THE IMMORTAL MISS JUDE - FINAL CHAPTERS

THE IMMORTAL MISS JUDE

SUNDAY. 2:33 AM.

As an owl called out across the darkened valley, a ribbon of white cloud slipped from the moon revealing a silvery landscape of mountains and hills. Here and there, clusters of pine varied the landscape, and high on a ridge a small copse of decaying elm stood out against the moon; crooked and wraithlike, like some forgotten graveyard.
Within its dying heart, two men sat before a fire, each one forlorn, their crushed spirits illuminated by the glow of the flames. At that moment, Randall, who had gone in search of firewood, reappeared and studied his two friends. Tyler had been injured in his encounter with Lott. He had tried to keep it from Randall, but when they were eventually forced to stop from the lack of fuel, the extent of his wound was quickly discovered. There was a deep gash on the outside of his right leg where the car door had smashed against the wall. The pain must have been unbearable for him, but Randall couldn’t recall him once making a sound as he steered them both to safety. Nevertheless, he had lost a lot of blood and needed medical help.
Donald was physically unharmed, but was now drifting in and out of reality more than at any point over the past week. As they drove through the darkness he had talked constantly, but at no point had any of it made any sense. Once again, he had been thrown into a nightmare world by the loss of yet another friend, this one, perhaps, the most significant of all.
‘How’s the leg?’ said Randall emerging from the darkness.
‘Fine,’ replied Tyler, his voice giving away more than he had intended. ‘Where do we go now?’
‘We go back.’
‘We do what?’
‘You’re losing blood, I need to get you to a doctor.’
‘Like hell you do. We’ll be dead as soon as they see us.’
Placing the wood by the fire, Randall looked up. ‘It’s a chance we’ll have to take. You’re in this state because of me, and this has gone on long enough. We’re going to have to approach the local authorities.’
‘If MI5 or any of the intelligence services are involved, we don’t have a cat in hells chance. Elliot . . . listen to me, when they find us they will kill us . . .’
He stopped as he coughed, violently.
‘Drink some water,’ Randall said moving to his side.
Taking a mouthful, Tyler leant back against one of the fallen trees.
‘Sorry to be the prophet of doom but either way we’re dead. You do have one ally however,’ he said after a moment.
‘Surprise me.’
‘Young Hodges. I managed to track him down, he knows the basic situation.’
‘You have been busy. Yes, he’s a good kid.’
‘Shame he won’t be able to do a damn thing to help us, though. He did tell me one thing. Tomblin had him reporting anything you were keeping out of the investigation directly to him. So you can bet your bottom dollar he’s in Appleby’s pocket as well.’ Randall gave a broad smile. ‘Have I missed something?’
‘Tomblin has done that to every young detective I’ve worked with for the last five years. He likes to keep a close eye on me, doesn’t like my methods.’
‘But that doesn’t mean he’s not involved.’
‘True,’ he said as he walked to the edge of the wood. He looked down at the valley for a moment or two before looking back at him. ‘How the hell did you find us, anyway?’
‘You have to thank Hodges for that. He managed to get the address for the girl and the group. But I was too late. I saw you run out, but those two were close behind you. There was very little I could do, I’m not as nimble as I was. I contacted Hodges and we agreed the only thing for it was drive round in the hope that we’d see you. It was pure chance that I saw . . . ’ he paused as he looked at his leg.
‘He was called Lott, the other one’s called Tindle.’
‘Are they the ones?’
‘Probably.’ There was a tone of disappointment in his voice. It seemed to stem from a sudden realisation that everything he had stood for had been an irrelevance, and that his understanding of the world had been a naïve one.
‘If I hadn’t passed the street when I did I wouldn’t have seen him. I turned the car and followed him down. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you.’
‘Well, you saved our lives.’
‘But for how long?’ said Tyler glancing at Donald by the fire. He seemed mesmerised by the flames. ‘What about him?’
‘He’ll have to come with us. I don’t think the man’s mentally stable anymore.’
‘He must have experienced quite a lot over the past fortnight. Did you ever find out why he came to Scotland?’
‘He came to find Virginia Kite.’
‘Virginia Kite.’
‘Dorothy had a sister. I found that out too late. If only I’d have believed the poor sod from the beginning I could have avoided all of this.’
‘You weren’t to know. Did he find her?’
‘It doesn’t really matter. I think it was the only thing he had left.’
‘Do you think he knows something about Virginia you don’t?’
‘No, she knew nothing, but it doesn’t matter,’ said Donald, suddenly. His voice was so calm and coherent the two men were suddenly taken aback. ‘Because I know where she is . . .’
He said all of this without taking his eyes from the flames and for a moment, despite his change in tone, Randall wasn’t sure if he was still rambling.
‘You know were Dorothy is Donald? Where?’
‘Dalguise House.’
‘That’s where Harry Kessler was buried,’ said Tyler, leaning forward.
‘It’s the family home,’ said Donald.
‘How do you know this?’ said Randall walking towards him.
‘Because I’ve misunderstood it all. It hasn’t been the gods at all, but her . . . Dorothy, she’s the one that has guided me all along.’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t see the signs at first, but now I understand.’
‘What are you talking about? Who’s been guiding you?’
‘Dorothy, of course.’
‘How?’
‘She speaks to me in my dreams. She shows me the future. I just didn’t understand.’
Randall gave Tyler a despairing glance. ‘You’ve lost it Donald.’
‘I’ve been dreaming about her and everything that has happened has come true. We’re joined spiritually and she has been pulling me to her all along, ever since that night in London. I did see her.’
‘And for that reason, people have lost their lives? You bloody lunatic! Get on your feet we’re going back.’
‘No.’ he said, his voice calm and steady.
‘We’re going back and you’re coming with us. This man needs help, and I can’t do it all on my own, so get on your feet and help me.’
‘You don’t give me orders Randall!’ Donald snapped, jumping to his feet. ‘I didn’t ask for anyone’s help!’
‘This man risked his life saving you!’
They were face to face now shouting so loudly that there was an echo on the far side of the valley
‘Really? Well, you listen to me Randall. Over the past - god knows how long - I’ve been shot at, shit on, hunted, starved and exorcised. I’ve had my character besmirched and my face stuffed on the front page of every newspaper from here to Hong Kong. Now if you think I’ve gone through all of that, travelled all this way just to turn back now, you are sadly mistaken.’
‘If this man doesn’t get medical help soon he may die!’
‘Don’t blackmail me, Randall! I’ve lost people as well you know? Some I’d known for a lifetime. Their lives snuffed out in a moment. All in my name, because of something I saw. Something that I can’t explain. Now I think I’ve earned the right to go on and finish this. Please. I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through, but I will go on.’
On that, he strode angrily to the edge of the wood, and down into the valley.
‘Well, you certainly told him,’ said Tyler with a weak smile.
Randall was about to call out to Donald, when a deep roar filled the sky. Running forward to the brow of the hill he could see two beams of light on the far side of the valley. Like flames burning into the darkness, they scorched the land before them.
‘Helicopters,’ Randall muttered.
Peering into the darkness he rushed down the hillside after Donald. At first he couldn’t see him, then as he noticed a small pocket of trees off to his right he saw him hurrying down the slope. Running forward and pushing him to the ground, he looked up to see the lights as they moved low across the valley towards them. Donald, unaware of the danger, struggled to his feet again, but Randall was quick enough to drag him back amongst trees as the machines passed overhead.
As they reached the wood they suddenly slowed and hovered low above the branches; the wind from their rotors tugging at the tree tops. Suddenly Randall thought of Tyler and was preparing to abandon Donald, when, suddenly, the machines banked sharply and swooped down to the flat of the valley once more.
In a moment Randall was on his feet climbing the hill. When he reached the wood the fire was out and Tyler was gone. He called into the darkness, but other than the receding engines of the helicopters, there wasn’t a sound. He called again, but still there was no reply. Moving further into the wood, he suddenly heard a noise ahead. Rushing forward, he nearly fell over Tyler, lying amongst the roots of a fallen tree. Somehow, despite his condition, he had crawled into the cover of the trees and saved them once more.
Pulling him forward Randall checked his wound. His struggle through the undergrowth had pulled the improvised bandage away and now the bleeding was more severe than ever. Suddenly, there were noises behind him and he turned to see Donald.
‘How is he?’
‘Pretty bad,’ he said taking off his jacket. ‘He’s losing too much blood.’
He tore a strip of material from the bottom of his shirt to make a tourniquet. Tyler winced as he tightened the knot against the wounded limb.
‘They must have found the car.’
‘Elliot?’
‘I’m here, David.’
‘This is no good,’ he said, almost in a whisper. ‘You must leave me.’
‘Sorry, can’t do that.’
‘Just go. Find her. You must admit it, it does all sound very intriguing,’ he said, laughing until it turned into a violent cough.
Suddenly there were noises off in the distance.
‘Listen,’ said Randall.
‘What is it?’ asked Donald.
‘Dogs.’
‘Leave me,’ said Tyler, ‘it’s your only chance. Just go, for god’s sake.’
Randall was about to argue, when Tyler started coughing again. Getting up and looking off into the distance, he could now see the dim chain of torches moving towards them. They had an hour, possibly more. Looking back at Tyler in the moonlight he knew then it was the last time he would see him.
‘What do we do?’ said Donald.
For a moment, Randall said nothing as he crouched at Tyler’s side.
‘He’s right,’ he said eventually, ‘we have to leave him.’ Gently cupping his head, he moved closer to him. ‘Okay David, you win.’
Slowly opening his eyes, Tyler smiled, ‘you call this winning? Take the gun.’
‘No.’
‘What good is it to me? I only had one cartridge. No, take it, it might just get you through.’
For a minute or so, neither of the men spoke and the only sounds to be heard where those made by the approaching dogs. Laying his head on the damp ground, he took the gun from his belt and stood up.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Donald.
‘No need to be,’ said Randall looking down. ‘Let’s go.’

The two men had walked for over an hour and were reaching the brow of the far hillside when the sound of a single shot echoed across the valley. It stopped them in their tracks, but as they stared back, they could only imagine what Tyler had gone through - and what he had told them.
Then with the sound still carrying in the air they pushed on, their eyes fixed ahead, their path illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight.

By five thirty that morning, they had walked seven miles. Despite the time of day, it was hot with little wind, a situation that did nothing to alleviate Randall’s aches and pains. The experiences of the last twenty-four hours had taken a lot from him, which made it all the more difficult to keep to Donald’s gruelling pace.
After leaving Edinburgh, they had driven west as far as dumbartonshire. Tyler knew Scotland well and had got them as close to the west coast as he could before running out of fuel. That had been their first piece of bad luck. Until then, they had kept the car away from populated areas but with the fuel running low, they had taken the risk of passing through Balloch, the gateway to Loch Lomond. There the car had juddered to a stop, forcing them to leave it by the roadside and flee.
Now with every police officer in Scotland assisting them, Appleby and his masters could bide their time. Use every resource to track them down, and be contented in the knowledge that even the public would go out of their way to find the evil Donald Hawksmoor; the slayer of the innocent. For no doubt Annabelle would now be added to his long list of victims.
As they reached the top of yet another hill a car suddenly appeared on a small road beneath them. Diving to the ground, they waited as it passed, and as they did, Randall took the opportunity to plead with Donald for a break from the punishing march. Donald, however, was a man possessed, and no sooner had the car disappeared into the distance, than he was crawling forward and peering down onto the road.
‘Can you read that road sign down there?’
Randall was now lying back on the grass and struggling for breath. ‘Without my glasses, I can barely see you.’
‘We’re in luck, I think it says Bannen, thirty miles.’
‘Hawksmoor I need to rest and eat something. You’re used to this, I’m not.’
‘Not from choice, Inspector. Come on.’
‘Now hang on, we need water at least. And my feet are killing me.’
Donald was already on his feet moving down towards the road. ‘I’ll find food and water soon. You’ll get used to the pain. Come on.’
Hesitantly checking the road Randall got to his feet and followed him down.
After another hour of hard walking, and with the sun beating down on them, they came across a sheltered brook where they rested, thankful for the shade. Donald, who had found a plastic bottle on the journey, topped it up and passed it to Randall.
‘I don’t think I can go any further,’ he said taking it from him, his voice fading to a whisper. Donald didn’t reply as he searched for berries between the rocks. Randall realised then as he watched him how incredibly focused he had become. It seemed to be at the very centre of him, despite what he had seen, and especially since the death of Annabelle. The realisation filled him with a mixture of admiration and shame. He himself had been part of what Donald had gone through and was even now disgusted by his own naivety.
Turning away he walked beneath the canopy of a willow tree, reaching down towards the rippling stream. The bright sun skimmed beneath the low branches and pierced the surface, highlighting glimmering flecks of pyrite in the pebbles. Like Atlantis beneath the ocean waves, they glistened in the light.
Taking off his shoes and socks he dangled his feet in the cool water and lay back. Above him the shimmering reflection of the stream danced on the leaves and for a moment he was at peace with the world, despite the world being at war with him. Serenaded by the rippling waters he would have gladly slept where he lay, where it not for a distant sound that brought him back to his senses.
Sitting up he listened carefully, but was distracted by Donald appearing at his side with a handkerchief full of wild berries.
‘Eat these, we can’t stop for long.’
‘What’s that noise?’ said Randall, his eyes staring off into the distance.
Turning his head, Donald listened for a moment. ‘Sounds like church bells.’
‘Of course . . . it’s Sunday. I didn’t realise.’ Taking a handful of the berries, he stuffed them into his mouth. A bead of red juice escaped from his mouth and ran along the bristles on his chin. As he wiped it away with the back of his hand, Donald noted a sudden change in him.
‘Is everything alright?’
‘Today is my wedding anniversary,’ he was looking at the stream again. But his mind was elsewhere.
‘Well, congratulations to you,’ Donald said sarcastically as he filled the bottle again. ‘You’ll be in trouble if you ever get home.’
‘I’m a widower,’ he said looking up.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No need to be.’
‘I’m sorry about your friend, as well.’
‘Yes,’ said Randall, intending to say more. ‘How much further?’
‘If we can keep the pace up we could get there before evening.’
‘Evening! I think I’ll need a bit more than a handful of berries to get me through.’ Passing the bottle back to him, Donald reached in his pocket and took out a bag of peanuts. ‘I was saving these for a rainy day.’
‘Do you mean to tell me you’ve had these all the time? You bastard!’
Donald smiled at the remark before washing his face and neck in the stream. Munching on the feast Randall watched Donald closely. There had been a transformation. Now he was like a warrior preparing for battle, so different from the babbling fool he had studied the night before.
‘Look, what do you expect to find in that house?’ said Randall getting to his feet and treading carefully on his blistered feet.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Oh, well as long as we’re not sacrificing our lives needlessly.’
‘Get your shoes on inspector.’
‘Fine, but realise one thing. If Dorothy Kite is still alive and she’s in that house, you’re leading them straight to her.’
‘You may not have noticed but we are no longer being followed,’ he said before moving from the cover of the branches. Randall wasn’t far behind.
‘And . . .’
‘And the sooner we move, the longer that will remain,’ said Donald his eyes fixed on the path ahead. ‘I have to find her; it’s as simple as that. You don’t have to come with me.’
‘Your right, I don’t. But whilst there’s still an outside chance that I can stop any more killing and bring the people involved to justice, well, maybe it’s worth all the effort.’
Suddenly, another sound carried along the valley. It was faint, and obviously, a long way off, but it was clear enough to fill them both with dread; the unmistakeable drone of the helicopters.
‘Let’s go,’ muttered Donald before jumping down into the stream and crossing to the far hill.

All through the day, they followed the road from the comparative safety of the hillside. Only deviating to avoid the occasional hill walker or farm. Shortly after the feast of berries and nuts at the stream, Randall had been hit by a sudden surge of energy that had projected him forward with such ferocity that even Donald had been impressed. Nonetheless, despite their progress, the resonating sound of the helicopters far off in the distance had been a constant reminder of their troubles.
By mid afternoon the heat had taken its toll on Randall, and now with his spirits lower than at any point he lagged well behind Donald. An hour later Donald stopped, allowing Randall time to gauge the distance they had travelled, and as he did, he noticed a bank of cloud on the horizon. He studied it for a while, not because it was the first cloud he had seen for a week, but because of its dark contrast to the blue sky. When he looked back to Donald again he saw him waving frantically from a small ridge above the path. Hurrying forward the best way he could with blistered feet, he climbed the small bank. It was then he saw Loch Erine for the first time.
It was like a scene from an old master. Blue-grey water, flat like a vast sheet of dark ice, meandered through the pine-coated mountains, its gloom a total contrast to the clear blue skies above.
‘There,’ said Donald pointing across the loch.
Squinting in the sunshine Randall saw an island off to their right. It seemed uninhabited but as he looked closer, he saw a granite house almost invisible amidst towering pines and oaks. Dalguise house was as foreboding as the dark waters that surrounded it.
Linking the islet to the mainland was a long narrow causeway that touched the island at its flattest part, a broad lush meadow, sloping up towards the house. The road they had followed for so long now skirted the loch as far as Bannen, a small village nestling beneath the mountains to their right. Here the road took a different route. It snaked sharply around the village until it was almost parallel with itself where abruptly it disappeared amid a thick forest of pine.
‘Is that Bannen?’ said Randall.
‘Yes,’ Donald muttered his eyes still fixed on the house on the isle.
‘We’re going to have to pass through it to get to the causeway.’
‘We’ll wait until dark.’
Looking back to the darkening sky in the south, Randall shook his head. ‘If those clouds are anything to go by, that might be sooner than later.’
Moving off again, this time away from the path that was gradually winding down towards the road, they noticed a series of large mounds between them and the village where bracken and ferns had flourished on the slope of the hill. As they reached them, they were surprised to find the mounds were, in fact, derelict stone cottages. The remnants of a village, long deserted. Scattered across the hillside like graves, forgotten and remote, it was, despite the sun, a sombre place. Nevertheless, there they waited, beneath towering ferns, studying the island as the clouds gathered above them, changing the light and darkening the landscape.
Every now and then, as it had been most of the day, they could hear the sound of the helicopters far off in the distance. Like an approaching army, the noise grew, warning the valley beyond of what was to come. Yet still, the two men waited.
In time, Randall slept. It was the first descent rest he had had for over forty-eight hours and when he woke an hour later, it was as if he had slept for a week. Despite his lack of rest, however, Donald had stood at the narrow overgrown doorway of the cottage and looked down at the loch. He had come so far and now he was so close. What great mystery lay on that isle? Until now, he had avoided the thought of it, and suddenly he was afraid. This was almost the final chapter of a story born on that warm summer night in London. Along the way, he had lost everything, everything that is, but his resolve.

With the darkening sky came the wind. It skimmed the surface of the loch until small white crested waves hurried across the bay and broke onto the wide crescent beach.
Waking from his sleep, Randall stretched before joining Donald at the doorway. It was evening now but with the low sombre cloud and buffeting wind, it seemed more like night.
‘I’m sorry about the girl,’ said Randall after a while.
‘Me too.’
‘You can’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘I think we both know that’s not true.’
For a few moments, there was an awkward silence. Randall was leaning uncomfortably against the wall, now green with lichen and moss. After studying the deserted buildings scattered across the hillside he turned to Donald.
‘I wonder what happened here?’
‘Probably a small village of hill farmers, sent south in the clearances.’
‘The highland clearances, of course,’ he laughed, before shaking his head. ‘The powerful and the wealthy getting their way. It never really changes does it?’ Wading through deep tufts of bracken that had taken hold on the cottage floor, he sat back in the remnants of a fireplace, itself overgrown with thick tufts of reed grass. ‘So tell me about Rangoon.’
Donald smiled, ‘my father was an officer in the Kings Own Yorkshire light infantry at the outbreak of war. I was born a few days before the Japanese invaded. We were lucky to get out.’
‘So why acting?’
Donald shook his head slowly as he thought back. ‘My mother adored the theatre. She would take me whenever father was away. He didn’t approve, of course. I was revelling in the joys of Shakespeare and Dickens when other children were watching Flash Gordon and Roy Rogers.’ Randall smiled. ‘But I loved it. I loved the fantasy of it all, the smells and the colour. I would watch these actors strutting around and I thought that’s what I want. I have to do that.’
A cold breeze suddenly swirled around the overgrown interior, and suddenly the sky seemed a little darker.
‘When I was 14 my mother managed to secure a position for me at a local theatre. Nothing too exotic you understand. Just helping with costumes, making tea that sort of thing. But it was there that I used to sneak into the wings and watch the actors preparing to go on. There I could see what the audience couldn’t. The cheapness of it all hidden away from the bright lights. One day I got a little too inquisitive and climbed aboard a mobile replica of Harfleur castle. I found it all so fascinating being part of the play I lost all track of time and didn’t realise the play had started until I was wheeled on in scene 2,’ he smiled to himself. ‘To this day I’m still the only Englishman to get inside the castle walls before the French surrender.’
‘And you never looked back from that day on,’ said Ranall with a smile.
‘Something like that.’
‘And you? Why a policeman?’
‘Where I grew up you either became a copper or a criminal.’
‘And now you’ve been both.’ Randall smiled again as Donald looked down at the house.
‘My dad was a copper too, hence the name.’
Donald seemed confused.
‘My name’s Elliot.’
‘Ah, your father was a admirer of Mr Ness,’ he said looking back at him. ‘Tell me about your wife?’
Randall was suddenly taken aback; the question being so direct. Apart from his daughter, everyone had avoided the subject. Now before the jaws of death himself, however, he could think of nothing he would like more. About their life together and the incredible guilt he felt for her suffering. Donald listened intently, as if he sensed the pain himself. And together, hidden from the world, they shared their lives; all the time preparing for the next.

An hour later, and both fully acquainted with each other’s story, they sat back in the dim light and reflected on the circumstances they had both unwittingly shared.
It was still evening but the clouds had thickened sufficiently to bring a darkened hue to the landscape. An early autumn chill had now replaced the warmth and as they nestled together amongst the ferns and waited for night to conceal their final journey, neither of them was aware of the tide moving in towards the island. It wasn’t until Randall went to the doorway and peered down at a small boat struggling against the wind towards the village, that he suddenly noticed the causeway only a matter of feet above the waters.
‘This is a sea loch,’ he mumbled.
‘What?’
‘This is a sea loch!’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Donald scrambling to his side.
‘It’s open to the sea. There’s a tide. Look at the causeway!’
As he squinted in the darkness, he could see the white crests of waves as they crashed against the long ramp; each wave more consuming than the last. Without hesitation, he rushed out of the door and through the undergrowth.
‘We have to think about this,’ said Randall running after him.
‘There’s no time!’
Thoughts raced through Randall’s mind as he tried to keep up with Donald. But he knew he was right. If they waited until morning, it would be too late. Now was the time.
‘Which way then?’
‘Along the beach, it’s the only way.’
As night descended and the village glowed in the darkness, they stumbled through the gorse and bracken of the hillside. As they hurried down Randall was aware of the smell of burning wood in the air. Glancing over to the village, he could see white smoke billowing from the chimneys. Ghost-like they swirled in the icy wind above the rooftops, diving and twisting until finally melting beneath the low threatening cloud.
Half way down the hill, they stopped and studied the road nervously. Content that there was no traffic they continued until finally they reached a shallow ditch by the road.
As they were preparing to cross, Randall suddenly caught a glimpse of car lights coming round the headland from their left. Grabbing Donald’s arm, Randall peered through the undergrowth. Slowly the lights grew as the vehicle moved towards the village. Then as it passed, the occupants staring out at the hill and beach, the two men saw the vehicle clearly; a police Land Rover.
‘Damn,’ growled Donald. ‘How the hell are we going to get through now? The tide will be in in no time!’
Randall looked along the long ditch that ran as far as the hill: ‘Maybe we can go around the back of the village?’
Donald wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the house across the water. It was the centre of everything he had done and now it was slipping from him. Without warning, he jumped up and started to cross the road.
‘Hawksmoor!’ Randall hissed as he watched him disappear onto the shore.
Making sure the road was clear he got up and hurried after him. Jumping down onto the beach his feet sank into a pit of loose shingle and despite his best efforts he could hardly move. As in a nightmare, each step took a colossal effort and no matter how hard he pushed forward, he seemed to be getting nowhere.
He needn’t have bothered. Only a matter of feet away from him, silhouetted by the faint lights of the house, Donald was motionless at the waters edge. Static in the deep shingle, Randall watched him for a moment or two before glancing across at the causeway. Now, submerged beneath a wind-stirred tide, it was part of another world, and like their hopes, gone.
It was almost dark now and in the gloom, a chain of white lights stretched out across the waterfront swaying in the wind. Something about their tone, or possibly the noise of the loch lapping against the wall, reminded him of the Thames and his home so far away. Forlornly he looked away, but as he did, he noticed a dark shape on the bank.
Dragging his aching feet through the shingle, he made his way towards it until finally it confirmed his suspicions. A small boat, seemingly intact but without oars, was resting on the slope that led to the road. Searching for a suitable piece of driftwood for an oar he then rushed back to find Donald.
‘Come on, our luck’s in.’
Donald didn’t move, still his eyes were fixed on the island on the loch. Randall was preparing to speak again when he heard the sound of the helicopters, and this time closer than they had been at any point. Looking back at the hills towering above them, Randall knew it was only a matter of time before they would descending onto the loch. And this time they had nowhere to hide. There was only one thing they could do.
‘Come on, help me.’
Grabbing him by the arm he tried to pull Donald towards the boat. But to his astonishment Donald pulled free and started to walk into the water.
‘Hawksmoor, no!’ he screamed as he waded in after him. Grabbing him again he spun him round and stared at him. ‘What are you doing?’
As the wind grew stronger and the waves crashed about them, Donald seemed lost, as before. He was staring back at Randall but mumbling under his breath. In an attempt to bring him out of it, Randall shook him repeatedly. It wasn’t that that brought him back to reality, however, but the roaring engines of the helicopters hidden in the valley beyond. Suddenly as he looked up at the hills he seemed to realise where he was.
‘Donald, look at me! I’ve found a boat. We’ll row across. Help me, I can’t do it on my own.’

After a five-minute struggle, with a twisted furrow through the shingle in their wake, the boat was at the waters edge. However, the real problem was getting it afloat. They were cold and exhausted, yet despite this, they fought against each coming wave, until the boat was lifting above the waves and moving out across the dark waters of the loch.
As Randall rowed against the wind, Donald stared at the dimly lit house in the distance. But no matter how many times Randall called out to him above the noise of the wind, Donald would not look back at him. Soon the boat was well away from the shore. But just as Randall was getting into some sort of rhythm the wind suddenly grew in strength, and with it came the rain. Like a veil, it shrouded the island until gradually the house disappeared amid swirling clouds of spray. It seemed the further they moved from the hills the more the storm hit them.
Just then, as a rumble of thunder filled the darkness, Randall heard another noise, this one much closer. Looking back to the hills he saw two beams of light emerging from the valley beyond. Banking hard and following the road to the village, Randall watched in horror as the helicopters roared above the road and beach. He knew what they would see. A fear that was confirmed when they slowed and hovered over the spot where they had dragged the boat across the shingle.
Without warning one of the machines suddenly turned, and like a hawk tracing the tracks of its prey it moved menacingly towards the loch. Again, it stopped, but only to change direction as it moved low across the waves. As the light approached Randall rowed frantically, but it was no good. In seconds, it was above them, its spotlight piercing the darkness, revealing them to the world.
In a moment, Donald was on his feet. ‘Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!’
‘Get down Hawksmoor. You’ll have us over!’
‘Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! Spout, rain.’
‘Get down man!’ he yelled, struggling to steady the boat as it rocked against the waves and wind.
The storm was growing in strength and as Donald threw his fists at the blinding beam, the wind threw up a large wave that hit the boat so violently it sent Randall back onto the boards. Yet, still Donald screamed at the light above.
‘Get down!’ screamed Randall struggling to his feet once more.
As he reached out for Donald, the helicopter dipped low towards them, sending him stumbling back into the cold waters of the loch. Plunging beneath the waves, the cold hit him like a blast, but despite the shock of water filling his mouth and throat, he thrashed wildly to reach the surface. It was almost impossible to stay above the waves and he quickly realised the weight of his clothes were dragging him down. Taking a mouthful of air, he dipped beneath the waves again and pulled off his shoes. Then after a long struggle, he released himself from his jacket. Now at least he could tread water, and as he did he looked back at the boat to see Donald stabbing at the machine with the oar. Lightning flashed above him, silhouetting his movements and it was then that Randall saw the second machine off to his right, searching for him in the darkness. The cold was almost unbearable and his limbs were so heavy that it was almost impossible to keep his head above the surface. He could do nothing now but save himself.
Treading the freezing water, he knew he didn’t have strength to reach the far shore. The waves were pushing him down below the surface, and instinctively, he thrashed wildly to get his head above the surface. As he did he felt a terrible pain in his right calf. At first he feared it was cramp, then he realised the pain was different. The skin had been pierced. Panicking he kicked and thrashed with his tiring limbs until suddenly he felt something beneath his other foot. Balancing on it the best way he could against the tide he suddenly realised what it was. A table of jagged rock.
Occasionally a large wave would lift him from it but as he moved towards the shoreline, he would find it again and soon the waters were shallow and more manageable. He was still a hundred foot or so from the shore, but with a footing beneath the waves, he new now he could make it. Regardless of everything, the waves, the storm, and the hunters, he would live a little longer.

Stumbling onto the sand, exhausted and cold, he looked across the loch. At first, he could see nothing in the darkness. For a while he lay on the beach, his body shaking uncontrollably and his leg bleeding heavily. Then as the wind drove blasts of sand against his reddening face, he squinted in the darkness for the tiny boat on the loch.
Although the mist had gone it had been replaced by driving rain and, despite the lightning, he could see nothing. The centre of the storm was above the loch now and as it approached the island, it seemed to Randall like an angry god spewing out contempt onto a terrified world.
Behind him long strips of white light spread across the lawn like ghosts. Despite the cold and the shaking, he studied the building. In the darkness, lit by the storm, it had a more compelling form. Now, unlike at any other point, he too was drawn to the mysteries that lay within. Inside, unaware of his presence, figures moved from one room to another. Not hurriedly, not in the way that people do when they know danger is close, but almost nonchalantly as if the atmosphere was one of calm. Crossing the beach, he stared across the lawn that skirted the house like a moat. On the right there was a line of beech trees leading to a set of outbuildings at the rear of the house, lit now more often than not by the approaching storm. Attempting to subdue the flow of blood from his wound, he covered the long slit with the palm of his hand, and it was then that he heard a noise from across the loch. This time, the sound was very different. It was a motor, possibly of a launch or a boat, and moving across the water at speed towards the island. Had they spotted him after all and were now coming for him? Either way, he was not going to hang around to find out.

Dragging his leg onto the grass, Randall struggled to his feet and limped hurriedly across the lawn. Keeping in the shadows, he moved towards the side of the house. Stopping in the shadows to catch his breath, lightning suddenly filled the darkness, forcing him to hurry once more.
Hobbling into a cobbled courtyard at the back of the house, he quickly found shelter in a deserted stable block on the far side. There as he lay he studied the house. From the hillside, it had seemed a simple design, but now up close, he could see how it had been extended over the years. It varied in style and on closer inspection he could see how each generation had shaped its appearance.
Directly across from the stable was a large wooden door, and above it a small lantern that glowed despite the stream of rainwater that ran from it. It was from its light that Randall could now see the extent of his injury. The tear was long and jagged where thick dark blood was pouring from it as steady as the rain. With shaking hands, he tore a strip of material from his shirt and made a tourniquet. The pain was intense as it tightened around his leg, but in spite of it, he stopped himself from calling out as the door suddenly opened. There, pulling his jacket collar up against the night stood the biggest man he had ever seen. His head was so close to the light that he cast a huge shadow across the yard. For a moment, Randall watched in awe as the man hovered in the doorway. Then like some terrible beast he walked slowly across the yard to a large fuse box on the wall. Pulling a lever within, the back of the house was suddenly lit, although strangely Randall could not see by what. Then as the giant walked towards the beech trees, Randall saw two strips of landing lights on the lawn leading down towards the submerged causeway. For a moment, Randall watched the silhouette as it approached the lights, then taking his chance he hurried across the courtyard to the door.

Inside he discovered a long dimly lit passageway. He was still shaking and for a moment could see nothing in the gloom. Then as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw that the corridor led off maybe twenty or thirty feet ahead of him.
Leaving a trail of rainwater and blood, he moved along the bare walled passageway. It reeked of smoked fish and damp wood and reminded Randall of a museum. Then he saw strips of light ahead. Moving forward slowly he saw two doorways, one before him and one to his right. He was about to try the one facing when he heard voices on the far side. Quickly opening the other door and closing it behind him, he discovered a small hallway leading to a carpeted staircase. Rushing forward, he hid by the stairs on the blind side of the door. There he waited and listened as the voices disappeared along the passageway. Catching his breath and checking the first floor was clear, he slowly climbed the stairs. Before reaching the top step, he peered along the landing. Positioned between each of the seven doors were suits of armour and portraits of fearfully proud ancestors. Randall eyed one particularly dreadful female with large bulbous eyes as he climbed from the stairs.
To his right were two doors and a large glass window, to his left five doors with a long banister facing them. He decided the room below was large, because he could hear the crackle of wood in the hearth resonating on the high ceiling.
He was preparing to move forward and peer down when he heard a noise. Motionless he stared back along the hall. Then it came again, this time more distinct; a voice. A woman’s voice.
Moving slowly past the staircase he had just climbed, he attempted to locate the source, until suddenly he heard it again. There was something in the sound of it that chilled him to the bone. Something wraithlike, something not of this world. Staring at the door at the end of the corridor, he was suddenly aware that he was no longer shaking. Instead, he was calm, almost peacefully so. Then he was aware he was moving towards it, almost unconsciously. In a moment he was before it, his hand, still wet and blooded from the loch, reaching out for the wooden handle. Turning it, he slowly pushed the door open, to be greeted with an unearthly image. An image described to him by Donald that was exact in almost every detail as the one before him. There in a high backed chair surrounded by candles, sat Dorothy Kite. Her long auburn hair, dark as the night, fell onto a long green gown that flowed along slender legs, still shapely and brown after a lifetime amongst the shadows. She seemed as immortal and imposing as the character she had played so long ago.
‘Come to me,’ she whispered, as he entered. ‘Come to me. I shall give you sanctuary. Come to me.’
‘Dorothy?’
Smiling, she stretched out a hand and beckoned him to her with a long crooked finger. In the glow of the flames, it cast a monstrous shadow around the room, but all that Randall could see was her.
‘Come.’
‘Dorothy, my name is Elliot Randall, I’m here to help you.’ Still she smiled and beckoned him on. ‘Dorothy, listen to me, I want to help you.’
‘I’m afraid she doesn’t understand a word you’re saying Mr Randall.’
He turned quickly to see a woman and the man he had seen in the courtyard. This time, however, he was armed.
‘Don’t take it personally. It’s been like that for quite a while. Oh, sorry. I’m Dorothy’s sister Virginia,’ she smiled casually. ‘I think we can dispense with the gun now, Linton.’
The giant obliged without a word.
‘What in god’s name is going on?’ said Randall shaking once more.
‘All in good time,’ she said before noticing his wound. ‘That looks bad.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he said, his voice fading to a whisper, before stumbling forward and collapsing onto the floor.

When he opened his eyes next, he was lying before a roaring fire. He was still wet, but thanks to layers of blankets and towels that had been draped across him, he was no longer shaking with cold.
The room was large and baronial, with an array of stag heads watching him from every angle. Above the fire, staring down in tartan and tweed, an imposing figure filled the wall. Randall recognised something in the eyes. The heavy sweeps of black and gold that seemed to stare into the very heart of him.
‘William Kessler, the second earl of Erine,’ said a voice, close by. ‘The father of the third earl, Harry Kessler.’ Wearily Randall turned to see a well-dressed man sipping a large whisky. ‘Welcome to the world of the living Inspector.’
‘You?’
‘Me,’ said Xavier Pimm. ‘Could I get you a drink?’
Randall tried to speak but was disturbed by Virginia emerging from a doorway near the staircase. She was carrying a bundle of bandages and more towels and no sooner had she reached his side, than she was lifting back the covers and inspecting his wound. It seemed less painful now, but that lack of feeling could have been due to the exhaustion.
He tried to sit up, but the best he could do was raise his head to face her. As he did, he saw Pimm again beyond her, staring at him, still. For a while Randall wasn’t sure why, but now it didn’t really seem to matter to him.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ he murmured.
There was an awkward silence, and for a moment Virginia and Pimm shared a glance.
‘I’m not in the habit of bandaging a man’s leg and them killing him, if that’s what you think,’ she said returning her attention to the wound.
‘Sure you don’t want a drink?’ asked Pimm, peering over his.
Without taking his eyes off him, Randall shook his head slowly. It was then that he noticed what he was sure was Tyler’s revolver on the mantelpiece above the fire.
‘Right, that should be fine now,’ said Virginia, handing him a fresh towel. As she stood up Pimm leant forward and peered down at him.
‘Something intrigues me, Inspector. How did you know she was here?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Try us,’ he smiled.
Randall shook his head. The situation was complicated enough.
‘Are you alone?’ said Virginia, suddenly.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s lying,’ said a voice from the first floor landing.
Randall looked up to see a man and woman at the top of the stairs. At first, he didn’t recognise them. Then as he focused on the young woman descending the stairs he realised he had seen that white freckled face and soft auburn hair before. Taking off her hat and scarf, Lauren Kessler seemed as beautiful as ever.
‘There’s a boat out on the loch,’ she said, fixing herself a drink. ‘And unless I’m very much mistaken there’s somebody in it. Donald Hawksmoor perhaps?’
‘I’ll send Linton,’ said Virginia, nervously.
‘Relax, I’ve already done it.’
‘What’s the situation?’ asked Pimm, topping up his drink.
‘There are police in the village, not too mention helicopters searching the hills and loch.’
‘Could someone tell me what the hell’s going on?’ demanded Randall, his anger growing by the moment.
‘It appears Mr Randall, you have brought the wolves to the door,’ Lauren said as she turned to Virginia. ‘Has there been any contact?’
‘Nothing yet. The weather’s probably delayed things.’
‘Let’s hope so. Is everything set?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think we should move until the very last minute.’
‘Yes, you’re right of course.’ Sitting down across from Randall, the young woman took a large mouthful of whisky and smiled. ‘What made you come here Mr Randall?’
‘Tell me what the hell is going on here, and maybe I will.’
Cupping the glass in her hands, she leant forward and looked into his eyes. ‘It’s a deal, but before I do I need to know why you came here and who else knows.’
‘So you can kill them as well, like all your others?’
‘You think we are responsible for all those deaths? My god you really know nothing.’
‘I know enough. Oman, Fraser, Cappell, Dorothy and Harry. But you know what? I don’t really care. What I care about is the innocent victims who have died because of all of this.’
‘We are all victims here Inspector. Some more than others, but victims nevertheless. Now I’ll ask you again, how did you know she was here?’
Pushing himself up and straightening his damp clothes the best way he could, he glanced at them all before speaking. ‘Donald was given a photograph by Lizzie Paillard the night she died. It was taken outside this house.’
‘And?’
‘Dorothy and Harry were in the picture.’ For a moment, nobody said a word and in that short time, the storm seemed to be closer than ever. ‘When Donald told Lizzie he’d seen Dorothy,’ he added, ‘she must have thought he was crazy. But when Harry Kessler’s death was announced the following day, she must have had a suspicion there was something going on and called him.’
‘That still doesn’t explain why you came here.’
‘Oh that?’ he said with a smile, ‘you really want to know? Donald dreamt it. That’s right. He believes Dorothy was guiding him to her through his dreams. There you see. He’s as mad as you lot.’
‘Did he tell anyone else apart from you?’
‘One man that I know of, but don’t you worry yourselves about him. He’s dead as well.’
‘I’m sorry for all of this, but it’s really not of our doing. We’re not killers.’
‘It was you in the flat that night wasn’t it?’ Glancing at them all he nodded to himself. ‘You, Virginia and the giant out there. You took Dorothy to see Kessler. Were they lovers or something?’
‘Harry wanted to see her one final time,’ said Pimm joining Kessler on the sofa. ‘It was an huge risk, but one we thought was worth taking.’
‘And Donald walked in and ruined it all?’
‘Like I said we’re not killers, Mr Randall.’ For the first time she seemed genuinely angry. As if the world she had held onto for so long, was slipping from her. ‘What could we do? We just got her out of London as fast as we could and hoped he’d think it was all a drunken delusion. He is a drunk after all.’
‘But Donald proved to be more resilient than anyone could have imagined.’
‘The die was cast the day he walked into the police station and uttered her name.’
‘For all of us,’ added Randall with a smile ‘So how about it then?’
‘Okay, Inspector,’ said Pimm, getting up. ‘Let me tell you what really happened that night. Harry was preparing to meet Charles Cappell and two members of the Prince’s party here on Christmas eve 1969.’
‘But Kessler wasn’t on the plane?’
‘He was delayed and so asked Dorothy to take his place.’
‘And Fraser and his men were waiting across the banks of the loch as it approached the house? How in god’s name did she survive that?’
‘Who knows? She was an exceptionally fit woman; she had to be for Miss Jude. However, she was also a very strong swimmer, and despite her injuries from the impact, she managed to get to the shore; but only just. Fraser had spotted someone in the water and waited for her at the shore, but Linton, who was the gamekeeper back then, had also seen her. He got there just in time to save her. There was a struggle and . . . Fraser lost.’
‘That explains Fraser’s’ disappearance.’
‘Linton managed to get her to his lodge and tend to her injuries until we could get to her. In no time at all the rescue services were here and we were preparing to get her to a hospital when Harry contacted us and explained what Fraser and his powerful friends were doing. We had to think quickly. We didn’t know who was behind it all, but one thing was for certain, she’d survived and nobody knew but us. It was a very unique situation. Harry dealt with everything from London and even as they were searching the loch for the bodies his brother Jason was administering first aid at the lodge.’
‘Why not just take her to hospital?’
‘And how long do you think she would have lasted? If the world had discovered what had actually happened that night it would have brought the government down. Westminster orchestrating a Middle- Eastern coup? No, Harry knew what he was doing. Within hours Fraser’s people were rounded up and the cover-up was instigated.’
There was a sudden crackling from a radio in the next room, prompting Virginia to rush from the room.
‘What happened to these people?’
‘The foot soldiers, the ones who knew very little served brief sentences, if that, and then were politely kicked out of the country.’
‘And the ones at the top?’
‘I wouldn’t like to think. But as this past fortnight has proved, some are still doing rather well for themselves. There were some, high ranking officials, civil servants, even an MP or two, who were never discovered.’
‘Appleby being one of them?’
‘We all served together. Little did we know that Appleby was in with Fraser and his people. It’s been very odd for me to watch him rise through the ranks over the years knowing what I do.’
‘And what about Dorothy?’
Getting up and putting the empty glass on the table, Kessler glanced up at the picture above the fire. ‘Until Hawksmoor walked into that police station and reported seeing her, no one had any idea. No one.’
‘It’s here,’ said Virginia appearing in the doorway.
‘Okay, she said turning to face her, ‘let’s move.’
‘But surely the government would have protected her? She was on their side after all.’
‘Governments will go to extraordinary lengths to guard national security,’ said Pimm finishing his drink. ‘Especially a government involved in a coup in the Middle-East.’
‘What about the press?’
‘Fraser nearly killed her, Randall. Another blow and she would have been dead. She’s so brain damaged that for over thirty years she’s lived in a dream, a world that never existed, reciting lines from a long forgotten Television show.’
‘And you’ve gone to these extraordinary lengths just to keep her safe?’
‘It’s only natural,’ said Lauren Kessler, turning to him slowly, ‘she is my mother, after all. You see, she didn’t just save herself that night. She saved me.’
‘My sister was twelve weeks pregnant Mr Randall,’ said Virginia, joining Kessler at the foot of the stairs.
‘My father knew and that’s why he made the decision he did.’
‘Kessler? My god,’ whispered Randall as they started to climb the stairs.

Lying in the boat, Donald was captivated by the power of the storm. Despite his lowly position, he could see the lightning illuminating the hills and mountains. He could also feel the cold water rising within the boat as the waves smashed against the side and collected beneath him. The helicopter that had tormented him had suddenly, and inexplicably, disappeared leaving him alone with the storm.
Apart from the occasional bout of crying, he mumbled uncontrollably. Then, suddenly, as if it had all just happened he remembered Randall and sat up and stared across the loch. Apart from the lights from the house and the occasional flash of lightning, there was nothing but the wind and rumble of thunder. It was a nightmare without end, in a world without meaning.
‘Spirits why doth thy torment me so?’ he whispered as he struggled to his feet, the swell moving the boat all around.
Although he did not see it immediately, there was a light in the distance moving rapidly towards him.
‘Spirits answer me!’
The closer it got the bigger it became, and it was then as it pierced the sheets of rain in the distance that he saw it moving swiftly above the waves towards him.
‘Come you angel of death, take me aloft to thy fiery hell!’
There was a sudden roar of thunder and almost in the same moment a huge flash of lightning, yet despite it, the light continued, as did Donald’s defiance to it.
‘Come! Come! A league more, here I stand and here I shall fight thee you monster of hell!’
The storm was now at its heaviest, turning the loch into an ocean, throwing the boat violently from side to side, yet still Donald howled at the oncoming light. It was getting lower and lower, like some terrible winged demon preparing to snatch him from the waves. Then within seconds, it was shooting above him, roaring like a beast, sending him back onto the floor of the boat once more.

‘And she’s been here all this time?’ said Randall, still fascinated by their secret history. He was about to continue when the noise of a plane broke his concentration. Getting up he stumbled to the window and watched as it descended onto the makeshift runway by the house. It was only him and Pimm now. The others had gone upstairs, and as the noise of the plane receded at the rear of the house Randall thought he understood why.
‘For the first two or three years she was moved from house to house until we felt it was safe enough to bring her back.’
‘And when Kessler had the heart attack, you took the risk. And that’s her ticket out of here?’ he said looking out to the runway.
Pimm smiled. ‘Years ago she was coherent, you know. We could talk to her; explain the situation. Melrose House was used on more than one occasion. But later on she began to have fits, then she was never the same. From then on, she was almost uncontrollable. She’s like an ox. The only way to control her now is with medication.’
‘What about Reed.’
‘Poor old Babs,’ he said, without an ounce of emotion. ‘She was her dresser from years back.’
‘She was also a good actress,’ said Lauren from the landing. ‘She helped us out on more than one occasion, Xavy. Maybe it would be important to remember that. Especially after she her life to save us,’ she added, descending the stairs.
‘Why take the risk of putting her in the flat?’ said Randall as she reached the bottom.
‘We had to convince you that Hawksmoor was wrong.’
‘Well, she nearly pulled it off. I take it you haven’t been in Singapore over the last twenty years then?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said picking up her jacket.
As she did, the main door suddenly flew open. There, silhouetted against the storm, stood Linton with Donald’s limp body in his arms. Closing the door with his heel he walked over to the huge fireplace and placed him on the rug.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Pimm, slowly walking to him.
‘No, Sir, just concussed. The boat had washed up on the beach further down. He’ll be okay.’
‘Quite a character,’ said Pimm.
‘He’s been through hell. Maybe you should remember that, Xavy,’ said Randall scornfully.
‘We do realise that,’ said Lauren. ‘But there was little we could do.’
Taking a cushion from the sofa, Randall moved to Donald’s side. ‘How well did he know your mother?’
‘Enough to break her heart,’ she said staring down at him. ‘Apparently they were to be married, but he walked away and left her.’
‘Well,’ he said placing the cushion under his head, ‘I suppose this is one way of getting your own back.’
Zipping up her jacket, she walked back to the staircase. ‘Our lives are so inextricably linked, sometimes it is the smallest acts that effect us most.’
‘Very profound, but I wouldn’t call a government cover-up a small act. Regardless of what you’ve all gone through, there must have been something you could have done to stop all of this.’ He waited for some reaction, but there was none. ‘What will happen to us?’
‘Like I said, we’re not killers Mr Randall.’
‘But we both know she’s still alive.’
‘A disgraced Inspector and a killer? No. We’ll merely appeal to your better judgement,’ she smiled. ‘We only have one chance now, to get her away as far as we can.’
‘Where in god’s name?’
‘Plans have been made.’
‘Where can you go? If they’re still looking for you after thirty years, where can you possibly go that’s safe?’ She said nothing as Linton made his way to her side. ‘Out of the country? You are going to try to take her out of the country? How the hell will you do that?’
‘The national obsession at the moment is people coming into the country – not going out.’
Thunder boomed outside and from somewhere a draught entered the room and stirred the fire.
Suddenly Donald spluttered and coughed, before rolling onto his side. Slowly he opened his eyes, then recognising Randall he whispered: ‘is . . . is this hell?’
‘Wouldn’t like to say,’ he smiled as he moved wet hair from Donald’s eyes.
For a moment Randall watched Donald stared across at the fire, then as he closed his eyes again he was aware of figures on the landing. Slowly getting to his feet he watched in dumb silence as Virginia led Dorothy towards the stairs. As she reached the top, Randall was surprised to see her look down and smile. The expression was warm and tender. Not in his eyes the smile of a woman living in a dream. For a moment he was almost convinced it was directed at him, but as he looked closer, he realised there was a distant look in her eye.
Slowly, with her sister holding her by the hand, she began to descend the staircase. Despite her years, she looked spectacular. As if nature itself had allowed her to forgo the ravages of time, and that her existence had somehow stopped the day her life changed forever.
‘Banish your tears for I shall be your redeemer this night,’ her voice was rich and strong. Gently, she lifted her hand away from Virginia’s and brushed back her long dark hair. ‘Who are these people?’
Randall looked around, but, oddly, no one said a word.
‘I see,’ she continued, ‘well, we must do all we can for them.’
Kessler turned to Pimm. ‘We must go. Linton go and see what the delay is.’
As he walked out a cold wind entered the room stirring Donald on the rug. Rolling away from the fire, he slowly opened his eyes. Focusing on the room, he was suddenly taken aback by the image on the staircase. For a moment he was convinced he was dreaming again, for standing before him was Dorothy Kite smiling down at him. Getting to his feet and taking a few tentative steps towards the staircase, he was suddenly aware of the others around him.
‘What in god’s name is going on?’
‘I am here to help you,’ said Dorothy. Unable to take his eyes from her, Donald slowly moved to the foot of the stairs. ‘Have no fear. I will give you sanctuary.’
‘Dorothy,’ he whispered.
‘For I am Miss Jude, and with the gifts that have been bestowed upon me I will end your troubles.’
‘Dorothy, it’s me.’
Stepping from the staircase she walked forward until she was almost touching him. Smiling, she brushed her hair back again, but this time Randall saw a deep gash across the side of her head. Donald, however, could see nothing but her face.
‘Dorothy it’s me, Donald.’
‘She doesn’t understand you,’ said Randall appearing at his side.
‘Dorothy?’ Tears welled in his eyes. Then, taking her hand he fell to his knees and sobbed.
Suddenly, the door flew open and there in the doorway stood Linton again. But this time he did not enter. Instead, he stood motionless staring into the room.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Kessler as she took a step forward.
There was no reply as he fell forward into the room, revealing Tindle, smiling broadly.
‘Well, isn’t this a touching scene?’ said a voice. Turning quickly Randall looked up at the balcony to see Appleby and Berman flanked by two other men.
‘Close the door Mr Tindle. We don’t want anyone catching their death, well, not just yet, anyway.’ Reaching the bottom of the stairs he gestured to Virginia and Lauren: ‘After you ladies.’ Slowly, the to women led Dorothy towards the fireplace, leaving Donald on his knees close to Appleby. ‘So, Mr Hawksmoor, you were right all along, Dorothy Kite alive and well after all this time. You must have quite a tale to tell Miss Kite. Unfortunately we don’t have the time.’
Suddenly, Randall remembered the revolver on the mantelpiece and glanced over to Pimm. He understood instantly, and nodded slowly.
‘Who are these people?’ said Dorothy, calmly, walking towards him. ‘You have no place here. Go or I shall cast down upon thee the ancient powers invested in me.’
‘What the hell is she babbling about?’ said Appleby. ‘Take her to the boat.’
‘No!’ said Lauren and Virginia in unison, moving forward. Without a pause, Tindle raised the gun and shot them both. They were dead before they hit the floor.
‘You bastard!’ yelled Donald, crawling to their sides.
‘How very lyrical,’ said Tindle, ‘how regrettable those profound words will be you last.’ Slowly raising the gun to his head, he stepped forward. ‘Goodbye, Mr Hawksmoor.’
As he pulled the trigger Dorothy suddenly stepped before the gun, taking the bullet in her chest. As she fell back Donald, took her in his arms.
‘No! Spirits no!’
As tears fell from his eyes, Donald was sure he saw a glimmer of light within hers. As if something deep within her had been released, her face glowed and for the first time she looked up at him and smiled.
‘I knew you would come,’ she whispered. ‘I knew you wouldn’t leave me alone.’
Then as the storm lingered above the house, the flush of life seemed to dim within her and suddenly she was gone.
For a moment, Tindle was visibly shaken. And this gave Pimm his chance. Reaching up for the revolver, he turned to face Tindle and fired. But Tindle was alive to the situation, and he fired too. They were both hit, Tindle in the head and Pimm in the stomach. Stumbling back, Pimm fell into the fire. In a second, he was engulfed in flames. Screaming and thrashing he fell into the room, turning everything before him into flame.
Randall, stunned at the turn of events, looked down at the revolver. In that same moment, Berman saw him and reached for his gun. Falling to his knees, Randall rolled through the flames and picked up the revolver. Bullets whistled past his ears and as he tried to aim at the figures moving beyond the flames. Suddenly, a terrible stinging pain hit him in the shoulder, forcing him down towards the burning sofa. He tried to crawl around it but the pain was intense. Then as he rolled onto his back he saw a shape moving towards him. He fired without thinking, and almost within the same moment, Berman fell through the flames.
Scrambling back from his burning corpse, Randall suddenly remembered Donald. Rushing through the flames, he stared across the room only to see Appleby looking around at the carnage from the foot of the stairs. He seemed dazed, as if he was trying to grasp what exactly had gone wrong. That was until he saw Randall, where he started to climb the staircase. As Randall gave chase, he heard the noise of the helicopters above the house. Despite them, he ran up the stairs after Appleby until he was almost upon him.
Grabbing him by the ankles, Appleby tumbled back against the banister. For a moment, Randall seemed to lose sight of him and looked around helplessly, and in that moment Appleby kicked him hard in the jaw, sending him down amongst the flames. No sooner had he hit floor than Appleby was upon him once again, lashing out. Randall tried to fight back but the pain in his shoulder was too intense and within seconds, he was defenceless against the torrent of blows.
Suddenly, the assault stopped and for a moment Randall didn’t know why. He looked up but there seemed to be no sign of Appleby. All that he could see now was the fire. The long flashes of orange and red, licking the walls towards the ceiling. Then as he peered into the inferno he saw Donald, still cradling Dorothy’s body where she had fallen. It was then, as he started to crawl towards him that he saw a shape appear before him.
‘I don’t think so, Elliot,’ shouted Appleby through the noise of the burning house. He was holding Tindle’s revolver, pointing it down towards his head. ‘You really should have taken early retirement when I offered it you!’ he laughed. ‘Goodbye Elliot.’
Suddenly, there was a shot but to Randall’s amazement, he felt no pain. He looked up at Appleby in time to see him fall to his knees before him. Fighting for air he peered through the flames, only to see another shape approaching him with a gun in hand. Randall tried to push himself up but he didn’t have the strength. In a moment, the figure was above him.
‘Time we weren’t here, Elliot,’ said a voice. ‘Over here Hodges!’
Randall never thought the day would come when he would be happy see Frank Tomblin.
With fire and smoke filling the room, Tomblin and Hodges started to drag him out. Reaching the door, Randall suddenly called out Donald’s name. Stopping and peering into the inferno Hodges pointed to a shape on the staircase. There, halfway up stood Donald with the lifeless body of Dorothy in his arms. He seemed to be looking at them, but then without warning he drew his head back and cried out. Almost in the same moment, the staircase burst into flame and engulfed them both. Randall cried out to him and for a moment he was certain that he heard him calling back. But as they pulled him from the house he realised it must have been the storm or the wind as it buffeted the flames all around.

As Randall was placed on the wet grass he could see the helicopters and officers as they watched the burning house. Then as someone lifted his head he felt himself draining away, as if he was floating, drifting high above the isle.

MONDAY. 3:28. AM.

At first there was music. A soft lilting refrain that stirred him from the darkness. Slowly opening his eyes, uncertain of what he might see, he was astounded to find a cloudless expanse of blue sky above him. There was no pain, not even from his shoulder, yet despite this, Randall could barely move any part of his body.
As he gradually came to his senses he was aware of a soft breeze caressing his face. Slowly spiralling from him it then moved away along the grassy hillside turning it into a swirling ocean of green. From there it grew high into the clear air, allowing white gulls to drift effortlessly below a pastel blue sky.
In time he felt strong enough to sit up, and when he did he saw the sea, turquoise blue, yet clear and inviting. Below he could see a cove where the ocean slowly lapped onto bleached white sands. It was then as he looked down that he realised there were other people on the hillside. He tried to call out to them, but was incapable of making a sound. The best he could do was watch them as the sun warmed his face.
There was laughter coming from a group of people further down the hill, nearer to the cove. It took a moment or two for him to realise it, but he knew them all. The cause of the laugher, it appeared, was two members of the group dancing the tango. The taller of the two, lean and handsome, held the other close to his chest as he held a flower comically between his teeth, sending the others into fits of laughter. Donald and Bunny had never looked better.
Randall recognised them all. Lizzie, Annabelle, Tyler, Virginia, Lauren, Dorothy and even Kessler, Pimm and Reed. They all seemed to be in their prime, happy and contented. For a while he watched them. Strangely it did not seem unnatural to him. As if being there on the hill was the most natural place for him to be. Then he noticed another figure sitting alone slightly further up the hill. Despite her youth he recognised her instantly. Emily. Emily as she was the day he had met her, young and innocent, smiling down at the others. He tried to call to her but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make a sound.
Suddenly there was a shout from Donald as he careered down the hill towards the cove. Like children the others followed, as the sea gently flowed onto the beach. This, Randall did not see. Instead, his eyes were fixed on his wife as she slowly got to her feet and looked at him for the first time. For a moment they shared a glance, the sort that only people who have spent a lifetime together can. Then as the music and laughter blended with the surf, she smiled and waved. He tried to call to her one final time as she slowly began to fade. But it was too late. Darkness was descending on him again and it was then he heard his name being called.
Before long he could hear noises, but this time different from before. Opening his eyes briefly, he could see movement all around, then as he looked closer, he saw the tubes thrusting from his arms. Once again he tried to speak, but in a moment he was engulfed by the darkness once more.

Much later that day Randall woke again to see a group of figures staring down at him.
‘You’re a very lucky man, Mr Randall.’
He studied the man in the white jacket. He was tall and suntanned.
‘How can you tell?’ he whispered.
‘You’re still with the living.’
‘And that’s lucky?’ he said, looking away mournfully.
‘You’ve had quite a time, by all accounts?’ He checked Randall’s pulse and then smiled, knowingly. ‘By the time we’d got you here you’d lost a lot of blood. I was rather concerned we were going to lose you at one point, but . . . well, here you are. You’re over the worst of it now. And considering your ordeal you’re in relatively good condition. You probably realise better than myself that certain officials are keen to speak with you. I’ll try to give you as much rest as I can, but it’s only a matter of time before the questions begin.’
Randall said nothing as he stared out into the gloom. Outside it was raining heavily and the wind was forcing it against the windows.
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. Try and get as much rest as you can.’
For some time Randall didn’t take his eyes from the grey clouds. They had a sombre quality that matched his depression completely. Then as he watched the rainwater meander along the glass, he finally gave in to the aching inside, and allowed the tears to fall from his eyes.

That evening after representatives from various intelligence departments had debriefed him, Randall was pleased to see the smiling face of DC Hodges in the doorway. The rain had gone and thanks to an afternoon of deep sleep, Randall felt a little more like his old self.
‘How are you feeling, sir?’
Randall nodded and gestured for him to sit down.
‘They say you’re mending well.’
‘That’s what they say.’
‘I’m sorry about Tyler. If only I could have known . . .’
‘Don’t blame yourself. And Hawksmoor?’
‘Don’t you remember? He didn’t stand a chance.’
‘No I expect not.’ There was a long silence until Randall spoke again. ‘How did you know we’d gone to the house?’
‘It was when the girl’s body was found, and the other kid at the flat in Leith. Tomblin realised who they were and presumed he had found two more victims. He dragged the Pole in to identify them and when he confirmed they were the ones, he released it to the press.’
‘But you knew everything.’
‘Yes, but at that point I didn’t know who was involved, and when I couldn’t trace Tyler I was convinced they’d be onto me soon enough. Luckily, that evening shortly after the two murders were announced the remaining members of the group walked into a police station in London and gave a full statement. Thankfully for you Hawksmoor had told them all about Dalguise house. Tomblin raced across Scotland certain that he’d get his man, only to see Appleby about to kill you. Well, the rest is history.’
‘There’s irony for you.’
‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘Bloody sore. Where’s Tomblin?’
‘Press conference. This is big news. There’ll be no cover up this time. You’ll be dining out on this one for years.’
Just then there was noise out in the corridor and Randall winced as he heard Tomblin’s voice. Through a row of windows he could see him bounding to his door.
‘Now if you all calm down and remember where you are, you’ll all get your pictures,’ said Tomblin opening the door. He was talking to a pack of reporters and photographers, crowding in the corridor.
‘Elliot, bloody marvellous to see you. How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ he said weakly.
‘Well, you get back on your feet as soon as you can. Because you are a national hero.’ He sat on the bed and grinned, which in turned triggered an array of flashes from the reporters. ‘Good shooting though, eh? To be honest I never did like the man.’
‘I’m glad you got there when you did.’
There was another flash frenzy before a nurse appeared and demanded the entourage to leave. Tomblin, after a final handshake, gave in and walked to the door. ‘I want you to realise Elliot that despite our differences I always rated you as one of the best and, well . . . I’ve been proved right. See you in London. Right, gentlemen, lets have a few shots outside, eh?’
The two men watched as he pushed through the scrum and led them out. Then the door was closed and they were alone once more.
‘Will he ever change?’ asked Hodges. ‘Mind you, credit where credit’s due he is promoting me,’ he beamed proudly. ‘I’d better leave you. Oh, I spoke to your daughter this morning; she’ll be here tomorrow. She’ll be bringing the kids because your son in law’s on stage.’
‘You don’t mean . . .’
‘Yes I do,’ he said with a broad grin, ‘Quinton Wick fell off stage last week and broke his leg.’
‘That is bad luck.’
‘Your son- in-law’s been getting rave reviews from every quarter ever since.’ A weak laugh resonated through Randall as Hodges approached the door. When he reached it he turned. ‘What will you do now?’
‘Now?’ said Randall as the sun suddenly pierced the grey cloud. His eyelids were heavy but as the evening light streamed into the room, he lifted his head and said in a whisper. ‘I’ll probably enjoy my retirement.’
Closing the door Hodges took a few steps and glanced back through the glass. He raised a hand to give a final farewell but noticed as he did that Randall had fallen fast asleep. Silently, he watched him for a moment or two before turning and disappearing along the corridor.

THE END.