The horror weekend, p.14
The Horror Weekend, page 14
“Anything from your papers?” Macleod asked Pandie and Miss Dawson.
“I don’t fully understand the words, but here’s someone saying that I needed to come and to do all necessary to bring me here,” said Miss Dawson.
“Is it dated?” asked Macleod.
“That’s good,” said Miss Blayney but Macleod wasn’t listening.
“It’s three months ago,” replied Miss Dawson.
“When did you accept your invite for here?” asked Macleod.
“I didn’t. It was Aldo who said we should come. I’m just tagging along; it was his idea.”
“There’s nothing in my papers I can make out that would be useful,” said Pandie.
“Okay,” said Macleod and then nudged Miss Blayney when she went to speak. “We’ll get back to the kitchen and see if Mrs Johnston can bring us up to speed on this. I’ve also got a manual for the whole scheme but it’s very entry level. I’ll see if Smith can help me fathom where things are going.”
Miss Blayney refused help but placed herself beside Macleod as they waited to follow Pandie and Zara up the rope ladder. “Aldo said to come?” she whispered. “Do you think she’s in danger?”
“We all are, Melanie. But I wish I could talk to Mr Brace right now. There are connections being dangled but I need more. It’s maybe time to gather for dinner, see what a chin wag can offer.”
Chapter 18
Back in the kitchen, Macleod tasked Mr Smith with making something to eat and set his small team of mainly scared individuals to work. They had brought the papers from the locked drawer back with them and he had given Pandie and Miss Dawson charge of looking through them further. He was sitting at a table with Mrs Johnston and Miss Baxter looking over the letter Miss Blayney had seen as important. He felt he could best assist on this as he was the only one in the room who actually knew his boss.
“The language is Egyptian, Inspector,” said Mrs Johnston but it is unlikely to be modern. The language is older and yet used very clumsily. It is as if they did not know the language but had picked it up from a phrase book. Like an Englishman wandering the streets with his Russian guidebook but not actually having had any previous contact or immersion in the language.”
“How do you mean?” asked Macleod. “Or rather for what purpose?”
“If I was to guess,” continued Mrs Johnston, “I would be thinking that someone needed to believe he or she was being clever, or had something to hide, or at least give that impression. But anyone who can read basic Egyptian could read this, despite the obvious abuse of the language.”
“And it says?” asked Miss Baxter.
“It talks of The Pure Vine. That’s the repeated name given although it does not relate what that is; however, I would surmise it is a group or band of people from the context. But there’s little that is sinister here. Simply a determined exhortation to bring your boss to the weekend gathering and saying that funding is dependent on it and on the other factors being in place too.”
“Okay, that’s interesting but not very damning or revealing of anyone. Would you be so kind as to look through the other papers with me, Mrs Johnston? In fact, can Miss Baxter and you make a start while I catch up with everyone else?”
Having been given Mrs Johnston’s agreement, Macleod checked on Miss Blayney who was lying on the floor with a blanket under her head. She had her eyes closed but flicked them open as Macleod stood above her.
“How goes it, Inspector?” said Miss Blayney. “Found anything juicy?”
“Not much. Does The Pure Vine mean anything to you?”
“No, never heard of it.”
“It appears they, whoever they are, had something to do with building this monstrosity of a weekend and for bringing, or at least attempting, to bring my boss here. Like me, they failed to succeed in making her go somewhere she didn’t want to. Miss Blayney smiled at the joke. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes,” she replied, “the headache has nearly gone. Still a little out of sorts but should be able to get up and help soon.”
“Take it easy. We’re going to eat and I’m still scanning these papers. Also, I need to interview some of the guests more intensely and try to find some connections. So, lie down until we at least eat.”
Macleod watched her nod and then close her eyes. As he turned away, he realised he was developing a fondness for Miss Blayney. Despite her excellent figure and looks, this was not what was grabbing his feelings. Rather she had a feisty and determined disposition that was giving him a closeness to her that was maybe undeserved. He needed to watch what bias this created as he was truly unsure of everyone in this party except Hope.
He had expected Hope to be back by now but knew sending her out had been a risk. With so much to do and the lives of everyone in the house at risk he had simply left the outside plan to her. He hoped he did not regret that.
Mr Smith announced lunch and his mother placed several bowls of soup on the table along with bread. Macleod was famished and ate hungrily once he had seen Smith taste the soup. There was no need to be reckless just because you were hungry.
He managed to sit beside Miss Dawson who looked pale and somewhat nervous. As he tucked into his soup, she played with her spoon and then asked Macleod straight out, “Do you think Aldo is involved in this?”
“I don’t know, Miss Dawson. What’s he like as a person?” asked Macleod.
“He’s been very charming as long as I have known him, which isn’t long. My folks were not happy I was seeing him but then they still think I’m a child and that I need to concentrate more on my gymnastics than be with Aldo. He works out almost daily with his rugby but because we live quite close we’ve been able to see a lot of each other.”
“How did you meet?”
“Well, that is funny because we don’t really move in the same circles. Yes, we are both athletes but the gymnastic squad is very close knit and stays quite enclosed. We were on an intensive two week burst at the university, using their facilities, and Aldo was there working rehab in the gym with his personal physio. I would be in the gym from time to time and he came over to chat. He can be quite delightful. Really grabbed me by the heart, Inspector.”
“He can be delightful?” queried Macleod. “Does he have moments?”
“He’s very passionate about things. Has certain standards. I think that comes from his church upbringing. He goes every Sunday. I back a charity that helps people who have difficulty with living their life for who they are due to intimidation and abuse. I was attending a rally they were having and Sarah Bale was going to be the main speaker.”
“I don’t really know who you are talking about?” said Macleod.
“Maybe that’s because it was in America, Inspector. She won a discrimination case against her employers at a beer firm. She had been their main marketing image until she came out as being a transvestite. Aldo didn’t say much about my going to the event but I could tell he wasn’t happy. And he didn’t go. He’s come to everything else I have done, except this charity of mine. Weird. But he’s been lovely, really, Inspector. I could not have hoped for a more perfect boyfriend. It was the least I could do coming with him to this, although the place had been giving me the creeps even before the killings started. Now I don’t know who to trust.”
You’re not alone there, thought Macleod. “What did your folks think of you coming over here with Mr Brace?”
“Well, they were not happy. I’m meant to be training but I faked a bit of a strain. Figured I owed Aldo this one as he was so insistent on coming here.”
Miss Baxter came over to Macleod and simply stood beside him while he was talking to Miss Dawson until he turned to acknowledge her. “Sorry, Inspector but can we talk?”
“Of course, Miss Baxter.”
“Alone?”
Macleod excused himself from the table and walked with Miss Baxter to the far end of the kitchen and then said in a whisper, “What is it?”
“What has my father done? He was involved in all this? I mean, all those papers you brought down, the foreign writing, this crazy building he made.”
Macleod shook his head. “I simply don’t know about your father yet. But I think he was genuine in his desire for a horror weekend. Did he do anything like this before? You seemed to think so, when you saw the building at the rear of the house. All the latex creatures and fake blood. Or rather pig’s blood.”
“He’s been fascinated by the macabre all his life but this is something different. He would go to conventions, be in role-play sessions, that is, sorry, was part of him.” Miss Baxter sniffed and fought to continue. “It drove my mother mad before she died as he seemed happier in his fantasy worlds than with her. He would have loved all this. Well you saw him when he arrived.”
“Indeed, very animated, but killers get animated too, Miss Baxter.”
“But my dad was not like that. He was gentle. Yes, he had some strong views at times but he was always one who liked the debate, not any direct action on people. He was quite old fashioned when it came to relationships and lifestyles; his papers even carried some pieces against this new wave of sexuality but he always said that society had to be inclusive too, if that was what the people voted for.”
“Did he show any particular aggression against anyone?” asked Macleod.
“Only me. He said I was promoting too many dodgy causes on my morning show on television. But I don’t promote causes. People are in the eye and I have them on my show—it’s what people expect.”
“People like Darren Mackenzie—the suspected child abductor, people like him?” Macleod’s face was deadly serious and showed a lot of contempt. “You allowed that pond life airtime. Everyone at the station said so.”
“As I said people in the public eye. I don’t book them; the team at the production company does. And the season on rights for gypsies was the same. And when I had Mr McKinney on.”
“Mr McKinney, who is dead in the cave outside?”
“No, Pandie, over there. I didn’t even know he had a partner until I got here. Well, I say that, but I knew he had a partner but I didn’t know his partner, or anything about him. But Pandie is a strong advocator of LGBT rights, very strong in fact and in the public eye.”
Macleod was quickly becoming aware that the public eye and he were not very well acquainted. He seemed to know very few figures that Miss Baxter talked about but he was beginning to form his suspicions on what was happening. An execution, a wholesale execution of certain figures. If someone had used Macaulay to build this elaborate trap, and it was ridiculously elaborate, that person would also need to have met him before.
“Your father, Miss Baxter, he was into this roleplaying. How far did he travel to do it?”
“All over. He’d disappear for long weekends, dressing up and running around castles and that. As I was growing up, he tried to get me involved. Nothing sinister, just role-play, knights and queens, monsters and demons, investigations into the strange. He had a thing for Lovecraft, M R James, horror and the like.”
Again, the names washed over Macleod. “Did he spend his money on anything else?”
“Of course, but this roleplaying was where his heart was. Even when my mother had an affair at one she attended with him, he was not put off.”
“When was that?”
“Five years ago. She dressed up as a shield maiden and got it on with a cleric. Not a real one, Inspector,” said Miss Baxter as Macleod’s face started. “They got caught doing it on the battlements and my father still went back to the same place the following year, though without her.”
“A true role-player then,” said Macleod.
“Although he could be a brilliant businessman, Inspector, he was always at home in these fantasy worlds. And it’s gone and killed him.” Miss Baxter bent over and sobbed. “He was so stupid with these damn made-up stories. There’ll be no more of them now. He’s scared me properly this time.”
Macleod placed a distant but comforting arm on Miss Baxter. Normally he would not have been that forward during investigations but this one was different. He was rarely among the range of potential victims. When Miss Baxter had recovered to a degree where Macleod felt it was appropriate to leave her and move on to another of the guests, he stood up and sat down beside Mrs Johnston. The large-framed woman had red eyes from the tears she had shed for her husband and the stress of the situation was all over her face.
“I’m sorry to have to ask these questions I’m about to, but I need to know more about your husband. If he’s alive I will need to move quickly to ensure he stays that way, so please be candid in all your responses.” The woman nodded and sniffed.
“I understand the gravity of the situation, Inspector, more than most here, bar yourself and your colleague. Please, ask whatever you want.”
“Why are you here?” The woman’s face showed a lack of comprehension. “Why are you here?” repeated Macleod. “I mean, what links you to this place and Macaulay? Where did you meet him first? Did he actually invite you? Is this type of weekend, or rather the type of weekend it was meant to be, your cup of tea?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one, Inspector. You see, my husband met Mr Macaulay some time ago, on a role-playing weekend. My husband has always been into these sorts of things. I think it was in England that they first met. I was not with my husband; indeed, we have only been together five years. We share a common love of the ancient, you see, although he is more steeped in the mythology. That is part of my studies too, but languages are where I truly find my feet. But the two complement each other well, like we do.”
Macleod nodded. “And had he seen Macaulay since that first meeting?”
“Oh yes, they were common companions at these weekends. In fact, my husband was delighted when Mr Macaulay said he was going to run a weekend here in Scotland. Really, Jermaine, my husband’s first name, Inspector, was so overjoyed he began to write to Mr Macaulay, giving him a plan of a potential story. I had to translate some language for him as well. I’ve seen some of it on the walls.”
Yes, thought Macleod, that explains a lot. The man was so keen when we first split into groups, even carrying on after his injury, shuffling his arse across a bloody floor while others nearly had a breakdown at the sight of it, all of those decapitated puppets.
“Did he, or you, know any of the other guests here?” asked Macleod.
“No, but then that is not uncommon. Throwing people together was always one of the traits of these role-play games. I have only attended a couple but you have to then pull together, find out about each other. That’s not always easy for me, Inspector. I’m quite aloof normally, being of such an academic bent, and men do not tend to flock to me like they would Miss Baxter or Miss Blayney. The brain is not valued so highly as these modern feminist movements would have you believe. Even us girls like a body attached to the sweet-talking mouth of a man.”
“Yes, it’s not right,” agreed Macleod.
“I never said that, Inspector. Maybe nature is nature. That’s what Jermaine would say. You should not subvert what is normal. Only that which is not.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I thought it was obvious, Inspector. Sorry, that was rather arrogant of me. You see, I can give off a rather superior disposition at times; it’s not healthy for making friends. Jermaine always said we should be who we are and not what parties force us to be.”
Macleod was intrigued, if feeling a little out of his depth. “Go on, please.”
“I think one of them today is often referred to as the PC brigade. Political correctness, not being allowed to say what is on your mind, or even what is, because of damning indictment about what you have said rather than whether or not it’s right.”
“Did he have strong views himself, or was this just an observation on our way of life?”
“Oh, he railed against the establishment. Country to the dogs, academia being trumped. I found that hard at times as I’m quite a socialist, Inspector. At heart I could be a sixties’ hippie. It caused some discord amongst us. Quite heated at times.”
Macleod saw a touch of regret in the woman’s eyes. “But you stayed together so it could not have been that bad.”
“On the contrary, Inspector, it was bad enough that we stopped talking about real world issues; these role-play games, or any other sort of fantasy, was where our relationship lived.”
“This may be a jump too far, Mrs Johnston, but you don’t seem a woman who would settle for that.”
“Indeed, I am not. But I am a woman of needs and as I already said, men don’t come my way every day like they do for Miss Blayney or Miss Baxter. Please, Inspector, don’t try and say different. And don’t pretend that you have cast a glance at my figure as you have at Miss Baxter’s or Miss Blayney’s. It’s normal. I enjoyed poor Mr McKinney’s before his demise and Mr Brace’s impressive form but have hardly given you a glance for your physical features. But mentally you do stimulate, but in a completely different way.”
Macleod was unsure of whether he should feel insulted. His body was in good shape for his years. Jane liked it, did she not? And then the ego dropped away. Yeah, she’s right, thought Macleod. I might be with Jane because of her disposition, her kindness, her fun-loving ways but the first attraction was her body. Actually, her hair. Mrs Johnston is right.
“Then the loss is their own,” said Macleod.
“You’re very kind, Inspector, but a very poor liar.”
Chapter 19
There was a rattle on the car door and Hope woke with a start. She desperately looked around her until she realised that a shower of hail was beginning. Although wrapped up in a blanket, she was bare underneath and that frightened her. If Brace found the car and came at her, she would be exposed, for want of a better word.
