by Sam Christer
‘I’ll come with you.’ Tompkins pulls her handbag off the corner of the desk chair. ‘If it’s urgent for you, it’s urgent for me as well.’
124
The Henge Master rises and embraces the new initiate. ‘My son, it is so good that you are now with us.’ He holds Gideon’s head to his face. Hugs him like a father embracing a lost child. ‘Sit. You must rest.’ He turns to Draco. ‘Leave us. I will call for you when we are done.’
The Master smiles as he sits alone with Gideon at the circular stone table. ‘The ceremony is draining. You will feel weak and tired for some hours, but your body will heal, regenerate quickly.’
On the table in front of him are wooden platters and jugs of water and juice. The boards are piled with chopped raw fruit.
‘The food here is perfect for your purified body. Blueberries, cranberries, figs, bananas. Power foods. Please eat. You need to build your strength.’
Gideon picks a little. He has no appetite. He glances around. The dark stone walls seem to suck all of the light from the room.
‘Such a famous fruit and such a powerful symbol, don’t you think?’ The Master holds an apple in the palm of his hand.
‘You mean Adam and Eve?’
‘No, no, I don’t. I was thinking of something Greek.’
Gideon knows he is being tested. His brain slowly moves up a gear. ‘Ah, the Twelve Labours. Heracles had to steal golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides.’
The Master smiles then bites the apple. ‘You are indeed your father’s son.’ He nods towards the coded diaries spread at the end of the table. ‘When we are finished, I want you to read to me. Explain the code.’
Gideon pulls the stalk from a rich red cherry. ‘I have some questions.’
‘Ask. This is your time. I am here to help you learn to become a valued member of our Craft.’
‘I am curious about the Sanctuary. How and when it was built, where exactly it is.’
The Master smiles. ‘You will learn the location of the Sanctuary in good time and when you are fit enough I will personally guide you through its magnificent chambers.’
Gideon looks offended. ‘I am still not to be trusted?’
The Henge Master sighs. ‘The initiation begins your journey of faith, it does not complete it. I think you know that we are approaching an important time in our calendar. One that no one can jeopardise. After that, we will revisit this issue.’
‘The ritual of renewal. I presume that is what you mean.’
‘I do. In three days it will be completed and then we will allow you to leave.’ He smiles. ‘On stepping outside you will know the location of the Sanctuary.’ He laughs. ‘You will know it instantly.’
‘And until then I am to stay here? As what? A prisoner?’
‘Of course not. As a scholar. We shall talk every day. You will educate me about Nathaniel’s writings.’ He picks up a diary from beside him. ‘And I will educate you about your duties as a Follower of the Sacreds. It will be time well spent.’
125
The two policewomen don’t say much as they walk the short distance to the Chief’s office suite. They’re asked to wait outside for a moment, then his PA ushers them through.
Alan Hunt and Greg Dockery sit at a conference table not far from the door. Neither seems to notice that Tompkins has tagged along.
‘You asked to see me, sir,’ says Megan, trying to hide her nerves.
‘I did, Detective Inspector.’ The Chief flashes a politician’s smile and nods to a chair. ‘Please sit down.’ He looks to Tompkins. ‘This is nothing to worry about, Jude.’
‘Relieved to hear it, sir. With your office saying it was urgent, I thought you’d appreciate me being here.’ She helps herself to a seat alongside Megan.
Hunt ignores the comment and turns to his deputy. Greg Dockery fixes his eyes on Megan. ‘We have just been informed that the Home Office are about to publish their annual review.’ His tone is almost funereal. ‘And it will be highly critical of the Wiltshire Constabulary. Particularly, about our attention – or what they see as our lack of attention – to long-term unsolved cases. With that in mind, we need to be proactive and head off any rebukes.’ He musters a smile. ‘This is good news for you, Baker. As of this minute, you are the acting head of our new taskforce, Operation Cold Case. If you make sufficient progress, if this appointment heads off the criticism, then you can expect accelerated promotion to the rank of DCI. Congratulations.’ He stands up and leans across the desk to shake her hand.
Megan is surprised and confused. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She rises to grip the extended palm.
‘Starting when?’ asks Tompkins coldly. ‘With respect, we’re badly stretched, sir. As well as the Lock case, DI Baker has a very full workload, including a new murder. The timing really isn’t good.’
‘Starting right now,’ says Hunt acidly. ‘Timing is never good, Jude. There’s always a reason to put off change. We’ll assign someone else to clear the DI’s workload.’
His deputy picks up the impetus: ‘This is a major opportunity for you, Megan. It’ll be good for you. The posting is in Swindon. You will need to clear your desk today. You start in the morning.’
She swallows. ‘Sir, I have a young daughter who goes to nursery in Hartmoor. I need a little more time.’
Hunt cuts her off. ‘You don’t have time, Detective Inspector.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Nor do we. You are very lucky. You’ve landed a hell of a job. Now go and make the most of it.’
‘Yes sir.’ Megan leaves in a dignified silence, followed by Jude Tompkins. Once outside the door, the DCI takes her by the arm. ‘Come back to my office. We need to talk. You’re bright, Baker, but not that bright. Jobs like this don’t just fall like rain out of the sky. I would have known if a job as strategic as this was in the offing.’
The DCI doesn’t say any more until they’re back in the privacy of her own room. She shuts the door and shoots Megan an accusatory stare. ‘You are being bumped out of here. Shifted doubly quick. What have you been doing? Is it Jimmy? Have you been bedding that ginger toe-rag?’
Megan is horrified. ‘I certainly have not.’
‘Good. I credited you with more sense than that. So what is it?’
‘This has nothing to do with my private life. And, not that it is any of your business, I’m actually back with my husband.’
‘So illuminate me. What the hell is all this to do with, then?’
Megan tries to figure it out. Her boss is right. The new job isn’t a bump up, it’s a bump out. She’s not being promoted. She’s being shut down.
Tompkins can’t sit. She paces and glares with anger. ‘Things have never been busier. We’ve got a suicide, two murders – Naylor and Timberland – and a VIP kidnapping. And the top brass want to ship out my DI in the middle of it all.’ She moves closer to Megan. ‘Think, Baker. Think hard about anything unusual you have found or that has happened to you. Tell me about it. Is there anything at all in any of the cases that you have been holding back? Doing a bit more work on. I need to know it all. Now.’
126
FRIDAY 25 JUNE
A night spent on a bed of straw in a stone cell has left Gideon aching from head to toe. The Master can call him a scholar all he likes but he knows exactly what he is. He’s a prisoner. No less captive than the pale young woman he saw as they led him from the Great Room. The one in his delusional post-initiation state he thought was his mother. It was the girl off the news. He realises now. Caitlyn Lock. The daughter of the US Vice President. That was the woman he’d seen. From what he can remember she had a lover, an Englishman. He supposes he is also being held somewhere, probably in a cell like his own.
Then he remembers. Remembers his father’s book. Immurement. Ancient Britons adopted the practice of the Greco-Romans. They walled-up errant citizens, confined them in tiny spaces until they starved to death. The Followers employed the same practice to purify the body of the sacrifice and rid the mind of any form of visua
l or audible stimulus.
Gideon pities her. She must be going insane. Pressed up against dark dusty stone with no way to move and nothing to do. A living hell. He stands and walks his small cell. Seven strides long by three wide. Luxurious compared with how they’ll be keeping Caitlyn.
He sits on the straw bed and falls deep in thought. The Sanctuary is a circular structure. He can picture the Descending Passage. The corridor of the Outer Circle. The Great Room. The cleansing area. The Master’s chamber. Some outer chambers. The cell that he is in right now. From this first-hand knowledge and the descriptions in his father’s diaries, he believes he has a good mental map of the entire place. Including where they must be holding Caitlyn.
There is only one gap in his knowledge.
The exit.
127
Megan has spent another night at her parents’ house with Sammy. After news of her so-called ‘promotion’ and the doubts that Tompkins raised, the last thing she could face was an evening with Adam and his bullet-train desires to resume normal family life as though nothing had ever happened.
She steps in the shower and tries to clear her head. All of yesterday’s worries are still there. Gideon is missing. Jimmy is missing. She is going to have to uproot Sammy and move to Swindon.
She towels dry and dresses. Tompkins promised she’d put the skids under the whole change of jobs thing. Slow it down. Make it manageable. But Megan doubts even the DCI will be able to get the Chief and the Deputy to change their minds.
Her parents have fed and dressed Sammy and Megan thanks them and drives to nursery, her mind on autopilot. Yesterday’s twist in events has brought her and Tompkins closer together. Closer than they’d ever been. She’d even felt confident enough to confide in her. The DCI had typically demanded every last detail and Megan had given it to her. Everything. Gideon Chase’s theories about cults. The disappearing evidence that linked butcher Matt Utley with the break-in at the Chase estate. Everything. She was surprised – and somewhat relieved – she hadn’t been laughed out of the station.
Having dropped Sammy and kissed her goodbye, she uses her mobile to phone HR and tell them she’s going to the doctors’ and can’t come in today. Maybe not tomorrow either. She looks at the keypad and then tries the numbers she has for Gideon and Jimmy. Another blank. Gideon’s absence can only be bad news. She turns the car around and heads out to Tollard Royal.
It’s a sunny, clear day and the hour-long trip is almost therapeutic. It’s a tiny village on the southernmost boundary with Dorset. Not much there of tourist interest. A thirteenth-century church and a Quaker burial ground. Only Ashcombe House, home to Cecil Beaton, Guy Ritchie and Madonna, is worthy of note.
At the Chase estate the gates are locked. She presses the buzzer repeatedly and calls his phone lines again. Nothing.
Megan gets out of the car and walks the tall brick walls of the perimeter until she’s out of sight of any passing traffic. If Utley found a weak spot in the home’s defences, she can.
And she does. After a little tree-climbing and a jump that Sammy would have applauded, she makes it on to the top of the wall. She goes down on her knees, grips the brick edge, hangs low and drops into the garden. She emerges from the soil and shade on to the long back lawn.
‘Gideon!’ she shouts up towards the house. Doesn’t want to spook him, have him mistake her for another intruder.
It takes several minutes to negotiate the lake and the back of the house. There’s no one here. His Audi is parked on the gravel out front and judging from the glistening spider webs spun across the wing mirrors, it hasn’t been moved for a while.
Megan rings the bell. Bangs with her fist and shouts his name again, even through the letterbox. Nothing. She scribbles a note for him to call her and pushes it through the metal flap. She withdraws her hand and stands frozen in thought.
The last time she saw Gideon was with Smithsen, right here. And he looked scared. At the time she wrote it off as a psychological reaction to his father’s death. Now she knows that she was wrong. Maybe he’s even lying dead on the floor inside.
She tries to rationalise. Smithsen wouldn’t really kill him, would he? Not after seeing her at the house, not after talking to her, a detective, on the driveway. He’d be mad to. The logic is enough to stop her breaking in. At least until she has spoken to Jude Tompkins.
Megan retraces her steps, climbs back over the wall and heads to her car. As she starts up the engine, she sees a flash of something in her rearview mirror. A man in a green jacket moves quickly out of her line of sight.
She is being watched.
They are following her.
128
Once past the King John Inn, Megan pushes hard on the Ford Focus’s accelerator as she heads into the open countryside around Ashmore. Sixty, seventy, eighty. Easy for the little car. If they are tailing her, then they are going to have to show themselves.
Just before a tightish left-hander, she catches a glimpse of another car, way back. It’s moving fast. Every bit as fast as she is. It could be the lure of the open road that has tempted the driver to put his foot down. She has to find out.
Megan knows that until they get to the aptly named Zig Zag Hill, the B road offers nothing more testing than gentle bends. The Focus is soon doing way over a hundred. She has opened up at least four hundred metres between her and the following car. As she hits the vicious right-hander at the foot of the hill, she pumps the brakes and the Ford deftly keeps its balance going into the left switchback that instantly follows. Her heart kicks like a mule. She works the brakes again, slowing as quickly as she can without smearing telltale rubber.
Megan glides the car off road into the copse of trees on the right. She stops as deep in the clearing as she can manage. Within seconds, the car behind her zips past. It’s a Mercedes. Cream-coloured. That’s all she can make out.
Now comes the real test. If Merc man is just driving for fun, he’ll work the hill and put his foot down as soon as he is clear of the bends. She won’t see him again. But if he is following her, within the next minute or so, then he’s going to be wondering where the hell she is. He’ll probably swing it around, check he hasn’t missed a turning, maybe even double back.
Megan reverses carefully out of the copse and cautiously resumes her journey to HQ at a more sedate pace.
She sees the Merc just past Cann Common. Pulled up. Brake lights on. Two people in the front. A cheap personalised plate ending: 57MU.
Matt Utley.
She remembers Gideon saying he saw Utley with a gun. The brake lights on the Merc go off and it noses out of the lay-by in front of her. She hits the accelerator and burns through the gears, as though she’s going to ram the car. She doesn’t. At the last moment she pulls right into a small access road to half a dozen houses set back from the road. It runs parallel to the main road and she uses it like a pit lane on a race track. Only Megan isn’t stopping.
The back end of the car drifts as it floats over the grass and tarmac. Somehow she keeps control. Swerves out of the close back on to the B road. Heading right past the Merc. For a second her eyes catch those of the driver. It is Utley all right. She has seen his photograph often enough and long enough not to be mistaken. She thinks she recognised his passenger too. She only got a brief glance of the thick-set man in a white shirt, but there was something about his outline, the curve of his shoulders and the shape of his head that was familiar.
She accelerates hard along Higher Blandford Road and doesn’t let up until she’s crossed Christy’s Lane and made it on to the much busier A350.
Megan keeps one eye on her mirror all the way back to Devizes. Her brain is reeling from what she’s just been through. What she saw.
The man in the front seat of the car with Utley was her husband. It was Adam.
129
They only let him out to go to the toilet.
The rest of the time, Gideon spends locked in the solitary confinement of the stone cell. They bring him meagre food and e
ach passing hour makes him feel more like a prisoner.
He realises there are only two days to go before the Followers complete the ritual of renewal and offer up the life of the woman he saw. They can’t take risks. And he could well be a risk. They know his father tried to stop anyone outside the Craft being sacrificed, so there’s a chance he might try to do the same.
The bolts on the door are drawn back. It creaks open. Two robed men walk in, say barely anything, except that he is to be taken to the Master.
He walks the corridor his father walked and imagines the secret life of the man he never really knew. How had he felt after his initiation? What were his thoughts after he’d just been initiated into one of the oldest and most secret brotherhoods in the world?
The Lookers leave Gideon inside their leader’s chamber. The Master shows him to the stone table, where Nathaniel’s diaries are stacked. His voice is business-like. ‘Time for you to read to me. Illuminate me. Then I will enlighten you.’
Gideon opens one of the last of his father’s journals. He knows exactly the passage that he’s looking for. He clears his throat and begins: ‘If this diary is being read, I pray to the Sacreds that it is you Gideon who is doing the reading. You were always the most methodical of children, so I presume you will have started from the beginning and this will be one of the last entries you will read. Now you will know of my differences with the Inner Circle, of their desire to force me to accept their will. I cannot bend to their ways. I must not and I shall not. If you take, so shall you give. You personally. Not you by proxy or by threat. It is entirely wrong that if you take, you force someone else to give. This is not the way holy people repay their debts. It is the way of the selfish, the untrustworthy, the dishonourable. The way of a man I deemed a friend. A person I allowed into my own house and trusted like a brother. A man who tainted everything in life that I respected.’