Ash (17 page)

Ash was surprised. ‘I’m fine, although I must admit, I’m still a bit shaken by the sudden death of the medium – what was her name, Moira Glennon?’

‘Aye.’

‘But the sunlight makes a difference to Comraich.’

‘Um, Mr Ash, we’ve been sitting here between ten and fifteen minutes, y’ken?’

‘What?’ The investigator glanced down at his wristwatch. ‘That’s not possible.’

‘’Fraid so, sir. Y’were certainly engrossed in the place. I didnae like to disturb you.’
And I didnae want to describe the circumstances of her death
, Dalzell thought.
Someone else can tell him.

Ash let out a breath of mild exasperation. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Dalzell.

‘Nae need. It’s a wondrous vision at the right time of day and with the right kind of weather.’

You got that right
, thought Ash, still stunned by his first sighting of the castle. ‘Maybe you should have brought Moira Glennon along when the sun was out.’ He saw Dalzell wince.

The driver’s voice was serious. ‘What’s it to be, Mr Ash?’ he asked intently, as if there were an option.

It took Ash a second or two to register the question. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘D’you want me to drive in? Or d’you want me to take y’straight back to the airport?’

Ash had recovered his wits by then. ‘Now why in the hell would I want you to do that?’

Dalzell let out a long sigh, as though he were already having regrets.

‘Right y’are,’ he said and the Mercedes began to glide forward.

While Ash had been studying the castle, the car had been parked just under the arch leading into the broad courtyard, and he guessed that this had once been the main entrance – the gatehouse – to the whole castle area. Across the courtyard, more people were descending the steps and sauntering off in different directions, as if taking advantage of the late sunshine for a leisurely stroll. Most were casually well-dressed, and he wondered if they were castle residents or staff. He put the question to Dalzell as the driver guided the big car slowly around the courtyard to approach the broad steps side-on.

‘Both,’ came the answer, ‘although most are guests. They tend to enjoy a wee bit of exercise before lunch.’

Ash eyed two people as they drove by. The pair seemed as curious about Ash as he was of them. The man was tall, hands clasped behind the back of his navy blue blazer. He wore a bold red-striped tie over a pale blue shirt, and beneath the blazer was a pair of sharply pressed grey slacks that creased where the hem met the brown suede loafers; the woman had on a sleek, fawn, unbuttoned overcoat over a grey silk pleated skirt and blouse. Both looked to be around sixty to sixty-five years old, and Ash guessed that they were a wealthy and healthy couple, perhaps retired and perhaps married.

What they thought of him, he’d no idea, but neither one acknowledged the nod of his head in greeting. The car passed on while they stared at Ash.

‘Do they all live in Comraich?’ he asked the driver discreetly, as if they could hear him.

‘Aye, the seriously rich ones do. Our head people occupy the classier rooms and suites mostly in the upper floors of the castle. There are also modern apartments and suites built on the side of Comraich, which y’havenae been able to see yet. The barracks are a short distance from the castle.’

‘Barracks?’

‘Aye, but dinnae let that put you off. It’s just what we call the complex for guards, rangers and employees, including the intern doctors. Oh, and that includes our resident dentist.’

‘Christ,’ Ash said, almost in awe, ‘it’s a little self-contained kingdom.’

‘It’s that, all right. But the problems are inside the castle itself.’

That quickly brought the investigator back to his assignment there.

They had neared the steps to the huge, arched oak doors of Comraich Castle when a blonde, mussy-haired girl tripped down the steps arm in arm with a youth about her own age who resembled her so much that he could be no one other than her twin brother. Petra Pendine now wore a long dark loose-knit cardigan with a ruffled collar over a white sweater, the hem of the cardigan just reaching the top of the knees of her deep indigo leggings. Bulky tan Ugg boots paid mind to the air’s chilly crispness. The boy – wasn’t he called Peter? – wore a comfortable-looking rigger jacket over loose, casual jeans and similar to his sister’s, brown laceless Ugg boots. His head was covered by a striped knitted beanie and around his neck he wore a ragged, sizeable olive-and-black patterned desert scarf.

Petra’s presence surprised Ash, for he thought she would still be sleeping off the injection Delphine Wyatt had given her on the jet; he could only conclude that habitual class-A usage had made her somewhat resistant to prescription drugs. Or maybe the excitement of reuniting with her twin brother had set the adrenaline rushing once more and the crashout was yet to come.

She spied Ash in the Mercedes and elatedly pointed him out to her brother, before running forward and pressing her face to the passenger window like a juvenile fan who had just set eyes on her idol. Ash cringed in his seat and put up a hand to hide half his face, as if that would help the situation.

‘Peter, Peter,’ Petra cried, ‘come and meet him, he’s the hero that kept us calm when the plane took a dive!’

He could hardly claim that, and he slid the passenger window down a couple of inches so she could hear as he tried to explain he’d done nothing so courageous. Obviously, she’d forgotten her dire warning to him; or maybe she hadn’t even been conscious of it.

‘Oh yes you did!’ Petra cried. ‘I want you to meet my brother, please come and say hello!’

Petra yanked open the door, then grabbed at him and tried to pull him from the car. Ash realized the only thing to do was to unsnap his seatbelt before an awkward scene developed.

Reluctantly, the investigator got out and tried to extricate himself from the arms she’d thrown enthusiastically around his neck. Whatever she was on now, he thought to himself, it wasn’t lorazepam. He got a clue when her brother shoved an asthma inhaler into his nostril and pressed down the plastic lever twice. Then Petra grabbed the small blue device, blatantly spraying its white powdery contents into both nostrils. Jesus, Delphine was going to have problems with this pair.

Peter came forward – lurched forward might have been a more accurate depiction – to shake Ash’s hand. His wide smile revealed brilliantly white teeth, but there was a reserve in his perfectly blue eyes – matched in colour with his sister’s – that long ago Ash had come to recognize as suspicion or dislike.

‘It’s been nice,’ the young man said curtly as he grabbed his twin’s elbow and began to extract her from Ash.

She let go of the investigator quite easily, although she gave her brother a sulky look. But both sets of blue eyes remained coke-wide and overexcited.

‘Let’s forget about the walk: I can show you round later. I’ve got something for you in my room,’ Peter stage-whispered, and instantly Petra perked up even more.

‘What about lunch?’ she whined as an afterthought.

‘Let’s call it an appetizer,’ he responded in a softer whisper that Ash only just caught.

What the hell is going on in this place?
he wondered. Dr Wyatt’s small case of ready-filled syrettes had already provided evidence that Comraich was lenient with regard to certain drugs, and he wondered if this was part of the regime, allowing rich folk to indulge in whatever they felt they needed. It was none of his business, of course, but he intended to confront Delphine with the suggestion sometime when they were alone.

The car was parked so near the castle’s stone steps that there was no point in climbing back inside the Mercedes. Dalzell opened the rear door and brought out the investigator’s leather shoulder bag. He also donned his smart charcoal-grey chauffeur’s cap, which apparently had been out of sight behind the driver’s seat while they were travelling.

‘I’ll see y’inside, Mr Ash,’ he said with his customary grin, ‘then y’ll be looked after by the boss, I think.’

Ash fished inside his jacket to find his wallet, intending to give Dalzell a twenty-pound note.

Seeing his intention, the driver raised a hand to ward off the gratuity. ‘Not necessary, sir,’ he said, but obviously grateful for the gesture. ‘All part of the service.’

‘Just a drink on me?’

‘Nae. I enjoyed y’company.’ Something or someone caught his eye. ‘Oh, I see the big guns are already out t’greet you.’

Ash turned back to the castle steps and once more was surprised at what he saw.

A man – so big in bulk that his descent of the steps should have been cumbersome, heavy, even awkward – fairly skipped towards Ash. He barely took a breath when he seized Ash’s hand in his own, almost threatening to crush the investigator’s fingers in a grip so hard it made Ash wince.

Ash made the excuse of looping his travel bag over a shoulder, the strap across his chest, before his hand was crushed permanently.

‘Good to see you, Mr Ash. Excellent to see you.’ Before Ash could reply, the big man, who was three inches taller than him, was introducing himself.

‘I’m Sir Victor Haelstrom, as you may have assumed, and the CEO of Comraich Castle.’

‘I expected nothing less than a laird,’ Ash returned with a smile. ‘Does that mean you’re also the Chief Executive Officer of the Inner Court?’

Haelstrom looked at him curiously. ‘What do you know about the Inner Court?’

Ash was unfazed by the other man’s sudden sharpness of tone. ‘Well, I understand the IC owns Comraich.’

‘The castle is owned by a consortium of Inner Court members, yes. But it’s run independently, like any other sanitarium or health spa, and I’m the man who runs it, no more than that. Does that satisfy your concern?’

Ash shrugged non-committally. ‘Guess so,’ he answered.

The big man’s robust manner returned immediately, a character trait Ash was to become familiar with.

‘Did you enjoy your journey here? I’m meaning the drive from Prestwick, not your uncomfortable few moments in the air. We were shocked when we heard of the Gulfstream’s technical problem, and I do hope your nerves are at least a little more settled. It’s a lovely drive; very calming. Did you have the chance of tasting a glass or two of Scotland’s famous whiskies on the way?’

‘Uh, no,’ Ash told him. ‘I wasn’t in the mood for a drink, believe it or not.’

Haelstrom eyed him for a second or two, and Ash had no idea what he was thinking. But he saw the big man quickly shift his attention past Ash’s left shoulder to the driver. Haelstrom flashed a brief glare of annoyance before his eyes came back to the new arrival.

‘Perhaps we can persuade you to sup one of our single malts later. I can assure you our cabinets are well stocked at all times and for all occasions.’

Ash felt churlish for declining, but his mind was already on other things.

The CEO of Comraich was an extraordinary figure, of a kind Ash had certainly not expected. At first, when Haelstrom had appeared descending the steps from the main door, Ash had assumed his vast physique was mainly flab, but he soon realized he was wrong. When the big man stood before him, pumping Ash’s hand with such vigour that the investigator almost grimaced, it had given him a moment for a reappraisal. As far as he could tell, there was hardly an ounce of spare flesh on the man.

His title was also curious, for the investigator detected the trace of an accent in his speech that definitely was not of Scottish origin: Norwegian, Germanic, Dutch – it was too slight to tell. So how could he be a knight? Born in the UK, spent years of his youth in another country, returned to Britain and earned himself a gong? Or was it an honorary title – quite common nowadays. Besides, in truth, the accent was barely noticeable; the investigator only caught a brief inflection in certain words.

But what really fascinated Ash was Haelstrom’s head.

It was
huge
, the cheeks like two sides of pink ham. And so immense was that head, his reddish hair sprang only from the top, a small copse on a hill of stretched skin and stubble. With no hair on either side, both ears seemed isolated and the tops were curled over, much like an old palooka’s, one who’d taken too many punches and lost too many fights. Yet, tall and as thick-bodied though Haelstrom might be, an early career as a pugilist seemed improbable.

Ash found Sir Victor’s facial features even more astonishing.

It was as if his thick eyebrows, tiny, inset eyes, and short hooked nose, all above a narrow thick-lipped mouth, were drawn tightly into the centre of an excess of skin, the neck almost a part of the head itself, with no defining chin but for a vague stubbled projection. Haelstrom’s expression looked as if it hurt him to smile.

The big man suddenly leaned forward and Ash felt his own head draw back a little. If he expected a change of mood, he was wrong, for Haelstrom spoke enthusiastically. ‘I managed to read your book, Mr Ash. Interesting, yes, very interesting. Although I was left with the impression at the end that you personally do not believe in ghosts as such, despite your own experiences.’

‘Well, the book was written a long time ago, and since then several things have happened to change my mind.’

‘I see.’ That great head bowed forward again, as though proximity might encourage openness. ‘Then tell me why you’ve written nothing more on the phenomena.’

‘Oh, I have. But usually for specialist journals and organizations involved in the paranormal and the supernatural.’

‘Like your own – the Psychical Research Institute?’

‘Right.’

‘Yet no doubt you could find writing books on the subject very lucrative. Such accounts are very popular with the public, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Would you believe I’m not interested in making a lot of money? I do okay with the work I do for the Institute.’

‘Yes. Yes, I can honestly believe that. I think you’re a very dedicated person and the reports I’ve had on you seem to bear that out.’

‘You’ve had
me
investigated?’

Haelstrom gave a short laugh. ‘But as a reference point, no more than that.’

Ash shrugged. ‘That’s reasonable.’