Pete’s biceps bulged through his fleece as he straightened his legs. Sweat broke on their foreheads. The stone lifted and Kevin inserted the wooden prop. They all backed off from the appalling stench.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Kevin said and turned away.
Both Sceptre and Andrea covered their mouths and noses, Niles and Robb backed off. Pete took the lamp from him and shone it into the coffin.
Still wearing the ceremonial robes Kevin had seen, the hair was still a dirty brown straggling around the face. The eyes had all but disappeared, and the lips had shrunk, receded from the open mouth, laying bare what was left of the gums and his teeth. Insects crawled from their unexpected winter feed. Down the side of his neck was a huge gash which had sliced through the jugular and carotid. The dried stains ran down the open neck wound and splashed over the robes.
“Out.” Andrea’s voice was muffled by her handkerchief. “We need to get forensic down here.”
They were all glad to be outside in the fresh air. Pete looked over to the East and the first pearly glow of the coming day. By the movie trailers, Locke was in an argument with Phil Dunstan.
“I don’t care how many bloody movies you have to make, you won’t be working here until we’re through and that’s that.”
“Goddamn country,” Dunstan snapped. “I have to be off this site, with everything in the can by Thursday.”
“You can get off the bloody site now,” Locke shouted, “with empty cans for all I care. One more word out of you and I’ll wall you up for obstructing a police officer in the course of his duties.”
Dunstan turned to Sceptre. “Your majesty, can you help here? I’m trying get a movie made and I have this asshole …”
“I’m sorry, Mr Dunstan,” Sceptre cut him off, “but in common with all our royal family, I cannot interfere with the due process of law. Chief Inspector Locke must investigate. But I’m sure he’ll allow you back in tomorrow.”
“Optimist,” Pete said with one eye on Andrea as she spoke quietly to her boss.
“Pete,” Kevin asked, eyes following his best friend’s gaze, “how are you gonna explain this to padlock and chain? He’s already made it plain he won’t listen to Fishwick.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Pete assured him. “Just get ready to back me up.”
“But Pete …”
“Right you lot,” Locke shouted marching towards them, “I want answers and I don’t want any more bull about dead bloody butlers and ghosts in the kitchen. How did you know this stiff was down there?”
“We didn’t,” Pete said. “I guessed it.”
“Oh yes? Remind me to let you guess this week’s lottery numbers.”
“I mean it. Get real, Locke. You know damn well none of us put the stiff there, but one of us, me …” Pete pointed at his chest, “has been on a CID training course. Deduce, the instructor taught us. Don’t assume, deduce. First I have Danny Corcoran here. Now when did Danny ever do anything just for the hell of it? He had to be here for a reason. I’ve already said there’s nothing worth nicking here, so what was he doing? He was keeping an eye on us. Why? Because there was something here he didn’t want us to find. We had some shenanigans in the crypt last night, but we never found out who was causing them. I figured it was Danny. Now why would he want to scare us out of the crypt? He wasn’t worried about all the old bones down there. He had to be hiding something in the crypt, and what’s the obvious thing to hide in a coffin? A body.”
Pete trailed off and waited for a response.
“Bravo,” cried Kevin. “Author, author.”
Pete and Sceptre gave him sour looks.
“So how did you know which coffin it was in?” Locke demanded.
“Deduction again,” Pete repeated. “Only this time, I had evidence to back up the deduction. When we were in the crypt last night, both Sceptre and I noticed that the dust had been cleaned off the Reverend Emmet’s stone. It had obviously been disturbed recently.”
Locke studied Pete’s features. His own eyes were haunted with suspicion, like the headmaster suspecting veiled impertinence.
They were saved any further confrontation by a shout from one of the forensic officers as he hurried towards Locke waving a seal-easy clear evidence bag in the air.
“Identification, sir,” said the officer, his voice muffled by his facemask.
Locke took it and examined it, smoothing out the clear polythene container. “You were looking for Gus Nordqvist, Brennan? Well don’t look any further. We found him.”
He held the bag forward for Pete to examine the contents: a European photocard licence showing the handsome, flaxen haired features of the Wicked Witches’ roadie.
*****
Pete turned away, his features furious.
“What’s the matter?” Sceptre asked.
“Everything,” he snapped. “We’ve been taken for suckers. Yesterday I’m asked to look for a missing person, and today he turns up in a coffin with his throat cut, and he’s been there since the night he disappeared.. Someone has been taking the mickey with me.” His eye fell on Dunstan pacing by the school entrance, mobile phone glued to his ear. “You, Dunstan.”
The disconsolate director waved Pete away.
Pete crossed quickly to him, snatched the phone from his ear.
“Hey,” protested Dunstan.
“He’ll call you back,” Pete growled into the instrument and closed it down. His eyes burned into Dunstan’s. “Where are they?”
The American moviemaker fought back. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“A local yokel who’s bigger than you,” Pete reminded him. “Now where are they?”
“You can’t push me around like that … you mean Haz and Nag? They’re at the Bower Hotel.” His abrupt change of heart and temper came as Pete grabbed his coat and lifted him from the ground.
Pete released him and handed the phone back. “Ring them, tell them I’m on my way and I want words with them. No excuses, Dunstan, I want to speak to them.” He turned and marched off, leaving the director shaking.
Sceptre hurried after Pete. “Stop, Pete, wait a minute.” She grabbed his arm as he neared the barrier. “Pete, we cannot just walk away from here. Two men are dead and Locke is determined to blame us for something. And he specifically said we cannot leave. Then there’s all our equipment to be retrieved.”
He rounded on her. “I don’t care about the two men who’ve died, I don’t care what Locke wants and I don’t care about our equipment. You and Kevin can deal with it. I care about two bitches and an ex-drug dealer who are trying to take me for a fool. When I’ve sorted them out, then I might care about everything else.” Once more he turned and stormed off.
Sherlock, who had turned up for his day’s work, stopped him at his car. “Pete, what’s going on?”
He shrugged the senior security man off, and gave an angry nod towards Sceptre. “Ask her.”
Next, he found PC Robb barring his way. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to leave, Brennan.”
Pete’s eyes blazed. He cracked his knuckles. “Just think about how you’ll explain your broken nose to your grandkids … if I leave enough of you to have any grandkids.”
Robb swallowed hard and stood back to let Pete pass.
Climbing into his car, he tore away from the school and joined the early morning throng of traffic heading into Ashdale. He was already mad and the slow progress through the town and back out on the western side made him even angrier.
It was a slow journey, worming his way into Ashdale, juggling lanes to try and make time. And every time he changed lanes, it seemed that the one he had just left sped up.
Twenty-five minutes after leaving the Ashdalean, he pulled into the hotel, by which time, his temper was explosive. He burst into reception, demanded to know which room the Wicked Witches were in, and when the receptionist refused to divulge the information, he snatched the register, turned it round and read the room number.
While the reception
ist grabbed the phone to ring a warning through to the room, he passed into the narrow corridor leading from reception.
The Wicked Witches’ suite lay at the far end on the right. Two minders blocked his path, spreading themselves across the corridor as he approached. Pete never checked his pace. They took a step forward to stop him, he landed a vicious kick to the kneecap of the one on his left, and grabbed the one on the right by the shirt, and head-butted him.
With the minders reeling, he reached for the door handle. It opened and Sonny Briscoe stepped out, his face flushed with fury. He snatched at Pete, but Pete caught the flailing hand, gabbed the wrist, twisted, brought it down, spun Briscoe around and screwed the arm up the manager’s back.
Haz Lane looked more shocked than angry as Briscoe was frogmarched back into the room.
Pushing Briscoe to the settee, Pete glowered at her. “You. Get your sister in here, now. I want some answers.”
“Get out,” she rasped.
“You heard me, lady. Get her in here. Now or I take him apart,” Pete gestured at Briscoe, “and when I’ve done with him, I start on you two.”
Haz looked to Briscoe who, rubbing his arm to encourage circulation, nodded. Haz stood, glared at Pete, and stormed from the room.
Briscoe, too, glared. “What the hell’s got into you, Brennan?”
Pete’s voice was a hiss. “I warned you and your whores yesterday, don’t screw around with me. I’m not plod anymore and I don’t have to play by the rules. I’ll bust your head open to get the information I want, and if you’re thinking of taking me on, you’d better come with plenty of manpower, and they’d better be bigger than the two clowns outside.”
Haz and Nag appeared, the younger sister dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
Pete was in no mood to be sympathetic. “You’ve heard the news from Dunstan?” Both women nodded and he carried on reading the riot act. “Yesterday, you hired me to find Nordqvist, this morning we found him … by chance. His throat had been cut and he’d been dumped in a coffin along with the resident stiff. I don’t like people taking the mick, so I want the bottom line and I want it now. If I don’t get it, you won’t be in any fit state to appear before an audience for the next three months.”
Haz scowled. “You’ve had the bottom line, Brennan. All we knew was what I told you yesterday. You did what I asked. You found Gus. Don’t worry, you’ll get your two grand. Now get out of here and don’t let me see you again.”
Pete shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Last night, a second man was killed at the school. Danny Corcoran.”
The two women were stunned into shock and Briscoe’s eyes opened wide. “Danny Corcoran?”
“That’s right,” Pete snapped. “I’m fingered for it. Me and my partners. I intend to get to the bottom of it and I’ll still stick you with a bill for two grand. I know Corcoran.” He glowered at Briscoe. “You know Corcoran. The chances of him turning up at a school that was hiding a body and him not being involved in putting that body there are nil. He came to make sure we didn’t find Nordqvist. What I want to know is how did he know we would be there, and I won’t leave until I find out.”
“It’s nothing to do with us,” Nag yelled. “How many times do we have to repeat it?”
“Until I’m persuaded.”
“We never even heard of Danny Corcoran,” Haz shouted.
“He was the kind of scum your boss used to hang out with. There weren’t many people who knew we would be at the school overnight, and of those who did know, even fewer could legitimately contact Danny Corcoran.” Pete turned accusing eyes on Briscoe. “You’re one.”
“Wrong track, pal,” said Briscoe. “I haven’t had contact with the likes of Corcoran since I came out of Strangeways. I told you all I knew about Nordqvist’s disappearance yesterday. Now, if you wanna do some good, if you really wanna earn your money, get out there and find the guy who iced him, so we can help Nag find some peace.”
They stood locked in eye-to-eye contact for a few moments before Pete finally backed off.
“I don’t think you people are telling me everything. All right, all right.” Pete raised his voice to quell the immediate clamour of their protests. “Maybe you think you’re telling me it all, maybe you are all innocent, but there’s something you’re missing out. It may be nothing directly connected with Nag and Nordqvist, it may be nothing to do with the Wicked Witches at all, but there’s something. I’ll get out and ask the questions elsewhere, but in the meantime, I want you to think about everything that happened that day. And I mean everything. Every tiny detail. It doesn’t matter how insignificant. I’ll catch up with you later.” His mean eye settled on Nag. “And that includes you. The next time I come here, I want to know about Nordqvist and the VDL.”
“That what?” Haz demanded.
“The Venerable Disciples of Loki,” Nag said. “You don’t have to bother me again, Brennan. I can tell you now. It was some wacko religion he was involved with. That’s all I know. Something to do with Sweden. He went to meetings once a week but beyond that, he never spoke about it.”
Pete frowned. “Where did he meet with them? You guys are all over the world?”
“I mean he went to meetings when we were here in the UK. If we were abroad, he didn’t bother.”
Obviously taking advantage of Pete’s sudden retreat, Briscoe pointed a warning finger. “Git out there and find the people what iced him, Brennan, and next time you come here, make sure you show a little more respect.”
Pete sighed. “You may have won this round, Briscoe, but don’t push your luck.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Madam?”
Fishwick’s contact stirred Sceptre.
With Pete’s angry departure (which had served to infuriate Chief Inspector Locke even further) she and Kevin were left in limbo, confined to the dining hall, while police with the assistance of Sherlock’s team of security officers held back the production crew and fans. It was almost inevitable that two nights of activity would take its toll on her ability to stay awake.
In the chair opposite her, Kevin was asleep, dribble trickling from his mouth accompanied by the occasional soft snore. She too had been nodding off, in that half world between waking and sleeping where hypnagogic images melded reality into dreams.
It was into this miasma that Fishwick’s voice intruded.
“What is it?” she asked with a good deal of irritation.
Her butler’s tones did not change even in the light of her irritation. “I feel you should know, Madam, that I am sure the spirit here was responsible for the death of Mr Corcoran.”
“Loki?” Sceptre was surprised.
“No Madam, not Loki. Vali.” said Fishwick. “Now that the body of Gus Nordqvist has emerged from the vat, I think Vali and the man in black are both manifestations of Nordqvist. He’s been very angry, but he’s calmed a little now and he seems almost content that the man called Danny Corcoran has passed over. Indeed, he kicked Corcoran through The Light.”
“But you can’t confirm that the man in black-stroke-Vali is definitely the spirit of Nordqvist?” Sceptre asked.
“No, Milady,” said Fishwick. “If it is, he is still not sufficiently calm or sufficiently satisfied to go through The Light. It’s as if he’s waiting for something or someone else.”
“Thank you, Fishwick. I’ll bear it in mind. Fishwick, while you’re here. Corcoran was wearing a badge exactly like the one we received through the trailer window, yesterday.”
“I noticed, Madam.”
“I also noticed that Nordqvist’s overcoat was torn. Is it possible that Vali, Nordqvist, call him what you will, could have visited the body in the vat and torn that badge from the coat?”
“Indeed, Milady. All spirits possess the ability to manipulate matter to some degree, as throwing the badge through the trailer window demonstrates. However, I doubt that Vali would have sufficient dexterity to unfasten the badge, and tearing it from the overcoat would be his only
recourse.”
“Fishwick, you know of Mr Keeley’s visions?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“I have two questions. First, do you think Danny Corcoran was one of those involved in the murder of Gus Nordqvist?”
“Assuming Mr Keeley’s psychic impressions were accurate, Madam, I think that is a safe assumption.”
“That is my conclusion, too. Next, Mr Keeley described a great circle bearing the face a depiction of Loki. There was also a flagpole, one of four, showing the same feature. From Kevin’s description and from the fact that Nordqvist’s body was left here, I thought it was the Ashdalean, but I have seen nothing of a banner bearing Loki’s face and I could see nothing of a great circle on the roof. Can you help?”
“I may be able to, Your Ladyship,” Fishwick replied. The roof does have a great circle, but it is a similar colour to the rest of the roof, but of a different material. It is also bolted to the roof and I cannot see what is beneath it.”
Sceptre was surprised. “I thought you could pass through solid material.”
“Indeed, Milady. However, there is no space between them for me to see what lies beneath. At first I thought it was some kind of sports court, like a basketball marking, and that the material was laid to protect the boys’ safety, but there is no basket, so it does not seem reasonable. Perhaps, then, this is a cover for the Loki circle.
“I’d be grateful if you could make further inquiries, Fishwick.”
“Very good, Milady.”
Mulling over the exchange with Fishwick, Sceptre stared around the dining hall, trying to piece together the few and disparate bits of information at their disposal. A murdered Scandinavian and an obscure sect worshipping a Scandinavian deity who had never had a following to her knowledge, linked to a couple of pop singers and an English public school with a hidebound, Christian tradition. It was like the four corners of a chessboard. There would be no link until the rear ranks began to move forward and met in the middle.
The noisy voice of Chief Inspector Locke arguing with Andrea drifted along the corridor and into the dining hall. “I don’t care what you say, Brennan should have been stopped at the bloody gates. You put Robb on nights for the next two weeks.”
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