Midnight is a Lonely Place (60 page)

‘The grave must be under all that.’ Greg said soberly. None of them had made a move.

‘So. Marcus has won,’ Kate was standing beside him now. ‘We’ll never know what happened.’

Bob Garth was worriedly rubbing the palms of his hands up and down the front of his jacket. ‘Where was the deceased when you left?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Was he on the ground floor?’

‘Oh, no!’ Kate buried her face in her hands.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Greg stepped forward. ‘Kate, you stay here. There’s no need for you to come in.’

The water was swirling around the top of their boots as the two men, followed somewhat reluctantly by Jon, made their way towards the front door. It was several minutes before they reappeared. All three looked grim.

‘The water has been in, I’m afraid, Miss Kennedy.’ Garth had recovered himself sufficiently by the time he reached her. ‘It’s made rather a mess in there. I think you should leave it for now. We’ll wait for the scene-of-crime officer and forensic to have a look round and then they can remove Mr Norcross’s body.’

She nodded. She had no intention of going in.

‘Shall we walk out to the grave? The water is not very deep out there and it’s receding fast.’ Greg had followed Garth to her side. His foot, numbed by the cold, ached dully.

She nodded reluctantly. Her own exhaustion had reached such a peak that she wondered if she would be able to walk another step. Gingerly, she stepped into the thick muddy water, feeling the soles of her boots sliding a little on what had once been a lawn. She glanced at the bush of daphne in the corner. The small pink flowers were still there, free now of ice and snow. On the topmost branch she could see a robin.

The tide was still high. They had no way of seeing where the grave was under the choppy, angry waves. Standing calf-deep in water, Kate turned slowly this way and that. The dunes had shifted. She was disorientated. There were no landmarks now to guide her, only a wide expanse of triumphant water.

Bob Garth shook his head. ‘If there were bodies in the grave there will need to be a coroners’ inquest,’ he said doubtfully.

‘Just what Marcus didn’t want.’ Greg was staring at the water.

Garth regarded him dubiously. He could feel it again out here; the strange certainty that all was not right. The feeling that if he were not careful he would hear or see something which he would rather not know about. ‘Do you really believe all that stuff about ghosts?’ he asked nervously.

Greg threw him a quizzical glance. ‘You would rather believe there was a homicidal maniac loose in the woods?’

‘We are looking for a murderer, Mr Lindsey.’ Garth kept his voice even. ‘I’ll reserve judgement on who he is, for now.’

Greg did not reply. He had felt it now. The lightest brush, tentative, questing, inside his head. Marcus was still searching for a new source of energy. Angrily, he shrugged it off.

They stood looking down at the water in silence. Greg glanced at Kate. She was frowning. Had she felt it too? She looked up abruptly and caught his eye. He could see the uncertainty there; uncertainty and fear.

‘Why don’t we go back to the farmhouse,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here, is there officer? We’ve got to wait for the water to go down.’

Garth nodded. ‘May as well.’ He appeared to notice Kate’s white face for the first time. ‘You’ve all had a bad couple of days out here. You wouldn’t think people could get cut off like this, not in the nineties, would you?’ He began to wade back towards the cottage, relieved to be moving. ‘I’m supposed to seal the door before we leave. If you three would like to walk on ahead, I’ll only be a minute.’

Kate hauled herself in beside Jon and leaned back, closing her eyes. He touched her hand. ‘It’ll soon be over.’

She nodded.

‘What happened to the book? It’s not still in there?’

She gave a weary smile. ‘I’ve got the disk safely. I expect my notes are all right. I left them on the table. Oh, Jon.’ With something like a sob she leaned towards him, her head on his shoulder. He put his arm round her, aware again of Greg’s baleful glance as he turned to look at them. She gave Greg a weak smile. ‘What’s going to happen?’

‘Nothing. The police enquiries will no doubt draw a blank and that will be that. No one will ever mention Alison’s part in this, whatever it was. No one will ever know what happened for sure.’

‘Except us.’ It was a whisper.

‘Except us.’

‘And Marcus will rest in peace now the grave has gone.’

Greg gave a short barking laugh. ‘You think so?’

‘Don’t you?’ Kate gripped Jon’s hand tightly.

‘No. I don’t. He’s still here. I felt him out there.’ Greg stopped and closed his eyes with a sigh. Oh yes, he was still there. And so was she. Somewhere. And they were both hunting; hunting for allies, for power, for the life force of a living being to sustain their hatred. The fact that the grave had disappeared meant nothing. He opened his eyes, staring back mutely at the cottage where Bob Garth was screwing a staple and hasp to the front door. There would be no stopping it now. Battle was joined. The question was, whether he was going to fight them, to stand back and watch, or whether he was going to join in. Behind him, Jon had put his arm around Kate. Did they think he couldn’t see them? He pulled up his collar and folded his arms. It didn’t matter. When it came to rage and jealousy he had a perfect master in Marcus.

LXXIV

Under the water the sand swirled restlessly, turning the encroaching sea the colour of the soil it invaded. The fine suspension danced to the rhythm of the waves, erasing, rearranging, sculpting a new landscape beneath the water. The coast was used to this. The sea was its enemy, ever present, ever waiting, encroaching sometimes millimetres at a time, creeping in snail-like in the soft dawn which succeeded each storm, sometimes leaping angrily on its prey and dragging it out, dismembered, to deposit its spoils on another shore.

As the water seeped deep into the clay, probing, sucking, stirring, the final shreds of leathered skin began to dissolve. Nearby, the golden torc settled more deeply into the silt and came to rest at last upon the tooth of a mammoth, a much earlier victim of the mud of the marsh.

Nion was searching now. Lost. Claudia had gone, following the people
and the energy they provided. The beach was deserted. He was lonely
again. He felt his anger mount. Was he tied to this place after all? Tied
for all eternity? Around him the sea had grown gentle; the water had
ceased to attack the land; now it caressed, a lover who had made a
long-planned conquest. He had seen them: the woman and the men. The
two of them loved her. He had seen the crackle of their hostility, felt its
power. So, history repeats itself
.

Amused, he waited. They had guessed what had happened here. They knew the Roman’s secret. They hated him, but they feared him too. He was powerful, Marcus Severus Secundus. Powerful and clever, for all his craven terror when he had faced at last the moment of his death
.

Anne had made soup when they returned. Cold and shaken they sat around the table gratefully: the taxi driver, the policeman, the poet, the painter, the psychologist and the author. On the sofa Paddy slept on. He had woken once and sat up, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his face. ‘Is it true, about Dad? I didn’t dream it?’ He had looked up pleadingly at Anne.

‘I am afraid it is true, Patrick.’ She sat down beside him and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, comforting him until he fell asleep again.

‘So. What happens next?’ Jon looked at Bob Garth.

Ten minutes before, a message had come on the constable’s mobile phone that a police car was on its way to pick him up. The young man helped himself to a piece of bread from the basket and spread it thickly with butter. ‘As soon as the car comes, I’ll go back and report what we found. I can take you with me, Mr Cutler, if you like – and anyone else who wants to leave.’ He looked from one to the other.

‘You go, Anne.’ Kate said quietly. ‘You can’t afford to be away any longer.’

‘I am not leaving you here.’ Anne met her eye with determination.

‘Don’t worry about Kate. I’m going to look after her. She’s coming back with me,’ Jon said firmly.

Kate shook her head. ‘I’m not coming back to London, Jon. Not yet.’ She was too muddled, too shocked by everything that had happened to make decisions. ‘Or at least, I’ll come to Bill’s funeral, then I thought I would go to our parents’ for a while. I was going there for Christmas anyway.’

‘Kate –’ Jon looked at her in sudden panic. ‘Please – ’

‘Stay here, Kate.’ Greg put in softly. ‘At least until the cottage is dried out. It won’t take long.’

‘She’s not going back there!’ Jon interrupted. ‘After all that’s happened. You must be mad – ’

‘She agreed to take it for six months.’ Greg’s voice was very calm.

‘Things have changed since that agreement,’ Kate shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay there, Greg. Not now. Not after Bill – ’

A sudden imperious crackle from Bob Garth’s mobile phone cut through Greg’s growing anger. Unclipping it, Garth raised it to his ear. Glancing from face to face he listened to the message intently, then he grinned. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s good news. The Farnboroughs are going home. Mrs Farnborough has two cracked ribs and young Susie is suffering from exhaustion, but that’s all. Mrs Lindsey is going to stay in hospital with young Alison overnight. They think she is all right, but they are going to do a brain scan just to be sure.’ He stood up. ‘Well, who is coming with me? Have you made up your minds?’ He couldn’t wait to be off.

‘Go, Anne.’ Kate said after a moment’s pause. ‘I will wait to collect my stuff as soon as they will let me in the cottage, then I’m going to Herefordshire. Allie’s gone. The grave’s gone. There’s no more danger. I’ll be all right.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘I know you’re worried about work – and besides, there’s C.J. You go. Only don’t get lost this time.’ She gave a wan smile.

Anne grimaced. ‘If we can be dropped off at the end of the track, Pete has suggested that he drive in front of me, at least on these lanes, to check I don’t get lost!’ She glanced at the taxi driver mockingly.

‘That’s right.’ He bowed. ‘And I’m going to buy her a slap up meal in Colch to send her on her way thinking a bit better about this part of the world! So don’t you worry about us, folks. Just you look after yourselves.’

‘I hate to leave you here.’ Anne pushed back her chair. She put her hands on Kate’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘What are you going to do about Greg and Jon?’ she asked softly. She could hardly have missed the conflict between them.

Jon did not give Kate the chance to reply. ‘She’ll be all right, Anne,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

Anne looked him in the eye. For a minute she was silent, then she smiled. ‘Make sure you do.’

When the car finally arrived, Patrick went too. He had not argued when Greg suggested that he go to Diana at the hospital and keep her company.

Kate glanced at Jon and Greg as the police vehicle disappeared up the track. Greg had turned away to throw more logs on the fire. Outside, the garden lay very still beneath the thawing snow. She bit her lip. The silence in the house had become suddenly threatening.

Greg straightened. His face was pale and strained. ‘You’ll have to stay for Dad’s funeral, Kate. He would have wanted you to.’

They all glanced towards the door. Someone was coming later to pick up Roger’s body and take it to the mortuary.

‘I don’t know, Greg.’ Kate bit her lip. ‘Please, give me time to think. Perhaps I can come back just for the day.’

‘Just for the day.’ Greg’s voice was heavy with irony. ‘How jolly.’ He stiffened suddenly and stared round. The temperature in the room was falling swiftly. ‘He’s come back,’ he said. ‘Can you feel him?’

‘Marcus?’ Jon moved across to put his arm around Kate.

‘Marcus,’ Greg confirmed. He sounded almost pleased.

Kate shuddered. She looked round. ‘Where is he?’

‘Here.’ Greg could feel the anger; the hatred. But this time the mood was different. It had changed. This time it was accompanied by fear. That was strange. Why should Marcus be afraid? Greg felt himself shiver.

For a moment no one moved, then almost defiantly Greg picked up a candle and limped to the door.

The study was very quiet and cold. His father’s body lay on the bed, covered by a clean white sheet. He stood, looking down at it. Was it Roger Marcus feared? Or something – someone – else?

He turned away and picked up his last painting of the woman in blue. Claudia. It had haunted him for so many months, this beautiful enigmatic face. He stared down at the huge oval eyes. They radiated hatred. He could feel it, directed straight at him. He frowned, touching the paint with his little finger then he walked back into the living room, taking the picture with him.

‘Well, what do you think?’ He propped it on the chair so Jon could see it.

Jon squatted down on his haunches so that he was level with the face. ‘Powerful stuff.’ He frowned. It was the first time he had smelt it: jasmine. Very strongly, coming from the canvas. He sniffed cautiously. It was heady, overpowering, sexy.