He left his car in the gap between the copse and the entrance to the tunnel and drew his gun.
Dominic stood at the entrance to the tunnel letting his torch skip over the rocks piled along both sides of the curving walls. The rocks gave the appearance of instability, as though the structure might collapse at any minute and the scattered rocks were just a foretaste of things to come.
It couldn’t be further from the truth. The curved stonework had withstood the test of time. The rocks had been placed there to misinform, to keep intruders out. It didn’t always work.
He opened the gate, bits of rust flaking from the iron bars as he pulled it open.
He heard rustling, some movement.
‘I know you’re in here,’ he called out.
His voice echoed and bounced back to him.
He was giving whoever it was the benefit of the doubt. All the same he cocked his gun just in case.
Pot-holers, kids smoking their first cigarette and even couples making out found their way into the tunnel. And poachers.
Dominic knew more about Torrington Towers than Honey Driver would ever know, simply because she didn’t have clearance. He did. So had his lordship.
‘Is that you, Fred?’
Fred Cromer who ran the village garage was the biggest poacher around. Green fingers he might have watering the pots out front of his garage and cottage window ledge, but Fred also had a yearning for fresh meat or salmon acquired without cost. There were others hereabouts who dabbled in poaching, but Fred was a regular and damned good at what he did. If the village garage proprietor could no longer make his living mending, selling and hiring cars, he wouldn’t starve.
He stopped and listened. The slow drip of water running through the fissures sounded to his right. A rotting downpipe spewed excess rainwater from the few feet of guttering to the side of the tunnel’s yawning arch. The water never stopped running, hollowing out a large hole to one side, a hole big enough to bury a man in. Or a woman.
The smell was of dusty vegetation, damp rock and rat droppings, not overpowering, but far from pleasant.
He remained motionless and waited. Nobody came out of hiding.
One more chance. ‘Hey! It’s not safe in there. There are mantraps in there.’
He wasn’t kidding. The mantraps had been found in a cupboard in the old station house. It had been Tarquin’s decision to use them. ‘That’ll keep the bastards out,’ he’d said.
Tarquin was supposed to have been retired but old habits die hard. Sometimes he resembled a shadowy throwback to how things used to be in the days of the Cold War.
The torch picked out the cruel metal teeth. Step on one, the jaws would close, ripping into a man’s calf, maiming him for life.
The darkness intensified, swallowing the light thrown by the torch.
Mindful of the sound of his own footsteps, he stopped, listened and tried not to breathe too deeply. The smell of decay was stronger here. Not plants. Not fetid water. This was the smell of dead meat. Dead flesh.
Tarquin had assured him that he’d only laid two mantraps, but knowing his lordship there could be more. The old goat could lie as though he were telling the truth.
Even before he came to the second mantrap, he knew what he would find.
The torch danced over a face gnawed by animals, rancid flesh hanging from cheekbones, eye sockets empty, the juicy snack of a fox, a rat, even a weasel. It was likely one of them was responsible for tripping the security beam. No one else had been in here for some time. Word got round, even among poachers.
Taking care not to step into the thick soup of flesh and mud, he skirted the corpse, knelt down and shone the torch on the mangled leg.
Starting at the scuffed boots, he traced a line upwards over the mangled leg, the ripped jeans stained with things on which he had no wish to speculate.
Nobody would have heard this man screaming for help. A vivid picture came to mind, of McCall being lured here, trapping his leg.
Even before he stepped on it, he knew he would find a gun on the ground. He also knew what he would find in the man’s breast pocket – a card. A Tarot card. In the light of the torch he picked out a blue robed woman; the high priestess.
This had not been an accident. This was the work of the Tarot Man though for some reason McCall had not been buried in mud like his other victims.
A rat would have gnawed off its leg to escape. A man wouldn’t do that. The gun on the ground was beyond McCall’s reach as though purposely placed there, sweetening the moment for the man responsible for his death. McCall had died here. The animals had done the rest.
His family would have to be informed. It was a damned nuisance. Another murder to be explained away. In this case, due to his age, at least they could say his death was natural. A heart attack. Something like that. The autopsy report would say whatever the service wanted it to say.
Dominic turned off his flashlight and made a phone call. It wasn’t his job to clean up this mess. There was an entire department to do that.
Yet again Honey was wandering towards her favourite place on the whole estate, when she espied Dominic’s car sitting on the track that ran parallel to the ravine.
She slid her way across the damp grass until she was looking down from the top of the ravine towards the railway tunnel. It was dark in the ravine, but his headlights were on. She shouted down at him.
‘Mr Christiansen. I want a word with you.’
Twilight was here, and all around things were getting darker.
His torch flashed in her direction. Shielding her eyes against the sudden light, she tried to focus on his face, but he had the advantage. His face remained in darkness.
The torch stayed trained on her face until he was there, standing before her wearing an unpleasant expression.
‘Are you following me?’ She sensed the ghost of a smile. ‘I’m flattered.’
She smiled right back. ‘Why not? You’re a handsome man, Mr Christiansen.’
‘Call me Dominic. You know you want to.’
She heard the humour in his voice but also conceit. Dominic Christiansen thought highly of himself.
‘What are you up to, Dominic?’
‘Out for an evening stroll just like you.’
He stifled the urge to look over his shoulder. She must not see the body.
‘How about we go to the pub? Dinner’s on me. Are you on?’
This was it. The first step to flirting with a very handsome man in order to gain information. Could she carry it off? He was so damned good looking. Of course she could.
‘Okay’
‘Stay there,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll drive up.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Honey was no shrinking violet and although she did feel just a teeny bit guilty that she was playing away – Doherty still playing cowboys and Indians on his team building course – she forced herself to believe it was purely business. Just because he smelled good and looked good when dressed didn’t mean to say she wanted to know what he looked like with nothing on. This was all about gaining his trust so he would open up to her.
Dominic was thinking pretty much the same thing. He smiled at her, placed a protective arm around her shoulders and pulled back a chair for her to sit on. When he asked her if she wanted a drink, his voice had that hushed quality that made her think of bed rather than a drink.
‘Get a grip,’ she muttered to herself when he went to the bar.
‘They’re coming with menus,’ he said. ‘Is this table okay for you?’
His eyes were the colour of a sun kissed sea. His voice lulled her into a kind of semi consciousness. This was not quite what she’d had in mind. Her plan had been to seduce him into spilling the beans. Instead she was putty in his hands. And what hands! Long sensitive fingers that looked capable of bending an iron bar.
Like a pet dog her hormones were begging for his undivided attention. They wanted him. Telling them that this wasn’t the plan and that they should go lie down and p
lay again tomorrow was only marginally successful.
Still, the job had to be done.
Dominic was Prince Charming and showing a genuine interest in the more routine side of her life. He asked her about the Green River, who was running it while she was away, how many staff she had, were there times she wished she had done something else...all the usual things she’d been asked a thousand times before. She was flattered that he asked, but also suspicious. The more time she spent with him the more her opinions were coloured by the thought that he had ulterior motives. All the same, each question was delivered in a low tenor that tickled her hormones no end.
She found herself answering as though she were doing so for the very first time. Like a virgin, she thought to herself, the thought making her face glow like a summer sunset.
‘You don’t think that your friend Caspar was a bit selfish asking you to stay here?’
‘Caspar? Selfish?’ She almost laughed. ‘Of course he is. But I know if anything went wrong at the Green River, he would make sure it was put right. My business will never go to rack and ruin while he’s around.’
Her own words surprised her. She’d been appalled when she’d read the newspaper headlines indicating that Caspar was dead. But she’d also been shocked and saddened. Caspar, despite his superior and outrageously fastidious ways, was a good man. He would always do what he could. His oddness of late was purely down to the circumstances he had found himself in.
Dominic tasted the wine before allowing it to be poured.
The wine was dark and fruity. The man sitting across from her was blond haired but just as tempting.
Now go careful girl!
Honey rested her chin on her hand, adopted her best melting look and gazed into his eyes.
‘Do you ever tell the truth?’
His smile was amazing. ‘Of course I do.’
Top quality after shave wafted across the table.
‘So tell me this, where is the body of Tarquin St John Gervais. I mean the real body.’
For a moment she thought she saw mockery in his eyes, a hint of lust perhaps that was suddenly guarded.
‘Ashes to ashes.’
Honey shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The fire wasn’t hot enough to destroy ALL of the bones. There should have been a few left but there were not and it looks as though the ashes themselves were scraped away. Besides that he should never have been cremated the way he was. It’s illegal except in a place reserved for such purpose.’
His fingers had been stroking hers. Delicious and very distracting. It took a lot of willpower to overcome her reactions, but not wishing to appear sluttish she reined them in and awaited his reaction.
‘Have you heard from your boyfriend?’
‘You’re changing the subject. Who is it you work for, Dominic? What is the underlying story in all this?’
His eyes crinkled at the corners and for a moment it looked as though he wasn’t going to reply.
‘Spies and counter spies Mrs Driver, but I thought you already knew that.’
‘I suspect that my father was a spy and so were the other people I saw on an old photograph. Was the professor a spy? And how about Keith McCall, the ranger who used to work here?’
‘It’s irrelevant,’ he said casually, his fingers still caressing her hand. ‘The fact is we’ve been thrown together following terrible events. Fate flung us together. I don’t think we should ignore that.’
His voice was so smooth. Her blood was racing. My God, but she could so easily give in.
‘So how did the professor die?’
‘Shot.’
‘I haven’t seen any report about it in the newspaper.’
She reminded herself that she needed to keep him interested if she was going to break down any barriers and get him to trust her.
His eyes held hers. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t turn away.
‘This is a delicate situation. You don’t have to have any part in it.’
‘I suppose I don’t.’
‘I do find you attractive.’
The comment took her off guard. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire.
‘I won’t deny that the feeling’s mutual.’
‘Lucky your policeman boyfriend isn’t around. I don’t like competition.’
‘I get the feeling that you’re the kind of guy who likes to come out on top.’
His grin widened. ‘Right. I like to be on top.’
He was being saucy, but she wouldn’t blush. In fact the whole idea of flirting with him suddenly seemed too long winded. She wanted him to place his cards on the table now! Right now!
She withdrew her hand. ‘Bullshit!’
He looked only faintly surprised.
‘You’ve been leading me on from the start. You knew from the start who the dead man was and you knew who I was.’ She held up a warning finger and glared at him. ‘I’m even beginning to suspect that Caspar had a hand in it. I wouldn’t have got involved except I was persuaded into it.’ Just as I was persuaded into the job of Crime Liaison Officer, she thought to herself.
They were between courses. The dishes containing Breton shrimp soup cleared away. Pork loin in apple next.
‘Was it you that passed me the Tarot card when I went to lunch with my mother?’
His smile stiffened first. Then his whole body.
‘Excuse me. I won’t be a moment.’
He left the table and headed for the toilets. Honey watched him go. She couldn’t help wondering about him though in one aspect she was convinced he really did work for the shadier side of law enforcement. He was a spook.
His profession did not unnerve her. What did unnerve her were her feelings for him. He was dangerous and because of his profession downright unreliable. He couldn’t be anything else.
The gents cloakroom was empty. Dominic checked the cubicles. They were empty too. He took out his phone and dialled the short code after which he explained the situation and just how close the Tarot Man had got to her.
‘I’m going to tell her the truth.’
The voice on the other end protested.
‘I’ve made up my mind. It’s only right that she should know.’
When he got back to the table Honey noticed that something had changed in his demeanour. His jaw was set and there was a hard look in his eyes. She knew instinctively that he had something to say that could very well contravene all that had gone before.
She waited, unwilling to push him.
Clasping his hands in front of him, he leaned forward.
‘Honey, I’m going to tell you the truth. You’re being stalked by a man who wants to kill you.’
‘That is one hell of a chat up line!’
She sounded chirpy. Inside a ball of icy coldness was building in her stomach.
‘Who?’ she asked when he didn’t answer but kept looking into her face.
‘We don’t know his name. We call him the Tarot man.’
She thought of the bunch of flowers close to where the dead man had been found in Bradford on Avon. She thought of the one delivered to her in a brown envelope which she’d thought had come from him. Then the one in the restaurant. She shivered. This Tarot Man was coming closer.
Again he studied his hands. ‘He leaves a card with his victims. There’s no rhyme or reason for him doing so. It seems he just likes Tarot cards.’
‘So why me? Why would he want to kill me?’
Chapter Twenty-five
Steve Doherty floored the gas in the car, his jaw set like iron. That bastard Christiansen was everything he’d thought he was. A spook. A government agent.
He’d been kept in a private room in a private hotel where he’d been debriefed on the situation. Aware that he would not be allowed to leave until he fell in with their plans and became compliant, he’d reined in his anger. Bloody hell, Honey was totally unaware of all this! OK, he’d signed the Official Secrets Act and would be in deep water if he opened his mouth. But he could still p
rotect her and that, damn it, was what he was going to do.
Dominic Christiansen’s cut glass voice rang in his ears.
‘Up until now this project has been on a need to know basis and you weren’t in the loop. I can now tell you what it’s all about.’
Doherty vented his anger on the gas pedal. His speed soared and he was in with a pretty big chance of getting pulled over by a speed cop.
Christiansen had sworn him to secrecy but accepted that his signing of the Official Secrets Act was the only assurance he was going to get.
The truth had shaken him.
‘There was once a man named Ivan Orlov, supposedly the son of a Russian dissident and a western sympathiser. This was in the deep dark days of the Cold War. At least, that was what he appeared to be, but we had our doubts so one of our agents, your girlfriend’s father actually, was ordered to spy on him during an assignment in Russia. I can’t give you all the details except to say that things went wrong. It turned out that Orlov was a bit of a wild card. Too free and easy with the old ‘licensed-to kill’ scenario. James Bond has got a lot to answer for. Anyway, to cut a long story short, it was decided that his services were surplus to requirements. He’d killed too many people without reason. Those that knew him said he seemed to enjoy killing. Never mind killing for democracy; Orlov got a thrill from shooting or knifing the life out of a body. Edmund Driver was the man ordered to carry out the termination.’
It had seemed all cut and dried to Doherty. So Honey’s father had been ordered to kill a fellow agent who had turned out to be a double agent.
‘He didn’t do it. Instead he betrayed him to the KGB. Obviously they tried to turn him, but that was the funny thing about Orlov. He was a monster but oddly loyal to the west. They didn’t break him to tell them anything. But they did break him. They killed him more than once; hung him, cut him down. Cut him, sewed him up. Shot him, dug out the bullet and patched him up. Equal measures of cruelty and care. Psychological destruction. He still didn’t give anything of value away, but they kept him imprisoned, eventually in a gulag in Siberia. He swore revenge on Edmund Driver, and if he was dead by the time he got out, then he’d kill his progeny. He would also kill some other colleagues who he’d studied with at Oxford then worked with in the service. One of these men was Tarquin St John Gervais. Another was a man named Keith McCall. The other, your girlfriend’s uncle, Percy Bullington, still lives. We think he is in danger, though his state of health might kill him first.
Brotherly Blood Page 15