The horror weekend, p.8
The Horror Weekend, page 8
“No! No! It can’t be! No!”
“Back, back inside we go,” said Hope forcefully but with sympathy.
“I told him I hated him. I told him I wished him dead with his bloody games. Shit! No!”
The woman’s body jerked as Hope held her and the legs suddenly went leaving Hope carrying her weight. Her own feet now going numb, Hope struggled to carry the woman who was only in a simple dressing gown.
“Sir! I need help. Lorraine Baxter’s collapsed. Do we have a medic amongst them?”
“Get inside! We’re coming,” was the reply. Hope dragged the woman through the open door and into the corridor leading to the rear of the house. She laid her down, hopefully into a recovery position shape. The basic first aid training was always something Hope did not like but it was serving her well now. But as she stood shivering in the corridor, Hope thought back to the body she had seen. Macleod had been right. There was a dagger in the back. She had not had time to reach for it, or to take a proper look but the shape was there in her mind. Macaulay was murdered, surely. This changed everything.
The housekeeper, Mrs Smith came running up to Hope and immediately knelt down to Miss Baxter. Seeing her injured party being attended to, Hope sat down on a bench in the corridor as others arrived. Macleod was ordering them to stay back and then looked towards Hope.
“Is she okay?”
“Just fainted, sir, I think. It’s not a good sight.”
“Okay,” said Macleod. “Are you okay?”
“Just bloody cold. Otherwise fine. And sir?” Hope indicated for Macleod to lean over so she could whisper. “It’s Macaulay and he was murdered. You were right—knife in the back.”
Hope watched Macleod look around him, aware like her that there was a murderer among them. Watching his face, she saw him chewing over his options but surely, he knew like her, they were on their own, just the pair of them. She watched his eyes roam the suspects and the casualty on the floor and she knew he was working out how to contain this.
“Right, everyone! I want everyone to go to the library at this time. Mr Smith, help your mother by getting a fire lit and then I want a hot drink all round. McGrath, help Mrs Smith, get Miss Baxter to the library and then come back here.”
Hope nodded. She had expected as much. Contain everyone with all eyes on each other while they got a look at the crime scene. But after that? Still, it meant her moving and her feet would be glad of the action, if she could feel them.
When she had helped Mrs Smith and was assured that all the guests and the Smiths were in the library with instructions not to leave, Hope sought out her boss again. She found him taking photographs of the body.
“We’ll need quite a few people to shift him,” said Macleod. “Even then I reckon if we don’t do it soon, he’ll freeze. But I want to check the balcony again, see where that knife came from. Did someone throw it? It’s not right in his back. It’s off to the left-hand side somewhat.”
Together they climbed the stairs and made their way back onto the balcony, Hope diverting to the room to pick up her boots and a coat. When she got onto the balcony her boss was staring at the wall behind it.
“Look Hope, he must have gone over around here, it’s just after the window to the balcony ends and you have this run of solid wall until the next window to another landing. He may have been running away and looking to change landings quickly. Maybe heading for a safe spot.”
Hope looked at the wall and noted the ivy that was covered in snow. Despite her extra footwear and garment, she was still cold. But as she scanned the wall she noted that there was a piece of green ivy that seemed to have shaken off the white invader that had fallen from the sky. It looked like it had literally given a little twist to free off the snow. Hope reached with her hand behind the ivy and found a gap.
“Something here, sir. I’m just going to reach inside.”
“Careful. You don’t know what sort of crazy nonsense is here,” said Macleod.
“Ah, shit! Sorry, sir, just a pointy bit but I’ve got a hold.” Pulling hard, Hope drew out a long pole from the wall. At the end of it was a clasp that opened when the pole reached its full extent from the wall. When Hope let it go, the clasp closed as the pole was pulled back into the wall.
“One of his games?” queried Macleod.
“But he would have known about it. And are they not designed to miss?”
“Tell that to Peter McKinney. Something is wrong here, McGrath, and we are stuck right in it. Let’s check his room before we go back to the rest of them. We need to work this out quick, Hope, because I have a hunch that this is not the last trick to go wrong.”
Chapter 10
Macleod sent Hope downstairs to find out where Macaulay’s room was in the house and took the opportunity to change in his room. When she came back upstairs, he offered Hope the chance to do the same, but she said she would grab a shower when they were complete for the night. She probably wants to stay in that garb, thought Macleod, as she does suit it. Classy but still very alluring. She certainly knows how to work her clothing, unlike me. Look like a made-up clown when I go smart.
Macaulay’s room was at the very end of the landing their own rooms were on and Macleod cautiously opened the door. He reached in and found a light switch flicking it on. The room was bathed in a warm glow from several down lighters and Macleod stepped inside the door before turning to Hope.
“Be careful. Who knows where he’s set up traps. And while they may be well-intentioned, they are almost certainly deadly.”
Hope nodded and stepped past her boss in a protective fashion. Macleod watched her step around the room, checking drawers and other furniture, picking up small pieces of paper and other knick-knacks. The room was tastefully decorated in the baronial fashion and had several large paintings on the wall. But where Macleod had expected to see serious looking lairds of old, there were large creatures, tentacled and with gross features.
“His family were pretty ugly,” said Hope, seeing Macleod’s stare.
“Who in their right mind puts this sort of stuff on their wall?”
“Part of the game, Seoras. Those are the Elder gods from the game we were playing. I take it you didn’t find his presentation stimulating.”
He saw Hope grin before continuing her search. But something was bothering Macleod. Everything was so neat, not a thing out of place. If he had been disturbed enough to get onto the balcony, there should be some signs. He was getting away from something. So there should be signs. There was also no sign of anything being covered up, reset from a disturbance. You could usually see subtle signs. Redressing a room was no easy task and there had not been a lot of time between Macaulay’s death and everyone being out on the landing.
“Anything, Hope?”
His red-haired colleague turned around and nodded, holding a small book in her hand. “This has got notes on the mechanisms and stuff like that. Seems to be a concept design for this weekend. Might be worth a read.”
“Good. Bring it. He didn’t flee from here so he must have been in another room. We’ll need to check them. Come on; let’s get everyone up and open the rooms.”
“Wait,” said Hope. “Why don’t we see if they are open? Take a look without them knowing.”
“That’s not right,” said Macleod. “You know we should search with approval.”
“But if they are open, then what’s the harm? I can guard the stairs, or you can and the other can have a quick look.”
“You know what the harm is.”
“Look, sir, Seoras, if you are right and this is murder and not a couple of accidents like it looks to me, then we are stuck with a murderer among us and no way of calling a halt to everything. Who knows when we’ll get to civilisation, get any back-up. Until then it’s you and me and we need to be ahead of the game. It’s about survival as much as catching a criminal. If your instincts are right, we need to be very smart.”
Macleod looked at the pleading face before him, eyes gazing over the top of the thick, black-rimmed spectacles. There was a large degree of truth in what she said. The weather should break but it could be a day, maybe two. When would they get a chance to leave or get reinforcements in? She was right. “Okay, but open doors only. We can always be just checking on people in that case.”
Hope smiled and left the room followed by Macleod. She checked the first door and opened it. Switching the light on, she gazed around while Macleod watched the top of the stairs. She was back out of the room inside a minute.
“I’d say it’s Pandie’s. Two sets of male clothes, some clothes thrown here and there but nothing that looks like a fight or struggle.”
“Okay,” said Macleod, “next one, quick!”
The door next to Pandie’s opened and Hope searched again. “It’s Miss Baxter’s, sir,” she advised on exit. “Strange though, two separate beds. Looks like Anders and her are not shagging.”
“They are not intimate, Hope. The word is intimate.”
“Yes sir, they are not intimately shagging.”
Macleod tried to look annoyed but broke into a grin. Her crass attitude at times was actually part of her attraction, part of her roguish character. Sure, she could refine it but it would be obvious she had capitulated from her true self.
“Just get on with it,” said Macleod.
Working up the landing back to the stairs, the next room was clearly the Johnston’s and was immaculate with every item hung or placed—certainly no sign of a struggle. There were then two rooms left but both seemed to be locked.
“That’s annoying,” said Macleod, “these rooms could probably tell us something, even if it’s just that Macaulay was imagining someone after him.”
“Just a moment,” said Hope, and she reached inside her blouse.
“What are you doing?” asked Macleod.
“Always keep them in here, where prying hands don’t reach. They’re not big anyway and I can conceal them easily.”
Macleod was more than a little confused but turned and focused on the stairs. He kept looking away, aware of where Hope was fumbling until he felt a tap on his shoulder. In her hands were a small set of tools he recognised.
“No! We would be breaking in.”
“And I said it was survival. If you are right, it’s survival. And I’m going with your gut, sir. And it’s just a look.”
Macleod thought hard. She was right, much as he hated the idea of breaking into a room. Survival—that was the word. He nodded and walked along to the top of the stairs, whispering behind him, “Be quick.”
It was only two minutes later that he heard her exit and saw Hope walking along the landing towards him but indicating with her thumb that he needed to look. Without hesitation, they crossed and he looked into the first room. There were upturned chairs and items swept off the dressing table. One picture was torn. He saw two cases and presumed this was Aldo Brace and Zara Dawson’s room.
Quickly, he entered the second room which had clothes thrown about and a bed that was disturbed, sheets everywhere. There was a single case by the wall and the en suite showed female products. Surely this was the room of Melanie Blayney.
Macleod heard a cough from Hope and quickly exited the room. There was a single set of footsteps coming up the stairs. He saw the top of Mrs Smith’s head rising from below as he joined Hope.
“Detectives, sorry to disturb you but the guests are asking if they can return to their rooms. It seems some want to sleep, sir, as it is close to the early morning being almost four ‘clock.”
“I understand, Mrs Smith, but if you could ask them to wait a while longer and I shall be down presently to advise them further. It won’t be long before they can get to bed. It’s been a rough night on us all.”
“Very good, sir. I shall return to them and advise them so.”
Macleod watched the woman descend the stairs and gave a nod to Hope to lock the rooms back up. She returned two minutes later and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.
“Two rooms showing distress. How do you want to play it,” she asked.
“Melanie Blayney. We’ll talk to her first as I know she’s hiding something. Did you see how she watched people? Something is not right about her, almost acts like you . . .” Macleod was about to say or me but he didn’t get the chance.
“She’s nothing like me. I don’t give it up to men like that.”
“I meant like a detective, Hope. Like you, or me, she watches, reads, and plays people. She’s hiding something.”
“Right,” said Hope, “like a detective.”
“And for what it’s worth, I don’t see you that way. You’re no tart, even if I had a more dated sense-of-clothing protocol.”
Clothing protocol, where did I get that phrase from. She always sets me on edge if I’m talking about her looks.
“I know, boss. I’ll mind my clothing protocol though.”
“Come on, let’s go see the suspects.”
They descended the stairs in silence, each thinking through what they needed to do next. Macaulay’s death threw up a lot of unanswered questions but the main one staring at them was what had put him into such a state that he appeared to be running away from someone? And where was he going?
On entering the library, Macleod saw Anders Karlsen pacing the floor while the Johnstons appeared to be snoring in some armchairs. Miss Baxter looked to be drinking again—a large brandy—and was being attended to by Melanie Blayney. Zara Dawson and Aldo Brace looked like they were in a heated discussion, with a lot of finger pointing and Pandie was simply staring out of a window. The chef, Kyle Smith, was sitting with his mother, yawning.
“Thank you for your patience,” said Macleod on entering the room. “Before I let you go to your beds I’d like to ask if any of you saw Mr Macaulay before he was on the balcony. Any time since we left the library for bed until his unfortunate demise.”
Mrs Johnston cleared her throat. “We saw him up the stairs and into his room, Inspector. Miss Blayney can vouch for that; she was with us. But we deposited him in his room as he was not in the best of states.”
“That’s right,” said Aldo Brace, “and we were behind—Zara and myself, we saw him being dropped off at his room.”
“Anyone see him after that?” asked Macleod.
There was silence. But then Zara Dawson put up her hand.
“Yes, Miss Dawson. It’s okay; it’s not school. You don’t have to raise your hand—just speak,” said Macleod.
“Well, I heard him speaking to someone. I had gone over to see if Mr McKinney, Pandie, was all right. Can’t have been easy going to an empty room. And I heard him speaking to someone.”
“What was he saying?” asked Hope.
“I don’t know. It was very low key.”
“That was me,” said Mrs Smith. “Just making sure everything was all right and what time he wanted everyone up at and the breakfast ready for.”
“And what time did he say?” asked Macleod.
“For what?”
“The breakfast, Mrs Smith.”
“Oh, well . . . nine.” The woman shrugged her shoulders.
“And Mr McKinney, did you hear anything when Miss Dawson came over to your room?” asked Macleod.
“No, but she did come over. It was very sweet of her because I did need the company.”
“Anyone else have any other sightings, I should know about?”
There was silence and Macleod felt a yawn coming on. “Okay, then. I suggest we all go up to bed and lock our rooms until morning. I realise some of you may be a little spooked but lock your door and try to sleep. I’d also suggest being in pairs.”
“Why?” asked Mr Johnston. “Do you suspect some sort of foul play? I mean the man got caught out by one of his own traps. Another accident it would seem.”
“Possibly, Mr Johnston, but I’d sleep easier knowing everyone was not alone. Shall we say ten o’clock for breakfast, Mrs Smith? Mr Smith, please stay with your mother tonight.”
“Shall I stay with Pandie?” asked Miss Blayney.
“That would be good,” said Hope.
“Indeed,” said Macleod, “but can you stop here a while with me, Miss Blayney. Everyone else please retire. McGrath, can you accompany Mr McKinney until I come upstairs with Miss Blayney.”
As everyone exited the room, Anders Karlsen grabbed Macleod. “Do you think he was murdered? God’s sake, I didn’t sign up for this.”
“What did you sign up for?” asked Macleod.
“I’m an escort,” he whispered into Macleod’s ear.
“Then escort your client to her room and stay with her,” said Macleod. “You’ll be safer there.”
After everyone had left, Miss Blayney pulled an armchair close to the dying fire. Without asking, she pulled one up for Macleod as well. She sat down and crossed her legs making sure everything below the knee had escaped her dress. She leant back touching her cleavage and then stared at Macleod.
“I’m actually looking to ask some questions, Miss Blayney, not make a pass,” said Macleod.
“Of course, Inspector, but no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves. It’s been a rough night or should I say morning?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m sorry,” said Miss Blayney.
“Who are you? You’re no model. Or if you are, that’s a side show to your main event. Yes, you have the body but you look at people, reading them, sizing them up, and calculating. Just like myself, like McGrath. Who are you?”
“What makes you think I’m more than a model?”
“Everything I just said.”
“So, intuition?”
“Experience,” answered Macleod. “A lot of experience.”
“If you must know, I’m a private investigator, so we’re on the same side.”
“Not necessarily.”
“I’m looking into Miss Baxter for a client. The woman has a nasty streak and a line in coercion, and not the simple kind. I managed to get Macaulay interested in me and got an invite here where I knew his daughter would be. She’s not easy to get close to.”
