THE COUNTRY INN MYSTERY an absolutely gripping whodunit full of twists

by Faith Martin

  He was left standing in the dark, staring at the pond and feeling . . . well . . . silly.

  Here on the green there were no streetlights, although several of the cottages around had night-lights shining in their porches and through windows that had not yet had their curtains drawn. There was also a full moon, currently positioned behind the weeping willows on the far side of the pond, scattering pale, fragmented light.

  His eyesight had long since become accustomed to the dark, and now he could see a surprising amount. Some waterfowl, unhappy with the activity on the bank, rustled restlessly about in the reeds.

  ‘Did you bring the thermos of coffee?’ one of the men asked his companion.

  ‘Course I did,’ his friend shot back, sounding annoyed.

  Ion knew them only by the names of Mick and Steve, but they appeared to be oddly interchangeable, being the same height and build, and possessing the same untidy brown haircut. Both were dressed in jeans and loose-fitting rugby shirts. Both seemed to be young, barely out of their teens Ion suspected, and clearly thought of themselves as professional ghost-hunters. He suspected that they probably had part-time jobs at supermarkets, and were keen to find ‘proof’ of paranormal activity and get their own television programme on one of the digital channels that nobody ever watched.

  Such was fame in the early twenty-first century.

  They’d magnanimously allowed him to stay with them because of his previous relationship with the dead girl, and treated him — and his grief — with a mix of fascination and clumsy embarrassment.

  When he’d first become aware of the ghost walk back at the inn, his first reaction had been one of almost hysterical laughter. He’d been sitting at the bar, feeling alternately numb and then cold with fear and rage and something else that he hadn’t quite been able to give a name to.

  So when Malcolm and his merry little group had arrived, seeking their ghostly encounters, he’d had to bite his lip hard to stop from laughing like a loon.

  And he couldn’t help but wonder what Rachel would have made of it all.

  Then, as the laughter echoing around inside his head had slowly abated, he came to realise that Rachel would probably have thought it a hoot. And almost certainly would have joined in, had she been able to. And not just because she’d been game for a laugh either, but because she had possessed a surprisingly superstitious streak to her nature.

  Ion was no fool. He knew even as he’d been falling for her back in Wales that she’d been hard-headed and ambitious, and had probably never genuinely felt love for anyone but herself in her life. And she’d made no bones about the fact that she’d always been able to see life for what it was: a dog-eat-dog world where you had to look out for number one. But for all her cynicism and grasp on reality, she’d also had a fey side — probably courtesy of her Irish grandmother. She’d liked to consult fortune tellers, for example, and had read her horoscope every day. And he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn that she had believed in ghosts.

  Was that why he’d tagged along when Malcolm’s little group had eagerly trooped out the door? Had he, subconsciously, been hoping that if there was an afterlife, Rachel might come back — if only to say goodbye properly? Or even apologise for the way she’d treated him? Had he really lost his head to that extent?

  Or had he, far more prosaically, simply not wanted to stay at the inn, knowing that everyone would be looking at him and wondering . . .

  He didn’t think that was the case either, not really. He’d simply wanted . . . what? To reconnect with Rachel somehow? If it was at all possible that her spirit, or shade, or essence, or aura, or whatever you wanted to call it, might still linger here in this place where she had died, was it really so wrong of him to want the chance to see for himself?

  But the ghost walk had been pointless, and after the group had hung around the cordoned-off pond for a while — with, of course, nothing at all happening — they’d soon moved on to the next highlight of the tour.

  Leaving only Ion and the two ‘professional’ ghost-hunters behind at the pond. The two lads, he knew, intended to spend the night here. Both were almost touchingly keen and eager to be on the spot so soon after a death. And in a way, their insensitive, youthful enthusiasm was like a balm to his ragged soul. They at least made no pretence to be anything other than keen as mustard to revel in the experience.

  Here, if Ion could only appreciate it, was evidence that life went on as normal — whatever normal was. That here, in these silly, excited, happy lads, was proof that he could survive without her.

  So as the night gradually wore on, and the cottage lights around him were turned off, one by one, Ion stayed, a silent witness on the green, his eyes drifting restlessly over the pond.

  Mick — or was it Steve? — was trying to set up an arc light with a slightly reddish glow to it, but the battery they’d brought didn’t seem to want to do the job and it kept flickering. With much cursing, they’d finally disassembled it and put it away.

  Now one of them yawned over his audio equipment, whilst another sat on a folding stool, staring at the screen on his laptop. Ion, who’d looked at it once over the lad’s shoulder, had seen only a representation of a graph. Catching him watching, Steve — or was it Mick? — had explained that it was recording electro-magnetic energy. He was a bit miffed at all the ‘interference’ from the village around him though, and the overhead power lines. But he assured Ion that should a ghost put in an appearance, the readings would ‘go wild.’

  So far, they hadn’t gone wild.

  Behind him, Ion Dryfuss heard the village church clock strike midnight. Traditionally the witching hour, he thought with a sardonic grin. And at the sound, the two lads became very still and excited. But nothing moved — not even a local cat, out on the prowl. Nothing ruffled the calm waters of the pond, no footsteps could be heard echoing around the green, nor in the air around them.

  Midnight passed.

  And about half an hour later, Ion wondered how much longer he was going to stand in the dark, by the pond, waiting for Rachel to . . . what?

  Over in the woods beyond the farmer’s field, Ion heard a tawny owl call out.

  He was about to give up, turn away and go back to his room at the inn.

  And then Ion saw something.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  At first, he wasn’t sure. He just caught a sense of movement out of the corner of his eye, and even then, when he turned to look more closely, he was almost inclined to believe it was a trick of the moonlight and shadow and was about to look away again.

  But then he heard a faint but definite rustle and he turned back sharply to look once more, his eyes fixed to the side of the pond where the bull rushes grew the thickest. Perhaps it was just some wildlife after all.

  And then a dense dark shape moved, and suddenly he was sure beyond all doubt. That was no fox or trick of the light. Something dark and very definitely human-shaped was moving out there, by the pond.

  Instantly, he felt his heart rate leap as a lance of pure, primeval fear shot up his spine, leaving him cold and trembling. And for a moment he felt a wave of nausea sweep over him so intense that he felt as if he might actually be sick. Was it possible Rachel had come back to haunt him?

  Swallowing hard he took a stumbling step forward, his eyes straining to make out exactly what it was he was seeing. At the same time he half whispered and half croaked harshly, ‘Lads! Lads, I can see something.’ Right now, even the company of some callow youths was better than being alone in the night with his fear.

  Not surprisingly, both lads were by his side in an instant, and Ion could almost feel their excitement, it was so palpable. ‘What? Where?’ one of them hissed back.

  Wordlessly, Ion pointed at the pond. Then, feeling stupid, managed to be a bit more specific. ‘Just this side, near where Rachel went in, but in the bull rushes growing next to her entry point.’

  ‘OK. What exactly did you see?’ the other one asked eagerly. ‘A mist, a white shap
e, a glowing orb floating in the air — what?’

  ‘A dark shape — a human shape,’ Ion said.

  ‘Sure it wasn’t just a shadow?’ he asked, sounding a bit disappointed now. ‘The moonlight’s quite bright, and with all the trees around, a breeze moving the leaves can make you think you see movement where there isn’t any.’

  Ion shrugged. Now he wasn’t so sure. And now nothing seemed to be moving. Nevertheless, he didn’t believe his eyes had been playing tricks. ‘It was definitely a dark mass and it was person-shaped. It wasn’t dappled moonlight,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Mick, you got the thermal imaging glasses?’ Steve hissed impatiently, and Mick quickly held up a pair of what, to Ion, looked like a virtual-reality headset. A sort of cross between a frogman’s diving mask and a pair of wraparound flat binoculars.

  Both lads slipped them on, and then went very still.

  ‘Oh shit,’ one lad finally said. His voice was a bit wavering and Ion could sense a different kind of tension in the air now.

  Ion, who thought it had passed, felt his nausea return with a vengeance. ‘What? What is it?’ he asked urgently, his mouth and tongue feeling so dry he could hardly form the words. He wished they’d brought a third pair with them so that he could see what they were seeing. ‘Is it a ghost?’ His granny, whose own mother had been said to ‘have the sight’ had told him that he was a little fey. Now he wondered if that was true and if that was why Rachel’s spirit had homed in on him.

  ‘Nah, don’t think so. What do you say, Steve?’ the lad standing nearest him whispered, his prosaic words thankfully dampening Ion’s fevered imagination somewhat.

  ‘Nah. It’s nothing supernatural,’ the other lad whispered back. ‘You got your mobile, mate?’

  ‘Sure. Who’d you want me to call?’ Mick fumbled a hand into one of his pockets and withdrew his phone. ‘The cops, you reckon?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon,’ his friend said nervously.

  By now, Ion was almost shifting from foot to foot with impatience. ‘What’s going on? What is it? Did I see something?’ he hissed.

  ‘Yeah,’ Steve said quietly, sounding distinctly jittery now. ‘There’s someone hunkered down in those bull rushes. And they’re watching us.’

  Ion swallowed hard. ‘How do you know? All I can see is a dark patch.’

  ‘Thermal imaging shows body heat,’ he explained, as his mate keyed in 999 on his mobile. To Ion, the tiny beep, beep, beep it made as he did so sounded incredibly loud in the still night air. But then, he was standing right next to the phone — surely whoever it was who was creeping about out there hadn’t heard it?

  But could whoever it was hear them whispering? Well, if so, what did it matter? They clearly knew that Ion and the others were here — if they were watching them from the cover of the bull rushes.

  And the fear that had turned Ion’s spine to ice shifted slightly and became something far more familiar, and in a strange way, more welcome. Gone was the panic-inducing paranoia of the unknown, and in its stead came a more steely, fight-or-flight response. Now that he knew he was dealing with a potentially malevolent but human threat, he felt better able to cope.

  Not that Ion had ever been in a real fight, but at least if whoever it was out there attacked, he knew he wouldn’t be dealing with the supernatural.

  ‘Body heat means that it’s an animal or something living, so of no use to us,’ the other lad continued to explain nervously, even as these thoughts flitted in and out of Ion’s head. ‘Ghosts don’t have heat — in fact, they produce cold spots.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not a fox or something?’ Ion whispered hopefully.

  ‘Nah — wrong shape, mate,’ this hope was quickly shot down in flames. ‘You go out at night as often as we do, you quickly get to spot foxes, deer, owls in flight, badgers, rabbits, you name it. This is definitely a person, like you said — they’re hunkered down, but I can make out a face, and hands. And whoever he is, he’s interested in us, cause he’s staring right this way.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ Ion said. And then wondered — shouldn’t he be doing something? Something other than standing here like a petrified pillock? Because if Rachel hadn’t died of natural causes — and he was no mug, he could tell that the cops weren’t satisfied about something — then what if that was her killer out there?

  Shouldn’t he be brave and confront him? Nab him and sit on him until the cops came?

  ‘Yeah, police. It’s urgent.’ The lad on the phone had obviously just got through to the emergency switchboard. ‘Look, mate, I’m over at Caulcott Deeping, where that girl died this afternoon, and there’s someone messing about with the crime scene! Oh hell, he’s taking off — you need to get someone over here quick!’

  His voice rose in panic and excitement as he spoke, and even without the aid of the night-vision glasses, Ion could see for himself that the dark figure was now moving around the pond — and wasn’t going to any particular pains to try and hide it, either. In fact, he, she or it was bolting from the edge of the pond and heading towards the far side where it was fenced off from the farmer’s field.

  Just a dense black shape against a slightly less black background, Ion couldn’t get a sense of whether he was looking at a fat man, a thin woman, a teenager or someone older.

  And then instinct kicked in as Ion, with a shout of general outrage, shot off after it. He wasn’t sure whether the sight of the fleeing figure had triggered some atavistic hunting instinct in him, or whether his subconscious was telling him that he had nothing to fear from a fleeing predator. He only knew that white-hot anger and a vicious desire to get his hands on whoever it was out there had now replaced his fear.

  Unfortunately, the fast-moving dark shape had a long head start on him, and even as he ignored the two lads shouting warnings for him to ‘leave it’ and ‘don’t be so bloody daft!’ he doubted that he’d be able to make up the lost ground.

  That didn’t stop him from trying though, and he cut across the green at a reckless pace given that he couldn’t even see where he was putting his feet, and belted headlong for the footpath that circumnavigated the pond. As he reached it though, in the dark, he failed to see that there was a slight but definite decline down onto the path and his forward motion made him stumble and nearly take a header into the pond, careening through the police tape. He managed to right himself just in time by windmilling his arms, only to look up and see the fleeing figure haul itself neatly up and over the chain-link fence and disappear into the moonlit expanse of the meadow beyond.

  Even as he watched, the figure gained further ground and disappeared into the night.

  ‘Shit!’ Ion gasped again, panting in a mixture of disappointment, defiance and rage. He was rather touched, a moment later, to sense that both lads had joined him, and had come up on either side of him, both of them panting hard. Although they might not have agreed with the chase, they hadn’t wanted to leave him to it and perhaps face the threat on his own. Either that, or their own sense of machismo wouldn’t let them stay behind. Teenage boys weren’t known for their good sense, after all.

  ‘Legged it, has he?’ Mick (or was it Steve) asked, trying — and to his credit, mostly succeeding — in sounding nonchalant and rather matter-of-fact.

  ‘Yeah. Are the cops coming?’ Ion asked miserably.

  ‘Yep. They told us to stay put. So I reckon we’d better get back to the tent.’

  Ion sighed and nodded and trudged back after them. He was rather surprised that Inspector Franklyn hadn’t left a copper on duty at the pond. But then he supposed, given the government cutbacks and lack of funding, he hadn’t been able to spare the resources to do so. The police tape should’ve been enough to warn normal folk to keep away.

  And the Welshman wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t felt a little smug that no doubt the senior policeman would soon be regretting his lack of foresight.

  Then his sense of satisfaction fled as a bone-aching weariness set in. No doubt the cops would want to have ch
apter and verse on what had just happened. And the fact that Ion had been here in the middle of the night would make them look at him with even more suspicion than they had before.

  No. He wasn’t expecting his second police interview to go any better than the first.

  * * *

  Jenny Starling was setting aside freshly laid eggs in order to make some breakfast omelettes, when she first heard about the excitement in the night.

  ‘Bloody young fool! He should have had more sense,’ she heard Muriel say as she came through the kitchen door. She was talking over her shoulder to her husband, who had been helping her lay the tables in the dining room.

  ‘Who should?’ she asked cheerfully as her employers walked into the kitchen and stopped dead in their tracks to look at her in surprise. At only six in the morning, they were probably surprised to find her already up and about.

  ‘Oh, our young Welsh friend,’ Muriel said vaguely, with a brief wave of her hand. ‘I think some guests might be eating early this morning, Jenny,’ she informed, abruptly changing the subject.

  ‘No problem,’ Jenny assured her professionally.

  And during the next hour, as the dining room slowly filled up and Ion came down and told everyone about what had happened in the night, the gossip and excitement of that began to filter through to Jenny in the kitchen. And the more she learned all about it, the less she liked it.

  Because why would someone be interested in the pond now? Oh, she knew all about that hoary old chestnut that stated that a killer always felt compelled to return to the scene of his or her crime, but like all sane people, didn’t give it much credence. It might have been true in Victorian melodramas, but modern-day criminals had far more sense than to risk getting nabbed by doing something so daft.

  So why had someone waited until gone midnight and then searched the area? Idle curiosity just didn’t cover it. No. Somebody must have had an urgent need to check on something specific, or to search for something vital, maybe? Had something gone wrong with the plan, had a mistake been made that needed to be rectified?