by Matt Hilton
“You cannot guarantee my safety? What are you, the bloody haugbonde’s keeper?” Janet fisted her hands on her hips. I liked the pose she struck. No longer the nervous, frightened woman, she projected an image of strength that named her a leader. She wasn’t intimidated by Broom or the presence of the corpse at her feet. She was all the more beautiful for it. Unashamedly I watched her.
Something happened in that moment that I find difficult to describe. Recalling the incident where I’d momentarily embraced my supposed power and I’d experienced a rush of energy charging throughout my body and beyond, I saw a similar energy build around Janet. It was a pulsating aurora of yellow-orange fire, flaring like a brazier in a sudden breeze. Her skin became translucent, and her emotions were displayed as a flickering, shifting miasma of colour within.
I wasn’t prepared for anything like this, and out of reaction I blinked. The colours disappeared and all that remained was the woman. Beautiful still, but wholly natural to the eye.
It was as if nothing had happened. Broom and Janet held their tableau of subtle challenge, neither of them aware of my bewildered scrutiny of them.
Broom said, “Yet again I’ve opened my mouth without consideration. Forgive me, Professor. I wasn’t implying that I wished harm on you…or on anyone else for that matter.”
“So what is it that you are trying to say?”
Broom waved a hand at me. I was probably standing there looking like I was catching flies in my open mouth. Neither of them seemed to notice.
Continuing, Broom explained, “We intend to put a stop to this nastiness. We cannot afford to be side-tracked by the need to protect anyone else.”
Janet wasn’t the only one who realised that Broom’s words were meant more for me than the professor. Her features softened as she studied me. In response my brows crept towards my hairline, and my hands scrubbed determinedly at an imagined itch on my neck. Janet inhaled deeply, tore her gaze off me and asked Broom, “You think I am in danger?”
His head seesawed. “Not necessarily you, Professor Hale. But considering that you are standing on the very land protected by the haugbonde curse, you have set yourself clearly in his sights. I would rather you left the island, then there would be no chance that harm could come to you.”
“That’s very admirable of you, Mr Broom. But you sound exactly like the small-minded thugs who tried to frighten us away when we first arrived on the island.”
“You should have heeded their warnings.” For emphasis, Broom indicated the tarpaulin shroud. “Then this may not have happened.”
Janet’s nostrils flared. “You are blaming this man’s death on me?”
“No. Not you. On the curse.”
“But by association, that makes it the fault of my colleagues and me. If we didn’t dig here, then this man would still be alive?”
Broom sniffed. “Stands to reason.”
“And we’re also to blame for the deaths of these children?” Janet’s voice was rising in pitch.
“Not to blame. But they are a consequence of the curse.”
“I don’t believe what you are implying, Mr Broom.”
“I’m implying nothing. Simply reading the signs. Following the portents.”
Janet slashed at the air with her hand. “This man was murdered, Mr Broom. By a sick-minded killer who I believe shares your desire to see us gone from the island.”
“Though my desire is only through my concern for your safety,” Broom pointed out.
“Says you,” Janet snapped. “I’m beginning to think that you’re in agreement with whoever did this, and you want us gone. Well, sorry, Mr Broom. I’m going nowhere.”
“And I’m sorry to hear that,” Broom said. “All I can ask then is that you stay alert. Watch for the signs, Professor.”
“What signs?” Janet huffed.
“The portents.”
“Portents?”
Broom nodded.
The air filled with shrieking, billowing black forms as our audience of crows took to the air. Their racket was like insane laughter as they took off northward with single-minded intent.
“The portents,” Broom repeated. “Look at the crows. The harbingers of death recognise the signs.”
Janet shook her head in incredulity.
“Come, Carter,” Broom said in a voice straight out of pantomime. “We are done here. We have to go north. Someone else is in danger.”
Then he was clumping his way back up the slope. Janet and I shared a moment. We were each as incredulous as the other. My body language told her not to worry, that I was in control. If the need arose, I would be there for her. Her slow smile showed me she did indeed read the signs. That was all I needed. Finally, Janet lifted her fingers and gave me a goodbye wave. I returned the gesture, then slowly followed Broom. Inappropriate here or not, a smile crept onto my face.
Broom clambered up the slope, his bad leg dragging behind him. I considered lending him a hand, but following his bad manners towards Janet, he deserved a little discomfort and I decided to hang back. Unfortunately, that blocked my view of the approaching police officers, until I was mere feet from them.
TWENTYFIVE
Trowhaem
Carter Bailey? Here? Why doesn’t that surprise me?
Between DI Marsh and Bob Harris, Shelly experienced a pang of inferiority. For no other reason than she was the most diminutive of the three of them, she felt like a little girl hemmed in by well-meaning adults. Ordinarily, that would cause anger to flare within her. She didn’t need protection. She was a big girl. A bloody police sergeant, for Christ’s sake! So why was she trembling when she saw Carter Bailey jerk back in surprise when almost walking into them?
Instinctively she caught his eye, searching for the least hint of the scarlet she’d seen flaring there the evening before. Of course, other than the brief shock, the flicker of recognition, there was nothing unearthly about the man’s eyes. He had the look of damaged goods, was all. As if he was deeply sad. Considering what the man had gone through, that wasn’t surprising.
She considered challenging him and his big blond friend. But then a note of caution dug in her mind. Deus ex machina, Shelly, she reminded herself. Don’t blame Bailey, simply because he is a handy scapegoat.
Carter Bailey and his limping companion gave them a strained nod as they passed, not keen on any further encounter with the law than this brief greeting. Thinking she should detain them for questioning, Shelly opened her mouth to call them back until she realised Bob and D.I. Marsh had continued on towards the edge of the embankment they were on. Shelly watched Bailey and the man she presumed was Paul Broom as they continued on their way. Neither gave as much as a backwards glance. Then, deciding that she could always find them later, she hurried to catch up to her colleagues. Give Marsh a reason to think her tardiness was reticence to get involved and she could wave bye-bye to her position as supervisor on the island. Best she get in there and show him she was capable of her command.
She smelled the body before she saw it. Recognised death. Unlike the previous time, she bolstered herself. No way was she going to faint in front of the inspector.
There was a woman standing by the body. Shelly vaguely recognised her as one of two professors involved in the excavation of Trowhaem. During previous visits to the site Shelly usually spoke to Professor Bishop, but she’d also had passing contact with this woman. Couldn’t remember her name, though. What was it? Jane? Janice?
“Janet Hale,” the professor fortuitously identified herself. “I’m the one who called you.”
Introductions were made, and Shelly led the way off the embankment so that they all stood alongside the professor. It was Bob’s place to pull back the tarpaulin, and he crouched down with a popping of knees and the subtle groan of a man aware of encroaching years. Shelly made sure that she was ready, but still made the slightest of exhalations at what Bob disclosed. But that was okay; she wasn’t the only one disturbed by what they were looking at.
“I
don’t think it’ll take a pathology report to show this man died an unnatural death,” D.I. Marsh said.
Shelly gave her superior a sidelong look, before sharing a second or two with Bob. Bob’s faint smile said it all; so it’s that kind of ingenuity that gets you a detective inspector position these days?
To Janet Hale, Shelly said, “You said that you called in the report; was it also you that found him?”
Marsh held up a hand to halt any response from Janet. He flicked a hand at the dead man, “Best we protect the scene first, Sergeant. We can organise witness statements later.”
In the next instant, Marsh took Janet Hale by the elbow and led her away from the graveside. Turning to follow, Shelly caught a sharp glance from the detective inspector who nodded hard at the grave. Shelly gritted her teeth, but chose to ignore the obvious slight forced by her exclusion. She wanted to talk with Janet, too. Not least to hear first hand the professor’s version of events surrounding the discovery of the dead man, instead of having to read it in Bob - or another constable’s - report, she also wanted to ask the woman what Carter Bailey and Paul Broom had been doing here. Instead, she was left to organise protection of the scene until back up could arrive and take over. Looked like she would be on guard duty for some time yet. For all intent and purpose, she may as well forget she was a sergeant and get on with the lot usually handed the lowest ranking probationer.
Bob steepled his eyebrows. He held up a roll of blue and white crime scene tape. “What do they call it, Sarge? Groundhog day?”
“It’s beginning to feel that way, Bob,” Shelly agreed. “But at least it isn’t raining this time.”
Bob paced away from the grave, then lay a large stone on the end of the crime scene tape, and began uncoiling it as he reversed his route, before scrambling up the embankment above. Shelly began searching for further natural objects she could use to define a perimeter. She began piling loose rocks into a mini cairn. She saw Marsh and Janet Hale approach a VW van, and watched as Professor Bishop clambered out of the driver’s seat and almost fling himself at the inspector. The big man appeared manic. Shelly couldn’t make out what he was saying, but his voice was high with anxiety as he clutched at Marsh’s clothing. Marsh, in response, took a backward step, turning to Shelly for support. Typically, he wanted the glory of being top dog, but not the commotion that went with dealing with irate witnesses.
From his vantage above the grave, Bob whispered, “Let him get on with it, Shelly. He didn’t want you with him a minute ago. Ignorant bastard that he is.”
In agreement, Shelly allowed her gaze to slip away as though she hadn’t noticed Marsh’s imploring look. She busied herself with catching the roll of tape Bob tossed to her and wedging it under a boulder.
“I’m surprised he’s even bothered to turn out,” Bob went on. “Since when did you hear about a D.I. at a crime scene when there wasn’t a photo or TV opportunity in the offing?”
Shelly chuckled. It was a dry, humourless sound. “If the D.S. wasn’t already tied up with the Stewart boy, do you think Marshy would have even come out of his office?”
“No way.” It was Bob’s turn to chuckle, though his laughter was bitter. Not a little sadistic.
“Two murders,” Shelly said. “Here on Conn. Can you believe it, Bob?”
“You ken what worries me?” Bob straightened up, studying her with a face as flat as though moulded from wax.
“I do,” Shelly said. “Bad things always come in threes. Let’s pray to God it doesn’t this time, eh?”
“I only hope God’s in a listening mood,” Bob whispered. “For Bethany’s sake.”
TWENTYSIX
The road to Burra Ness, Connor’s Island
“What the hell was all that about, Broom?”
“What was what all about?”
“You know fine well. You had a go at Janet. It was totally uncalled for.”
We were in the Subaru once more, barrelling northward. There was no hint of the flock of crows that Broom decided we must follow, but his attention was locked on the grey clouds churning on the horizon. He held his lower jaw protruding forward so that I could see saliva glistening on his teeth, sniffing harshly every other second. His tongue periodically lolled over his teeth like a squirming maggot. I could tell he was upset.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Broom tone said otherwise. Adding validity to what was already obvious, he wrestled with the gear stick, cursing under his breath at the perceived sluggishness of the car’s response.
“You were going on like Janet was personally responsible for what happened to that man.”
“She isn’t?”
Grasping at my seatbelt, I said, “No, Broom. She isn’t.”
“What makes you so certain?” Broom finally snatched his gaze towards me. Deep furrows knitted the flesh of his brow. “Suddenly you know everything, do you?”
I didn’t answer for a moment, allowing my silence to convey my confusion. When I did speak, it wasn’t premeditated. Brain and mouth out of synch. “Maybe I do. It was obvious to me that Janet is a good person.”
Broom exhaled harshly.
“You’re thinking with your balls,” he snapped. “Just ’cause you’ve got the hots for Janet doesn’t mean that she’s all sweetness and light. For all you know, she’s a twisted whore who tore the skin from that man’s corpse.”
I banged my knuckles against the dashboard. If I’d put my fist in his face like I almost did, I wouldn’t have climbed from the wreckage of the Subaru unscathed. Broom flinched at the sound, then visibly shrank down into the seat.
“Enough, Broom.” I shook my head. “I don’t know what your problem is with Janet, but just keep it to yourself, will you.”
He lifted his shoulders. “I haven’t got a problem with her.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”
“I’m telling you. Janet and I are fine, okay?”
“So why were you rude to her?”
“It wasn’t personal. It was just like I said: if the excavation didn’t take place, then no one would be dead.”
“If you believe this haugbonde story.”
“I do,” Broom said. “Maybe you’re not fully decided…yet. But you must agree that you have your suspicions.”
I showed him my palms.
Broom’s exhalation was harsh. “She knows.”
“Who? Janet?”
He nodded. “She knows that I speak the truth. She can deny it all she wants, but she knows that the man in the grave was put there with the intention that he would be found. He’s a warning. To stop digging.”
“I agree with you there, Broom. But that doesn’t make Janet - or anyone else associated with the dig - responsible for the murder.”
“Depends on your perspective. If the dig was abandoned before now there’d have been no need for anyone to die, would there? Okay, I’ll grant you that I’m perhaps pointing the finger of blame too directly at Janet, but she has to accept some of the responsibility.”
“Why, Broom? Why should she be blamed for the actions of a mad man? It’s like blaming a vehicle manufacturer for building the car that a drunk driver later runs into a little old lady on the street.”
“Cause and effect. Regardless of your argument to the contrary, it does have bearing on why I should blame Janet. Because her actions have loosed the haugbonde people are dying.” Broom’s conviction was the only thing that avoided his words sounding pathetic.
“No,” I said. “That’s bollocks.”
“Fair enough. Let’s just agree to disagree, shall we?”
I shook my head like a dog with a flea in its ear. “No, Broom. Not this time. I can’t agree. Janet is blameless and I’m resolute on the issue. I know that she’s innocent.”
Maybe it was my tone that brooked no challenge. More likely it was because I was finally accepting of the power Broom believed I held, and he perceived this in my voice and was pleasantly surprised. Whatever
it was, his features smoothed out and he gave me a quirky nod. “Go on, Carter.”
“I saw something.” I didn’t expound. Not then.
Broom waited. A smile built at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s not the first time,” I said.
His large head bobbed, throwing his hair in his eyes. He flicked it back with a finger then grabbed at the steering wheel as the car wove patterns on the fabric of the road. Chewing his lip wasn’t a product of his nervous driving, I knew. His excitement was down to anticipation of what I was about to disclose. In the end, he could wait no longer and he offered an explanation. “You saw colours, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I relaxed into my seat. Admitting to Broom that I was ready to embrace what he’d promoted all this time felt like a weight off my shoulders. Confession is good for the soul. “And I don’t know why, but what I saw I actually understood. Don’t ask me to explain how.”
“No need,” Broom said. “Often empathic comprehension is all that is necessary. Nevertheless, whatever the explanation, tell me what you saw.”
“It was when Janet was in disagreement with you,” I began. “I saw colours building around her. Like fire without heat. I’ve never seen it for real, but I imagine it was something like St Elmo’s Fire that is witnessed playing round the rigging of ships.”
“What colour?”
“It wasn’t black if that’s what you’re asking.”
Broom shrugged. “Contrary to popular belief - and I know it’s something I have used for dramatic effect in my own books - but the colour black is not necessarily the only colour associated with evil when dealing with the auric lights.”
“Auric lights? That’s what you believe I saw?”
“Yes.”
“I know we touched on this when we talked about your Zero Point Field theory, but are you talking about all that spiritual healing stuff?”
Broom grunted. “First, the Zero Point Field isn’t my theory, it’s an accepted scientific discovery. Second, yes, some scientists have begun to accept the possibility that the Field is what makes it possible for some people to heal others by the laying on of hands. Also the Field is what generates the auric lights said healers are purported to see. As we have previously confirmed, study of this field has shown that we as humans are a collection of negative and positive energies of varying densities. These energies permeate through and emit from every living person. These particles of energy usually appear in suspension around the human body in an oval shaped field. Healers believe that by studying the colours of a person’s aura they can diagnose ill-health due to the mix and prevalence of the colours projected.”