Ash (23 page)

‘It’s also used to kill rats, isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘That’s right,’ Delphine went on, ‘but here we use a new drug called Pradaxa. Its advantages over warfarin are too many for me to go into now, but believe me, they are many. Yet, until recently Pradaxa was considered too expensive by the NHS.’

‘Same old story,’ Ash concluded.

‘Same old story,’ Delphine agreed. ‘Of course, that problem doesn’t exist at Comraich, thanks to the funds we have at our disposal.’

‘Okay, okay,’ he protested lightly. ‘It’s interesting – I had no idea such medical procedures and curatives were available here. But, well, you know, it’s been a long day so far.’

‘I’m with you there. There’s so much more I could tell you, things that might surprise even a cynic like you.’

‘You think I’m cynical?’ Now that did surprise Ash: they’d known each other less than a day.

‘I think you’re . . . complex.’

He averted his gaze, looking sideways through the window. From their secluded spot in the dining room he could see a faint grey land mass that might have been an island across the sun-sparkled sea. Delphine’s perspective on him had made him feel uncomfortable.

He turned back to her. ‘You’ve got me wrong: I’m a simple man.’

She laughed again, a lovely sound without a hint of derision. And this time, his own grin was less tight.

‘I would guess you’re determined, David,’ she told him, ‘yet I know there’s a tender side to you because you demonstrated that on the plane this morning. And there’s your interest in the supernatural, not as a game, not as something to wonder at, but as a feasible subject for exploration or even denunciation. I sense you’re reluctant to dismiss the idea of life after death just as much as you hope to discount the notion. I think it’s something that lies in your past, David. I can’t help but wonder if there is some guilt involved.’

‘Delphine,’ he said softly but firmly, ‘I’m not here to be psychoanalysed. I’ve a job to do and even before I’ve started I know there’s something wrong and something vile here at Comraich Castle. I believe you feel the same. My past, my background, doesn’t come into it.’

‘Not yet,’ she said, staring intently at him.

He stiffened in his chair, then pushed back his empty plate so that he could lean his elbows on the table. He rested his chin on his knuckles.

Though he was silent for a while, his body language was speaking volumes: the raised arms protecting his exposed chest and upper stomach, the hands with interwoven fingers supporting his chin, and the grim stone-like expression of his face. David had erected his own mental barrier with a tell-tale physical posture; one that a psychologist such as Delphine Wyatt could see through instantly.

Ash raised his head as Sir Victor Haelstrom approached them through the now mostly empty tables, his strangely large head with pinched features fixed on the investigator. With him were his three dining companions.

Haelstrom was breathing heavily from the exertion, no doubt after consuming a substantial lunch, as he reached the table where the investigator and the psychologist sat. He glowered down at them both as the white-garbed, red-haired nurse, the hefty-looking guy and the gaunt Derriman caught up with him.

‘I take it you enjoyed your lunch, Ash?’ Haelstrom said as he slowly regained his breath.

Well, well, no ‘Mr’ this time
, Ash thought, guessing he was now just another employee. Well, he hadn’t journeyed to Scotland to make friends.

‘Yes, Sir Victor,’ replied Ash with the sort of smile he kept only for those he instantly disliked. It was just a wide, upturned movement of his closed mouth accompanied by deadpan eyes. ‘The steak was delicious. I thought I’d skip dessert, but have one of your fine Armagnacs.’

‘I thought you had a lot to do this afternoon,’ Haelstrom grumbled. ‘And Dr Wyatt, haven’t you got patients to see?’

The charm hadn’t lasted long, then
, thought Ash without animosity. Whatever his own feelings, Sir Victor Haelstrom was a client – a ‘client’ in the proper sense of the word – as Kate always liked to warn him whenever he came up against an awkward customer.

Delphine looked startled, like Bambi frozen in the powerful headlights of a speeding car.

‘Dr Wyatt was informing me of just some of the medical procedures and client care here at Comraich Castle,’ he said for her sake as he looked up at Haelstrom from his comfortable chair. ‘Fantastic,’ he added, nodding his head as if reflecting on the hospital unit’s achievements.

‘Yes, well, that’s all to the good, but you’re not here to admire the castle’s medical expertise.’

‘Nor its grandeur, I agree.’ The investigator had allowed a pleasant smile to temper the situation. ‘I think I’ll try one of your splendid coffees, and then get down to some serious work. Only kidding about the Armagnac.’

Haelstrom swivelled his odd, large head, looking for a waitress. Chloe was clearing a nearby table.

‘Waitress!’ He barked. ‘Coffee for Mr Ash here, and Dr Wyatt . . . ?’

Delphine nodded almost guiltily.

‘Two coffees,’ the big man ordered. Then, back to Ash, ‘I hope you’re not going to waste time on a cigar, too?’

‘I gave up today. Although one of Dr Pritchard’s fine Cubans is tempting.’ He added playfully, ‘Cohiba, I think they were called.’

Four sets of cold eyes glared down at him as if their owners were all aware the investigator was toying with Haelstrom. But to Ash, the red-haired nurse glared hardest of all, and he wondered why. Why she seemed so hostile.

‘Your plan is to get an overall view of the castle to begin with, I believe you told me,’ Haelstrom almost growled.

‘That’s right. I think that’ll take most of what’s left of the afternoon, but I may get the chance to lay out some detection equipment.’ He paused. ‘You and I, Sir Victor, will have to agree on what areas can be kept out of bounds for everyone at that stage.’

‘Hm.’ It was a gruff noise, indicating nothing in particular. Then Haelstrom waved generally at the group who had followed him across the dining room.

‘You met Derriman earlier and I think he should accompany you through the building,’ Haelstrom all but ordered, then added by way of introduction, ‘This is Comraich’s Senior Nurse, Rachael Krantz, who insists on the seventeenth-century spelling of her Christian name – Rach
a
el.’ He’d emphasized the second
a
as if it offended him as a trivial pretension.

Without bothering to stand, Ash gave the white-clad nurse a casual but nevertheless courteous bow of his head. As she turned away from watching Delphine, her hazel eyes took on another, entirely different gaze. It was subtle, if hardness could be so termed, and its hostility might have intimidated a meeker person than David Ash.

In a way, she reminded him of the head nurse in
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
, whose odious Nurse Ratched (great name, he mused) ruled the asylum wards with cruel zealousness. But with her fine features and lush darkish red hair beneath the small nurse’s cap Krantz would be a good choice for the movie remake just on presence alone. There was a stern beauty about her and her body had attractive, sturdy curves that were not diminished by her uniform.

She made him feel uneasy, and it wasn’t because of the wintry look she gave him. No, it was the way her and Delphine’s eyes had connected a moment or two ago. He stopped his imagination there, unwilling to go further. Unfortunately he couldn’t as easily ignore the barely disguised animosity Krantz held for him at that moment, her attention drawn from Delphine.

‘And this is Senior Security Officer Kevin Babbage,’ Haelstrom’s voice boomed across the table now that the restaurant was virtually empty. ‘I doubt you’ve come across him yet; he likes to work in the shadows.’

The stocky man moved around the table towards Ash, offering him his thick-fingered hand. His grip was a little stronger than necessary as Ash half rose to extend his own hand. Their eyes met squarely and neither man blinked. Or smiled.

‘We may have to work together at times,’ Ash told him, relieved to be distracted from Delphine and Krantz.

‘Anything I can do, please ask,’ was the welcome, if cold, response. ‘I’m anxious to deal with this problem. Hope you’re not gonna let us down.’

‘I’ll try not to.’ Ash detected an accent from the States.

‘It’s been going on too long and it’s getting worse.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

‘Yeah, well, we gotta do something about it. Guests are getting spooked.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘They don’t even know the half of it.’

Like what happened to the big-deal financier Douglas Hoyle, for instance
? Ash thought to himself.
And as chief of security at Comraich Castle
,
surely Babbage should have brought in the police
.

‘Any clues?’ Babbage asked unexpectedly.

‘Clues?’

‘Stupid question – you just got here. I just kinda wondered if you’ve, uh, you know, picked up any vibes from the place?’

‘Oh, I’m getting plenty of vibes.’

They all looked alarmed.

‘Already?’ said Haelstrom, his frown more like a scowl because of his oddly compressed features.

‘Well, it’s more of an uneasy feeling deep down. You get to sense things if you’ve been in the job as long as I have. You get it particularly in older buildings such as Comraich, mainly because they have long histories, and often terrible and violent things have taken place within their walls. If you can imagine that the very fabric of the structure – the stonework, the wooden beams, any of the original materials used – acts like a sort of tape-recorder, or camera: from time to time, someone or something triggers the release of the recording. It could be a centuries-old murder, or, more often, just a routine activity such as a person, a servant, maybe, habitually using a certain staircase or corridor which has become imprinted on the building itself.’

He paused to look at each face in turn: Haelstrom still wore his scowl, Babbage looked at Ash as if he were a lunatic, Derriman just appeared frightened, and Senior Nurse Krantz regarded him with undisguised distaste. For relief, he peered round at Delphine, whose expression was at least one of encouragement.

‘Not only that,’ Ash continued quizzically, ‘your clients – or guests – seem unnaturally subdued, yet remain, uh, apprehensive. I’m informed by Dr Pritchard they’re kept lightly sedated anyway, but still a peculiar feeling of disquiet seems to be getting through to them. And your staff are kind of jittery too. Our waitress, for example.’

‘Chloe? She’s very young and highly strung, as well as being mindful of your occupation. As are all of our staff by now. Word of your arrival was bound to circulate among our employees and then, because of silly rumours that spread, to our guests also. But what’s your point, Ash?’

‘No point, really. Just trying to get the full picture.’

‘Then you will get that this evening, after you’ve finished your initial reconnoitre. Babbage here will accompany you part way, and Derriman will be your guide to every nook and cranny of the castle. I’ll expect you in my office – no, make that in my quarters upstairs – at six thirty, when you can make your first report and advise me on what you expect to be done about the situation.’

With that, Haelstrom turned and headed towards the restaurant’s double doors. Senior Nurse Krantz followed in his wake, but not before she’d given Delphine a lingering look, and then cast another spiteful glare at Ash.

What was it between Krantz and Delphine? Professional rivalry? The nurse’s contempt for psychologists in general?

He shrugged it off and pointed at the two empty chairs at his table. ‘Why not join us for coffee,’ he invited Derriman and Babbage, ‘and we can discuss the places I should investigate first.’

Babbage declined. ‘I’ll be in my office, so you can pick me up when you’re done here. Mr Derriman will bring you to me.’

‘Fine,’ agreed Ash.

Babbage half turned, but thought of something more to say. ‘Where d’you intend to begin your tour?’ The question seemed of particular interest to the security chief.

‘Hm. I hope to visit every part of Comraich,’ Ash told him. ‘But first, I’d like to see Douglas Hoyle, even if he’s still in shock.’

He couldn’t help but notice how pale Derriman became. For a moment, he thought the man might faint. ‘Something I’ve missed here?’ he asked.

It was Babbage who answered him. ‘Mr Hoyle passed away this morning,’ he said flatly. ‘Probably around the same time your plane was making its descent into Prestwick.’

PART THREE: THE HAUNTINGS

It wasn’t a pleasant sight, but it pleased Cedric Twigg as he looked down on Nelson’s shredded body.

The late apprentice’s once-sharp blue suit was nothing but tattered rags and one of his expensive shoes was missing, as were the toes on the exposed sockless foot.

Twigg bent over the lacerated corpse, his stiffened face set in a satanic grin, aware that his stoop and the malign expression were as much symptoms of his own disease as of his delectation. He’d tried to chase Nelson from the cottage but his worsening illness had meant he could only shuffle after his prey rather than catch him and cleave the younger man’s head with the axe he used for chopping wood. The symptoms were growing increasingly noticeable – the flight from London had been gruelling.

Drool seeped from his open grin to drop from his chin like a slow-leaking tap – more evidence of his deterioration which he accepted now but still railed against. The specialist he’d visited in London had assured him that drugs such as Pergolide would slow his decline, but the physician hadn’t offered any hope of a cure, which was why Twigg was in a hurry to finalize things himself, rather than allow the Inner Court to engineer his end for him.

He knew assassins like himself rarely lived out their retirement till its natural end; he knew his masters always made other ‘arrangements’ for those who were no longer of any practical use for them. He had played the Grim Reaper himself for more than one aged or debilitated assassin.

So why had he let himself fall into the same situation? Because he’d made other plans. Not for him to grow old and lose the keenness of eye and sharpness of wit required for the job; no, when the time was right, he would simply disappear and collect the money he’d salted away in many different countries and islands, banks all over the world, and find the utopia of his own choosing, not one the IC had always falsely promised him.