I raised a hand. ‘Wait, Dominik, you are assuming too much.’
‘Assuming?’
‘Yes. Difficult as this must have been to reveal, it still does not prove you or Calcraft are innocent.’
And we were yet to hear from the constable in Thurso. His investigations into the priest’s death must still be ongoing. For all I knew, he might already have evidence incriminating Dominik. However, I saw no need to mention that just then; Dominik could not have looked more enraged.
‘What the hell are you saying?’ he spat. ‘I have just confessed what was going on at the time! If you tell Calcraft I’ve confessed, he will corroborate everything I’ve just said!’
‘We appreciate yer honesty,’ said Nine-Nails, for once with some embarrassment. ‘But Frey here is right. Yer statement proves nothing.’
Dominik’s breathing became more and more agitated. He sounded like a hissing steam engine.
‘Rest assured we won’t spread the word,’ said McGray, ‘but trust me, ye’ll be better off mentioning none o’ this at the inquest. Ye’ve a better chance simply relying on yer family’s reputation, and Lazarus refusing to –’
Dominik pointed at the door. ‘Get out!’
‘Hey!’ McGray protested. ‘I was tryin’ to help ye.’
‘Get out!’ Dominik howled, throwing the pewter carafe at the wall. It was nearly empty, but the splatter was huge nonetheless.
We did so at once, and just as I shut the door I heard the knock and splash of a dish being hurled at us.
Before I could even take a breath a soft, dreamy yet chilling voice spoke from behind me. ‘Are you completely soulless?’
I was glad there were streams of daylight flooding the corridor; I would have screamed had I heard that in the middle of the night. It was Veronika.
She was crouching like a scared child, her back pressed against a corner of the hall, wrapping herself tightly in her dressing gown. Her beautiful eyes were glassy, as if she were about to burst into tears.
‘Would you let me walk with him, sirs? He is so distressed . . . Just a little fresh air would do him good.’
I took a careful step closer. I cannot tell quite what, but there was something in her stare, something primeval that made me fear she’d attack me. ‘Miss, are you feeling well?’
‘Just five minutes,’ she begged. ‘Let me walk with him for just five minutes. Even if it’s just from here to the hall! You can even guard us if you want.’
‘Miss –’
‘Do you not see the state he is in?’ she hissed. ‘He is my brother! Why do you have to torture him like that?’
McGray and I exchanged suspicious looks. He was about to say something comforting, but then Mrs Glenister rushed up, clutching a blanket.
‘Inspectors!’ she cried, almost out of breath. ‘You have to go to the cellar! Right away. I’ll take care of Miss Veronika.’
‘Why?’ McGray asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘You can smell the stench all the way to the dining room. It’s worse than a slaughterhouse’s waste pit.’
I brought a hand to my brow. ‘Oh, dear Lord . . .’
McGray cast Veronika an anxious look. It took him a moment to make up his mind. ‘We’ll go ‘n’ check, but ye make sure the lassie gets back to her room. Give her tea or somethin’ to calm her down. Nae weird injections.’
They both looked up with panic in their eyes, and Mrs Glenister let out a throaty gasp. The woman clearly had not been told that we knew about the addiction. Even I was shocked by how casually McGray had referred to the matter, but we had no time to appease them. As we walked away I looked over my shoulder and saw Mrs Glenister wrapping Veronika in the thick blanket.
‘Are they all suddenly going insane?’ I grumbled, and McGray voiced what I already feared.
‘Maybe they always have been.’
40
As soon as McGray opened the door the foul smell of death struck us.
’Fuck! This stinks like all the orifices of Satan!’
I must have turned greener than McGray on a boat, and had to cover the greater part of my face with my handkerchief. It took more than braveness to step into that darkened storeroom.
McEwan’s body was still there, but his skin had turned a sickly grey and a nauseating, yellowish liquid dripped from the table. The trickle came from beneath the torso.
‘It is already decomposing,’ I said, pressing the handkerchief tightly against my mouth. The smell was so intense the inside of my nose actually hurt – something that had not happened even in the foulest sewers of Edinburgh.
Even McGray had to bring a hand to his nose. ‘Ye don’t fuckin’ say, Percy.’
‘I . . . I do not understand. This should not have happened so quickly!’ Feeling sick beyond words, my eyes watering, I forced myself to lean over the body and carefully pulled aside the man’s collar. ‘I was not expecting him to last for long, but this room is fresh enough. Only a little warmer than the London morgue.’
‘Can we wrap him and take him on the carriage? Perhaps on the roof.’
I shook my head. ‘I am afraid –’ and then I felt the contents of my stomach rise at full speed. I had to turn round, bend down and breathe. I barely managed to repress a wave of vomit. ‘I’m afraid not,’ I whimpered. ‘And it is not only the bloody hellish reek’ – which, to me, was good enough reason. ‘This is a source of infection. Everyone in the carriage would be at risk. We need to inter him right away.’
‘We are not burying that man in our grounds!’ Mrs Koloman said at once.
All the curtains in the drawing room were drawn, the woman prostrated on the velvet sofa, pressing a damp cloth against her forehead. She dipped it in a saucer of water infused with sprigs of lavender, and then picked one up and held it to her nose. I realized the stench of the corpse had permeated into our clothes. Mr Koloman was behind her, making copious notes in a hefty meteorological log. He seemed slightly on edge.
‘I concur,’ he said, quite distracted, staring at his barometers and the weathervane display above the mantelpiece.
‘I assumed as much,’ I said. ‘We thought we could put him on Isle Maree. It is consecrated –’
‘That is out of the question!’ Mrs Koloman snapped. ‘That land is sacred. He doesn’t deserve such an honour.’
‘West-north-west,’ Mr Koloman mumbled, mesmerized by the clock-like hand that marked the wind direction.
‘Oi!’ Nine-Nails yelped, waving his hand in front of the man’s face. ‘Are ye listening?’
Mr Koloman glared at him. ‘I am, you little chap, do not insult my faculties. My Natalja is far more intelligent than either of you – and I taught her everything she knows.’ He completed his notes before calmly saying, ‘You can take the body to Juniper Island. The marshy grassland should be easy to dig into.’
Mrs Koloman sat up, mortified. ‘How can you suggest that, Konrad? The Nellyses have their house there. Do you really want them living within yards of that corpse? Reminding them every day why Lazarus is in prison?’
It was not yet certain that Lazarus would be convicted, but it was not the time for petty corrections.
Mr Koloman let out an impatient breath. ‘Very well. I suppose you can take him to Rory Island. Nobody ever goes there, that we know of.’
‘Where’s that?’ McGray asked.
Mr Koloman went to his bookshelves and retrieved a hefty atlas bound in green leather. The maps looked faded but were drawn in exquisite detail. On closer inspection I realized they were all original watercolours.
‘This is a gem of a book,’ I whispered, but nobody paid any attention to my awe. Mr Koloman went through the pages until he found a perfect depiction of Loch Maree. The names of all the islands appeared both in English and in Gaelic – the latter in beautiful Gothic calligraphy. Juniper Island was in fact called Eilean Sùbhainn.
‘This is Rory Island,’ Mr Koloman said, pointing at the one furthest west. There were tiny pine trees drawn all over it. ‘T
he woodland is very thick there, not very good for shooting. That’s why we never go there.’
‘At least it will be a quick trip,’ I remarked, for it was the closest island to the manor.
I perused the map for a moment longer, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, some lines as fine as a single hair. Jarring amongst that painstaking work was an X drawn in dark ink. It marked a spot on the loch’s northern shore, right above Juniper Island.
‘What does that cross mark?’ I asked.
Mr Koloman shrugged. ‘God only knows. My late father bought this in an auction many years ago. It was already old back then.’
‘I don’t want to seem rude,’ said Mrs Koloman from the sofa, ‘but I’ve not had a headache as bad as this in years. Would you mind?’
Mr Koloman went to her, sat on the armrest and stroked his wife’s head. ‘It’s the strain, my dear,’ he said soothingly. ‘You need but rest.’
And he looked at us as he said that, nodding at the door.
Preparing the body was an absolute torment.
We first wrapped it tightly with old bandages and rags, as I did not want any part of him to drop off on the way. My day was bad enough already.
I’d taken off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, thinking I’d never wear those garments again. To protect us from the smell McGray and I tied damp cloths around our faces, which made the task only just endurable. As we worked our way upwards I thought my hands would surely stink for days.
It was downright impossible to feel any compassion: here was a man nobody had liked very much, whose inaction had caused more grief than many actual crimes, and who was now decomposing beyond recognition.
I felt a retch as we wrapped his slit neck. The flesh there had gone green, astonishingly similar to a joint of beef left out to rot.
‘There goes the only piece of material evidence,’ I muttered.
‘Cannae believe nobody came,’ said McGray. ‘Ye sure yer uncle –’
‘He might be a little self-indulgent and reckless, but he would not fail to do something so crucial . . .’ I hope, I completed in my head.
‘Well, they won’t get the pleasure o’ looking at this beauty now,’ McGray said, tying up the last rags around McEwan’s head. We took a step back to assess our work: a stinking mummy, crudely wrapped, which would have flour sacks for a sarcophagus.
‘They say how ye live is how ye die.’ McGray sighed. ‘All righty, let’s get rid o’ him.’
And we carried the flaccid bundle away. There was a small service door close to the kitchen, so we did not need to further disgrace the main hall and corridors with that smell.
Boyde was already by the boat, carrying a pair of shovels and shading his eyes with a hand, for the sun was extremely bright.
‘Are you ready, sirs?’
As I expected, nobody from the household was around. They’d all despised McEwan for one reason or other. Mr Koloman might have come, but he must be busy tending to his wife’s migraine – astonishing how for centuries all refined ladies have developed headaches whenever there is something they do not wish to undergo.
We placed the body in the Nellyses’ shabby boat – there was no need for the larger, heavier one. I was about to jump in but McGray held me back.
‘It’s me who should go, Percy. I cannae see ye digging a grave. That’ll be a real man’s job.’
I chuckled. ‘Are you certain? With your biliousness and a rotting body by your side?’
McGray took a stubborn step forward, but then the wind brought us a fiendishly pungent waft of decay.
‘Fuck, I hate it when yer right! And it’s been too bloody often lately. Very well. But when youse come back we’ll go and fetch those sodding constables from the nearest town. I’ll make sure the carriage is ready. Now that there won’t be a corpse we can take the suspect boys with us.’
I nodded, and then looked up at the windows, expecting to see a good number of faces watching our every move. There was not a single one. In fact, all the curtains were drawn. Somehow I did not like it.
‘Keep an eye on them,’ I whispered. ‘You will be on your own again. If they wanted to try something stupid – like, you know, letting Dominik flee – they would do so now. And as you well said, they might all be going insane.’
Nine-Nails opened his overcoat to show the charged gun in his breast pocket. ‘I think I can handle them,’ he said, quite self-assured. But once I was in the boat and Boyde began to row north, he added, ‘Don’t linger there, Percy.’
I sighed as I watched him standing there, somehow dwarfed under the solid stone of the grand country house. I do not believe in omens, yet somehow, at that moment, I already knew my life would never be the same again.
41
McGray went straight to the drawing room, but Mr and Mrs Koloman were no longer there. Perhaps the lady had decided to nurse her headache in her room.
The darkness felt like an almost physical oppression, so McGray rushed to open the nearest curtain and golden sunshine immediately filled the room. It was sad that the glorious weather – maybe the last sunny day before the Scottish autumn began to creep in – had to be spent in such gloomy circumstances. It was almost impossible to believe that just four days earlier the entire Koloman family had gathered in that very room, laughing and opening presents as if it were Christmas morning.
He shoved an idle hand into his coat’s side pocket and felt a piece of paper. It was Mrs Glenister’s note for Lazarus – it had been in his pocket since he’d caught the woman trying to slide it under the door. McGray gave it a more careful look and noticed that some of the paper was rippled, as if it had got wet and then been left to dry. There was a slight scent of lemon . . .
Somebody opened the door rather brusquely. It was the girl Tamlyn, bringing in a porcelain basin and some towels.
‘Here, sir,’ she said, a little tremble in her voice. ‘I thought you’d want to wash your hands after . . . handling that.’
McGray welcomed the prospect; the lingering odour of the corpse was too much, even for his toughened nose.
‘Lemon?’ he asked as he plunged his hands into the warm, scented water.
‘Yes. Lemon and salt. They get rid of the worst smells. It’s lucky Mrs Plunket and Mrs Glenister were making the curd last night; there were some rinds left.’
McGray nodded. Mrs Glenister must have jotted the note in between slicing lemons.
Tamlyn handed him a towel. She was shaking as if the room were ice-cold, her eyes reddened.
‘Are ye all right, lassie?’
She nodded . . . and then shook her head. ‘I’ve just told the mistress I’m leaving. I can’t stay in this house another day.’
McGray frowned. ‘Because o’ the murder?’
The girl tensed her lips and frowned, suddenly looking ten years older. ‘There’s no one to ask for help,’ she said. ‘What if something were to happen to me once you sirs are gone?’
McGray leaned closer. ‘Has someone threatened ye?’
‘No,’ she said at once. ‘Mrs Koloman has been very understanding. She’ll give me a good recommendation and some money to live on while I find my way. She knows I can’t stay here. The good missus . . . she’ll send me to Inverness. I’ll leave next time Boyde goes to Kinlochewe, take a coach from there. I shall be glad to leave.’ Saying no more, the girl picked up the basin and rushed away.
McGray did not like that at all. That was the girl who’d led them to their discovery of Veronika’s addiction. It was more likely she’d been dismissed and bribed handsomely. What other secrets might she know?
McGray decided to go after her, but when he reached the corridor he found only Natalja, carrying a bundle of sheet music. Like everyone else, she looked pale, gloomy – and very tense.
‘Inspector!’ she cried, clutching the papers to her chest. ‘You frightened me!’
‘Aye. I’m that bleeding ugly.’
She laughed nervously, trying to be her most charming. ‘No, nothing . . . nothi
ng of the sort. I didn’t know you were in the drawing room. Do you mind if I play the piano in there? Feel free to join me if you want.’
He let out a loud Ha! ‘To give ye chance to play yer lying games on me?’
The girl stepped back. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? I was simply –’
But McGray did not wait to listen. He made his way below stairs as the low, poignant notes of Natalja’s playing began to flow throughout the manor.
The music could be heard all the way to the kitchen, where Mrs Plunket was fervently stirring a large pot on the stove. The girl Ellie was washing a large set of tiny bottles.
‘Caustic soda and lemon rinds. We’ll have to scrub all the walls and floors with this to get rid of that blasted smell!’ the distressingly wide cook remonstrated as McGray peeped into the pot. The basin he’d just used was on the table, the towels thrown down carelessly next to it.
‘Where’s the lass Tamlyn?’ he asked.
‘God knows,’ was the cook’s perfunctory reply. ‘She won’t care any more what she does here, now that she’s leaving. Happens like that with all the new girls; they get a wee bit of experience and they feel the world is theirs. If only they knew how hard it is to find good masters!’
McGray exhaled, suddenly feeling restless. He was tempted to ask for some of that tasty wine but decided against it; he wanted to keep his senses sharp.
Out of mere apprehension he decided to check all the locked doors. As he knocked and heard the doleful voices behind them, he felt as if a relentless misery had infected them all, like an invisible shroud wrapping the house ever more tightly. Natalja’s mournful music did not help; in fact, it crept into him like a cold hand, making him feel like a broken orderly doing the rounds in Edinburgh’s asylum – though even that place did not feel as gloomy as the manor.
Thankfully it would all be over soon, he thought as he went upstairs. As soon as Frey returned they’d take the suspects to the local authorities, and hopefully leave right away. They might even be on their way back to Edinburgh that very evening. He simply needed to keep himself sane until then.
Loch of the Dead Page 27