by S M Hardy
‘He must have had a premonition, then,’ Brandon said, ‘and a good thing too – if he hadn’t, she would have inherited the lot.’
‘What? All this?’ Emma said.
Brandon nodded sagely. ‘His stocks, his shares, this estate, everything.’
It made me wonder: men had been murdered for less. ‘Could she contest it?’ I asked.
Brandon’s smile was wolfish. ‘She could try, but Oliver had me tie it up so tight she’d never see a penny, even if she took it to the highest court in the land.’
‘Brandon has tried tracing her, just to let her know about Ollie,’ Simon said.
‘It’s a waste of time, really,’ Brandon said. ‘Oliver told me the last he’d heard of Carla she’d joined some weird cult and was living in a commune in Texas.’
I was surprised, not so much that she’d debunked to a commune, but that she couldn’t be found. Simon could find anyone he wanted if he put his mind to it, I was quite sure. I didn’t get the chance to voice this opinion as we were called in for lunch.
Brandon was good company and a witty raconteur, having us all in stitches throughout the meal. Simon was enjoying himself; he had even gained a little colour to his cheeks and it was good to see.
When Brandon was leaving he drew me slightly away from the others. ‘I’m glad you and Simon have put aside your differences,’ he said. ‘I can hardly believe the change in him. You being here has worked wonders.’
‘I’m not sure why.’
He beamed at me. ‘We all need friends, Jed, and I think at the moment Simon needs you,’ and with that he went off to say his goodbyes to Emma and Simon and was on his way.
‘Did you read the file?’ Simon asked. We had adjourned to the courtyard at the back of the house outside the poolroom, to finish our drinks in the sunshine.
‘Yes,’ I said and hesitated, wondering quite how I could ask the obvious.
Emma had no such hang-ups. ‘How did you get a copy of the police report?’
Simon shifted in his chair a mite uncomfortably. ‘I have a contact,’ he said, after a pause long enough to make me think he knew what my reaction would be. I passed no comment, just gave him a long, hard stare. He grew a little flustered. ‘I had to do something, damn it. The police weren’t telling me what was going on, or even doing anything, as far as I could see. I have to know why it happened, Jed. I have to know who killed my brother.’
I took a swig of my drink. I did understand, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.
‘Will you try and contact him?’ Simon asked, a plea for help if ever I heard one and making it difficult to refuse, despite my promise to myself never to deliberately seek out the dead again.
I thought about it for a bit. If I did as he asked I couldn’t do it in the house: holding a seance in Kingsmead would open the floodgates to a whole load of trouble.
‘Can you take me to where he died?’
Simon gave a short, sharp bob of the head. I took a deep breath; this was probably a mistake, but it was what I was here for. ‘All right.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Give me half an hour to change.’
‘Us,’ Emma said. ‘Give us half an hour.’
I was about to argue, but one look at her told me I’d be wasting my breath. ‘Give us half an hour.’
‘You’ll need sturdy shoes or boots,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit of a walk.’
We agreed to meet in the courtyard. Emma and I arrived first, dressed for a five-mile hike. Fortunately, she had brought our walking gear with us on the off-chance we might go exploring across the estate. Emma likes her walks and since we married had coerced me into joining her whenever she set off on one of her jaunts. Consequently, I was the fittest I’d been for years.
We stood there, her arm through mine, looking out across the gardens and fields to the woods beyond. The sky was blue with hardly a cloud in the sky, and it was already the warmest spring we’d had for many a year. Of course, the fanatics were screaming global warming. It was probably just as well they hadn’t been about in the summer of ’76: I’d hate to think what they’d have made of the four or so months of no rain and constant sunshine.
‘It’s quite a trek to make to murder someone,’ Emma said, her hand shading her eyes as she peered into the distance. It was, and she had a point. ‘He was battered to death?’
Following her gaze, I squinted against the sun. ‘It was worse than that, Emms. After the beating he’d been stabbed multiple times and possibly with multiple, but identical, weapons.’
Her head whipped around so she was facing me. ‘You mean it could be he was killed by more than one person?’
I blew out through pursed lips. ‘The forensic pathology report was inconclusive; there were so many wounds, but it said there were a couple that could have been made by a left-handed assailant.’
‘So possibly two people? Or more?’
‘Possibly.’
Emma hung onto my arm and moved a little closer. ‘That’s horrible.’
I looked back at the forest of trees. It was a long walk to commit murder. Why not kill him in the gardens or fields? Unless they wanted his body to remain hidden, though if this was the case it hadn’t worked. The report reckoned he hadn’t been dead more than twelve hours when he’d been found.
There was a thud of boots on stone behind us and when I glanced around Simon was hurrying towards us with a tall, mousey-haired chap walking along beside him in long, easy strides. Dressed in an olive tweed jacket, beige trousers, shirt, brown boots and cheese-cutter cap I guessed he was the estate manager or gamekeeper. He was about my age and looked vaguely familiar. I supposed it was possible he’d been a stable hand when I last visited and had worked his way upwards. It was usually the way of such things in these country estates.
‘Jed, Emma, this is Donald Walters, he manages the grounds.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Cummings.’
‘It was Donald who found Oliver.’
‘How terrible, it must have been dreadful for you,’ Emma said.
The groundskeeper grimaced. ‘It was pretty grim,’ he agreed.
I glanced at Simon. ‘Are you sure you want to come? It’s a long walk.’
He hesitated long enough for me to know he was thinking the same thing.
‘I could take us in the Land Rover, Mr Pomeroy,’ Donald suggested.
‘Maybe it would be for the best,’ Simon said. ‘I haven’t been in the best of health recently.’
Donald gave a bob of the head. ‘I won’t be a tick,’ he said and headed off towards the stables and garages.
‘Do you still keep horses?’ I asked.
Simon tore his eyes away from Donald’s back. ‘Oh yes, though only three now. Ollie sold the others last year. It was a shame, but they weren’t getting ridden as much as they should and it was taking a lot of Donald’s time exercising them. If you fancy going for a trot, feel free. Donald will be happy for another chore being taken off his hands.’
‘I haven’t ridden for years,’ Emma said, her tone wistful. ‘I used to go with Reggie, but when he took sick …’
‘I was sorry to hear about Reggie,’ Simon said, but I knew he was only being polite. The last time the two of them had spoken, their final words to each other had been beyond vitriolic and I’d had to step between them. Less than two years later Simon and I had parted on similar terms, so I suppose this must say something. I pushed it from my mind – there was no point going over old scores, they would only make me angry and neither of us needed it right now.
After a few minutes, with the growl of an engine and the rumble of tyres, a battered khaki-coloured Land Rover swung into the courtyard with Donald at the wheel. He ground to a halt directly in front of us and hopped out to open the front passenger door for Simon and the back doors for Emma and me.
It was a typical working country estate vehicle. The inside smelling of diesel and straw and the back seats scuffed and sagging. We all bundled in and, as soon as we’d settled, Donald stuck his
foot down and we roared out of the yard and along a track leading past the gardens and lawn and onto the fields.
It was a bumpy ride. A couple of weeks with very little rain had turned the ground rock-solid and it was pretty unforgiving on the spine as we bounced along. Several times my head brushed the inside of the roof as we were thrown up and down and from side to side while Donald expertly manoeuvred the vehicle along the rutted and cratered track. He did have to stop a couple of times to negotiate gates, which I jumped out to open and close for him, otherwise it was full pelt ahead and only when the track entered the treeline did he slow to a more leisurely pace. I think it was then we all lost our smiles – I certainly did.
Inside the woodland the temperature plummeted and it grew dark and, to my mind, foreboding. I felt Emma shiver against me, and I wondered whether she was experiencing the same sense of unease. The back of my neck began to tingle and I was aware of a presence on the periphery of my psyche.
The Land Rover slowed and rolled to a halt. ‘We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot, I’m afraid,’ Donald said, glancing at us over his shoulder.
We all piled out of the car into the small clearing. Although the track continued on through the trees it had narrowed to a path, which was just about wide enough for us to walk two abreast. Simon and Donald went ahead, with us following behind and Emma clinging onto my arm.
We exchanged a look and she whispered, ‘I don’t like it here.’
I would have said it was because she knew something terrible had happened in this place; I knew differently – we could both feel the prevalent evil. And it was quiet, too damned quiet, the only sound being the crunch of leaf litter beneath our feet and the creak of the occasional branch above us. There was no birdsong, no sound of creatures scampering away from us through the vegetation, nothing. It was like we were in a bubble, cocooned from the outside world.
After about ten minutes, during which I found myself getting edgier and edgier, we walked into a large, circular clearing, so round it made me wonder whether it had been deliberately cleared of trees and vegetation at some time in the past. I didn’t need telling this was the place. Donald’s grim expression and the presence waiting on the edge of my consciousness conveyed the message quite eloquently – and the fluttering remnants of blue and white police crime scene tape strung out between the trees.
‘It was here,’ Donald said, pointing to a spot slap bang in the middle of the clearing.
I walked to the centre, turned full circle taking in the other narrow paths leading off in various directions and the tall pines surrounding us, then stopped and closed my eyes.
Sometimes I have to ask for the dead to speak to me. On this occasion I didn’t get the chance; he hit me like a sledgehammer. I think I gasped. I heard Emma ask if I was all right and then in my head I was running – running for my life.
My heart pounded, my chest wheezed and I could taste blood. My nose was broken and one eye was swollen shut, making it hard to see. From behind me I could hear whooping and jeering as my shoes skidded and slipped on the rain-soaked grass.
Desperation flooded through me. Then straight ahead the woodland loomed against the night sky, the trees towering, gaunt grey ghosts in the moonlight. If I could make it through and out the other side I might stand a chance.
The shouting behind me was getting ever closer as I stumbled on; slipping, sliding, falling then dragging myself to my feet. I could feel the rain against my face. I could feel the mud beneath my feet.
I staggered into the forest and behind me there was a roar of frustration. They were close, but not close enough. I thrashed through the vegetation, brambles tearing at my flesh, my clothes, my hair. Panic drove me on. My chest was on fire and my side burned with pain.
Then I was in a clearing. And I fell to my knees as the realisation hit me that they had me where they had wanted me all along. I couldn’t afford for them to find me here. I struggled to stand.
A light flared. I could hardly see through the rain and my blood and tears. Cloudy, ghostly figures closed in around me, their blurred faces obliterated by masks. Hands grabbed me, holding me tight. Fingers gripped my chin, forcing my head back as another pinched my nose. A knife rose and fell, a blast of terrible pain and I was choking. Then I was surrounded and more blades rained down on me, slashing and hacking and turning my body on fire. As I slipped to the ground a face loomed over me. Ruby-red lips smiling and laughing as she reached towards my face, fingers splayed, thumbs pointing inwards towards my eyes. Then everything blurred and turned to blood as the real agony began and I couldn’t even beg, I couldn’t even scream, I could only hope I would die and die soon. It was a blessed relief when my pounding heart finally slowed and then stuttered to a standstill, my life slipped away and everything went black, as I descended into oblivion.
‘Jed, Jed. Are you all right?’ As the mist spiralled away the voice grew louder and clearer.
‘Emma?’
‘Thank God,’ and then I was being held.
I opened my eyes and I was kneeling with both Simon and Donald crouched down in front of me, anxious expressions clouding their faces while Emma hugged me so tight I thought my ribs might break.
‘Emms,’ I managed to gasp, ‘I think you can let go of me now.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Emma wanted us to go back with Simon and Donald in the Land Rover, but I needed to clear my head – and think about what I had seen. I had never had an experience like it before and my mind was reeling with all the images and emotions whirling around inside it.
‘You go back,’ I told Simon.
‘What did you see? Did Ollie speak to you?’ he asked.
I closed my eyes for a moment. The presence was still there – it was almost like he was waiting for something, but I wasn’t sure what.
‘I need to get my thoughts in order. I’ll speak with you when we get back,’ and I gave a sideways glance at Donald. Simon took the hint. It wasn’t something we should be discussing in front of the groundskeeper. ‘You go with Donald. Emms and I will make the most of this glorious afternoon and walk back.’
He gave me a tight-lipped nod and started off along the track to the Land Rover.
‘I can come back for you a bit later if you want,’ Donald said quietly to me.
‘Thank you, but I really could do with a walk.’
With a smile, he tipped his cap to me, then Emma, and followed after Simon. We stood there watching them until they were out of sight and I relaxed a mite.
‘So?’ Emma said. ‘What happened?’
I shook my head. ‘I have no bloody idea. I’ve never had an experience like it before. In fact, I’ve never heard of anything like it happening to anyone, other than—’ I stopped, not wanting to go there.
Emma stroked my cheek with her knuckles. ‘Are you all right?’
I took her fingers in mine and kissed the back of her hand.
‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t appear convinced, but didn’t push it. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Shall we start heading back?’
‘Uh-uh − I want to take a look around here first.’
Her brow crinkled into a frown. ‘What for?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest. But Oliver was killed here for a reason. He was deliberately herded to this place.’
Her frown grew deeper. ‘Herded? By whom?’
‘I don’t know; all I can tell you is there was a pack of them.’
‘You are joking? You said there might have been more than one – but a pack?’
I grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t joke about something like this,’ I told her. ‘It was like I was seeing it through Oliver’s eyes and living it through his body. He was hunted down, like an animal.’
‘And you’ve never had anything like this happen before?’ she said, biting her lip.
‘There’s no need to worry,’ I told her.
She sniffed. ‘Of course not, why would there be? You tell me you experienced something similar to a friend of ours before h
e …’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t even want to think about it’
‘I saw a vision, Emms. Not dead people walking around like he did.’ She dipped her head. ‘Emma,’ I said and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her to me. She kept her chin down. ‘Look at me.’ She gave a little shake of her head. I put my fingers under her chin and raised her head so I could see her face. Her eyes were full of tears. This was not my rock-steady, strong Emma. ‘Hey, what are these for?’ I asked, wiping a teardrop away with the pad of my thumb.
She gave a sniff and lowered her eyes away from mine. ‘Most people aren’t lucky enough to find one good man, let alone two. I don’t want to lose you as well.’
‘You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere – at least not without you.’ She managed a weak smile, though I could tell she wasn’t convinced. ‘Let’s take a look around and see if we can find anything the police might have missed.’ She nodded and I gave her a quick peck on the cheek before letting her go. ‘You start here and I’ll start over there,’ I said, pointing across to the other side of the clearing, ‘and we can meet in the middle.’
I began to scuff the leaves away with the edge of my boot. It had been pouring with rain in my vision so the area would have been a whole mess of footprints, though if there had been a mention of this in the report I’d seen, I’d missed it. I supposed if it had continued raining like it had been for the whole twelve hours after Oliver had died it could have washed most of them away, or made it difficult to tell whether the footprints were new or old.
Beneath the leaf litter the mud was still thick and sticky in places. It was a churned mess and there was no real evidence of anything other than the ground having been trampled at some point when it had been very wet. I carried on scraping, gradually working around my side of the perimeter and towards the centre. Occasionally I would glance Emma’s way to see how she was doing. She was taking playing detective very seriously, an expression of determined concentration etched upon her lovely face. I watched her for a minute – even scrabbling amongst leaves and mud she managed to appear graceful – and for the millionth time I wondered what she saw in me.