CHAPTER SEVEN
‘She’s been in there for ages,’ Sheila said. ‘I’m going to see if she’s all right.’
‘You only checked ten minutes ago,’ Johnson said, lighting another cigarette and blowing smoke in her direction. ‘Yes, and now I’m going to check again. Or do you have a problem with that?’
Johnson shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ Sheila glared at him. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’ Asshole! She thought as she walked along the dimly lit corridor to the bathroom. Andrew Johnson was starting to get on her nerves and she wondered now how she had once found him attractive. Thoughts of last year’s Christmas party insinuated their way into her mind and she shuddered at the memories of hurried sex behind the photocopier in the machine room; his hands inside her blouse and down her pan ties; fumbling fingers trying and failing to bring her to orgasm. Her lips wrapped around his…Stop it! Stop thinking about it. She’d been drunk; one too many Tia Marias, and the hangover of a blazing row with her husband, making her act out of character. Andrew Johnson was a chancer, an opportunist whose sexual radar had locked in on her vulnerability. Andrew Johnson was a slug and she forced herself to push him from her mind.
‘Jo? You’ve been ages. Are you sure you’re all right?’ She tapped on the bathroom door again, pressing her ear to the wood, listening for the reply and getting only silence. ‘Jo?’ She curled her fingers around the door handle, ready to turn it. Still nothing. Perhaps she’d passed out. She turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The bathroom was empty. Sheila frowned. Maybe she’d gone back to the bedroom, but it didn’t seem likely given what had happened. This was not the time to be anywhere in this house on your own. She could still hear conversation buzzing in the bar, drawing her back. She closed the bathroom door and hurried back along the corridor.
‘She’s not there,’ she said as she entered the bar.
‘Where is she then?’ Eddie Farrant said. The attention he was giving to his drink showed how deep his concern went.
‘How the hell should I know?’ Sheila snapped. She was beginning to feel real impatience with Andy and Eddie, not to mention the bloody island.
‘Tetchy,’ Johnson said, a slight sneer on his lips.
‘Piss off!’
‘All right, settle down,’ Michael Bennett said. ‘Getting edgy with each other won’t solve anything. We’d better search the house for her.’
‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it, Mike?’ Johnson said. ‘She’s probably gone up to her room.’
‘Then we’ll go and check.’ When he needed to be, Bennett could adopt the leader role, he just didn’t choose to do it enough of the time.
‘You can go. I’ve just made myself comfortable. Free booze. What could be better?’ Johnson was being deliberately provocative, fueled by the alcohol.
‘Free booze and no guts,’ Sheila said, glaring across at Johnson.
He raised his glass to her and smiled. ‘Need any photocopying done, Sheil?’
‘Prick!’ Sheila said with anger.
‘Sheila!’ Bennett said.
‘Well he is,’ Sheila said with passion, but hoped no one realized what Johnson’s remark meant.
‘Agreed, but standing here sniping with each other won’t help find Jo. Come with me. We’ll check out her room.’
‘Shouldn’t we all go?’ Casey Faraday looked pale and frightened. She chewed her bottom lip and tears were welling in her eyes.
‘Good idea,’ Bennett said. ‘Best that we all stick together. Eddie, Andrew, come on.’
With a theatrical sigh Andrew Johnson put his glass down on the table and shuffled himself to his feet. ‘Bloody waste of time,’ he said.
Bennett walked over to him and spoke softly so the others couldn’t hear. ‘If you want a job when you get back from here, stop acting like a moron. You may think you’re Jack the lad, but just remember, when we get back to Waincraft, I’m still your superior, and I can make life bloody difficult for you.’
Anger flared in Andrew Johnson’s eyes. His mouth opened, but he bit back the words and forced a smile. ‘No problem, Mike,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Bennett said. ‘Now, come on.’ And to his surprise the whole team moved as one.
Jo Madley’s bedroom, the room all the girls were sharing, was empty. Her bed was neatly made and a few pieces of clothing hung from hangers hooked over the handles of the wardrobe door. On the dressing table was a cluster of her cosmetics; on the bedside table a paperback book, open, facedown, spine straining.
Johnson glanced down at the title of the book and smirked. Change Your Life in Five Days. We’ll she’d certainly done that.
‘We’ll try the other rooms, then move on up to the staff quarters,’ Michael Bennett said. ‘She’s got to be here somewhere.’
‘Has she?’ Sheila said quietly. ‘After what we witnessed on the patio, I would have thought that all bets were off.’
Bennett looked at her tight-lipped and walked from the room.
The rest of the Manse was empty.
‘This is pointless,’ Johnson said. ‘She’s not here. Let’s go back to the bar.’
‘ To do what?’ Bennett said. ‘Sit there and get pissed?’
‘That’s better than roaming about the house aimlessly,’ Eddie Farrant said. ‘We’re not going to find her.’
‘What makes you so bloody sure, Eddie?’ Casey Faraday said. Her voice had a hysterical edge. Bennett looked at her sharply. She was on the edge and the slightest thing might push her over.
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ Farrant said. ‘This is the second time we’ve searched this place. The staff has gone, Jo’s gone. We’ll be next. One by bloody one.’ He said it calmly but the fear was evident.
‘That’s enough, Farrant,’ Bennett said. ‘ We don’t want to hear your opinions.’ He went across to Casey and wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders. ‘Take no notice of him, Casey. He’s just sounding off. All wind and piss,’ he added, remembering Jo Madley’s graphic description earlier.
Eddie Farrant glared at him. ‘I resent that,’ he said, his temper flaring. ‘I’m entitled to express my opinions.’
‘Not when it’s upsetting others.’ Bennett stood upright and his posture dared Farrant to take it further.
‘I need a drink,’ Farrant said.
‘So you’re just going to sit in the bar and lose yourself in a bottle. Is that the plan, Eddie?’ Sheila said.
‘Yes,’ Farrant said. ‘That’s the plan.’ He shoved past her and made his way down the stairs.
Andrew Johnson looked at the others, then shrugged and followed Farrant. Michael Bennett stood at the top of the stairs with the two women. ‘Did either of you see a radio transmitter in any of the rooms? They must have had a contingency in case the phones went down.’
Casey and Sheila exchanged looks, and then both shook their heads. ‘There could be one on the boat Lomax has down at the jetty,’ Sheila said after a moment.
‘You’re probably right,’ Bennett said. ‘Let’s go down and tell the others. One of them might know how to use it.’
‘Don’t you?’ Sheila said.
Bennett’s cheeks flushed. ‘No. I don’t. Outside my sphere of experience.’
‘My dad had a CB radio,’ Casey said. ‘Years ago when it was all the rage. Breaker one nine…all that nonsense.’
‘Did he let you use it?’ Sheila said. She’d seen the films and found them boring, preferring her dad’s old tapes of Tony Hancock and The Radio Ham.
Casey shook her head. ‘But I used to watch him. I’m sure I could pick it up if I had a bit of practice.’
‘Then what I suggest is that we all get in one of the Land Rovers and drive down to the jetty,’ Bennett said.
‘Andrew and Eddie won’t want to leave the comfort of the bar,’ Sheila said.
‘That’s up to them. We can still go,’ Casey said.
‘I’d prefer it if we all stayed together,’ Bennett said. But he didn’t relish ano
ther run-in with the two men, especially as they’d have drunk quite a bit by now.
‘But you can’t force them to go to the boat,’ Casey said. ‘And if we try to argue with them we’ll just be wasting time. I don’t know about you two, but I want to get off this bloody island as soon as possible.’
‘Amen to that,’ Sheila said.
‘Well, let’s go and see what they say,’ Bennett said, although he had no intention of trying very hard to persuade them.
Eddie Farrant reached the bottom of the stairs. He’d had enough of Michael Bennett. It was bad enough having to suffer his pettiness and rank-pulling at work without having to endure it here.
‘Eddie.’
He glanced round, peering along the corridor, which led to the kitchen. Jo Madley was standing there, her back to the wall. As their eyes met she beckoned him with a quick motion of her hand, then peeled away and disappeared into one of the rooms. Johnson was already in the bar and he could hear the others as they made their way down the stairs. He wasn’t going to wait for them, and Bennett’s inevitable order couched as a suggestion that they all go after Jo together. There had been something in her eyes; something that his mother would have called a come hither look. He’d lusted after Jo ever since she started at Waincraft, though not as obviously as Andrew, and he felt an unmistakable stirring between his legs. That look!
He took off down the corridor, walking quickly, found the room she had entered and slipped inside.
It was dark. The drapes were pulled. His hand reached for the light switch.
‘Leave it!’
He let his hand drop. ‘Where are you? I can’t see.’
And then he felt her body press against him. ‘Here,’ she said, her mouth closing over his.
His hands slid over her back, pulling her closer, whilst his tongue tasted the sweetness of her mouth. Her hands were in his hair, fingers entwining themselves, gripping tightly, almost painfully, her lips bruising his. Finally he broke away. ‘Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere.’
‘That doesn’t matter now,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Eddie, I don’t want to die.’
‘Die? What are you talking about?’
‘I want to show you something,’ she said, and grabbed his hand, tugging him across the room.
‘What?’ he said, wanting her back in his arms, wanting to feel her soft breasts pressing against his chest.
She didn’t let go of his hand; instead her fingers closed more tightly around his, making him wince. They reached the window. He could hear her breathing heavily, but still could not make out her features in the gloom. He sensed rather than saw her hand reach out and pull open the drapes. Twilight nudged its way into the room. He peered out through the window at the Manse’s sprawling grounds.
‘I can’t see anything.’ It was too dark outside to see anything clearly.
‘Not out there. Here!’ Her voice was insistent, almost impatient.
He turned to her and saw her face for the first time.
The scream bubbled in his throat but refused to leave his lips.
Maggots. Hundreds, thousands of them, covering Jo Madley’s face. The nose had gone, eaten away. Fat white bodies dropped from lips that bare seconds ago had been pressed against his. They writhed over and under her skin making it ripple and pulse. They moved under her eyelids, dropping from her eyes like white tears.
‘Pretty, eh?’ The words sounded thick, and they triggered the scream.
The scream brought the others running.
Farrant spun round as the door was flung open and Bennett, Sheila and Casey ran into the room.
‘Eddie, what’s wrong?’ Bennett shouted.
‘That!’ Farrant shouted back and turned back to face Jo Madley, but she’d gone.
‘What?’ Sheila said.
‘She was there…right there,’ Eddie Farrant said. ‘Horrible. Maggots.’
Bennett turned to the women. ‘Have you any idea what he’s talking about?’
Sheila shrugged, went across to Farrant and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Eddie. Come back to the bar and have a drink. A stiff brandy will help.’
‘She was here in the room with me, Sheil. Jo. Her face was alive with maggots.’ He clutched his stomach and convulsed, vomiting on the floor.
‘Charming,’ Bennett said quietly to Casey. ‘How many has he had anyway?’
Farrant wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I know what I saw. And no, I’m not drunk. Jo was here, in this room.’
‘Well she’s not now,’ Bennett said, his voice more terse than he intended, but fear was getting the upper hand now and he was no longer as controlled as he would have liked. ‘Back to the bar. We need to talk this through and make some decisions.’
When they were all seated in the bar with more drinks Bennett began, ‘Casey thinks she might be able to work the radio in the boat. We could then call for help.’
‘And you’re going to send her out there alone?’ Eddie Farrant said; his face was still white and he was visibly shaking.
‘Of course not. One of us will go with her.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Casey said. She was sitting on one of the seats, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped protectively around her legs. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I’ve thought about it and I’m not going out there.’
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ Johnson said.
‘Shut up, Andrew,’ Bennett said. ‘Casey, you’ve got to. You could be our only hope.’
Casey shook her head as tears pressed out from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shit!’ Bennett pushed himself to his feet, went across to the bar and poured himself a large glass of Coca-Cola, swallowing in one long gulp. He slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘Well that’s it,’ he said. ‘I’m sick of you people. We’ve got a really serious situation here, and you just fall to pieces. I can’t shoulder the responsibility for all this on my own.’
‘That’s not fair, Mike,’ Sheila said. ‘And no one’s asking you to take responsibility.’
‘No, but as the senior member of staff…’
‘We’re not at work now, Bennett,’ Farrant said. He’d recovered himself sufficiently for some of his old asperity to reassert itself. ‘You can’t tell us what to do, and you can’t force Casey to go out there if she doesn’t want to.’
‘Well, what would you suggest, Eddie?’ Bennett said, pouring himself another Coke. ‘Come on, let’s hear your brilliant plan to get us out of this bloody mess.’
Farrant’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sail, don’t you? I’ve heard you spouting off about it to anyone who would listen after one of your weekends out on the ocean.’
‘Kilvington Reservoir is hardly the ocean,’ Bennett said. He knew he’d exaggerated the part he played on his weekend sailing trips.
‘You still have experience of boats. Which is more than I can say for the rest of us. You could take the launch back to the mainland and get help.’ Farrant knew he was laying down a challenge.
‘He could also pilot the boat and take us all off the island,’ Sheila said. Desperation echoed in her voice. She was as scared as any of them.
‘Piss off, Sheila,’ Andrew Johnson said. ‘You’re mad if you think I’d put my life in his hands. No, thank you very much. I’d rather stay here and take my chances.’
Bennett was silent for a moment. He stared down into the bottom of his glass and saw all the old familiar demons lurking there. For Coke substitute whisky, bottles of it. He tipped the remainder of the drink down the sink. ‘Andrew’s right…for once,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that I can handle the launch. Having you all along for the ride would only put me on edge. Best I try this alone, then I’ve only got my own neck to worry about.’
‘Or to save,’ Farrant said. There was a thin edge of insult in his tone.
Bennett glared at him.
‘Shut up, Eddie,’ Sheila said. ‘I agree with you, Mike. Better that the
rest of us stay here together. Nothing can happen to us if we’re all watching out for each other.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was barely nine in the morning when Robert Carter lit his fifth cigarette, threw the cold remnants of his coffee onto the grass and sat back in his canvas garden chair. The inevitable suspension from duties that followed his assault on Crozier had given him three days at home so far and the days seemed destined to merge into weeks. Crozier was not a man for forgiveness; certainly not where Carter was concerned. Carter smiled; it had been worth it though. The satisfaction from the actual blow was one thing, but the look of surprise on the man’s face was priceless.
The weather had been kind and Carter had spent most of his enforced rest in the garden. The view down to the lake was spectacular, and there were hardly any tourists yet in this part of the Lake District so distractions were few.
He had worried over and over in his mind about the events that had led to Sian’s disappearance but couldn’t reach a conclusion. There seemed no explanation, logical or paranormal, to comfortably fit her complete loss from the world. The results from the car interior didn’t even reveal any DNA traces from her. It was as if she hadn’t existed. Only Carter knew she did exist, was a living, breathing, warm and loving girl, and it was his fault she was gone.
His fault and therefore his task to find her.
He picked up the laptop from the small glass-topped table and checked that he was still online. Wireless Internet was great but reception was not always as reliable as he would have chosen. The page he had been reading was still displayed. The Old Straight Track and Alfred Watkins.
Carter had always been taught that Alfred Watkins, a Herefordshire businessman, had discovered the concept of ley lines, or Leys, in 1921, and published his findings in his book The Old Straight Track. Watkins had been out in the countryside when it struck him that many of the footpaths seemed to pass in a straight line over the hilltops. These hilltops seemed to connect ancient sites of interest and Watkins argued that there was a whole pattern of alignments across the land, not only in his immediate view but much further afield as well.
Black Cathedral (department 18) Page 5