The Long Dark Road

by P. R. Black

  ‘I don’t mean the night she vanished. I mean the week before it – when they held this party. Before she vanished. She was here. She knew about it, and she planned to write something about it. Didn’t she?’ Georgia ignored Trickett, directing the question at Riley.

  ‘She worked here,’ Riley said. ‘Same as Adrienne Connulty’s working here, now. She worked in the kitchens. She wasn’t on the, eh…’

  ‘The hunt. That’s what this is. Some jumped-up hunt. You’re hunting your women for the night.’

  ‘This is a tradition that’s been going on for hundreds of years,’ Brightman said, indignantly.

  ‘You could say the same about slavery, son. It doesn’t make it right.’

  Then Scott Trickett surged forward, right in her face. She smelled drink on his breath, something sweet like champagne, his beard close enough for her to reach out and pinch. ‘Listen, Baby Jane: never mind the petty judgements. You think a nice Home Counties girl like you with your medical degree isn’t a part of this world? This world shaped you, in ways you probably can’t imagine.’

  ‘Bullshit. What has this caveman crap got to do with me?’

  ‘We own you, love,’ Trickett sneered. ‘We own your health boards, we own your industries, we own your money, we buy and sell the land you live on, we control your music and your TV shows and your movies, and Christ knows what else. This is the way the world works. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change it. Get used to the idea. We’re everywhere. We’re in charge. And we’re going nowhere.’

  ‘I think Stephanie found out who was involved in this little party. I think she had some big names. I think she was going to expose you all.’ Georgia felt something that wasn’t quite courage rising in her breast, and wasn’t quite rage. She expected Trickett to strike her at any moment, but she advanced on him anyway. One of the dogs began to growl. ‘And I think she had you bang to rights. I think she used her contacts to find out about this, and she got in. I think what she saw shocked her. And I think she was going to tell people about it. She was going to expose you all. Now you tell me – is that a motive to make her disappear, Riley? What do you reckon, son?’

  ‘Don’t call me “son” again,’ Brightman said, quietly.

  ‘I’ve an idea,’ Scott Trickett said. He drew his sword, and held it up to the light. The blade was thin, but not weak-looking. It was a sabre, not a rapier. It would cut cleanly, and deeply. ‘I think we should do her in.’

  Brightman shook his head. ‘Fuck off, mate.’

  ‘No, seriously,’ Trickett said. ‘We run her down, say she attacked us. Say she was a crazy woman. I mean, she is a crazy woman. Look at her, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Just let her go,’ Brightman said.

  ‘We can’t let her do that. Think about it. She’s got to go. Let’s be honest here, Riles. We spoke about it before… This is the high we’re looking for, isn’t it? This is the buzz. Somewhere we’ve never been. It’ll be a laugh. Let’s do her in.’

  ‘You two come fucking near me, I swear to God…’ Georgia backed away, and of course she tripped and fell flat on her back.

  ‘You don’t swear to God,’ Trickett said, advancing, sabre held loosely at his side. ‘You pray to God. That’s what you’d better start doing.’

  ‘This has gone far enough,’ Brightman said. But he did not move any closer, or show any sign of helping her or obstructing his friend. ‘Enough, now.’

  ‘Executive decision,’ Trickett said. ‘For the good of the band. Now you, old sow, you’d better take to your trotters. Incidentally, just what was it you stuck in my drink that night? If you’ve got some more on you, I’d advise you to take them. All at once.’ He giggled, obscenely, his dark eyes dancing in the light.

  ‘That’s enough,’ Brightman said. He touched the handle of his own sword. ‘Let her go.’

  Georgia got to her feet, turned, and took off, ignoring the dogs encircling her.

  She almost ran full length into a tall, forbidding figure. She screamed, and fell to her knees. This new arrival towered over her, swallowing up the light.

  ‘Not sure I like this party,’ said the dark man. ‘Not my kind of thing at all, this.’

  35

  The nice boys are out there, of course. Just the other day, this blond boy held the door open for me. Sure I’ve seen him around. But I don’t get the time to chat, much.

  From the diary of Stephanie Healey

  Jed Mulrine, the gamekeeper, stood in the shadow of the trees, taking a draw of his cigarette. He was standing close enough to Georgia to reach out and grab her, but he kept his free hand by his side. He was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when he helped Georgia out of the ghyll. His face was unreadable in the gloom.

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, it’s Stig of the Dump,’ Trickett said. ‘Something we can help you with, old son?’

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ Mulrine said. He nipped his self-rolled cigarette and carefully placed it into an ancient tobacco tin, before tucking it into a pocket. Then his eyes met Georgia’s. ‘Only I was wondering if Mrs Healey here might fancy taking a walk with me?’

  ‘That would be fine,’ she croaked.

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ Trickett said, taking a step forward. ‘This bitch is trespassing, Jed. She hasn’t been invited. We ought to throw her over the fence and have done with her.’

  ‘What for?’ Mulrine asked simply.

  ‘What for?’ Here Trickett’s tone changed completely. The indie kid with the slovenly T-shirts and trainers was gone; now there was an edge to his voice, something of the sadistic gamesmaster, something far more apposite to his personality. ‘I’m not sure I like your tone, old boy. I think I’ll be taking this up with Sir Oliver.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll be taking anything up with Sir Oliver,’ Jed said, affably. ‘Especially given what I’ve seen and heard here.’

  ‘Don’t say another word, or you’ll be out of a job before the night’s out,’ Trickett said.

  ‘You’ve got no authority over me, son. Or anybody else.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Riley Brightman, ‘and I’m telling you to back off, Jed. Before something regrettable happens.’

  ‘Regrettable like what, Oliver? You’ll have to be very specific. The same way you were specific with Mrs Healey, here.’

  ‘They threatened to kill me,’ Georgia said, emboldened now that someone was in her corner. She stabbed a finger at Trickett. ‘This idiot here, mainly. But they were both talking about doing it. Actually killing me. And how they’d get away with it.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I heard what they said,’ Mulrine went on. ‘Every word of it.’

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Trickett said. He puffed his chest out, and took another step forward. The dogs encircled Mulrine, yelping, but he held his ground. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

  ‘You won’t have to,’ Mulrine said. He held out a hand to Georgia, and she took it. ‘I’ll escort Mrs Healey off the premises. And tomorrow morning – or whenever he’s out of his bed – I’ll speak to Sir Oliver about what happened here tonight.’

  ‘And what do you think’s going to happen then, Farmer Palmer?’ Brightman said, roaring over the yapping dogs. ‘You think he’s going to accept that from you?’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ Mulrine said. His hand was warm and dry, and roughly calloused. ‘I’ve known Sir Oliver longer than either of you have been alive, and I’d bet pretty heavily that he’ll listen to what I have to say about his son. And he will be very interested to hear what I say about his son’s friend. Top ten records or not.’

  ‘You got an invite for tonight?’ Brightman asked. ‘I don’t remember hearing your name mentioned.’

  ‘No, I’ve got a job to do, Oliver,’ Mulrine said, stressing Brightman’s real name with some insolence. ‘Your dad tells me to keep an eye on the perimeter. So I do. He knows I don’t care too much for this little ritual. Or the people who take part in it.’

  ‘But still trying to g
et an invite or two for your own tribe,’ Trickett sneered. ‘Feather your own nest?’

  ‘It’s not necessary, son. Now I’ve had enough of the chat. You’d best be on your way. I’ll be straight with you, here – if you want some kind of confrontation, it isn’t going to end well for you.’

  ‘I think this clown’s threatening us,’ Trickett said. He raised the sword, and for a single second Georgia was sure the heavy-set lad would charge. The horses and dogs seemed to sense something, too, the former beginning to whinny in the background. The dogs drew closer, with the English setter growling, inches away from Georgia’s hand. She fought the urge to shy away, to cringe against Jed Mulrine’s side. ‘I think we should chase him off the estate. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Not worth your while doing it,’ Mulrine continued. ‘And I’d put the shish kebab down. Or you’ll lose it, and your hand.’

  ‘You’re actually looking for it,’ Trickett said, his voice hoarse. He bounced on the spot, preparatory to charge. ‘You’ve got big balls, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Nah, not big balls. Just a bigger dog.’

  Then Mulrine hissed in the back of his throat. Something shifted in the forest behind them. Something that growled, loudly.

  The effect on the pack of dogs that slewed round them was near-supernatural. They drew back and then retreated as far as the horses, who both became agitated. Then Mulrine’s Alsatian bounded forward at frightening speed, muscles quivering along its back. Trickett drew back along with the dogs, his eyes bulging beneath his hat.

  ‘Lower the sword, I said,’ Mulrine continued, in the same nonchalant tone. ‘It’s for your own safety, son. Put it in the sheath. And do it slowly. Saoirse’s a good doggie most of the time, but when she gets some live game in her mouth, it can take her a while to drop it.’

  Trickett did what he was told, joining Riley over at the horses. After controlling the animals, they turned around.

  ‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ Brightman said. ‘If you have time tonight, I would think about writing a CV.’

  ‘Or a suicide note,’ Trickett said.

  ‘Looking forward to it, lads,’ Mulrine said, cheerfully. ‘See you then.’

  Georgia let out a long slow breath. Mulrine let go of her hand and soothed the dog, whose tongue lolled out and who allowed herself to be petted, once the horses and the other dogs had withdrawn into the trees. ‘I thought, just for a minute, there…’ she began.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Mulrine said kindly. ‘Pair of bullshitters, them two. Poor little rich boys. Think they’ve tasted the seamy side of life. Think they’re romantics. Or existentialists. Or whatever they call being an arsehole these days.’

  ‘I’ve got my doubts. The Trickett one, he was more of a ringleader.’

  ‘Bad influence. Always said it. My boy, he always got on with Riley, but not Trickett. They both got thrown out of school, but I always thought it was the chunky lad’s fault. His father was a bigger clown than he was, mind you. Something in the blood. Too much money for sense. Hope Oliver… or Riley… sees a bit of sense and splits from him. His dad’s a good man, you know. Whatever you’ve seen tonight.’

  ‘I think I have to get out of here. Can you get me over to the dry-stone wall on the west side? I’ve got some things I left there. My car’s off the estate, in one of the lay-bys. It’s a fair walk…’ She looked down at her feet, her shredded tights, the dirt and dried blood encrusted there, and quickly looked away.

  Mulrine shook his head. ‘Whatever you’ve got there, and however you got in… I’d forget about it. You’d best get out of here, now.’

  ‘Will they let us through the gates?’

  ‘Nah, gates are shut. One route in and out, with a barrier and security guards.’

  ‘Then how are we getting out?’ She had visions of Mulrine’s hut; she did not want to spend the night there. She did not want to spend another moment on the grounds of the estate.

  ‘We’ll go in my wagon.’

  ‘But the gates are shut.’

  ‘There’s another way.’

  With Saoirse by his side, he led Georgia through the woods. She did not trust the dark, and did not trust her saviour, either. Her nerves were stretched taut, and she was suddenly exhausted, totally at the end of her rope. Soon enough, they came to the end of the forest path, leaving the sounds of the hunt far away. Then Mulrine’s Land Rover appeared, hidden behind a thicket of brambles near the edge of the estate.

  ‘This goes on every year?’ she asked him. ‘The women? The dogs, the hunting?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Tradition.’

  ‘So they basically round up some girls, then what? Take them back to the castle and have their way?’

  ‘Mostly. I guess you can fill in the blanks.’

  ‘It’s appalling. How can it go on? In the twenty-first century?’

  ‘Oh, Sir Oliver knows it doesn’t fly these days, he’s not silly. He fears it getting out. But it’s important for the local community. Brings in a lot of money and investments. I wouldn’t like to put a value on the heads at that marquee tonight – or on their sons, riding the horses. Lot of deals get cut here. Lot of investment for Ferngate. That’s what they say, anyway. It’d cause Sir Oliver more trouble to stop holding it.’

  We’ll see about that, Georgia thought.

  Soon they were in the Land Rover, and Mulrine turned expertly and headed down a rutted track along a brick wall. Georgia was thrown around in the passenger seat, clinging to the edge of the door. ‘Is there an access road?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Mulrine said, tersely. He switched to full beam as the end of the wall came into view. Part of it was overgrown with what looked like wisteria or ivy, trailing long dark fingers over part of the wall. Then he stopped the vehicle and put on the handbrake. Then he got out, leaving the headlights on, fully illuminating what he was doing.

  Then Georgia saw it. And she gasped.

  And things fell into place.

  36

  I’ll tell you a bit about my mother. We aren’t alike, and I know this annoys her. She might have preferred a little clone, a dolly to keep to herself. I don’t say this in any pejorative way, of course. She loves me, and she’s intense with it, but it can sometimes seem a bit like hate. I’ve seen her with people who’ve been her patients; their diseased bits have known the rough treatment of her hands, you could say. But her manner with them is delightful. She can turn the charm on, when she wants. She’s top of the list for patients – old dears, growly working men, awkward teenagers, scared young mothers, they all want to see her before any of her colleagues, and she’s proud of that; she tells me this all the time.

  But it can hide a very keen, and sometimes cruel mind. She’s so bloody upright, which I don’t appreciate as much as I should. She is a very glamorous woman, when she puts her mind to it. My dad has travelled beyond jealousy at some of the attention she gets, and drifted into indifference. Think he’s marooned there for good, now. God spare me that fate – a dead marriage, face-down in the water.

  From the diary of Stephanie Healey

  The next day, Georgia packed to leave; though she had no fixed departure date, she imagined that when she left Ferngate, it would be sudden. She had barely slept for the remainder of that night, imagining at any moment that the door to her cramped little room would be barged open, and an unspeakable horde would burst in. Perhaps they’d even arrive in their hunting regalia; perhaps they’d bring their dogs. But no one came.

  Her phone – carefully hidden in the room, and so far as she could see, untouched – showed that she had missed several texts from Ivan Bell and Maria Case at the Ferngate Ferret. She had meant to check in with them over the course of the night, but had completely forgotten. She called Ivan.

  ‘My God – we were so worried,’ he said, voice running away with itself. ‘We were even thinking of calling the police, all these things were going in our heads…’

  ‘It’s fine. We still on to meet today?’

 
‘Did you get anything?’

  ‘I certainly did. But there’s something else – something I need from you guys. I’ll have to meet you at the Ferret.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s a great idea,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘Adrienne was on the warpath yesterday. I don’t know if she’s got spies, or she’s actually spying on us in the office, but she warned the whole office about you and told us not to speak to you.’

  ‘I’ll bet she did. No, I have to come into the office. Do you have access to the archives?’

  ‘Some of them, sure.’

  ‘Great. I’m going to bring in a pen drive, there’s something I want to look at. And some other goodies that you and Maria might be interested in.’

  *

  At the Ferret, Ivan and Maria were hunched over at a huge desktop computer, one eye fixed on the frosted glass door and the corridor outside. Georgia sat up straight, utterly relaxed.

  ‘We need to be quick, here – I’m looking for the master file that these photos came from. There’s nothing from the metadata on the pictures that points out who took them – I know what issue they come from, and that’s about it.’

  She clicked open the folder from the pen drive Adrienne had given her. The stark, black and white images had a stroboscopic effect as she scrolled to the top and made the thumbnails larger. She felt a jealous, proprietorial pang at the nude image of Stephanie – her languid gaze, the liquid darkness of her eyes, her utterly unabashed stance – but she knew it would grab the attention of Maria and Ivan.

  Georgia had no idea how instant this would be. ‘I know this,’ Maria said instantly. ‘I remember the shoot. I know what issue this was from.’

  ‘You weren’t working here at the time?’