CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The flight to Aberdeen was uneventful. A Land Cruiser had been hired to carry them and their equipment on to Peterhead. McKinley drove, glancing in his mirror occasionally at Carter who sat in the back, talking to no one, his head buried in more thick files, keeping his distance from the rest of the team for the moment.
They reached Peterhead a little after three in the afternoon, and set about finding the hotel. The directions they’d been given were inadequate and it was running close to four thirty before they finally found it.
The Cleeves Hotel stood well back from the road as if embarrassed to show itself. It was an ugly modern structure, built in the late 1980s but looked in dire need of renovation. Paint peeled from the window frames and the brickwork was stained with damp.
‘Looks like Crozier blew the bud get when he found this place,’ John McKinley said with a smile as they walked into the lobby.
‘It’s not as if he knew,’ Jane said, still anxious to avoid any reason for friction, but disliked the defensive echo in her words.
‘I just checked the tariff,’ Raj said as he joined them at the desk. ‘That must have given him a clue if nothing else. This must be one of the cheapest hotels in Scotland.’
‘It’s only for one night,’ Jane said. ‘Let’s make the best of it.’ She approached the reception desk.
A plump receptionist stared at her dead-eyed. ‘Yes?’
‘You have rooms booked, in the name of Talbot.’
The girl checked the screen on her computer. ‘Yes.’ She reached under the desk and produced a clutch of key cards. ‘You’re all on the second floor. Rooms 201 through 203. Lift’s at the end of the passageway.’
‘Can we book a meal?’ Jane said to the receptionist.
The girl took a while staring at her watch. ‘The kitchens don’t open until six.’
‘Good. Then we’ve got time to rest up first?’
‘Last serving is at nine, sharp,’ the plump girl said. She was wearing a name tag over her ample left breast. Fiona Whyte.
‘Well, thank you, Fiona,’ Jane said to her. ‘We’ll bear that in mind.’
The girl gave her a look as if to say, what ever.
Jane turned to the others and said quietly, ‘And they said good service was a thing of the past,’ and then, louder. ‘Kirby, you’re with me. Raj, here’s your key, you and Robert, and John, you’re on your own.’
‘It’s because I’m black isn’t it?’ he said with a grin.
‘No, it’s because you’re the biggest and the single room has a bigger bed.’
‘Fair enough. I snore as well.’
‘Good,’ Jane said, and went back to the desk. ‘We’ll book a meal for seven.’
Fiona Whyte sighed and tapped in something on the computer. ‘Table for five,’ she said. ‘Seven o’clock.’
‘Thank you again, Fiona,’ Jane said with a smile. ‘Does the bar stay open all day?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘Opens at five thirty,’ she said.
‘Right. Good.’ She rejoined the others. ‘We’ll meet in the bar at six,’ she said. ‘Everybody okay with that?’
There was a murmur of agreement.
‘Robert? You happy with that?’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ he said, picking up his bag and heading off down the corridor to the elevator. He knew he hadn’t contributed much to the team banter yet but there was a nagging premonition in his head, and the closer they had gotten to the hotel the stronger it had become. The problem was that he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his concern.
‘He’s going to be fun,’ Kirby said in Jane’s ear.
‘Don’t you start,’ she said. ‘Besides, it’s only for one night. Once we get to the Manse on the island we’ll be too busy for personality clashes, moody silences or anything vaguely human.’
Kirby chased a leathery steak listlessly around her plate.
‘Not enjoying your meal?’ McKinley said to her.
‘I ordered it rare. This has been cremated.’
‘Send it back.’ He had no patience with poor service, and even less with people who were too polite to complain about it.
‘No. I’m going to take it home and have it mounted; hang it on the wall. A trophy of my first and last trip to the Cleeves Hotel.’
After coffee they retired to their rooms.
Raj Kumar sat on the bed surrounded by cameras and lenses. His lank, long hair was tied back in a ponytail, which accentuated his wispy goatee. With a puffer-brush he cleaned dust from a telephoto lens. There were three cameras on the bed. He had others stowed away with the rest of his equipment, but these three rarely left his side. They were his babies and he cherished them; spending many hours cleaning and servicing them. There was a Hasselblad with a digital back and two Canon SLRs, work horses; one loaded with regular film, the other containing infrared stock. They rewarded his dedication to them by never once letting him down.
Carter was lying on the other bed, reading by the anemic light of a dusty bedside lamp.
‘We went out together, you know,’ Raj said.
‘Sorry?’ Carter had heard what he said but needed a moment to control his emotions.
‘Sian and me. We went out together.’
Carter put the file down. ‘I didn’t realize you two…’
‘Oh, we weren’t. At least, not properly. Just a few evenings for drinks and stuff.’ Raj was concentrating on his lenses, not looking at Carter. ‘She was a good kid.’
‘Yes,’ Carter said. ‘She was.’ He wasn’t sure what agenda Kumar was setting. The words seemed innocent but Carter guessed there was more to come.
Raj lapsed into silence and Carter picked up the files again and started to read. He could wait for Kumar to make his point; he had all night.
‘I wanted to get to know her better,’ Raj said, putting the thoroughly cleaned lens back in its case and picking up another from the bed.
With an inward sigh Carter closed the file and laid it on the bed. ‘Why didn’t you then?’
‘There was no point. I could tell it wasn’t going anywhere.’ Again Carter could tell Raj was skirting round what he really wanted to say.
‘Really? Did you try to take it further?’ He didn’t want intimate details. In truth he was just being polite. All he could think about were the events contained in the files.
‘She knew how I felt about her. But there was someone else.’
‘Too bad.’
Raj stopped cleaning and turned to look at him. ‘She was in love with you,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ Carter hadn’t been expecting that.
‘Absolutely besotted, she was. She was living in the hope that you might…well, you can imagine…’
Carter was stunned. ‘I had no idea.’
‘No, no you probably didn’t. The rest of us could see it though. She’d get that dreamy look in her eyes whenever she looked at you. Once I tried to tell her she was wasting her time, but hope is a very powerful emotion. She was convinced that one day you’d notice her. Pathetic really. Silly little cow. I could have made her happy…if she’d given me a chance.’
Carter swung his legs to the floor and slipped on his shoes.
‘Going somewhere?’
Carter walked to the door. ‘I’m going to get some air.’
Raj watched the door close behind him and smiled. ‘That was for you, Sian,’ he said to the room. ‘He knows now. Let’s hope he beats himself up over it.’
The night air was warm and sultry, heavy with salt from the sea. The rain had passed over for a while, leaving behind a clear sky, which was turning a deeper shade of blue as the last of the daylight slipped away. Out over the water it was darker, where more storm clouds were slowly massing.
Carter walked through the grounds of the hotel, his mind trying to get to grips with Raj Kumar’s revelation. He’d had no idea that Sian Davies felt that way about him. She had never said anything or done anything to show him that might be the case. Or maybe she had and he’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice. That was the more likely scenario. What was the point of having his gifts, of being psychic, if he couldn’t even pick up on the most basic of human emotions?
He found himself standing by a small fountain in the grounds of the hotel. The fountain was a remnant of a previous time, suggesting that a much grander building once stood in the space now blighted by the stained concrete and glass of the Cleeves Hotel. It was a stone-built circle with three cherubs on the top of an ornate plinth, their faces pointing skywards, lips pursed, ready to deliver their spouts of water. But it was a long time since anything had passed their lips and they all wore yellow beards of lichen.
The water in the fountain was weed-choked and murky. A few straggly water lilies were making a brave attempt to survive in the inhospitable surroundings, but it was a battle they were destined to lose. Three frogs had found the occasional gaps in the weed and were lying partly submerged, eyes above the surface, on the lookout for passing bugs, their next meal.
He felt incredibly depressed. What the hell was he doing here? He was out of his depth; if his conclusions were correct they were all out of their depths, of that he was certain. Perhaps it would be best to just pack his bags and go home. He was sure he wouldn’t be missed. In fact he was sure the majority would welcome his leaving. Damn it! That’s exactly what he would do. He’d go back to the hotel, pick up his things and head back down south.
He sat on the edge of the fountain and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the night air. Behind him there was a small splash as one of the frogs ducked beneath the surface, followed by the grinding sound of stone on stone. He glanced behind him. The cherubs had moved; their faces were no longer staring at the stars. Now they were looking down at him; all three faces grinning malevolently. He made to rise, but two arms burst from the cover of the blanket weed. White, clawlike hands grabbed his shoulders and he was dragged backwards, over the edge of the fountain and down into the green, stagnant water.