L. Maynard: Black Cathedral

There was a knock at the door and Trudy, Crozier’s secretary, walked in with a tray of cups, saucers and a teapot. The reputation of the English government flourishing on a diet of afternoon tea and digestive biscuits was kept alive in this part of the establishment.

Carter needed to get away and think. For months now incidents had been building that could only partially be explained. They had culminated in the episode at the house but other events had occurred on a regular enough basis to alert someone with Carter’s abilities. He needed to go home and run through the notes he had been making.

The tea had been poured, the milk and sugar added and Crozier was nibbling on a digestive. ‘You see the position I find myself in, Robert?’

‘What position is that?’

‘Do I have to spell it out?’ The cat was preparing to pounce.

Carter finished his cup of tea, placed the cup delicately onto the saucer and smiled at Crozier. ‘I rather think you do, yes.’

Crozier stood and walked to the windows. Looking out he could see the traffic starting to build up. The roof of Buckingham Palace was visible a short distance away. The flag was flying, indicating the Queen was in residence. Strangely, since the Helen Mirren film had been so successful the popularity of Her Majesty, already generally high, had soared.

‘Very well.’ Crozier turned to Carter. ‘You fouled up, Robert. Made a complete balls-up of what should have been a simple poltergeist investigation. Christ, it was only a favor for a colleague because the house belonged to a member of their family. How could it go wrong?’

Carter stood, and although he hadn’t intended it to, the chair toppled over backwards. Crozier took a step back as though he had been threatened. ‘That was no simple haunting…’

‘So you say…’

‘I’m the expert, remember? It’s what I do. There were forces, very strong…that’s why Sian…’

‘Which brings us to the most serious aspect of the matter.’

If he hadn’t realized it before, he was under no illusions now. This was a disciplinary meeting. How Crozier must have enjoyed setting the agenda for this.

When Carter didn’t reply Crozier continued. ‘You lost an employee on a case. Not just lost but “mislaid.” Your verbal report cannot be substantiated, and the cleanup team has found not a single trace of evidence to support your apparent sightings. You lost it, Robert. Your nerve, your powers, what ever way you want to dress it up. You cost Sian Davies her life.’

Carter walked across to Crozier, nodded once, then hit him hard on the jaw.

The last few hundred yards were agony. They were breasting a hill and could see the Manse in the distance, but for Michael Bennett and Eddie Farrant it looked to be miles away. The other runners had left them behind halfway round the cross-country course, and the two men were tired, thirsty and thoroughly humiliated. Farrant glanced round at Bennett, who was trying and succeeding to match him pace for pace. He swore under his breath. Bennett was ten years older and twenty pounds heavier than him. The sweat was flowing freely down the older man’s face and his mouth sagged open, wheezing in breath after breath, trying to force air down into his lungs. His eyes were bleary and unfocused and his skin was bright pink, like a lobster just out of the pot.

In the distance Farrant could see the others reach the Manse and stop and collapse to the ground in exhaustion, but could also hear the whoops of triumph. They’d made it; they’d completed the course and were celebrating. He still had two hundred yards to run, on legs that felt like jelly, with his rival both here and at work, dogging his heels. With a sob of desperation, he tried to summon one last burst of energy. He couldn’t be beaten by Bennett. Not by him; anybody but him.

‘What kept you?’ Andrew Johnson said, as Eddie Farrant finally reached the Manse and collapsed on the ground beside him.

‘Twisted my ankle early on,’ Farrant lied, watching with satisfaction as Bennett took his last few steps, the agony plain to see on his face.

‘What’s up with him? Looks like he’s about to have a coronary.’

‘Yeah,’ Farrant said. ‘I nursed him home. Didn’t want to leave him behind in case something happened to him.’ He put a mask of concern over his features.

‘Regular Good Samaritan, aren’t you, Eddie?’ Jo Madley said, rubbing the sweat from her face with a towel. She turned to Casey Faraday and winked.

Casey smiled and pushed herself up. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ she said. ‘I stink like a pig.’

‘ We all do,’ Sheila Thomas said. ‘I just hope there’s enough hot water for us all.’ Last night she was last in the bathroom and the water had been running cold.

‘I could murder a pint,’ Andrew Johnson said.

‘Your round,’ Farrant said.

‘Care to join us for cocktails, girls?’ Johnson said.

Jo Madley ignored him. ‘Where’s Lomax? I thought he’d be here to meet us with his stopwatch.’

‘Don’t question it, Jo,’ Sheila said. ‘The bastard’s probably inside somewhere pulling the wings off flies.’

‘Or drowning kittens,’ Casey said.

Lomax, it turned out, was the keeper of the instructions from Waincraft. Part of his role was to set the group tasks for the day and measure the results. Today it had been a cross-country run. They were certain there were even more sadistic trials planned for later.

‘The point is, he’s not here, so let’s take advantage,’ Sheila said. ‘Race you to the bar.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Jo said, lethargically forcing herself to stand. She turned to Michael Bennett. ‘You okay, Mike?’

Bennett was still panting, trying to get his breath back. He nodded his head, unable to speak.

‘I’ll walk with you,’ she said, and took his arm.

‘You don’t have to,’ Bennett said, finally able to speak, and fell into step beside her, walking slowly.

‘I know,’ she said.

The others had almost reached the front door. Johnson looked back at them, a smirk on his face.

‘Cretin,’ Jo muttered under her breath. ‘Who does he think he is?’

‘God’s gift to the female species,’ Bennett said. He felt dreadful and was very conscious he didn’t cut a particularly heroic figure right now.

‘Then Heaven help us all,’ Jo said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you putting yourself through this?’

‘Vanity and pride, with a very large chunk of masochism thrown in,’ Bennett said. ‘Can you imagine the ribbing I would have endured at work if I’d chickened out? Those idiots would have made my life hell.’

‘Sod ‘em,’ Jo said. ‘You mustn’t let them get to you, Mike. It’s all wind and piss with them. What they lack in intellect they make up for in macho posturing. There were dozens like that at the last place I worked. I got fed up with them in the end; that’s why I left and joined Waincraft.’

‘And you find Waincraft better?’ It was the first time Jo had opened up about anything personal, even work related, although he knew her employment history from the staff files.

‘Marginally.’ That was the truth. One office was very much like another in her experience.

They reached the door and went inside. And immediately realized something was wrong.

‘What’s going on?’ Jo said.

Sheila and Casey were standing in the hallway, anxious looks on their faces. Of the other two men there was no sign.

‘There’s no one here,’ Sheila said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that. Everybody’s gone. Lomax, the house keeper, the kitchen staff, everybody.’

‘They’re probably somewhere else in the house. They can’t just have gone,’ Michael Bennett said.