely expected, wondering who would speak next.
“She’s here early,” Monkey said, his lack of subtlety causing Lester to flush a little.
“Victoria, I mean, err, Miss Halfpenny,” Lester babbled, words tumbling from his mouth like marbles from a hole in a bag.
Victoria returned sipping juice from a large glass. “What he’s trying to say is that I spent the night here,” she said, clearly enjoying Lester’s resultant discomfort.
I wondered whether Lester had invited us here to get things out in the open. I must admit, I was surprised by the speed with which the relationship had moved. It wasn’t long ago that I was simply inviting her to meet a fellow art fanatic, and now this.
“Oh, I see,” I said, not really knowing what the correct response was in this situation.
“I need to thank you for introducing the two of us, Lorna,” Lester said with a smile. “It’s not every day that you meet a woman of Victoria’s quality. I’m a lucky man.” He smiled in my teacher’s direction.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Lester,” Victoria cooed. “You’re a fine man.”
And rich, I couldn’t help thinking, but naturally kept that thought to myself.
“Which is why I’m going to organise the best birthday party that you ever had. You are free on Saturday, aren’t you?” she said, glancing at both Monkey and me.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Monkey replied with a beaming smile.
“Good, then I’ll leave you three to it.” She drained the last of her juice and picked up her handbag.
“You remember the PIN number?” Lester called.
“Don’t worry yourself, love! And I promise to stick to the limit we agreed!”
“Wait,” I said, feeling awkward that I hadn’t said more than a few words to her. “I’ll see you out.”
“How’s the project going?” Victoria asked when I caught up with her in the hallway.
“Okay. I’m hoping to write up a report this week with it being half-term.”
“That’s good,” she said. I could sense that she was just talking about college to be working her mouth as if she really wanted to say something else.
“So, you and Lester…” I quickly ran out of words again.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“Mind? Why would I mind?”
“I don’t know. Me being your history teacher and Lester being, well, your friend, I guess.” She didn’t mention the age gap.
“I was a little surprised to see you here,” I admitted.
“Life moves fast, Lorna,” she said, her voice with a serious tone all of a sudden. She placed a hand gently on my arm. “My advice is to grab it with both hands while you can. Anyway, I should be going. This party won’t organise itself!”
“What’ve you got in mind?”
“Oh, just a little entertainment in the back garden.”
“The back garden!” I repeated incredulously. “It’s October – it’ll be bloody freezing outside!”
“Nothing a couple of patio heaters won’t fix. Plus, I’ll let you into a little secret – it involves a light show. I need the darkness of the garden.”
With that, she said goodbye and waltzed out the door, leaving the strong scent of her lemon perfume in the air. I watched her climb into the blue Ford Fiesta and pull away. Now I remembered where I’d seen it: in the school car
park.
“What was the limit you agreed on?” Monkey asked as I returned to the lounge.
“Oh, not too much. Just enough to organise a little shindig,” Lester said, tapping his nose knowingly. I wondered whether he had any idea that Victoria was probably thinking on a slightly grander scale. It was a big garden, after all. Was she going to fill it with lights? I was intrigued and was looking forward to Saturday night already.
“I thought you didn’t want a big party for your birthday,” I commented, remembering Lester’s thoughts on the matter from last weekend.
“Well, things change. Victoria can be very persuasive,” he said almost sheepishly.
Time for a change of subject. “Is the Reverend here?”
Lester gave a drawn-out groan – the type my dad used to do so well before he started a sentence with something like ‘you’re not going to like this’ or ‘I wouldn’t mention it to your mother if I was you’.
“He’s resting in a hotel somewhere. In all honesty, I can’t fathom out what’s happened to him whilst he’s been away. He seems to have had some road to Damascus moment.”
“What do you mean?” For once, I was as confused as Monkey.
“What I mean is that he claims to have seen the light – thinks he’s been preaching the wrong word for the last few years.” Lester leaned forward in his seat, closing the distance between him and us. “He says that he has received a message from God. What do you make of that?”
“Isn’t that what happened to Abernathy? According to your book, I mean,” Monkey said.
“I suppose so,” Lester said, a far-off look in his eye.
“This message from God – I assume that he received it in his head?” I asked, noting the concern written across Lester’s face.
“I’m afraid so. They’re the most difficult messages to argue with, aren’t they? It’s not as if we can discuss the pros and cons like we could if it was in an e-mail or written on a piece of paper. A message in somebody’s head is open to interpretation.”
He had a point. But thinking of the letter that the vicar had handed to Monkey, written messages were also open to interpretation.
“What was in the message?” I pressed.
“He said that there’s an evil presence in Culverton Beck, and he’s on a mission to destroy it.”
Thinking back to the night of the Reverend’s return, he’d waffled on about darkness falling and the presence of some beast. From what Lester had said, it didn’t sound like he’d made much progress in getting some clarity from his mentor.
Lester slapped his hands down on his knees and rose from the sofa.
“Look, I’ll be honest, I’m worried about the Reverend. Maybe he’ll make more sense when he’s had a few day’s rest, but right now, I have a more pressing matter, and I could do with a second opinion.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Come on,” he replied, making to leave the room.
* * *
It was obvious where he was taking us when we left the house by a side door and headed down his long garden towards the row of trees at the bottom. We followed him through the wooden gate, down the steep stone steps and into his private woodland, where the trees were finally shedding their leaves.
Lester didn’t say much on the short walk to the industrial warehouse that he’d had built in the heart of his personal oasis. He led us through the outer door and down the corridors that led to his data centre. There didn’t seem to be as many people manning the workstations as I remembered from our first visit, but there was still plenty going on.
Lester acknowledged a couple of his workers as we followed him up the short set of metal steps that led to the conference room situated behind the large glass panel.
“Jason?” he called across to the student-type that we’d seen here before. “Can you patch that audio file through to the conference room?”
“You got it, Mister H,” Jason replied, appearing eager to please his boss.
Lester smiled before opening the door and showing us into his hi-tech den. He sat on a leather chair in front of a laptop whilst Monkey and I sat in chairs either side of him.
A short burst of static was followed by Jason’s voice over some hidden speaker system. “It’s on channel six.”
“Thanks, Jason,” Lester replied into a small microphone fixed to the desk.
He seemed to be going to a lot of trouble to show us something. I looked up at the walls and ceiling, trying to detect the speakers, but there was no obvious sign of them. Impressive.
“Better in here, away from prying eyes and ears,” Lester said as if reading my thoughts. He sat back in his chair, drawing a deep breath. “What I’m about to play you doesn’t go beyond this room, understood?”
We both nodded eagerly.
“What is it?” Monkey asked.
“It’s a recording of a phone call picked up by my surveillance team.”
“Right,” I said. It all seemed a bit James Bond. Why didn’t he just play an audio file on his laptop, up at the house? Maybe he simply wanted to impress us by bringing us down here.
He clicked on the audio file, and I leaned in, drawn by the promise of what secrets I might pick up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Monkey doing the same.
“Have you made any progress yet?”
“Sounds like Charles Gooch!” Monkey whispered. Lester nodded, putting his finger to his lip, indicating that we should concentrate on what was coming up.
“No. Not yet. But I have a way of getting closer to the boy, Arkwright.”
A Spanish accent. It had to be Ramón Blanco! So, his constant questioning of Monkey wasn’t so innocent after all.
“That’s not the news I was expecting or hoping for.”
“I’m sorry, Gooch. These things take time. Surely you understand, no?”
“All very well for you to say. It could be my head on the block here! I thought you said the signs were clear. You’re not telling me you were wrong now, are you?” Gooch sounded angry, and the rising volume of his voice was causing a hiss on the recording.
“Prophecy and prediction are not an exact science,” was Ramón’s equally fiery response. It was definitely Ramón.
“That’s no good to me, is it? I brought you in because I was assured that you could get results! I don’t know why I bothered. I’ll be telling the council that your so-called skill is not all it’s cracked up to be!”
“Is that a threat? I have friends in high places, Gooch!”
“I‘m not afraid of you, Ramón. I think you may be mistaken if you think you have the support of the council of nine.”
Gooch’s latest words were followed by a loud click, and the recording ended.
“I assume that’s this Ramón Blanco fellow you were asking about?” Lester said.
“Sounded like him to me. How many Ramón’s do you know?” Monkey responded.
“I agree,” I said before considering Gooch’s last words on the recording. “What was Gooch talking about when he mentioned ‘the council of nine’?”
“I think it’s safe to assume that the Wardens have some ruling body, a group directing operations,” Lester surmised. “And now we know that Gooch is not the only Warden sniffing around town. They’re clearly after The Frenchman.”
It was best to let him believe that. He may well be right, but given what Monkey and I knew about the possibility of The Truth being nearby, there was certainly room for doubt that it was all about The Frenchman.
“The good news is that we’ve now traced Gooch to an apartment in Culverton Beck. Makes him easier to keep tabs on. Ramón Blanco, on the other hand, was using a mobile, so he could have been anywhere.”
It made sense that Ramón would use his mobile. He was staying at a hotel in the area, and he wouldn’t want to take a call like that in the Recorder office on a landline. I recalled seeing a mobile in a black and orange protective case on his temporary desk in the office, because I remember thinking that it looked like a t
iger pattern.
“Gooch is staying at an apartment?” I asked, surprised. Although we hadn’t seen him for a long time until he had accosted us in the alley, it was a revelation that he had what could be classed as a semi-permanent base in town.
Lester brought up a map of Culverton Beck on the laptop screen and pointed towards an area highlighted in red. “Number 212, Cherry Tree Gardens.”
“That’s that posh new place in the centre.” I’d walked past it a couple of times. “What does it all mean?” I asked.
“It means that we must be extra vigilant,” Lester said. “We know that two Wardens are in the area, and there may be more!”
“Do you think this could be anything to do with what the Reverend said?” Monkey asked.
“Crazy though our friend, the Reverend Dubois, may seem, it’s why I’m keeping an open mind,” Lester admitted.
Maybe it also had a lot to do with Dylan Fogg’s promise that things were set to get weirder. Additionally, I couldn’t ignore the fact that in the recording, we’d heard Gooch and Ramón discussing prophecies and predictions; it all sounded uncomfortably similar to the mass hysteria experienced by the parishioners of St Stephen’s.
Our ruminations were interrupted by a frantic-looking woman gesturing to Lester through the glass. She beckoned him outside, and he stepped through the door to see what she wanted, making sure that it was closed behind him. We watched through the glass as she showed Lester a sheet of paper. The glass was certainly soundproof, because I didn’t catch a word.
“What’s she saying?” Monkey asked.
“Search me.”
After a short time, Lester returned. His face had gone pale.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“They’ve just intercepted some radio traffic on the emergency services channel,” he said, pointing to his team on the other side of the glass. “A body has been found in the woods. The police have cordoned the whole area off.”
