Ash (58 page)

But it was the Irish youth’s death that caused Father Pat the most grief when he learned the full truth of what he’d done, and soon, along with that mind-wrenching sadness, came the grieving and guilt for his actions on that fine, bright day.

Thomas McMahon was arrested as he tried to slip back across the border, but although convicted for murder, McMahon never gave away the names of his fellow conspirators.

Eventually, Father Pat had had a complete mental breakdown. Guilt had led the priest to the very brink of madness, as he was faced with the evil inside his own soul. It took him on the path to Hell, then abandoned him, leaving him to find his own way back.

Why the shame should have governed his mood and his actions then, he wasn’t sure, for in the past he’d assisted the terrorist organization in all kinds of atrocities. But those killings had never involved children, especially Irish children. Thoughts of the lad’s horrendous death tormented him during sleep and in his waking hours. He even grieved now for Mountbatten, an old man of seventy-nine, out for a pleasant day’s fishing with his family. What glory was there in killing such as these?

Finally, he could endure the guilt no more, and he’d begged an audience with his archbishop, to whom he’d confessed his crimes against a foe he could no longer hate.

The archbishop naturally viewed the matter most gravely, but ordered the priest to keep quiet about his association with the terrorists. He also prescribed repentance, but alone in the privacy of his own house and not in his parish church before his faithful flock. Meanwhile, the archbishop would consult with an authority in the Vatican to determine a course of action. The priest was to maintain his silence until then.

A month later it was settled and the priest was informed of his punishment. Father O’Connor would be exiled to a secret location in Scotland. His parishioners were to be told he’d taken up a post in South America at short notice.

And so it was that Placid Pat, once known as Father Patrick O’Connor, found himself seated at the bottom of the grand, red-carpeted stairway in Comraich Castle some thirty-odd years later. It had become a routine that numbed his soul and quietly suppressed his guilt, while never quite extinguishing it.

Until recently.

Until a weird, oppressive atmosphere had begun to descend upon the castle. Or perhaps that peculiar oppression had
ascended
, risen up from the depths of Hell itself.

Earlier that day, he’d watched a complete unit of guards being assembled and briefed about the wildcats that had recently plagued the woodlands of Comraich. He’d witnessed the horrific incident with the maggots and the flies in the dining hall.

Then there was Twigg. Something bad about that man, Placid Pat could feel it in his bones.

And earlier, the ghost hunter, David Ash, dashing down the stairs to storm into the office. Then his departure, still grim-faced and his eyes burning with fury.

Yet there was someone else troubling Pat’s guilt-stricken mind – two people, in fact – who had troubled him for the past few months. He knew a lot about them, for although Pat was not much of a talker, he was a great listener. He’d witnessed the comings and goings from the perspective of his own personal purgatory in the great hallway lobby. And recently, he’d observed the castle’s complex moods worsen. It seemed to him that everyone, guests and staff alike, was becoming more frightened by the day. And he thought he knew why.

David Ash too had witnessed the faint yellow hue of the sky outside the castle, and had felt its oppression.

It might have been a mist drifting in from the sea, except there was no breeze to carry it inland. This was no sea mist, either: it was a pollution of the air itself. And somehow, it lingered inside the castle also, so that the brightest of interior colours were muted and dulled. The fabric of the curtains and upholstery glowed less vividly, as did the glorious tapestries depicting ancient battles and hunting scenes, their colours now insipid.

Ash was growing more anxious by the moment. Instinct told him that a calamitous event was building that would manifest itself a lot sooner than later. If Haelstrom were to pay no heed to his warning, then so be it, though the investigator didn’t want to be around to witness whatever occurred later. But he would not leave without Delphine, and there was one other thing he had to check out first.

He thought about his ruined equipment. Either the spirits were intent on destroying any evidence of their presence, or someone, someone
human
, did not want him to succeed in identifying what it was haunting Comraich.

His job here now seemed futile, perhaps even finished. He’d warned Haelstrom and Haelstrom had declined to act. Ash had done all he could. Now he only wished to be as far away from Comraich as he could get.

Outside, the yellow hue of the sky had deepened further. Shadows inside the castle were becoming denser and longer, the gloom steadily settling into the ancient building.

He did not want to be here when nightfall came.

He tried Delphine’s room first, knocking quietly on the door. When there was no response he knocked more urgently. Finally, he turned the knob and went in.

The room was empty.

With the fuss that had gone on, the sedated guests had all been confined to their rooms, bringing an eerie quietness to the halls and corridors. But that didn’t mean that none would require treatment. Perhaps her office would provide a clue.

Ash hurried from the room and set off down the corridor leading to the grand stairway. He shuddered as he passed the ruined lift shaft, two yellow lengths of warning tape crisscrossing the outer door to prevent anyone opening it. Passing only one armed guard, Ash took to the deep-red carpeted stairway, two steps at a time.

At the sound of his muffled footsteps, the old, white-haired guard, in his usual position at the bottom of the stairs, peered round and gave the investigator a gently suspicious look.

Ash stopped and asked him abruptly, ‘D’you know which is Dr Wyatt’s office?’

The old man watched him for a few seconds, his pale eyes seeming to search Ash’s face as if in an effort to read his mind. Finally, he raised a thick-fingered hand and pointed down the long lobby area.

‘Y’ll find it four doors down on the left, sir,’ he answered politely.

‘Thanks,’ said Ash and was off immediately, striding purposefully towards Delphine’s consulting room.

This time Ash walked straight in without knocking. He found himself in a small anteroom containing a two-seater sofa opposite an empty reception desk. Through the open door opposite he saw Delphine working at a desk. She looked up in surprise and her face lit up in a smile of welcome.

‘David,’ she said, beginning to rise from her chair.

Marching into the consulting room, Ash returned the smile with interest, kissing her hard on her lips and pushing her back into her seat.

The consulting room was decorated with easy-on-the-eye watercolour landscapes, the largest of which portrayed a brook running over smooth rocks and widening out into a pleasing stream. (
Of consciousness?
he wondered.) The walls were painted light pastel blue and a tall potted plant stood in one corner, with a vase of late flowers placed on a small coffee table.

She sighed after his lingering kiss. ‘What brings you here?’ she asked with a puzzled expression. ‘I was just finishing some paperwork, then I was going to find you.’

‘No secretary today?’ he asked.

‘All non-essential staff have been asked to stay in their quarters. With all that’s happened, many are too frightened to work anyway. Haven’t you noticed the terrible feeling of oppression that’s descended upon the castle? I suppose it could just be an emotive reaction because of all that’s happened here so recently.’

‘Happened so far, you mean.’

‘Do you think there will be more?’ Her eyes were wide and scared as she tilted her head up at him.

‘We have to leave, Delphine. After what happened to us this morning, I half expected you to be resting, or being treated in the medical unit.’

‘I wasn’t badly hurt by the wildcats. You took more punishment than me.’

She’d lifted one of his scratched and scored hands off the desk where it had rested. She tenderly kissed his fingers.

‘It’s okay. The painkillers haven’t quite lost their effect yet.’ The soothing creams and anaesthetics they’d used on his injuries, especially the slashes across his face, had in fact mostly worn off now, but he didn’t mention that to Delphine. He hoped the scars would fade in time.

‘Delphine, I’m serious about leaving. It’s darkening already and we should get out before it all starts happening again.’

‘What do you mean? The hauntings?’

He nodded. ‘I’m sure it’s going to peak tonight, and I don’t want to be around. And I don’t want you to be around, either. You have to come with me.’

Her eyes cast downwards, she said nothing for a while. Raising her head again she said, with just a hint of defiance in her voice, ‘We’ve discussed this. For one,’ she said earnestly, ‘we could never get out of the grounds. The exits are too well guarded.’

‘We’ll find a way. Most of the attention will be
inside
the castle tonight.’

‘And two,’ she continued as though she’d not heard his words. ‘I can’t leave Lewis. He—’

‘Then I’ll carry him on my bloody back,’ Ash interrupted, frustrated.

‘You don’t understand, David. Comraich is his home. What would the outside world make of him?’

For that, Ash had no immediate answer. Even if they did make it, poor Lewis would be regarded as a freak. He’d be used as a guinea pig, a phenomenon, something to test, carry out experiments on. And he could never leave wherever they kept him; he could never walk the streets, face the sun, enjoy the cities because everybody would be staring at him. At least here he could walk the grounds, the gardens, the woods.

‘I’m sure we’d find somewhere that—’

‘No, it’s impossible, David.’ Delphine had made that sound like the last word on the subject, leaving Ash dismayed and disappointed – yet he understood her refusal.

An idea came to him. ‘What if we went to Lord Edward Shawcross-Dexter, whatever his name is, directly? Pleaded with him to let us go?’

‘Lord Edgar,’ she corrected him. ‘Lord Edgar Shawcroft-Draker.’

‘He sounds like a man of influence.’

‘Oh, he is. But Lord Edgar is also very unwell.’

That gave Ash a moment of pause.

‘He’s dying,’ Delphine added.

‘God . . .’

‘Mesothelioma. It’s a very rare and incurable cancer. Sir Edgar has a massive tumour in his stomach and others in his right lung and neck.’

No wonder the man looked so grey
, Ash thought with a shock.

‘It’s the reason for the conference tonight. It’s to elect his successor as head of the Inner Court.’

Ash glanced down, gave a tiny shake of his head. When he looked up again, he said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me he was dying?’

‘Was I supposed to? It’s a confidential medical matter, and as a doctor myself, I shouldn’t have even mentioned his condition to you.’

‘I’m sorry. It really is incurable?’

‘I’m afraid so. It’s only medication that’s holding the disease at bay. Without the drugs, I think he’d be dead by now.’

‘How long d’you think he’ll last?’ Ash genuinely cared, even though he distrusted this powerful man and his clandestine organization.

‘Who can tell? It could be three months, it might be tomorrow. That’s why the conference can’t be put off.’

‘But if Shawcroft-Draker is on his last legs . . . I’m sorry . . .’ he held up a hand in defence, ‘I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but if the thought of dying has mellowed him somewhat, then he just might be receptive to our leaving. All three of us – you, me, and Lewis. He might even let us use the jet.’

‘Oh, David, for someone so pragmatic, you’re being foolishly optimistic.’

‘And
I’m
known for my pessimism,’ he said wryly but with a genuine smile. ‘Look, let’s take a chance. If we can get to see Lord Edgar, and I explain that the situation at Comraich is getting worse, he might listen. After all, that’s why I was hired in the first place. My credentials are sound.’

She shook her head despondently. ‘I don’t know. I think they overestimated what you could do in the first place. Besides, he’ll be preparing for tonight’s conference.’

‘So we know where he’ll be at present – in his suite on the fifth. D’you have any idea of who will take over? Haelstrom?’

‘I think Sir Victor would prefer to get back into the business of selling arms to foreign buyers. The Inner Court’s main clients over the years have been the Emirates and African states. He’d already earned his honorary title and efforts had to be made to ensure he didn’t lose it.’

‘Efforts by the Inner Court, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she affirmed. ‘He needed to be out of the spotlight for some time, so here he is.’

‘Naturally. I bet he hates it.’

‘I’m sure he does.’

‘So.’ He took a long breath. ‘Will you agree to my plan?’

‘Appealing to Lord Edgar? You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?’

His silence gave her the answer.

‘I thought perhaps you could stay with Lewis while I saw Shawcroft-Draker. Then, if he agrees, I’ll come and get you. If he doesn’t, I’ll come and get you anyway and we’ll make our way out without his help.’

She seemed resigned to the idea.

‘One other thing,’ he said.

Delphine closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Nothing dangerous, David, please,’ she pleaded when she opened them again.

‘Is Haelstrom’s office empty? You said most staff had been confined to quarters, and I imagine he and Derriman will be welcoming the conference delegates.’

She nodded apprehensively. ‘Sir Victor will, certainly. I don’t know about Mr Derriman.’

‘Can you get me in?’

‘Why, David?’

He told her about the memory stick Derriman had brought in, and the six numbers stamped on it.

‘I need to get into that cabinet, Delphine. Nobody will know of your involvement, I promise you.’ His smile was closed-lipped and wide, with little humour. ‘Will your key card get us into the office?’