Heathen/Nemesis

by Shaun Hutson

  Donna glanced agitatedly at her watch and walked to the main doors, trying to see the Volvo parked in the street beyond.

  When she turned again she saw Mahoney approaching the desk. Donna smiled and approached him.

  ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he said flatly, his gaze barely meeting hers.

  ‘Gordon, it’s eleven o’clock. I’ve got the car outside. Come on.’

  The girl stacking the guide books looked at both of them but said nothing.

  ‘I can’t go,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m working.’

  ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Donna demanded, irritated by his coldness.

  ‘I’m busy.’ He reached for a sheet of paper, picked up a pen and began writing.

  ‘Was it something I said, last night?’ she wanted to know. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She could hear a note of disinterest in his voice, but something else too.

  Fear?

  ‘I’ve got work to do if you don’t mind. I’m sorry,’ he told her and continued writing.

  The girl finished stacking the guide books and slipped out from behind the desk.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said.

  ‘Gordon, tell me what’s wrong? Why are you doing this?’ Donna said through clenched teeth.

  Mahoney looked directly at her, his eyes blazing.

  ‘Get out of here now,’ he snarled. ‘Leave me alone.’

  Donna held his gaze, her own anger boiling.

  ‘Get the fuck away from me,’ he said vehemently. Then he looked around quickly. ‘Get away from me, get away from this place, get away from Dublin.’

  Donna frowned, opened her mouth to say something but was cut short.

  ‘Go. Go now,’ he said, still not looking at her. ‘What do I have to say?’

  She turned and walked briskly away from the desk, out of the main entrance and down the steps back to the car. She slid behind the wheel and started the engine, pulling away so sharply she caused the car behind to sound his horn as he braked to avoid her. Her mind still racing, she glanced down at the map on the passenger seat and then headed towards the road that would take her to Mountpelier Lodge.

  Forty-Four

  Perhaps it was her imagination, she thought.

  Maybe she didn’t really feel a chill in the air. After all, the sun was out and high in the sky. It was just her imagination working overtime.

  Donna tried to convince herself of that as she walked slowly around the ruins of Mountpelier Lodge. Perched high on a hill, the remains of the place overlooked Dublin like some skeletal sentinel. The whistling of the wind was low, disappearing as quickly as it came, ruffling her hair. She pulled the collar of her jacket up. Evil places were said to retain an aura of Evil and, from what she had learned of this place from Mahoney, if ever that aura was present then it would dwell easily here.

  The stone walls, what remained of them, were weather-beaten but untouched by overgrown weeds. In fact there were no plants anywhere near the ruins. Nothing grew in or around the stonework and, as she wandered around, she was aware also of the silence. A stillness which seemed to bear down on her like a physical presence.

  No birds nested here.

  Nothing living, it seemed, would come anywhere close to this long abandoned dwelling.

  Mahoney had told her that the lodge had been built on the site of a demolished cromlech, a tower erected for the worship of native Irish Gods. Parsons and his followers had found it ironic that their place of depravity should be built on what had previously been Holy Ground.

  As she walked, inspecting the ruins, she thought of Mahoney. Of their evening together, of how forthcoming he’d been with his information. How easy to talk to he’d been, generous in his desire to tell her what she wanted to know.

  So why the change of attitude? What had happened to make him treat her so badly? It was another in a growing catalogue of mysteries and unanswered questions. Donna feared they might remain unanswered forever. At least some of them. One thing she was sure of was the purpose of her husband’s visit here. Donna was convinced that he was investigating The Hell Fire Club or some organisation like it. What she didn’t know was why.

  Christ, there were so many whys and where-fores.

  Why had he been having an affair?

  There was always that question.

  She crouched and picked up part of the brickwork that had crumbled away from a supporting pillar. Holding the stone in her hand, feeling its texture, she looked around the hilltop. Still she felt that breeze ruffling her hair, biting at her nose. Donna shivered and decided to head back to the car, not even sure why she had come here in the first place. Perhaps Mahoney might have been able to point out something to her, tell her more about the site. But Mahoney wasn’t here, was he? She tossed the stone aside and headed back to her car, looking round again, even more aware of the silence and lack of birdsong. The only bird she saw was a crow flying high above, its black outline alien and unwelcome against the clear blue of the sky.

  Donna slid behind the wheel of the Volvo and sat there for a moment, looking back at the ruins. She wondered exactly what kind of depravities had occurred inside that place when it was standing. She tried to imagine what an imposing building it must have been in its time. Ironic that so noble an edifice should house so vile an organisation.

  She started the engine and swung the car around, catching a last glimpse of the place in her rear-view mirror.

  Inside the car it seemed to warm up. In fact the further from the ruins she got, the warmer she grew.

  Imagination?

  Donna adjusted the fan inside the car and headed back towards Dublin. She glanced into the rear-view mirror, convinced that hers was the only car on this lonely road.

  Exactly where the black Audi had come from she had no idea.

  There were numerous dirt tracks leading off from this road, but she didn’t recall seeing it parked in any of them as she passed. All she knew was that the vehicle was behind her now. And, as she peered more closely into the mirror, she could see that it was drawing closer.

  Accelerating.

  Donna frowned and put her foot down, coaxing more speed from the Volvo, her eyes flicking back and forth from windscreen to rear-view mirror.

  The Audi was still gaining on her.

  She tried to look over her shoulder, to see the face of the driver, to mouth some kind of warning to him but she could see nothing. A combination of the sun on the windscreen and the tinted glass made it impossible.

  The Audi was only yards from her now and Donna decided to pull in and let it pass.

  It was then that it slammed into the back of her.

  Forty-Five

  The impact flung Donna forwards in her seat, the safety belt preventing her from hitting the windscreen.

  She looked round, seeing the Audi reverse slightly.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she screamed to the unseen driver as the black vehicle came hurtling towards her once more, this time clipping her offside light. She heard the crash of shattering glass as the cars clashed.

  The Audi reversed a few yards. This time Donna stepped on the accelerator and the Volvo shot forward, dirt and stones spraying up behind it as she guided it back onto the road. She glanced in the rear-view mirror to see that the Audi was in pursuit.

  She pressed down harder on the gas pedal, coaxing more speed from the car, trying to put more distance between herself and the maniac in the Audi, but whoever was driving the pursuing car had no intention of letting her get away. The black car swerved out in an attempt to get alongside her.

  The road was scarcely wide enough to accommodate two cars travelling abreast but the Audi ploughed up a grass verge. Earth was sent flying upwards in a dirty wall as the wheels spun on the damp ground; puddles of water at the roadside splattered up the sides of the vehicles.

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sp; The Audi slammed into the side of the Volvo and Donna had to use all her strength to keep control of the car. Again she glanced at the windscreen of the other car but she could see nothing through the darkened glass. She spun her own wheel, smashing into the Audi. It skidded slightly and slowed down.

  Donna accelerated, seeing a crossroads ahead.

  She prayed there was nothing coming the other way.

  The Volvo shot across the junction doing sixty.

  The Audi followed.

  Donna could feel perspiration soaking into her blouse and droplets beading on her forehead. When she turned her head her hair was matted to the nape of her neck. She gripped the wheel, looking alternately into the rear-view mirror and ahead, searching for a turn-off where she might be able to lose the chasing Audi.

  The road forked about two hundred yards in front of her and Donna leant forward in her seat, willing the car to greater speed.

  The Audi slammed into her again, the jolt almost causing the Volvo to skid, but she regained control and drove on. Her mind was blank. She was functioning on instinct alone. Self-preservation kept her going.

  There was the renewed sound of breaking glass as the cars clashed again.

  The fork was coming up.

  Which way to go? Right or left?

  She pulled hard on the wheel and took the left fork.

  The Audi followed, spinning slightly on the wet road, the back end swinging round as the driver revved too hard. The momentary lapse gave Donna time to edge away and she pressed so hard on the accelerator she feared she might shove her foot through the very floor of the car.

  The road was beginning to rise slightly, an incline that led to a gentle crest. Donna didn’t slow up as she roared up the slope. She was doing seventy when she reached the top.

  The Volvo left the ground for precious seconds, flying through the air before finally crashing back down to earth with a sickening jolt that jarred every bone in her body. She winced in pain as she felt a shock across her back at the impact.

  The Audi came hurtling over the rise, too, one hubcap spinning away from it as it landed.

  Donna grabbed the gear stick, simultaneously pressing hard on the brake.

  The Volvo skidded for about fifty yards, its speed gradually slowing.

  Donna jammed it into reverse. ‘Come on you bastard,’ she shouted and pressed down hard on the gas. The Volvo hurtled backwards and Donna gripped the wheel tightly, knowing that this particular ploy was going to stop the Audi or kill them both. She didn’t know which.

  The impact was massive.

  The speeding Audi and the Volvo slammed into each other with sufficient force to buckle the Audi’s grille and shatter both headlights. The Volvo fared little better but Donna closed her eyes tightly as the impact hurled her forward again and sent her crashing against the steering column with enough force to knock the breath from her. But she forced the Volvo into first, the engine screaming as she drove fifteen or twenty yards down the road. There was a loud crunching of gears as she forced it into reverse again, then sent the car hurtling again into the now stationary Audi, shunting it several yards further back. More glass covered the road; she heard it crunching beneath the tyres. There was steam coming from beneath the bonnet of the stricken Audi, water gushing out like blood from a wound. When the black vehicle tried to move away she heard a horrible clanking sound and saw the bumper come free.

  The driver reversed and the whole thing came away, dragged for a few feet by the car.

  Donna sent the Volvo crashing into the Audi again, then shifted up through the gears and drove off.

  The Audi tried to follow but it could not muster its previous speed. Donna saw it in the rear-view mirror, convinced and elated that she’d done it crippling damage. She shouted defiantly for a second, tears forming in her eyes, tears of terror and relief. Her body was drenched with sweat; it was glistening on her legs and she felt moisture beneath her on the seat. Donna wasn’t sure whether it was perspiration or if she’d wet herself in the hectic chase. For now, all she could think about was getting away. Getting back to the hotel. Calling the police.

  She looked again at the rear-view mirror and saw that the Audi was turning into a side road, allowing her to go.

  Her breath coming in short gasps, she drove on.

  Forty-Six

  The bathwater lapped gently up around her neck as she slid deeper.

  Donna pulled the flannel from the water, wrung it out and placed it over her face. Her breathing was slow and steady, the only accompaniment being the slow dripping of one of the taps. Steam from the water had clouded the mirrors in the bathroom; condensation had formed a dewy veil over the tiles. It had run down in rivulets here and there like tears.

  Donna pulled the flannel from her face and put it on the side of the bath. She felt drained.

  How she had ever managed to get back to the Shelbourne, she didn’t know. It was as if her legs had turned to ice. She could barely feel the pedals beneath her feet. She’d left the smashed car outside and staggered inside, drawing disapproving glances from the other guests. Once inside her room she’d called reception and told them to get the police. She ordered herself a brandy and downed it a little too fast.

  She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed when they’d arrived, two large uniformed men. One of them looked at her as if she were mad as she recounted the story. Donna smiled at the recollection. Why shouldn’t he think her mad? The story sounded crazy enough. The entire scenario had been insane. Who would want to run her off the road the way the Audi had done?

  No, he wasn’t trying to run her off the road; he was trying to kill her. Don’t fuck about. Face it. Whoever was driving the car had been trying to kill her, it was as simple as that. But why?

  First the business with Mahoney, then the Audi. What was going on?

  The police had apologized for the incident as if they were personally to blame, their apologies becoming even more profuse as they told her that, without a number plate (which she had been unable to remember) to trace, there was little chance of them finding the car, let alone the driver. Donna had nodded understandingly, anxious only then that they should go.

  Alone in the room she had stripped naked and run herself a bath, trying to wash away the sweat and relax after her ordeal.

  She considered what she had discovered, her mind racing like a Roladex.

  She was convinced now that her husband had been working on a book about The Hell Fire Club and ...

  And what?

  That was it. The only other things she had were guesses and suppositions.

  He might have discovered a modern-day equivalent of the Club.

  It’s possible they killed him (even though the police in England were convinced his death was an accident).

  Gordon Mahoney had gone, overnight, from being helpful to being downright rude. Why?

  Someone had tried to kill her that very morning.

  Why?

  Someone had broken into her house, apparently searching for something. Why?

  Questions. But no answers.

  Donna closed her eyes again.

  Her husband had been having an affair with Suzanne Regan.

  That was about the only other thing she knew for sure. She wondered how the other woman was involved in this chain of events. Had she been to these places with Chris? Had he shared information with her he wouldn’t share with his own wife?

  Donna clenched her fists beneath the water. The knowledge of his affair still ate away at her, and it was knowing that she could never speak to him about the affair that hurt most.

  No, not hurt, angered her.

  He had escaped her wrath when he died. Both of them had. They’d been wiped off the face of the earth before they could taste her fury. That was what truly enraged her.

  She sat up, splashing her face with water, catching a glimpse of herself in the steam-clouded mirror. Her reflection looked distorted. She hauled herself out of the bath, pulled on a bath-robe and wand
ered through into the sitting-room. She picked up the phone and reached reception, asking them for the phone number of the Dublin National Gallery.

  Perhaps if she could speak to Mahoney again, tell him what happened out by Mountpelier that morning, he would tell her more.

  She got the number, thanked the receptionist then jabbed the digits, reading them carefully from her pad.

  A voice told her she’d reached her chosen number.

  ‘Can I speak to Gordon Mahoney, please?’ she said.

  She was asked to hang on for a moment.

  Donna shifted the receiver to her other ear and began doodling on the pad.

  The other voice returned.

  Gordon Mahoney had gone home about an hour ago.

  ‘Could you give me his home number, please?’ she asked.

  The voice at the other end of the line obliged and Donna pressed down on the cradle to sever the connection before ringing the new number.

  She waited for the phone to ring at the other end.

  Waited.

  It was finally picked up.

  ‘Gordon Mahoney, please,’ she said.

  Silence at the other end.

  ‘Hello.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Gordon, it’s Donna Ward.’

  She heard the click as the phone was replaced.

  ‘Shit,’ she murmured and punched the same digits.

  Dead line.

  She heard nothing but the endless whine over the wire. After a moment or two she replaced the receiver.

  It was dusk by the time she checked out of the Shelbourne; night was approaching rapidly. The sun left a red stain behind as it retreated below the horizon.

  The taxi took her to the airport. By the time the plane rose into the air it was dark.

  Donna closed her eyes as it climbed through turbulence.

  The flight to Edinburgh should take less than an hour.

  Forty-Seven

  The pistol was pressed against his cheek so hard that it almost broke the skin.

  The sudden cold chill against his warm flesh woke him but, as Martin Connelly tried to sit up, shocked into consciousness by the sensation, the muzzle of the .45 was jammed against his face with incredible force.