Last Rites (28 page)

73

Mason had no idea exactly how long the two of them had been sitting in front of the computer. All he knew was that the information he’d been given by Coulson during their vigil before the glowing screen had made his head spin and also ache. There were five pictures on the screen, each one accompanied by a short article telling of the accidental deaths of those on display. Mason looked again at the names.

ROBBIE PARKER
CALLUM WADE
HOLLY PRESTON
SARAH TINDALL
AMY COULSON

‘Something like this happened in Wales a year or so ago,’ Coulson said, rubbing his own face as if to keep himself awake. ‘A group of kids made some kind of suicide pact. Ten or twelve of them topped themselves within a year and the police said it was all down to this one particular website, encouraging them to do it. Giving them information about the best ways to kill themselves.’

‘And you think that Andrew Latham and his friends set up something similar here in Walston?’ Mason muttered. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s a twisted little fucker who gets his kicks by messing with other people’s heads.’

‘That much you could be right about,’ Mason conceded. ‘But what had he got to gain by causing five teenagers to kill themselves?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know how the little bastard’s mind works, do I? All I know is that if it wasn’t for him my Amy would still be alive.’

‘Why’s it taken you until now to do something about it?’

‘I couldn’t go to the police about Amy’s death. There didn’t seem to be anything suspicious about it. What would they have investigated? They would have told me that she just killed herself because of the stuff Latham put on those websites about her. Those videos that were taken.’

‘How do you know it wasn’t because of those?’

Coulson shook his head.

‘She was a good kid,’ he said, quietly, lowering his gaze. ‘And she was a strong-minded girl.We were a close family. We could have worked it out. No matter what she did. No matter what he filmed her doing.’ Coulson swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists.

‘And she knew the other four kids who killed themselves. You’re sure of that?’

‘She went to school with them. They were all around the same age.’

‘So how come the police haven’t treated these other deaths as suspicious? Five teenagers all commit suicide within the space of three weeks and the law isn’t interested? ’

‘No investigation was made into these suicides and, if it was, then nothing was found that the police thought was worth pursuing.’

Coulson didn’t answer, he merely hefted the shotgun before him.

‘And why come to me with this information?’ Mason went on.

‘Because you’re here. But you’re not one of them. You’re an outsider. How the fuck do I know? You’re in the job that Simon Usher was in. I need someone to get me inside that school.You can help me if you want,’ he breathed. ‘If not then keep out of my fucking way but I’m going to find out one way or another what’s been going on at this place.’

Mason regarded him evenly for a moment, not doubting for one second the sincerity of his words.

‘What about Simon Usher?’ he said, quietly. ‘Do you think the note’s for real?’

‘Why don’t we find out?’ Coulson breathed.

Mason nodded then headed off briefly into the kitchen. When he returned he was carrying two large torches. He handed one to Coulson who flicked it on, testing the powerful beam.

‘Come on,’ Mason said. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was approaching 12:55 am.

74

The gaunt edifice of Langley Hill private school loomed into view as if it had risen from the earth itself, propelled from the depths by giant thrusting hands.

Coulson slowed his pace slightly as they emerged from the trees that had previously masked the buildings from them. The school was momentarily illuminated by moonlight as the gathering clouds rolled back high above them and the cold white glow shone down on the monolithic structure. Mason noticed his companion falter and glanced in his direction, ready to ask him what was wrong but Coulson seemed to recover his composure and the two of them walked on.

There were only two or three windows lit within the school, yellow pinpricks of light against the gloom.

‘What if they see us coming?’ Coulson asked, his eyes fixed on the school.

‘The kids should all have been in bed for over two hours and so have the staff,’ Mason informed him.

They were less than a hundred yards from the main entrance by now and Coulson looked up at the large stone gargoyles that stood sentinel along the edge of the roof. They seemed to be staring hungrily down at him and he shifted the shotgun from one hand to the other.

They pressed on until they reached the huge, ornate main doors to the building. Mason stepped up to the panel beside them and keyed in a code. There was a loud click and he pushed the nearest one. It opened and the two men stepped inside the stone-floored hallway.

Coulson looked around him at the stairway that led up to a galleried area above. To his right and left there were archways that snaked away into long corridors.

‘Come on,’ Mason urged, tugging at his arm. ‘We’ll go to the library first.’

Coulson followed him off to the left, relieved when the bare stone was replaced by carpeted floor. The thick pile muffled the sound of their feet as they hurried along the corridor. Paintings lined the walls on both sides. Portraits and landscapes. Former headmasters and teachers and scenes of Walston through the years. There was even a painting of the Queen on view. Coulson regarded it reverentially as he passed.

‘Here,’ Mason hissed, urging him towards a set of dark wood double-doors. The teacher slapped at a panel of light switches just inside, snapping on switches. Brightness swelled inside the room, banishing the gloom and illuminating everything before them.

The two of them stepped through the doors into a room with a high vaulted ceiling and shelves that seemed to tower to the roof itself. There were more shelves on the floor of the huge room, arrayed with an almost military precision into rows that looked as if they formed some kind of maze. Every one of them heaving and creaking with books of all shapes and sizes. The musty smell of old paper filled the air.

‘The note said to come to the library,’ Mason reminded his companion.

‘And then what?’ Coulson demanded.

Mason didn’t answer. At the far end of the library there was a large mahogany desk on a dais belonging to the librarian. It was towards that he moved.

Coulson hesitated a moment then followed him, moving as quietly as he could across the polished and lacquered wooden floor.

Mason had reached the desk by now and he scanned the items upon it. Apart from a couple of plastic trays, some pens and an angle-poise lamp there was nothing. He began opening the drawers, not even sure what he was looking for.

‘This is crazy,’ snapped Coulson.

Mason pulled open the last of the drawers.

There were two Polaroid photos within and he plucked them from the drawer and held them before him, his hand shaking.

‘What is it?’ Coulson snapped, snatching the photos from him. He could see that the first showed a man about the same age as Mason.

‘Is that Simon Usher?’ Coulson demanded.

Mason could only nod.

The second picture showed someone they both knew.

‘Isn’t that the woman you were with tonight?’

Mason tried to swallow but his throat felt constricted.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Kate Wheeler.’

‘I don’t understand this. Why leave the photos here? It’s as if whoever left it wanted it to be found.’

‘Someone wanted me to be here in this library tonight, didn’t they? Why else would they push that note through my door? It makes sense they should want me to find the photo as well.’

‘Where were they taken?’ Coulson wanted to know, jabbing a finger at the pictures

Mason looked more closely. Usher was standing with his back to a brick wall but the stonework was chipped, crumbling and looked old. Ancient almost, Mason thought. Kate Wheeler was standing against the same background, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. Exactly how long ago it had been taken Mason had no idea but he could see that Kate was wearing the same black cowl-neck top and black jeans that she had sported that very evening.

‘I can show you where it was taken.’

The words echoed around the huge library and both Mason and Coulson spun around in the direction of the sound.

Richard Holmes walked slowly towards them.

75

Coulson instinctively raised the shotgun but Mason put out a hand and gently pushed the barrels down.

‘What are you doing here, Richard?’ Mason wanted to know. ‘What’s happened to Kate? Who’s got her?’

Holmes shook his head.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Coulson wanted to know.

‘My name’s Richard Holmes. I’m a teacher here.’

‘Who put the note through my door?’ Mason interrupted, pushing in front of Coulson.

‘I don’t know,’ Holmes insisted. ‘Probably the same person who sent me mine. The same person who’s got Kate.’

‘Was it one of the kids?’ Mason went on, growing increasingly agitated.

‘I said I don’t know,’ Holmes told him.‘Just like I don’t know what’s happening with Kate. Someone left me a note: that’s why I’m here.’

‘I want some fucking answers,’ snapped Mason.

‘So do I, Peter,’ Holmes hissed. ‘But you’ve got to come with me now. There isn’t much time.’

Mason looked at Coulson then both of them followed the older man towards the library exit, hurrying to keep pace with him despite his bulk.

‘Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?’ Coulson rasped, grabbing Mason’s arm.

‘I don’t know,’ the teacher told him, tugging free. He increased his pace and caught up with Holmes. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To the chapel,’ Holmes told him. ‘If I’m right, the only way into the tunnels is through an entrance beneath the altar. I’m sure that’s where they’re being held.’

Mason’s head was spinning.

‘Tunnels?’ he murmured.

‘I told you, there’s a network of tunnels running under the school that have been there for centuries,’ Holmes informed him. ‘By the look of the brickwork in that picture, Usher’s down there somewhere.’

‘And Kate too?’ Mason enquired.

Holmes could only nod.

‘So Usher isn’t missing? He never disappeared?’ Mason went on. ‘He’s being held somewhere too? Who the hell by?’

‘If I had to guess, I’d say Latham’s group. This might even be some kind of revenge for his expulsion.’

‘This is insane,’ Mason snapped. ‘Why don’t we just call the police?’

‘There isn’t time,’ Holmes insisted, speeding up. ‘Even now we might still be too late.’

Mason grabbed the older man’s arm and tugged hard to stop his progress.

‘What do you mean too late?’ he rasped. ‘What do you think they’re going to do, kill them?’

Holmes didn’t answer.

The trio continued hurriedly through the school, moving as quickly and soundlessly as they could. When they reached the corridor that led to the chapel Holmes leaned against the wall, sucking in laboured breaths. He pressed one hand to his chest, his face pale.

‘Are you all right?’ Mason asked, seeing the obvious distress that the other teacher was in.

‘You two go ahead,’ Holmes urged. ‘I’ll catch up. I need to get my breath.’

‘But how are we going to find Usher and Kate?’ Mason demanded.

‘Once you get below ground there’s only one way you can go,’ Holmes informed him. ‘Keep walking until you find them. Go, I’ll catch up.’

Mason glanced at Coulson who nodded.

They left Holmes slumped against the cold stone wall, still sucking in air and Mason pushed the chapel door open, relieved when it didn’t creak.Their footsteps echoed as they hurried across the cold stone floor, Mason glancing around at the ornately carved stalls and pews and at the pulpit that towered ahead of them. Coulson looked at the stained-glass windows that bore so many figures, all, it seemed, gazing intently at him as he followed Mason down the central aisle of the chapel.

Three stone steps led up to the chancel and a few paces beyond it the altar. Mason inspected the heavy woven cloth that covered the altar, pulling at it as if it were a tablecloth.

‘What are you doing?’ Coulson whispered, lowering his voice in a gesture of almost unconscious deference.

‘Holmes said the entrance to the tunnels was behind the altar,’ Mason reminded his companion.‘There’s nothing behind it but stone wall, it has to be underneath.’

He stepped back, inspecting the flagstones around the altar, prodding each one with the toe of his shoe.

The third one tilted slightly as he put pressure on it.

‘Here,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘Help me get this up.’

Coulson hesitated a moment then joined the teacher who had managed to slide his fingertips beneath the large slab of stone and was lifting it, surprised at how easily it came free.

‘Slide it your way,’ Mason hissed and they both put all their efforts into shifting the slab sideways. ‘Hold it for a minute,’ the teacher instructed, reaching for the torch he’d put down.

As Coulson took the strain, Mason flicked the torch on and shone the powerful beam into the gap under the flagstone that the men had opened. He played the light over the area beneath and caught sight of something glistening below.

‘There’s steps down there, Holmes was right,’ he murmured.

Coulson grunted and pushed the slab the remaining foot or so to expose the hole completely. There was a loud, echoing thud as the stone was laid down and both men stood up, looking towards the door of the chapel in case their intrusion had been heard by other ears. Satisfied that they were still undiscovered, they knelt down beside the entrance once more.

‘It must have led to a priest hole or something like that,’ Mason mused. ‘Some kind of escape route for the priests here hundreds of years ago. Either that or it leads down to the crypts.’

‘Are we going down?’ Coulson wanted to know.