Loch of the Dead

by Loch of the Dead (retail) (epub)

  McGray wanted to grab him by his soiled shirt, lift him and shake him until the old man told him what he wanted to hear. He rubbed his stubble until his skin went red. ‘Is it because the cure only works on this island? Would she need to live here, just like ye?’

  The despair in his voice was evident.

  ‘Listen to my words. Even if you tried, even if you brought her here and fed her the waters and made her live as miserably as I do, it would not work for her.’

  ‘I think yer lying. Ye must be lying!’

  ‘He’s telling the truth.’ Lazarus intervened. ‘We’ve seen many others come here and try the waters, even a few so- called witches. So far the waters have worked only for my father. I swear on my life.’ Lazarus bent to whisper in McGray’s ear. ‘It might result from the nature of his . . . curse.’

  ‘They might still work on my sister.’ Even McGray was aware of the obstinacy in his voice. There was no reply, but all the faces were grim. McGray looked at Miss Fletcher, suddenly feeling a rush of blood to his head. ‘Did ye ken this? Had they told ye this, and ye brought me here with lies, just to get a bloody bodyguard for yer son?’

  Miss Fletcher went white. ‘N-no, sir. I had no idea –’

  ‘Och, shut up! think youse all are a bunch o’ bloody liars!’ He looked at Lazarus with anger. ‘Maybe even murderers.’ McGray jumped to his feet, nearly bumping his head against the ceiling and startling everyone. ‘Baths in bull’s blood. Does that mean anything to youse?’

  ‘We do not do that,’ said Lazarus through gritted teeth.

  ‘Nae? Cause ye use human blood instead? Is that why ye killed the constable?’

  Mr Nellys, the very person they had all feared might go berserk, was the one who raised an appeasing hand. ‘Calm down, calm down, young man. What are you talking about?’

  Miss Fletcher explained all that had happened, and Mr Nellys, to McGray’s astonishment, smiled. ‘So that useless ball of slime is finally dead.’ He exchanged a meaningful look with Miss Fletcher, and then his eyes went back to McGray. ‘So that’s what you’re implying? That I bathed in his blood?’

  McGray looked at Mr Nellys’s limbs, bony and stiff. It was clear he could not have conducted the murder himself, but he might still be the brains behind it all. ‘Aye, precisely that. And yer son supplied it.’

  The old man’s stare became dark, his eyes as piercing as an eagle’s. ‘Do you really believe that? Or are you lashing out at me because you don’t like the answer I gave you? Don’t let your own troubles disgrace my family.’

  ‘My own –’

  ‘Tell me . . . you and your sister, did you two have happy times?’

  McGray clenched his fists, felt the fire in his chest and stomach, and finally forced himself to breathe deeply.

  He thought of the lazy summer evenings at their farmhouse, the Christmas Eves around the fire, the mornings teaching his sister how to ride and how she had refused to learn side-saddle, how Pansy had been the only person able to make their grumpy father smile –

  His voice quivered. ‘Aye. Many.’

  Mr Nellys spoke warmly. ‘Embrace them. Think of them fondly . . . And then move on.’

  McGray looked away, wanting to punch the walls until his knuckles bled. He could not move on. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  Mr Nellys shook his head, looking down. ‘I’m sorry you had to come all this way to hear that.’

  ‘Fuckyerself!’

  His roar made everyone jump. McGray turned to face the wall and covered his eyes.

  It had all been useless. As ever.

  He felt the vial in his pocket. He would still try it. He would ask Dr Clouston to send it to the Orkneys so that Pansy could drink it. There was nothing to lose. McGray once again forced a deep, calming breath.

  ‘I might come later, see if ye change yer mind and tell me the truth. In the meantime I need to take yer son to the Kolomans’ manor.’

  Mr Nellys opened his eyes wide. ‘You can’t take him there. Those people hate us. That damn Konrad in particular

  ‘A shame,’ McGray snapped, too drained to argue, and he pushed Lazarus to the door. ‘Move, ye sod.’

  Mr Nellys again raised a hand, rather hesitantly. ‘There is one thing . . .’ Then he covered his mouth, as if regretting his words, but it was too late. ‘There is one thing . . . I do need to tell you.’

  McGray looked at the old man. Those pale eyes were full of concern.

  ‘Go on.’

  Mr Nellys looked at his son. ‘Lazarus, go out, go out.’

  McGray nodded at Miss Fletcher and she took Lazarus away. Before she closed the door McGray whispered to her: ‘If I come out ‘n’ see that ye’ve slipped away with him –’

  She pulled away. ‘Oh, who do you think I am?’ And she nearly smashed the door as she slammed it closed. Suddenly, with the irregular stones and the trembling shadows projected by the fire, the hut looked like the entrance to the underworld.

  Mr Nellys waved his hand, asking McGray to lean closer. So he did, just as the man’s breathing became more and more agitated.

  ‘What is it?’ McGray asked.

  Mr Nellys could not look at him. He watched the fire, his veined eyes glinting. ‘The bats . . .’ he hissed from his stomach, as if the words refused to be spoken. ‘It’s . . . it’s the bats.’

  ‘What about them?’

  McGray was still expecting the man would reveal something about the secret cure. It would not be so. It would be something horrifying.

  Mr Nellys gulped. ‘They come at night . . . They . . . they come at night sometimes, and . . .’

  He could not go on. McGray had to place a hand on the bony shoulder. ‘Tell me. It’s all right.’

  After a pause that felt endless, Mr Nellys spoke.

  ‘They bite me. They come here. They bite me . . . and they drink my blood.’

  23

  Calcraft sank his teeth into the meat and devoured it with an eagerness that made my stomach churn. A trickle of light from the cellar’s window cast banded shadows on his face, which made me think I’d been transported to a mucky jail.

  The man’s story had corroborated Dominik’s point by point, and Calcraft had a prodigious memory; he recalled exactly which bottles they’d taken, which shelves they’d checked, the precise spot in the pantry where they’d placed the barrel with the Sicilian lemons – all of which, without witnesses, was hardly conclusive: they could easily have staged their tracks in advance.

  ‘How long have you worked for the family?’

  ‘Twenty years. More.’

  ‘I have been told Mrs Koloman is not too happy with you.’ He simply shrugged, which set my teeth on edge. ‘A shrug is not an answer.’

  ‘Perhaps, but she’s not my mistress so I don’t really care. I work for Master Dominik.’

  ‘I hear you might have made inappropriate comments regarding Miss Fletcher’s . . . troubles.’

  ‘I might have. But so did everyone round here. Just go to the pub in Kinlochewe and you’ll see.’

  ‘What did you say that made Mrs Koloman so angry?’

  Again he shrugged, but this time he added some words. ‘Can’t really remember. That was years ago.’

  I blew out my cheeks in frustration. The man was set to volunteer nothing. He. seemed to be what my florid father calls a war dog – a man with no goals or aspirations of his own but loyal to his master beyond any doubt or question.

  ‘Very well, that is all for now. Tamlyn, take that tray away.’

  The girl, who had stood in silence, her back against the wall, did so.

  ‘You won’t let me out yet?’ Calcraft asked. That was his first proactive sentence.

  ‘No,’ I said plainly.

  ‘I have to use the privy.’

  I was tempted to ignore him and leave, but then thought again. I had enough problems as it was.

  I had a quick look out of the window. The day was still overcast and foggy, the islands barely visible from where I stood. I wonder
ed what McGray might have found over there.

  I breathed out, thinking I’d better focus on my side of the loch. I felt caged in that manor, completely cut off from the world and surrounded by a handful of people who resented or mistrusted me – and with a lot of pressing work ahead of me. I needed to look at Veronika again (the maid’s statement was quite disturbing), examine the corpse in more detail and also inspect the woods. After a quick think I decided to begin with the latter; McEwan’s body was safely locked in the cellar and any marks Veronika might have would not disappear in an hour or two. The surroundings, on the other hand, could easily be tampered with.

  Boyde offered to fetch my overcoat when he saw me walk to the back door, and also to come with me, which I declined. I did not need another Koloman war dog looking over my shoulder.

  I first went west, to the small bay where Dominik and Calcraft had allegedly got drunk. It was indeed a stunning landscape, with a dramatic view of the islands and the imposing Mount Slioch. Everything around me looked wild, ancient and undisturbed by the hungers of industrialization.

  I took a deep breath and enjoyed the peaceful silence for a moment. After all the noise my head had endured for the past couple of days, those few minutes were like a heavenly balm. Dominik at least knew the best of his lands; if I wanted to have a quiet drink with a cigar, I thought, this would definitely be the spot I’d choose. A small stream discharged its waters into the lake, its soft trickle adding to the relaxing quality of the place, which marked the edge of the Kolomans’ property.

  I kicked at the damp grass and very soon found the exact items listed by the two men: two bottles of wine (a Bordeaux and a Moravian red, as specified by Calcraft), the leftovers of a loaf of bread and the ends of a couple of cigarettes (rolled from Deuteronomy and an unidentified psalm). There were marks on the mud as well: of feet walking round and round the same small area.

  That place told me nothing new, nor did it erase any of my existing suspicions, so I did not linger there for long.

  I took a different route to the east, following the shore as closely as the terrain allowed. I passed woods and then the northern side of the manor. There was a smooth lawn between the back gardens and the shoreline, and a small pier. I saw no boats there, so perhaps the Kolomans only used it for visitors, or to receive supplies from the two nearby villages.

  I recognized the clay footpath I’d seen from the drawing- room window, the path taken last night by Miss Fletcher and the sisters. I walked to the edge of the woods, where Uncle and I had seen them disappear, but before entering the dense forest I looked back at the house.

  The windows of the Shadows Room and the main drawing room were perfectly black rectangles, the heavy curtains shut behind them. On the upper level I counted the windows, spotted my own chamber, McGray’s, Benjamin’s and those of the family. On the top level, behind the dormer window of the astronomical observatory, I saw a whitish figure. As soon as my eyes fell on it the shape disappeared. I could not tell who it had been – a servant, perhaps? – or whether they’d been spying on me.

  I shook my head, thinking I did not need more puzzles, and made my way to the small clearing where we’d found McEwan.

  I’d not walked more than a few yards when I heard a rustle of clothes, and then a soft, childish voice humming an eerie song. I must have been very tense, for it startled me. The noises, I realized, came from the very direction I was heading.

  I rushed forward, and upon passing a thick cluster of trees I found Ellie, the scullery maid. The young girl was on her knees, scrutinizing the ground, her nose mere inches from the dead needles.

  My voice came out as a roar. ‘What do you think you are doing?’

  The girl let out a squeal and jumped to her feet, blushing like a cherry.

  I looked at the ground. She had disturbed all the earth and fallen foliage around. It would be useless to look for marks or footprints now.

  ‘Answer me!’

  My shout made her jump, and only after a long pause did the girl stammer, ‘L-looking for cones, sir. They’re good for kindling.’

  I looked at her empty hands and then at the mat of needles, peppered with countless pine cones. ‘You have very little hands, young lady. How did you intend to take them away?’

  Ellie was dumbstruck.

  ‘Who sent you here?’ I asked. ‘Was it Mr or Mrs Koloman?’ She didn’t reply. ‘Was it Master Dominik?’ The young girl began to cry and I lost my temper. ‘Good Lord, go back to the manor right now!’ She darted away before I’d uttered half the sentence. ‘And tell your masters Inspector Frey says nobody is to tamper with these grounds!’

  I tried to calm myself as I watched her run. I’d have some very harsh words with the Kolomans.

  24

  ‘Would you mind looking at me while we talk?’

  Mr Koloman was having his beard groomed. Boyde had trimmed it neatly, and had just wrapped his master’s face with a hot towel. For a moment I envied Konrad’s bliss, sitting on his bedroom’s balcony with a tumbler of gin in one hand, basking in the towel’s warmth and scent.

  It was a while before he replied. ‘Mr Frey’ – so I was not an inspector for him any more – ‘I know enough about the law. You and your colleague have no right to carry out these investigations here. I am in no way obliged to answer to you.’

  ‘Mr Koloman –’

  ‘Having said that . . .’ He waved a hand to have the towel removed, and again he did not continue until Boyde had thoroughly groomed him. I tapped my foot on the floor throughout. ‘Having said that, I am a gentleman, and when the inquest takes place I do not want you to claim I obstructed your work.’ He rose, buttoned up his shirt and patted his upper cheeks, now shaven to perfect smoothness, the beard underneath flawless. ‘I can assure you I did not send that girl to tamper with your precious evidence.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  Mr Koloman evaluated himself in the mirror. ‘Boyde, the white tie.’ He looked at my reflection. ‘Have you not asked the girl yourself?’

  ‘I tried. Out there and just now in the kitchen. She is scared out of her wits. All she says is that nobody asked her to go for the pine cones, that it is part of her duties.’

  And do you believe she lies?’

  ‘Indeed. I have described the scene to you. Her intention was clear.’

  Konrad took his time to knot his tie and I pictured myself setting his Austrian-styled moustache on fire.

  ‘Mr Koloman –’

  ‘I will see what I can find out for you. But it will not be a priority.’

  ‘Very well. Freeing your son will not be mine either.’

  And I stormed out of the room, still half convinced I’d just talked to the very person who had sent the girl out. What they’d intended to tamper with or conceal, I could not tell.

  For the first time that day, as I walked to the main staircase, I heard noises in the manor. Someone was playing the piano, the echoes travelling along the corridor as if the house had been designed for that purpose.

  I walked down the steps, suddenly mesmerized by the music. It was the saddest, most melancholic melody, very low chords supporting a sweet, mellow theme, like the trickle of a fountain.

  It came from the main drawing room, and when I opened the door I heard the notes in all their richness. The piano’s lid was open, and through that gap I saw the troubled face of Natalja. The girl was so focused on her music she did not notice my arrival, and I approached slowly, my steps muffled on the Persian rugs.

  The curtains were all open, but the grey landscape, dull and blurry, was a perfect complement to the tune.

  As I walked around the piano I noticed the lid had concealed a second person, seated on the stool, right next to her.

  It was Benjamin.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I blurted out. Natalja’s fingers froze and Benjamin stammered helplessly.

  ‘It’s my fault, Mr Frey,’ Natalja said, standing up and squeezing her cousin’s shoulder. ‘I was very lonely
. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to. I knocked at his door

  Benjamin rose too. ‘I’ll go now, Nat. We can chat later.’

  He barely met my eyes and almost trotted away. I was about to follow but Natalja snapped at me.

  ‘He can look after himself, you know. Nobody in this house wants to harm him.’

  I sneered. ‘There is a death threat against your cousin, miss. And a man was slaughtered in your family’s grounds. Does that mean nothing to you?’

  She threw me a murderous stare, her eyes growing misty, and she sat back down so abruptly the stool nearly tipped backward.

  I put a hand to my brow, realizing I’d been a little too harsh. This girl too was going through quite an ordeal – she had seen a slain man last night, her sister was mysteriously ill and her brother was suspected of murder. Not to mention that, isolated as we were, nobody had any place to run.

  ‘I do apologize, miss. I am only doing my job. All I want –’

  ‘All you want is our safety and all that,’ she spluttered, fighting back tears. I felt an annoying wave of compassion and brought myself closer. I was about to pat her back but that would have been most improper, so I simply sat on the stool. Too late I realized the seat was barely wide enough for the two of us – Benjamin was very skinny. So close to me, Natalja seemed very small.

  I desperately searched for something to say. The first thing I saw was the empty music rack. ‘I see you play from memory.’

  ‘I was improvising. Benjamin seemed quite entertained.’

  Improvising? That sounded . . . wonderful.’

  She hinted a smile. ‘Do you know much about music?’

  ‘A little. My youngest brother is a violin player. I only learned a few chords on the piano, many years ago.’

  ‘Can you play a C minor chord?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Here.’ She took my hand. Her touch was so unexpected I jolted. She noticed, but only widened her smile as she placed my fingers on the right keys. ‘Play a G, then an E flat, and the higher note is –’