Simon Green - The Dark Side of the Road

‘Someone should send word down to Jeeves, in the kitchen,’ said Penny. ‘He can stand guard in the hallway, with his gun.’

‘You trust the one man we know for sure isn’t who he said he was?’ I said. ‘The one man in the house with a weapon?’

‘The Colonel wasn’t shot,’ said Penny. ‘And right now, I don’t trust anyone.’

She just happened to be looking at me when she said that.

‘I’ll walk you to your room, darling,’ said Roger.

‘I can look after myself!’ she said, a little more sharply than was necessary.

And just like that, they were all heading for the door. There was nothing I could say or do to stop them separating, so I just shrugged mentally and went after them. Maybe if they did split up, someone would seize the opportunity to do something stupid, or revealing. Or incriminating.

At the last moment, Penny hung back at the doorway and gestured for me to come forward so we could speak quietly.

‘You can’t bully them into doing the sensible thing, Ishmael. They all need time to themselves, to talk and think in private. A chance to play the blame game and decide who they trust. It’s scary to be on your own, but it’s even scarier to be stuck in a room with a hidden killer. What do you think is really going on here, Ishmael? Was James the real target, or was he just a way to get at Daddy?’

‘The killer must have seen the Colonel as a threat, to kill him first,’ I said. ‘Beyond that, I have no idea. It could be anyone.’

‘Including me?’ said Penny.

‘Of course not,’ I lied.

I took my time climbing the long winding staircase to the next floor. Partly because I had a lot of thinking to do, but mostly because I wanted to give the others time to get ahead of me. I didn’t want anyone at my back. In fact, by the time I got to the top of the stairs, I was alone on the landing. Everyone else had hurried inside their rooms, and all the doors were firmly closed. It was very quiet.

I strolled down the corridor, all the way to my far-off room, and stopped before the door. I looked at the stylized image of the red rose, and then leaned forward and listened carefully. I couldn’t hear anything inside the room. Couldn’t smell anything, either. But I still had a feeling of being watched; so I took my time getting my key out of my pocket, and then looked quickly back down the corridor. No less than four doors that had been closed were now cracked open just a little, so people could peer out. The doors all slammed shut in a hurry as they saw me looking, like so many firecrackers going off. I smiled, unlocked my door, and then sent the door flying inwards with a push of one finger. It swung all the way back to crash against the inside wall, with a satisfyingly loud noise. The room inside was very dark, very still, very quiet.

I reached inside and found the light switch. A pleasant yellow glow filled the room, showing it to be completely empty. I remained where I was, in the doorway, looking in. I didn’t feel at all embarrassed, or even self-conscious, at taking these necessary precautions. Being so very careful, all the time, is what has kept me alive all these years. I listened, carefully. I could hear people moving about in their rooms, further down the corridor. I could even hear them talking, quietly and far away. Muffled, as though underwater. It all seemed peaceful enough, nothing worrying or out of the ordinary, so I entered my room.

I shut the door firmly, but didn’t lock it. I had a distinct feeling people would be coming to talk with me. To say things they wouldn’t or couldn’t say to someone they actually knew. To tell me things in private that they would never dare say in public. People have always found it easy to talk to me; perhaps because they can sense I won’t be so quick to judge them.

I looked around my room. The yellow light was warm and comforting and easy on the eyes. The rose-patterned wallpaper somewhat less so. The fire was still crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. I went over to it and studied the flames thoughtfully. Jeeves had been very firm that I needed to tend the thing, to keep it from going out. I knew you had to feed it coal, regularly, but not too much or you’d smother the fire and it would go out. But beyond that … I took a piece of coal from the scuttle, dropped it on to the fire, considered the effect, and then added another piece. That should do, for a while.

I did some more looking around. Everything was just as I’d left it. No one had entered my room. If they had, I would have seen their footprints in the thick carpet. Smelt their perfume, or their aftershave, or just their scent. My battered old suitcase was still sitting on the bed. I picked it up, carried it over to the massive oak cupboard, opened the door sharply, and when I was sure there was no one hiding inside it, I put the case in and shut the door again. And then, I sat on the edge of the bed, to do some thinking. I didn’t change into pyjamas, because I don’t wear such things, and I didn’t lie down on the bed because I had no intention of sleeping. I didn’t sit in one of the oversized chairs provided, because that was where people would expect to find me.

I’m not really a detective. Usually, by the time I arrive on the scene all that stuff has already been taken care of. The Colonel’s people will have worked out what and where and when, and will usually have a pretty good idea as to who and why. The Colonel gives me a name, or an identity, and then it’s up to me to track them down and take all necessary measures. On those occasions when I am called in to solve a mystery, it’s because the local field agents have run dry and the Colonel is depending on me to pick up the slack because I have a knack for the unusual. And even then, the Colonel will have amassed a really thick file for me to read on the way in, to bring me up to speed.

Belcourt Manor gave every indication of being both a murder and a mystery. which might or might not be connected. A horror has come to Belcourt Manor … It wasn’t like the Colonel to be so dramatic. Why couldn’t he just say what he meant? Did he expect his letter to fall into enemy hands? Did he expect his father to open it, and hadn’t wanted him upset? What could be so horrific that the Colonel didn’t even want to hint at it?

Questions without answers. Best to stick to the situation at hand. Work it through. Who killed the Colonel, and why? And why kill him in such an extreme manner? So far, it seemed I was faced with two main possibilities. One; the Colonel was killed by the horror. Whoever or whatever that might turn out to be. Or two; he was killed by whoever sent the death threats to Walter. I sat up a little straighter as a third possibility suggested itself. That this was the result of something out of the past. The Colonel’s past. The trailing end of some old investigation; something missed or overlooked at the time.

The one thing the Colonel had feared the most: that his family might be punished for the life he’d led.

The Colonel and I had worked a number of cases together. Usually, I was left to run my assignments alone. I preferred it that way. If only because it meant there would be fewer questions to answer afterwards. But sometimes the Colonel would just turn up. Not to take charge, and not because he didn’t trust me to do things properly, but because he was interested. Like the Case of the Trans-Siberian Underground Railway. I had no trouble remembering that one.

It started with people going missing, and then turning up again hundreds of miles away from where they should have been. I followed the clues, and the Colonel followed me, and we ended up going underground, into the deep dark places of the Earth. I could still remember running through endless caverns, miles and miles beneath the surface of a country that doesn’t even exist any more. Following the long silver railway lines as they stretched away into the darkness, only illuminated by the phosphorescent glow of a blue moss growing in thick mats on the curving walls. Some said, if you ate or smoked the blue moss it would blow the doors of perception in your mind clean off their hinges. I wasn’t tempted.