Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (20 page)

He'd go there
without
Adam and his car.

Mark made good progress cycling out to William's mansion house, thought he did regret not asking Adam for a lift. He needed energy for the cycle to Kinbrace, but decided this was the right course of action.

He was in luck - William was in. A manservant showed Mark up to the same room as before, William sitting in an armchair with his two dogs at his feet, very different from the sort that had plagued Mark.
 

"Just one minute," said William, head stuck in a large document.

Mark sat down opposite and cleaned his glasses. The day was much darker, so the room felt noticeably colder and more sinister, long shadows being cast from the flickering fire. Through the window, the garden looked less lush and more overgrown.

William put aside the document and took his glasses off. "Now, what can I help you with?" he asked.

"Does John Rennie work for you?" asked Mark.

William nodded, though his face filled with a dark expression. "Indeed he does," he said. "One of my very best, that's for certain."

"Has he turned up for work today?" asked Mark.

William frowned. "I'm not sure," he said. "I'm not the sort to keep a sheet of paper on my desk with everyone's start time and then religiously check it."

"I'm not implying you are," said Mark, with a smile aimed at disarming him. "I just need to speak to him, that's all."

"Very well," said William.
 

He reached over to the desk and retrieved an industrial-looking mobile phone - where modern smartphones were thin and represented the ultimate in industrial design, this was the telephony equivalent of a clapped-out tractor, its dark blue case inches thick. The screen was small, Mark thought it would barely display a few characters, let alone a website.

William pressed a few buttons and then held it to his ear. "Hi Hamish," he said. "Yes, I'm sure it has. If you could arrange to see that it is fixed ahead of the ceilidh tonight, then we shall avoid any further incident." He smiled politely at Mark, then looked away again. "Has John turned up today? John Rennie. No? Any idea where he is? If you could. Obviously after you've fixed the signage. Okay, thanks, bye."

He ended the call and looked back at Mark. "He hasn't turned up today," he said, with a frown. "Should I be worried?"

"Potentially," said Mark. "I saw him last night, chasing off some wild dogs."

William leaned down and scratched behind the ears of one of the labradors. "It's something I like him to do for me," he said. "We've been plagued by it over the years. We usually put it down to holidaymakers losing their dogs and which then go feral. I mean, these are labradoodles and what have you, not exactly working dogs."

"Can there really be that many?" asked Mark.

William laughed. "Are you suggesting something more sinister is afoot?" he asked.

"Like what?" asked Mark.

William shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Gangsters from the big cities coming up here and letting dogs go stray? It's significantly easier to get rid of human bodies. People tend to get upset about dogs."

Mark wanted to ask a few more questions, and he worked out his manner of approach. "That's an interesting looking phone you've got there," he said.

William picked it up and looked at it. "It's fairly common among the agricultural trade," he said. "Battery lasts for days, you can get reception pretty much anywhere and if you drop it in a stream it still works."

Mark smiled. "Are you going to the ceilidh tonight?" he asked.

William gave a deep sigh. "No, I am not," he said, leaning forward. "You see, my ancestors came by this land by slightly abstruse means."

Mark had no idea what the word meant, but he didn't think it meant what William seemed to be implying. "You mean that they took the land by force?" he asked.

"Partly," said William. "The land was seized from the Ruthven family. My ancestors had previously managed the estate and we were appointed owners. But we did not inherit the title, otherwise you would be speaking to Lord Ruthven and not merely William Sellar, common man."

It clicked into place for Mark - the rumours and research finally tied together. He remembered the stuff he'd found in Inverness about a Sellar who had come north to act as an estate manager and ended up as a landlord. "I bet you're a common man with a lot of cash," he said.

"It's all tied up in the land, I'm afraid," said William. "And unless you can find a Madonna or a Lady Gaga, then it would be difficult to sell up and make it more liquid."

Mark almost smiled at the reference to modern pop stars. "So, you won't be there tonight?" he asked.

"I'm not made welcome by Lady Ruthven," said William.

"Oh?" asked Mark, with a raised eyebrow.

"That's between myself and her ladyship," said William, looking out of the window.

Mark opened his notebook and flipped to a set of notes he had made that morning before heading out. "I met up with the minister in Kinbrace the other day," he said. "He told me about the history of devil worship in the area."

William snorted. "Did he now?" he asked.

"Is it true?" asked Mark.

"I expect that you'll have seen the old church?" asked William.

Mark nodded. "I have," he said. "Very interesting iconography."

"Typical of the Catholics," said William. "Anyway, it's certainly true. You're clearly a learned man. I would wager that you've heard of Aleister Crowley. He had a Satanist estate in the Highlands, of course. His legend lingers."

Mark had been confounded by yet another tangent to the book - while he was happy to include the devil worship, expanding into featuring Crowley and his legacy was going to add tens of thousands of words, let alone the weeks of research he was going to have to do. "Was there anything supernatural?" he asked.

"Define supernatural?" asked William. "Satanism is a manifestation of the supernatural. Of course, it's also a rejection of it as well. It's synonymous with anarchy -
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law
and all that."

Mark swallowed hard. "I meant the sort of thing you would read in a Stephen King novel," he said. "Shape-shifting, howling at the moon, drinking blood, that sort of thing."

William laughed, but his eyes remained cold. "I'd stick to the Stephen King if I were you," he said. "It's not real."

Mark shut his notebook and got to his feet.

As he thanked him, he couldn't help but wonder if William knew far more than he was letting on.

Mark propped his bike against the wall, took his helmet off and marched to the giant doorway, all the while having the concept of spiritual enlightenment stuck in his head like a very bad joke.
 

The door was eventually opened by the ZZ Top guy. As soon as he saw Mark, he smiled. "What do you want now?" he asked.

"I want to speak to Kay," said Mark. As he stood there, he was beginning to question the rationale behind approaching a group of shape-shifting werewolf devil worshippers head on. He wasn't feeling particularly healthy, mentally, but he needed to confront them to deal with his fears and suspicions.
 

"Kay?" asked ZZ Top. "I've absolutely no idea who you're talking about."

"Kay McGregor," said Mark. "You've taken her, haven't you? You've turned her into one of you."

ZZ Top closed the door behind him and walked forward, getting into Mark's face. Mark tried to take solace from the fact that he was unaccompanied that morning. He held up his left hand and started counting on his fingers. "One," he said, "I've no idea who this Kay McGregor is. Two, we are a religious organisation that doesn't take people. Three, you need to be a bit more careful about what you mean by 'one of you', my friend. That could be open to a lot of different interpretations."

"Just let me speak to her," said Mark.

"She is not here," said ZZ Top. "I suggest you take your very manly folding bike there and go and annoy somebody else."

He pushed Mark in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards, landing in the middle of the road.

"I'm a very busy man," said ZZ Top. "I don't need idiots like you wasting my time."

He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Mark thankful that the traffic was light. He dusted himself off and decided to head back to the hotel. The quicker he could get away from these people, the better.

Mark slammed the dirty washing into his rucksack, chucking his washbag in on top. He still had two bottles of wine, which he left on the desk for the next resident to enjoy. He checked his watch - he had to get going if he was to catch both the police officer and the train.

He spent longer than necessary tidying up his notes. The sheets of photocopies had to be stapled back together and filed - it never ceased to amaze him how much paper weighed or the amount of the stuff he managed to accrue. The few hundred extra sheets would make his laptop case unbearable, and the cycle longer.

As he sorted and filed, he felt the weight of the book press on him again. He was doing the right thing getting back to Edinburgh. Even so, it was still going to take days out of his schedule, time he could ill afford.

It struck him that reporting John's disappearance might mean giving a lengthy statement. He tried to work out if anyone else could do it. Two reports from one person might appear suspicious. Unlike Kay, he was directly involved - as far as he was aware, John's last act had been saving him. He had to hope that it could be done quickly or delegated to local police in Edinburgh.

No, he had to report it himself.

The phone on the desk rang. He frowned, answering it. "Hello?"

"Mr Campbell, it's Alec Harris here." He paused. "I've got a message from a young lady here for you."

Mark screwed his face up. Who on earth could it be? "What?" he asked. "Who is it?"

"I believe that you two are acquainted," said Harris. "Her name is Kay McGregor."

Mark raced down the stairs to reception. He thought Harris was smirking at him, getting pleasure from teasing him about Kay. His eyes scanned the reception area, with its round tables and comfortable chairs, all of which were empty.

"Where is she?" asked Mark.

Harris tilted his head to the side. "She went straight up to her room," he said.

Mark bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He dashed past his room, covering the corridor in seconds, before hammering on Kay's door. Nothing. Catching his breath, he waited.

His mind raced through the possibilities. Where the hell had she been? His hands were clenched tight, his nails almost drawing blood.

Kay opened the door, smiling as she stepped out into the corridor, pulling it shut behind her. "Hi, Mark," she said.

Breathing fast, Mark tried to focus. "Don't you 'Hi, Mark' me. Where the hell have you been?"

Kay shrugged her shoulders. "I've been travelling around," she said. "Doing your job for you."

"What about your car?" asked Mark. "The police found it."

"They can't have," said Kay. "I've still got it."

Mark frowned. "It was at Helmsdale train station," he said.

"Aye," said Kay, "which is where I left it."

"Why there?" asked Mark.

"Why not there?" asked Kay. "The car parks around here are a bit on the small side and don't have long-term parking. Besides, I wanted it nearer Inverness so I could pick it up easily."

Mark didn't quite buy it but let it go. "Where exactly have you been?" he asked.

"So, this is all the thanks I get," said Kay, raising an eyebrow.

"Look, can I come in?" asked Mark. "I don't want to have this conversation in the corridor."

"You can't," said Kay.

"Okay, what about my room?" asked Mark.

"I'm not sure it would be appropriate," said Kay.

"Fine," said Mark, throwing his hands up. "Let's go back downstairs, then."

Instead of relief, he just felt anger - where the hell had she been? He found a table sufficiently far from Harris and his prying ears. He gestured over for a pot of coffee - Harris grudgingly nodded.

"You've been away for over a week, Kay," said Mark.

"As I say, I was doing your job for you," said Kay.

"That's not funny," said Mark, feeling his breathing get worse. "I've been to the police to report you missing."

Kay laughed. "It's taken you a week?" she asked.

"Well, strangely enough," said Mark, "I figured that you might just turn up like this. And how right I was. But I reported you missing last week. That was how we found your car." He dug his nails into the palms of his hands. "Your mother thought you'd be okay."

Kay frowned. "My mother?" she asked. She took a deep breath. "Well, she would."

"Where have you been?" asked Mark, struggling to prevent his eyes from twitching.

"Well, I was in Skye for three days," said Kay. "Interviewing a few landowners I got put onto by a guy in Thurso."

"Where else?" asked Mark

"Just a few rural places near Thurso," said Kay. "I've been down in Inverness for a few days, at the library. I was staying with my pal in Tain."

"I was in Inverness on Saturday," said Mark. "At the library."

"I didn't go in on Saturday," said Kay. "I had a day off, is that all right? Had a bit of a hangover from Friday night."

"Were you here on Sunday?" asked Mark, hands gripping the edge of the table.

"Sunday?" asked Kay, scowling. "No, Mark, I was in Inverness on Sunday. Are you feeling okay?"

"Did you go to Wick?" asked Mark, ignoring her question.

Kay frowned. "You didn't try and follow me, did you?" she asked.

Mark sighed, starting to feel embarrassed. The likelihood of a panic attack subsided, replaced by the feeling that he'd overstepped the mark. "Of course I did," he said. "I went up there with that
photographer
that you got in."

Kay held her hands up. "That was nothing to do with me," she said. "He works for
your
publisher, not mine. You're the talent here, as you keep telling me."