‘The – the other passengers,’ she managed to stammer. ‘Is everyone all right?’ She seemed genuinely anxious and Ash was impressed.
‘They’re all fine, just a bit shaken,’ he reassured her. ‘The young girl, though – Petra – is in shock. Dr Wyatt’s treating her right now.’
‘And – and you, Mr Ash. Any injuries?’
‘No, I was lucky. Still strapped in.’
‘We always recommend passengers keep their seatbelt on throughout the flight.’
‘Well, people don’t like to think they’re in mortal danger. Seems kind of wimpish to stay buckled in.’
‘If you could help me up, I’ll go and see if I can do anything for them. We’ll be landing in a few minutes, but I think we’ve got time to settle their nerves with a large double of whatever’s their preference.’
‘Captain Roberts recommends we hit the bar once we’ve landed.’
‘Oh, I’d better get into the cockpit to report the situation back here.’
‘I don’t think you should try to walk just yet, Ginny. Look at your leg.’ Her right ankle was beginning to bloom into a watery swelling. The air stewardess groaned more in irritation than pain.
‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ Ash advised, ‘but you must have sprained it badly.’
‘Can you – can you help me up? I have to make some checks.’
‘Ginny, with that inflating bulge you won’t be checking anything for a while.’
As he put his hands under her armpits and began lifting her on to the seats, Ginny wincing as she rose, the cockpit door opened behind him and First Officer Collins stepped out.
‘A little help here?’ Ash asked mid-lift.
‘Ginny, what damage?’ Collins’s voice was tense.
Ash answered for her. ‘A nasty blow on the back of her head – no blood, though – and an even nastier sprained ankle. Nothing too serious as far as I can tell, no broken bones. Help me get her on facing seats, will you?’
First Officer Collins hurriedly slid one arm around the stewardess’s shoulders and the other under her knees. Ash followed suit on the opposite side and between them they manoeuvred Ginny into a seat. Apart from some sharp intakes of breath, she seemed all right.
Ash straightened and addressed Collins. ‘Are we okay now? D’you know what happened to the jet’s power?’
‘I could tell you we hit an air pocket, which caused the plane to drop, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.’ His voice was low, keeping the conversation strictly between Ash and himself. ‘In all my experience with different planes, I’ve never once gone through anything like that before. All power, all electrics, just packed up. We couldn’t even put out a Mayday. It’s a goddamn mystery to us. We can only pray it doesn’t happen again, although, with all power back on we’ve sent out a distress signal to Prestwick so they’ll be on full alert when we land. But look, I mean it: everything in the plane is functioning normally.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. Why don’t you look after Ginny here while I go back to give Dr Wyatt a hand? The girl with her is in a bad way, but as far as we can tell she hasn’t sustained any serious injury.’
‘Thank you, sir. Your help is appreciated. I’ll be along myself shortly.’
The investigator retraced his steps down the cabin, taking a quick peek at the person Ash had heard called Twigg.
The small man, in his oversized trench coat, sat in exactly the same position as before and, although his pale eyes were open, he didn’t bother to acknowledge Ash.
The psychic investigator reached Dr Wyatt, who was dropping a syrette into a plastic bag. Petra lay still on the floor, an occasional twitch of her limbs suggesting she was not too deeply unconscious.
Ash knelt down beside the doctor. ‘She going to be okay?’
‘Yes, I gave her a shot of lorazepam to relax her. It’s not usual, but works fast. To carry disposable syrettes isn’t strictly legal, but we work somewhat differently at Comraich.’
It was a telling remark that Ash was to remember.
‘Each contains a single dose of tranquillizer. She’ll probably have to be helped off the plane when we land, though. She was already medicated before we boarded, so the combination of that with what I’ve just given her should put her into a peaceful sleep shortly.’
Remaining on one knee, Ash examined the girl’s face. She flinched and Ash pulled back in surprise.
‘No problems,’ Dr Wyatt began to say. ‘She’ll—’
The girl suddenly sat up so abruptly that Ash and the psychologist recoiled from her in alarm.
Petra’s body was as stiff as a board, and her bleak eyes stared solely at Ash.
In a low, rasping voice, she said to him, ‘They know you’re coming!’
Eyes rolling back inside her head, Petra went limp and slumped to the floor again.
13
Ash was trembling as he stood at the bottom of the short flight of steps on the aircraft’s port side. A strong gust of wind ruffled his hair, bringing with it an intimation of fresh sea air under the usual blanket airstrip-smell of oil fumes.
He felt chilled to the bone, and it had little to do with Scotland’s climate. No, it was the young girl’s strange otherworldly warning.
Petra was clearly in shock from the fright she’d had when it seemed they were all about to die. Had the horror of their assumed fate sharpened her sensibilities to the extent that she’d perceived some kind of subliminal threat meant for him? But then, why the warning? What could be waiting for him at Comraich Castle?
He put a hold on these thoughts when movement and a soft soothing voice came from behind him. Ash turned to see Dr Wyatt carefully guiding the puffy-faced girl down the aircraft’s steps, the co-pilot following with their hand luggage.
‘Can I do anything?’ Ash asked, reaching up to take Petra’s other arm.
The raven-haired psychologist gave him a faltering smile. ‘No, we’re doing fine,’ she said uncertainly.
The girl she was helping was visibly shaking despite the drug that had been injected into her system. He was a little shaky himself.
‘She going to be okay?’ Ash asked with a nod towards the doped-up teenager.
‘She’ll be all right once she’s over the fright,’ the psychologist told him. With a protective arm around Petra, she inclined her head towards a clear stretch of tarmac well away from the runway and docking areas where a Gazelle helicopter was warming up. It was decked out in the corporate livery of black and charcoal grey, a combination that Ash was beginning to dislike. Its rotating blades were individually visible, not yet having reached take-off speed. ‘That’s for us,’ Dr Wyatt said. ‘We’ll be at Comraich in minutes.’
One of the ground crew was wheeling a trolley laden with suitcases and a few labelled boxes taken from the plane towards the helicopter. Ash caught a glimpse of his own luggage among them: a big, black case with battered corners, which carried most of the equipment he planned to use initially at Comraich, and a sizeable leather travelling bag, distressed by wear rather than fashion, containing changes of clothing, books and a few other personal items.
Glad to be safely on the ground, Ash didn’t relish another flight so soon, and especially not by helicopter, no matter how short the journey.
Without enthusiasm he said, ‘Great. I’m looking forward to seeing the castle.’
Dr Wyatt looked surprised. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. They didn’t tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’
‘I’m afraid you won’t be coming with us in the chopper. It’s carrying pharmaceuticals to Comraich as well as Petra, myself and Mr Twigg. There isn’t room for another passenger.’
The small bald-headed Mr Twigg had been first off the jet and Ash saw him striding towards the Gazelle ahead of the baggage handler.
‘Really?’ Ash said to the psychologist, only mildly disappointed.
Petra, leaning heavily against Dr Wyatt, slowly raised her head to peer up at him.
‘Who’s he? What’s
happening?’ she demanded petulantly.
‘It’s all right, Petra. This is Mr Ash. He’ll be joining us at Comraich later.’
The girl immediately lost interest in the investigator. ‘I’m tired, I want to sleep,’ she whined.
‘Not long, Petra,’ the doctor reassured her. ‘We’ll soon be there. Then you can go straight to bed and sleep it off.’
‘I want to see Peter,’ the girl complained, now sullen.
‘You will. He’ll be waiting for you, I’m sure.’ Dr Wyatt addressed Ash. ‘Peter is her twin brother. He’s been at Comraich a few months and they’ve really missed one another. Well, I’ll see you there, Mr Ash.’
The last remark sounded like a pledge and he hoped it was. ‘It’s David,’ he told her. Then he said, ‘I might need to consult you with regard to some of your patients.’ He stopped her before she imposed client confidentiality. ‘Only those who claim to have witnessed or have been directly affected by the so-called haunting, of course.’ He noticed, not for the first time, she had a habit of facing him full-on while her eyes switched to one side, like an actor looking for a prompt. Maybe it was her way of avoiding direct confrontation.
‘Dr Wyatt is kind of formal,’ he said, with different thoughts running through his head. ‘Can I know your first name?’
‘Delphine. My mother’s choice.’
‘Does it mean anything in particular? I’ve not heard the name before. Brazilian, maybe?’
‘No. My mother took it from a book she’d loved. But perhaps we’ll be able to talk more at Comraich.’
Yes, I’d like that, Ash thought to himself. He hadn’t been attracted to any woman for a long time – deliberately so. For him, emotional attachment had never been a safe option: in fact, it was something to be avoided, given his track record. Yet he was already feeling captivated by Dr Delphine Wyatt . . .
Ash saw that Twigg was already aboard, safety-belt buckled, headphones in place to soften the noise. The helicopter’s rotors began to pick up even more speed, becoming a blur.
Still supporting Petra, Delphine managed to look back over her shoulder. Adeus’ she called out. Ate logo.’
He half raised his hands towards her, palms upwards to let her know he didn’t understand. ‘Is that Portuguese?’
‘It’s almost all I know,’ she shouted over the increasing noise of the helicopter. ‘Se cuida! Take care!’
He waved, but her attention was focused on Petra once again, the girl plodding alongside her as if her boots were filled with lead. One of the ground crew helped them into the Gazelle, virtually having to lift Petra into her seat.
Ash watched the machine rise into the air, nose tilted initially for direction. The Gazelle picked up speed and headed south, as far as Ash could tell with the sun hidden behind thick cloud.
He was jolted from his thoughts by a voice calling to him.
‘Fàilte oirbh, Mr Ash!’
14
The sleek black Mercedes-Benz had almost silently crept up on him while he was otherwise distracted. The driver’s side window was fully open and a youthful face with bright blond hair and a cheerful grin shone out at him.
‘Dè an doigh?’ the young Scot called out and grinned again when Ash shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in non-comprehension.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Ash,’ the driver apologized as he pushed open the car door. ‘I just like visitors from the south to be aware they’ve entered another country.’ He chuckled, mostly to himself, and Ash stood his ground so that the driver had to come to him.
The car itself was beautiful, with smooth aerodynamic contours that suggested it was as much a racer as a six-seater people-carrier. Its driver, still smiling broadly, strode towards him, one hand outstretched to be shaken. Ash was surprised to see he wore a plain, charcoal-coloured woollen kilt rather than a tartan, but that and the thick black crewneck jumper and sporran he was also sporting obviously reflected the corporate identity: it was a variation of the stewardess’s uniform, which itself blended with the Gulfstream’s interior decor. Long thick socks ended at a point just below the driver’s knees and, to Ash’s amusement, instead of the short dagger (known formally as the sgian dubh) the Scottish Highlanders wore protruding from the top of one sock when in full clan dress, this man had a small mobile phone in a leather carrier strapped to his leg.
‘Fàilte – welcome,’ the driver said, coming to a halt before the parapsychologist.
At close quarters, Ash could see that the cheerful driver was somewhat older than he’d first assumed from a distance, the crinkles around his eyes and furrowed brow giving honest evidence of some good living gone by. He was handsome though, with blue-grey eyes and, Ash suspected, bleached highlights had been worked into his thick short hair.
By now, the helicopter had gone so that Ash no longer had to raise his voice to be heard.
‘I thought most Scots spoke English,’ he said, smiling so that no offence would be taken. ‘You still use the Gaelic, then?’
‘Aye, some of us do, but it’s mainly the Highlanders who keep the tongue, y’know, among the clans? I’m from the Highlands, so I like to remind myself of my heritage. And I tend to use it sometimes to please my grandpa. He’s ninety-eight and still insists on sticking to the mother-tongue, the aulde dialect. He always gives me a quick lesson when I visit, because he’s proud we’re descended from the Celts. I’m inclined to use it when I’m stressed or, like I said, to welcome new clients.’ The kilted man chuckled so that the response wouldn’t sound discourteous.
‘Scotland’s always been a different country to me.’
‘Ach, so we see eye t’eye, sir.’ He was still smiling genially.
‘Or aye to aye. Sorry, weak joke.’ Ash had attempted a Scottish accent, but it was pretty lame.
‘Indeed it was, sir, but not totally without humour. M’name’s Gordon Dalzell, by the way.’
Ash found himself warming to the man despite – or maybe because of – the teasing banter. ‘Mine’s David, and I’m not a client, so no need for sir.’
‘Right y’are, but my employer would frown at such familiarity, so best make it Mr Ash, if that’s okay wi’ you. It’s a pity our other helicopter is being used elsewhere this week; it could have brought you directly from London to Comraich.’
‘They have two helicopters?’
‘An Agusta 109 Grand. The name speaks for itself. Executive use mainly. Beautiful job, inside and out, and it’ll carry up to six passengers with light luggage. Shame you couldn’t use it today – y’could’ve avoided the little mishap with the jet. Unfortunately, it’s being used in the Home Counties ferrying various buyers back and forth to this week’s Arms Fair.’
‘Your employer’s involved in the arms trade?’ It was a surprise to Ash.
‘Aye, and other things besides. Investment is its main priority, though.’ He gave the investigator a quick scan. ‘Sorry you were, uh, inconvenienced on the Gulfstream.’ He sounded sincere, even though he made light of it.
‘You heard about that?’
‘Aye, it was radioed through and I was informed. My instructions are to help settle y’nerves.’
‘I’m fine. Flying doesn’t bother me.’ Neither does dying, Ash might have added if he was being frank.
‘Well, if y’want to stop for a wee dram I know several very pleasant hostelries on our route. Oh, and please feel free to smoke – there’s no ban in this car.’
‘I gave them up.’
‘When was that?’
‘This morning.’
Dalzell shot a look at Ash and saw he wasn’t joking. ‘Now y’ll find that brutal, sir.’
‘Tell me about it. This is the third time I’ve tried. Last time I quit for all of two weeks. And I could certainly have used a cigarette earlier.’ He closed his mind to it.
‘Well if you change y’mind about that dram along the way, just gi’ me the nod.’
‘No,’ Ash responded firmly. ‘I’d like to get straight on to the castle. There’s a lot
for me to check out and daylight is more practical at this stage. Shall we go?’ Ash wasn’t particularly impatient to reach Comraich, but he was methodical in his approach to alleged hauntings. As he expected to spend no more than three days and nights at the castle, it would be foolish to waste time this early in the game.
‘As y’wish, Mr Ash.’
Taking the investigator’s shoulder bag, the amiable driver walked to the rear passenger door of the Mercedes and opened it for Ash.
The investigator shook his head once. ‘I’ll sit up front alongside you. That okay?’
‘Certainly. But y’do have a telly and DVD screen set into the back of the headrest in front of you there. It might fill in some of the time for you on the journey?’ The driver raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘I thought Comraich was close by.’
‘Nae. Y’ll find it’ll take some time along the narrow and twisting country roads.’
‘All the same – I’ll ride up front.’
‘Then shotgun it is.’
The Scot opened the rear door and put Ash’s bag on a seat, then went to the front passenger door and opened it smoothly. As Ash ducked his head to enter the Mercedes he thought Dalzell looked as if he could take care of himself and his passenger in any road-rage brawl. He couldn’t think why, but it gave him an odd sense of security.
‘Nice car,’ Ash remarked appreciatively as he settled into the soft charcoal-grey leather seat and took note of the panoramic glass roof.
‘Mercedes-Benz Grand Sports Tourer,’ the driver informed him proudly as he opened the opposite door and got behind the steering wheel. ‘Smooth ride and plenty o’power. Makes m’job easier.’
He strapped himself in and gunned the engine, deliberately heavy-footing the accelerator pedal to achieve an engine roar. He grinned at Ash like a boy performing his first party trick.
‘Okay, I’m impressed,’ said Ash, taking in the complex hi-tech centre console with its navigation display and rows of multi-functional control buttons. ‘But let’s get going.’
‘Right, Mr Ash. Lock ’n’ load. I’ve always wanted t’say that.’