Ash (12 page)

He closed his eyes. Maybe there had been too much fear in his life; maybe over the years his resolve, his fortitude, had been sapped. Maybe he hadn’t allowed sanity enough time to heal old scars. Well, Kate obviously thought he was ready to take on the vicissitudes of ghost hunting again (unless she was testing his capability in dealing with such strange and possibly damaging investigations). He knew she sensed the dread hidden beneath his veneer of cynicism and his dry manner, but her faith in him had never wavered. They hadn’t been bed-partners for a long, long time, yet their affection – and their respect – for each other had endured. That alone gave him inner strength. He almost smiled at the thought of her. Sometimes she could be like a mother hen.

‘
Rach air muin!
’

Those Gaelic words that sounded like an expletive again tugged Ash back from his nervous cogitations. He opened his eyes as the Mercedes’ brakes were applied and his seatbelt checked his helpless lunge forward. He just had time to see a blur that could have been a fox or a medium-sized dog dash into the undergrowth on his side of the road.

‘
Tha mi duilich
,’ Dalzell said to him as the long car came to a halt then rocked lightly on its suspension. ‘Sorry to gi’ you a fright again, Mr Ash. Y’ve had your share today.’

Ash peered into the undergrowth. ‘What was it?’ he asked. ‘Dog or fox?’

‘Neither one. Did y’nae see its striped fur and bushy tail? It was a bliddy cat!’

‘A cat? That size?’

‘Aye. A wildcat. I should’ve run the bugger down. There’s a whole tribe of ’em hereabouts and they’ve become an awful nuisance.’

‘I wasn’t aware that wildcats existed any more in the UK.’

‘Oh aye, they’re about. But mostly they live in the Highlands. It’s only recently that we’ve begun to see ’em in the South. Bliddy pests, the lot of ’em!’

‘Are they dangerous?’

‘They can be very dangerous. They’d tear the skin off y’face if’n y’were foolish enough to corner one.’

Ash visibly blanched for the driver’s warning had jolted his mind back to another case just two years ago and Grace Lockwood, whose skin had been shredded from her whole body by unseen forces while he’d looked on helplessly.

Ash forced the memory away. At least, for the moment, for it was one that would never really leave him.

Dalzell gently applied pressure on the accelerator once more and the car resumed its journey with gentle speed.

Because they were in the shade of overhead tree branches and also because, Ash assumed, they were drawing near to the coastline, the air was considerably cooler. He used the button on his armrest to close the passenger window and the glass slid upwards with barely a whisper.

‘The cats,’ Dalzell was saying, ‘they’re trying to get into the compound for some reason, and we think a lot of ’em have made it. God knows how.’

‘The compound . . . ?’

‘Ach, it’s just something we call it. The castle grounds and land around Comraich. Fortunately, it’s protected by an electric wire fence. Keeps trespassers out and inmates in.’

Ash frowned. ‘Inmates?’

‘They keep trying though.’

‘The
inmates
?’

The driver chuckled. ‘Sorry, I didnae mean to call ’em that,’ he said, glancing at his passenger. ‘I’d be obliged if y’d nae mention that lapse of respect to Sir Victor Haelstrom.’

‘You’ve got my word on it. But I can’t help wonder why you’d describe them that way.’

‘It’s just that many of ’em have been here for years – way longer than I’ve worked for Comraich – and none of ’em ever seem to leave, not even for a day or a couple of hours. I shouldnae say it, but sometimes m’partner an’ me, we wonder about it, and none of the castle staff will gi’ an opinion.’

‘But an electrified fence is used to keep the, uh, guests inside the grounds?’

‘Well, no. That was a little quip on my part. All the residents seem happy enough to be here. Mind you, a 100,000-volt shock would make sure of that, too.’

‘Seems excessive,’ Ash remarked.

‘Aye, but it keeps people safe.’

‘I bet.’

Dalzell suddenly looked serious. ‘Y’ever heard a cat howling at night, Mr Ash?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer he went on. ‘Sounds like a human baby crying. And when one starts up, then so does another. And another after that. Soon it sounds like the woods are full of ’em. It’s an awful eerie sound.’

He eased up on the accelerator as they reached another bend in the road.

‘What y’ll see next will surprise you,’ he told Ash. ‘But dinnae let it intimidate you.’

Nevertheless, it did.

The sleek car rounded the bend, and when Ash caught sight of what lay ahead, he was taken aback. The tall, solid metal gates made an imposing and somewhat sinister barrier that completely hid whatever view lay beyond them, which, he assumed, was the castle’s inner grounds. A sign on the ivy-clad brick wall beside them said ALL GOODS, with a red arrow pointing left just to clarify the message. The road itself continued in that direction, but Dalzell pulled the Mercedes Tourer over into the open space before the gates.

‘Are they meant to keep callers out or guests in?’ Ash asked before the driver could speak.

‘Both, Mr Ash. You’ll find the security at Comraich quite extreme, but y’ll get used to it.’

‘I don’t intend to stay that long.’

Dalzell shrugged. ‘Well, I hope there’s nae need.’

That remark had sounded almost ominous, but Ash let it go.

Dalzell unclipped his seatbelt and then rummaged through the sporran on his lap. He brought out a small gadget that looked like a pager but with a red button beneath its text window. He pointed it at the looming black gates and pressed the button.

‘That little thing’s going to open
those
?’ Ash asked in mild bemusement.

Tucking the gadget back into the sporran, the driver replied, ‘Not exactly. You’ll see . . .’

A wicket door in the right-hand gate opened and a big man stepped out. He wore the quasi-uniform now familiar to Ash. Grey shirt and black tie, black trousers and black commando boots; he also wore a black beret, and a dark radio earpiece that looked like a slug crawling from his ear. Ash had gained a fair knowledge of police armoury during the many occasions on which the Institute had loaned him out privately –
very
privately – to police forces baffled by extraordinary events which only a psychic investigator might resolve. He saw that, amazingly, the guard was fitted out with full Kessler rubberized chest armour, a Glock 17 9mm self-loading pistol holstered to his side. He also carried a Heckler and Koch L104A1 37mm single-shot rubber baton launcher and a stun gun capable of delivering 50,000 volts.

Ash assumed the big man was a guard – the
real
keeper of the gate, he mused – and his size alone made him formidable enough to substantiate the assumption. Leaving the wicket door open, the man strolled towards the car, raising a thick, indolent arm at Dalzell, who waved back, his hand barely lifted.

The driver’s side window glided down and Dalzell poked his head out a fraction.

‘Come on, Henry,’ he called, ‘y’ken it’s me. Open up!’ He pulled his head back in. ‘Henry always goes by the book,’ he said quietly to Ash, his half-smile showing no malice. ‘I like to pull his chain occasionally, just to rile him. Unfortunately he’s too serious about his job t’appreciate humour.’

The big man’s leisurely saunter towards the car gave Ash time to notice the CCTV camera mounted high on the stone post beside the gates and almost concealed by ivy. Unexpectedly, the camera’s lens slid forward a fraction and he realized its operator was taking a closer look at him. He became aware of the guard’s presence at the driver’s window; he was bent almost double, his broad shoulders and large beret blocking the light as he peered across to inspect the passenger.

‘Morning, Henry,’ Dalzell greeted.

‘Your pass and ID,’ was the gruff response.

‘One day, Henry, you’ll crack,’ said the driver as he reached into his sporran, this time producing a laminated picture ID the size of a credit card.

Henry took it from him and studied it closely. He still wasn’t satisfied, though. ‘Who’s your passenger?’ he demanded, glaring at Ash as though the investigator were an unwelcome interloper.

Dalzell sighed loudly, pretending it was all too much for him. Now he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to the louring guard. ‘Y’ken what it says, Henry, I showed it to you when I left this morning. This
is
Mr David Ash.’

‘Routine,’ came the curt response. The guard opened the folded piece of paper and inspected it. Then he eyed Ash again. ‘All right, you’re both okay to enter.’

‘Y’so kind,’ Dalzell retorted.

The guard took a second or two longer to study Ash before straightening up and ambling back to the gate. He disappeared inside the small door set in the massive gate which, when closed, was all but invisible to a casual glance. Seconds later, one side of the huge gates began to move, followed by its partner a second or so later. The movement was slow and ponderous, as if they were reluctant to reveal the secrets that lay beyond.

Dalzell took the moment to reassure his passenger. ‘Well, here y’are at last, Mr Ash, and I wish y’all success with your, uh, your mission.’

‘I’m not on a mission, believe me; I’m here just to investigate.’

‘Good luck wi’ that, then. The guests are getting pretty spooked. On one occasion—’

Ash cut him off with a raised hand. ‘I’ve already heard some of it. Maybe we can talk later on?’

‘Of course we can. I just didnae want you to go into things blind.’

‘That’s normally the first step. I have to find out if anything paranormal is really happening in the castle without being told what to find. I’ve already had too much information, but that was necessary.’

The Mercedes drove through the now wide-open entrance and the first thing Ash saw was the small single-storey concrete office block that was hardly constructed to fit in with its rural surrounds. A wide frameless window dominated the facing wall and he could see two guards watching the Mercedes drive through; one was Henry, and his companion, who wore the same monochrome faux-uniform, was speaking into an intercom, no doubt alerting someone further along the line that Dalzell had returned with the expected POB – passenger-onboard. Ash just caught a glimpse of a bank of monitor screens on the wall behind them.

The scenery didn’t so much alter dramatically as take on a new, carefully cultivated splendour, and Ash felt he’d entered another land where everything – even the foliage and undergrowth – had been carefully designed to a parkland theme. The woods on either side of the roadway were thick without being crowded. The flowers on the neatly trimmed verges still dazzled with myriad colours despite the encroaching colder months, and would have lifted the saddest heart.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. ‘That, er, that blockhouse, guard post? It doesn’t sit easily with the traditional lodge at the first gates. Nor do those two uniformed guards fit in well with the old feller on watch back there.’

‘Know what y’mean, Mr Ash, but, as I keep advising, y’ll find security is exceptionally tight at Comraich. I shouldnae be telling y’this, but those guards keep very up-to-date weapons out of sight in case of emergencies.’

The investigator was momentarily taken aback. ‘What kind of emergency would warrant an armoury? Storm-troopers, religious fanatics, the Taliban?’

‘Not for me to say, sir. Y’ll see for y’self how the place is run.’

‘Sounds like a prison camp.’

The driver laughed aloud. ‘Well, I’ve wondered about that m’self on occasion. But nae, y’ll find Comraich is a very peaceful place. The guns are only for the protection of some very wealthy and important people here. To my knowledge, there has never been an incident requiring the use of weaponry.’

‘That’s good to know.’

Dalzell gave another sideways look at his passenger. Ash kept his expression grim to show him he wasn’t joking. ‘Enjoy the scenery, Mr Ash. Its tranquillity will reassure you.’

Ash let it ride and took in the panoramic view opening up before them. Through the neat trees that were now becoming sparser, he could see green parkland with several grazing deer. Even from a distance, they appeared magnificent creatures, their sleek pelts a reddish brown, and among them were taller beasts with majestic antlers. Beyond them, there was thick forestry where artificial symmetry had no place. The woods were dark and seemed impenetrable, although Ash guessed there would be interesting paths through them. The whole area seemed immense.

‘How much land does the estate cover?’ he asked Dalzell.

‘Two hundred and fifty hectares,’ the driver responded.

Ash noticed they were travelling uphill and Dalzell anticipated the next question.

‘On this, the land side,’ he pointed out, ‘is a steep glen. With the rough sea and the high cliffs the castle sits atop on the other side, the
caisteal
is virtually invincible, ready to fend off a whole army. And believe me, it’s done that many times since it was built as a fort.’ Dalzell was once again playing the tourist guide with relish. ‘On the left of the castle – our right – are the old stables and a winding wooden stairway which’ll take y’down to the shoreline, and there y’ll find a network of caves, one of which, so legend has it, leads up to the castle dungeons themselves. It’s nae secret that the caves were used for hiding contraband from the revenue officers in the past for it’s nae far across the water to the Isle of Man, and believe me, smuggling was a major activity on the island. From there they were shipped to the Ayrshire coast, as well as England and Ireland, where they were either banned or high duties had to be paid on them. But that was in centuries past – things’ve changed since. For the worse, if y’ask me.’

Occasionally, they passed single men wearing the same quasi-uniform as the guards on the gate, except some wore fleece gilets to keep out the chill. Each one appeared to speak into what looked like a very thick wristwatch which must have been a hi-tec RT linked to the earpiece, no doubt being used to report on the progress of the chauffeur and his passenger to some central command post.