Ash (11 page)

‘And the name changed yet again,’ he remarked. ‘What happened this time?’

‘Ach, to tell you the truth, I dinnae ken much more, but the castle eventually became a kind of rich person’s refuge. As it is to this day. And that’s why it’s called Comraich.’

‘
Comraich
meaning . . . ?’

‘Sanctuary,’ came Dalzell’s emphatic reply.

The investigator regarded the chauffeur curiously, but the Scot was concentrating on the road ahead. They reached a T-junction and stopped; for a moment the driver seemed as uncertain as before.

‘Lost your way?’ Ash enquired drily.

‘Ah, nae, nae. Just thought of something you might like t’see.’

‘Okay, why not?’

Dalzell indicated left and turned onto the broader thoroughfare, where conversely there was little traffic.

A large white bird flew low over their heads.

‘A seagull?’ Ash asked Dalzell. ‘So we’re near the coast?’

‘A gannet, sir. Aye, the sea’s not far away t’the right. You’ll see fulmars, cormorants, all sorts of seabirds along the way. Kittiwakes nest on the sea cliffs.’

‘So we’ll soon reach Comraich?’

‘Not far, Mr Ash. Not far at all now. From the castle’s ramparts and on a clear day, you might just see the grey seals that spend time on the rocky shores. We’re not short of wildlife in Scotland, y’ken? In the castle grounds y’ll come across deer and red squirrels; then there’s the kestrels, and we’ve even had the odd golden eagle come down from the north. If you’re a nature-lover at heart, you’d have a bonny time in this little corner of the world. That goes for all of Scotland, of course. Not
too
many regions have been wholly urbanized and if y’want to see nature at its awesome best, y’d do well to spend a month in the Highlands.’

‘The Scottish Tourist Board must love you. D’you tell all your pick-ups this?’

Dalzell laughed. ‘Y’cannae blame a man for loving his country. How long d’you think y’ll stay?

Ash frowned. ‘I’m hoping it won’t take longer than three days at most.’

‘To do what, if you don’t mind me asking, Mr Ash?’

‘You honestly don’t know why I’m up here?’

‘Haven’t been briefed on all of it, but I’m aware y’not on a pleasure trip. I ken y’re a ghost hunter, but is it anything to do specifically with what happened to one of the castle’s clients the other day?’

‘What have you heard?’

‘Nothing that makes any sense. There’s talk of a badly injured—
A bhidse!
’

That sudden word, followed by a sharp release of breath, sounded like another Gaelic expletive to Ash.

‘Something I’ve got to check,’ the chauffeur said.

They had been travelling up a hill, the road lined with trees and bushes, and now they were over its crest, looking down the road ahead. Ash was puzzled when Dalzell stopped the car and stepped out, apologizing as he did so. ‘Won’t be a tick,’ the driver said before closing his door. ‘Just enjoy the scenery for a minute or two.’

Ash looked down the hill, contemplating the view. The dampness in the air gave the greenery all around a darker lushness and, as he savoured the peace of it all, the horizon began to move away from him. The car, impossibly, was rolling backwards
uphill
.

When he lunged for the handbrake, his seatbelt locked tight and restricted his movement. But in that instant he saw that the gearstick was in the P for Park mode.

Yet, as he gaped through the windscreen, the landscape continued to move inexorably away from him.

The opposite door suddenly opened again and there was Dalzell, leaning in with a big grin on his sunny face.

‘Did y’enjoy the fright, Mr Ash? It’s quite something, isn’t it?’

Ash, trapped by his seatbelt, could only stare at him.

‘Now dinnae worry, the car isn’t moving and nor is the scenery. Y’perfectly safe.’

Dalzell eased himself back into the car, rump first. Almost chastely, he eased the hem of the grey kilt he wore back over his knees. After belting up, he grinned at Ash again.

‘I didnae mean to scare you,’ he said by way of an apology.

‘You didn’t. You got my bloody mind screwed up, is all.’

Engine running, the long car headed down the hill as normal.

‘What caused it?’ Ash had to admit he was fascinated. ‘An optical illusion, obviously.’

‘That it is. It’s called the Electric Brae, although the locals hereabouts know it as Croy Brae. The configuration of the land on both sides of the road and in the distance causes the illusion. One time, they thought it was because of electric or magnetic attraction in the Brae, which is how it got its name. Seems they got it wrong – no one really understands the phenomenon – but the name stuck. When I was a boy and we got to stay in Glasgow, my pa used to bring me here for the fun of it, although I have t’confess, it always bothered me somewhat.’

‘Any other weird places in the neighbourhood?’

‘Apart from Comraich?’ Dalzell responded.

‘So you do think there’s something unusual about the castle, then? Apart from the curse on it, I mean.’

The driver shrugged. ‘Ach, it’s centuries old and had more than its share of violence and murders over the years. It can look very haunted when the sea mist drifts in. There’s bound to be stories. I can tell you some of the latest—’

‘No,’ Ash cut in. ‘I need to be open-minded when I begin my investigation. In fact, you’ve already told me too much, but then I guess it’s my fault for asking.’

‘Ah, so
that
will be the reason you’re here. M’partner said so last night, though none of the staff will admit to it. They dinnae want their guests getting more stressed than they already are. Comraich is supposed to be a haven of tranquillity.’

‘But the man found—’

It was Dalzell’s turn to interrupt. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ash. I almost told you before, so it’s just as well we were distracted.’

‘Okay, I understand that.’
Besides
, Ash thought wryly,
you were the one who caused the distraction
. ‘Wouldn’t want to jeopardize your job.’

‘And I’m grateful t’you for that. I like my job. Now look, see, we’ve not much further to go.’ He indicated a milestone almost concealed by overlapping foliage at the side of the road.

It was Dalzell’s marker, but it meant nothing to Ash. All he saw through the windscreen was more road and more greenery.

On impulse, Ash reached inside his jacket for his tiny Samsung phone, but when he slid the top section back and pressed the ON button he was surprised to see the ‘no signal’ sign displayed on the small screen.

Dalzell glanced at the mobile, then briefly up at Ash, who obviously was puzzled by the message.

‘Y’ll nae get a reception in this area,’ he told his passenger. His attention was already back on the road.

‘No mast nearby?’ It troubled the investigator, who had wanted to contact Kate McCarrick to let her know he’d arrived safely (at this point he wouldn’t mention the near-fatal incident with the jet) and he was disappointed not to be able to talk to her.

Dalzell nodded his head without looking at Ash again. ‘It affects Comraich, too.’

‘Only landline contact?’ said Ash, perturbed.

‘Well . . .’ the driver dragged out the word, ‘y’ll find rules about that as well.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Ash was rankled. ‘You’re wearing a mobile phone attached to your sock.’

‘Aye, but it’s no use trying to contact Comraich with it. I carry it for when I’m in different parts of the country, but nae to make calls to the castle – the car has its own radio transmitter for that.’

‘I assume, then, Comraich has petitioned for a local mast?’

Dalzell merely said, ‘I dinnae think so,’ and left it at that.

Ash consoled himself with the thought that at least they must be near the castle by now.

The journey had taken time, but they’d passed little traffic along most of the winding roads and lanes they had used. Right now, there were hardly any other vehicles at all.

Dalzell began to ease off the accelerator and the Mercedes smoothly slowed down. Alert once more, Ash searched the road on both sides for an entrance or sign, and he realized that on his own, he would have missed the opening entirely. But the chauffeur turned the steering wheel to the right and it was only when they entered the small lane with hedges and trees on either side, high branches meeting overhead to create a shaded avenue, that Ash guessed they were drawing close to their destination.

Surprised by the absence of any visible indication that the pot-holed road they were on led to Comraich Castle, Ash pressed a button situated on his left armrest and the side window slid down with barely a whisper. He breathed in the cool fragrance of mixed country and sea air. The bumpy road twisted and turned, and he wondered if this was another way of deterring unwelcome visitors or sightseers; it seemed to lead nowhere. Despite the onset of the autumn chill, which brought with it the variegation of rich colours from russet to gold, there was still enough leafy green and wild foliage to screen anything beyond on either side. The Mercedes’ soft pneumatic suspension dealt easily with the dips and turns, and the breeze coming through the open window revived Ash from the languor to which he’d almost succumbed. That, and the thought that they were practically at their destination alerted his senses even more. He strained his eyes to see as far ahead as possible, expecting Comraich Castle to rise up before them round the next bend. But, for the moment anyway, he was disappointed when they came only to a set of high iron gates, and to the right, an old and neglected gatekeeper’s lodge.

‘Not far now,’ Dalzell announced cheerily to Ash, who had expected the castle to be at least within sight of the massive gates.

The chauffeur tooted the car’s horn and after a few seconds, an aged and bent man emerged from the lodge’s open door. If a man could look grizzled, then this was him. He wore baggy trousers held up by braces
and
a thick leather belt, a crinkled and tired-looking collarless shirt, together with an equally wrinkled and tired-looking waistcoat, whose faded brown corduroy matched the fading of his loose trousers. Big muddy boots and the curved smoking pipe held at the corner of his thin-lipped mouth almost completed the image of an old family retainer whose duty apparently was to guard the entrance gates and warn off any intruder or busybody as well as shoot an unsuspecting rabbit or two, maybe even a wandering pheasant, for the laird’s supper. And maybe a trespasser or poacher would also be fair game.

A thick thatch of grey-white hair met the thick grey-white mess of beard at the sides of his face as though the matted ensemble were all one piece. To show that he wasn’t all hostility, he left the twelve-bore shotgun he carried leaning against the weather-beaten frame of the lodge door, then shuffled forward to thrust his broken-veined face against the gate’s metal bars.

Ash couldn’t help but think the old gatekeeper looked exactly how you’d imagine a hoary old sentinel to a venerable Scottish castle’s estate would look like. Always suspicious, the investigator wondered if that was the point.

‘That you, Dalzell?’ the gatekeeper enquired, squinting at the Mercedes, his pipe projecting through the black, rusting bars. His eyes were rheumy, their pale blue irises lacking definition.

‘Aye, y’know ’tis, y’bent old rapscallion,’ Dalzell called out with a grin, his side window open fully so that he could lean out.

‘I was told t’expect you wi’ a passenger.’ The bearded man regarded Ash suspiciously through the windscreen, his scowl implying he hadn’t yet made up his mind if Ash were friend or foe.

‘Yes, I told you, m’self, Angus, if y’remember correctly.’

The old man’s voice was gravelly, probably from too many inhalations of strong shredded baccy. But there was nothing truly fierce about him, despite his crotchety manner. ‘I’ll trouble y’for y’pass, if it’s all the same t’ye. Y’might be a lookalike.’ He wasn’t smiling.

‘Yeah, and Brad Pitt might be my doppelgänger.’ Dalzell had already unclipped his safety belt so that he could reach into the sporran on his lap for the evidently official pass. He held it through the window and the old boy pretended to inspect it from yards away.

Quietly, Dalzell spoke to Ash. ‘The old bugger cannae see the writing nor the pic, but he likes to make a show; helps him assert his own importance but it does nae harm.’

‘Come on in,’ Angus grouched, waving arthritic fingers before producing a ring of keys chain-linked to his belt, the longest of which he inserted into the gate’s hefty-looking lock. It seemed to turn easily enough, as though it was always kept well oiled or well used. The bent gatekeeper swung one side of the gate open, then ambled over to the other one to repeat the performance.

Ash was surprised and, he had to admit to himself, a little disappointed. For all of Comraich Castle’s secrecy and the apparent influential but shadowy consortium behind it, it was remarkably easy to gain entry. Security could hardly be described as hi-tech.

As Dalzell guided the Mercedes-Benz through the gateposts, Angus leaned close to the passenger window for better scrutiny of the intruder.

His and Ash’s eyes locked for a moment as the car went by and the parapsychologist saw the weariness of many years of unappreciated servitude in the other man’s watery gaze. But there was something more lurking behind those tired old eyes and Ash shivered inside a little before chiding himself for being over-imaginative. Kate would have put it down to his highly tuned intuition, but the shiver of apprehension, Ash realized, was not because of the gatekeeper’s suspicious inspection and the shotgun lurking nearby: it was because now he was entering the grounds of Comraich Castle itself.

They drove in and the road soon became firmer, the bordering verdure and branches pruned severely to prevent any hindrance to wide or high-sided vehicles. And soon the road broadened into passing places along the way so that those same vehicles might make way for oncoming traffic or vice versa.

It would have been an agreeable pleasure for Ash, with the rich and varied autumnal colours all around and the very smell of nature itself mixed with the faint tang of salt breezes drifting in from the sea that must have been close by, had not a mounting trepidation spoilt the mood. Again, he was annoyed at himself. Certainly, it was a curious assignment – for a start, a human body stuck to the wall as if by its own blood (although in the past he’d investigated cases of equal peculiarity – some even more so) and these other alleged hauntings. Of course, he’d nearly died in a plane crash that very morning, so naturally he should not be feeling calm or at ease with himself, yet there was something more tormenting his psyche, a foreboding, a presentiment of – what? He had no idea.