Chapter 35
Five minutes later, I got my first look at what would have been the Elizabeth Grant Arts Centre.
It was ten o’clock and the snow had stopped falling completely, over an hour earlier than forecast and, as I stood by the car, the clouds parted, allowing the moon to shine through.
There – incongruous in this empty landscape – was the manor house, glowing white in the moonlight, surrounded by trees, their snow-dusted branches appearing to shiver in the cold.
There was no fog here, and the moon shone on the surface of the snow so that everything glowed.
‘It’s magnificent,’ I said.
‘It used to be.’ Holly seemed shaken. ‘It’s four hundred years old, if you can believe that. Dad told us it started life as a hunting lodge and then some tobacco baron bought it towards the end of the eighteenth century and their family lived here for generations until the last one died.’
‘Of smoking?’
‘Ha. I don’t know, but it ended up in the hands of the local council—’
‘Who sold it to your dad.’
It was easy to see why the locals were so angry with Charles.
Because even though the building was beautiful, with its grey roof and chimneys and its ornate doors and windows, the closer I looked, the more I could see how it was falling apart.
Most of those pretty windows were broken, their frames rotten, one of the chimneys was tilting to the side and the white paintwork was mottled and flaking.
The land it sat on, which stretched for acres, was empty and unused, too.
Just overgrown grass and hedgerows that were out of control.
A paradise for wildlife, including, I assumed, the adders who had made it their home even before Charles bought it.
Miranda got out of the car behind us and put her hand to her mouth. ‘You know, I’m not actually sure I can bear it. It brings back too many memories. The last time I came here was with Mum.’
I felt sorry for her. I also hoped this would make her decide to stay here.
But she said, ‘No, I must face my demons.’
I clenched my fists with frustration.
‘That’s the path that leads to the caves,’ Holly said, pointing down the hill to our left with a visible shudder. Thinking about Lewis, no doubt.
We walked from the car park, the three of us leaving a trail of footprints, towards the house.
Miranda fell behind a little.
‘How do you feel about how your dad found Jasmine? Now you’ve had time for it to sink in.’
‘I haven’t changed my mind. I think it’s gross.’
‘What would you do if I told you I was dating you because you were the spit of one of my exes?’
She allowed herself a smile. ‘Well, firstly I’d congratulate you on finding two such hot women who were willing to go out with you. Then I’d dump you.’
‘And you think that’s what Jasmine will do, if we find her, when she finds out?’
‘If she doesn’t, then we’ll know Miranda is right. She’s only after his money.’
We were almost at the house now.
‘Are you worried about your inheritance?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Patrick, I hoped you’d know me better than that. I don’t care about money. I work in a shop, for goodness’ sake.’
‘But …’
‘What?’
‘You do have a massive safety net.’
‘Yes, and that’s all great. Despite what you think, I know how privileged I am. But I’m not greedy, Patrick. All I care about right now is keeping the rest of the family together. There are only three of us left now. Me, Dad and Miranda. ’
I was pleased she didn’t include Zack as one of the Grants.
‘All I really want right now is to get through tonight. To find fucking Jasmine and go home.’
I wished I could find a way to tell her that she might be going back to Brighton alone, with me behind bars. But Miranda had caught up now, after yelling for us to wait for her.
We reached the front door. It was a sprawling place; the Grants’ holiday home was like a tiny bungalow in comparison.
It was hard to believe a single family had once lived in this place that could have housed a hundred people.
I wondered how much the land was worth, the land that Charles owned but was doing nothing with. It was so wasteful. Obscene.
‘Did you use to come here a lot?’ I asked.
‘Not that much. Dad showed us all round when he bought it. And we sneaked in here a few times, back in 2006. Me, Lewis, Jimmy and Morag.’
I flinched. I was so desperate to tell her that her old friend was dead. I wanted to tell her, too, that I knew about the sleeping-pill mix-up back then, and that Morag had told me it was a genuine mistake.
I needed to shake off Miranda.
A large porch had been added to the front of the house at some point, and the doors were firmly locked. As I rattled one, Holly said, ‘We went in round the back. Follow me.’
We hurried down the side of the house. Someone had spraypainted CHARLES GRANT SUCK MY DICK on the wall, which made Miranda say, ‘Dear God’.
Litter was strewn across the ground: beer cans, cigarette butts, crisp packets.
Seeing the cigarette butts must have triggered Holly because she lit one of her own.
She was still smoking it when we reached the spot she was leading us to.
There were two doors set into the ground, the kind you see outside a pub, and Holly lifted one then the other to reveal a set of steps that led down into the cellar.
‘These probably haven’t been locked since the family who lived here moved out,’ Holly said.
She flicked her cigarette towards the wet grass, where several piles of snow lay. I crouched and shouted, ‘Jasmine?’
Nothing.
I saw Miranda hesitate.
‘Maybe you should wait here,’ I suggested.
‘What, and keep watch? I’m not staying out here on my own.’
We all switched on our phone flashlights – seeing Miranda’s phone made me nervous – and we went down the steep concrete steps, Holly insisting on going first because she knew where she was going.
‘Apparently they used to brew their own beer,’ Holly said, gesturing at the presumably empty barrels that were still piled up around the cellar.
There were old crates, too, and a sweet, unpleasant stink.
There was more litter scattered around, including a couple of used condoms, and something grotesque near the closest barrel: a rotting pigeon that looked like it had been half eaten.
‘For a moment, I thought that was Jasmine,’ Miranda said.
We didn’t hang around. We headed straight to the stairs that led up from the cellar and soon found ourselves within a hallway, off which led numerous doors.
A sweeping staircase curved upwards. It was cold here, thanks to the broken windows, and more rubbish lay strewn around.
There were spaces on the walls where portraits must have once hung. Hunting trophies.
‘Jasmine?’ I called again. ‘You’re safe now. If you can hear us, let us know.’
Silence.
‘She’s not here,’ Holly said.
‘Let’s look around. Please.’
‘All right, let’s split up. I’ll check down here. I’ll start with what would have been the servants’ quarters back there, and you can go upstairs.’
‘What about me?’ Miranda asked.
‘Why don’t you go with Patrick?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think I’ll stick with you.’
This was madly frustrating. Miranda was sticking to Holly like a limpet.
They headed through a doorway, and I went up a stairwell.
The stairs creaked as I climbed them. I stuck my head into the first room I came to.
Empty. My hopes of finding Jasmine had sunk.
If she was here, I thought, she must be unconscious or dead.
I really wasn’t sure I could cope with seeing a third body today.
On top of that, my chances of finding someone who could vouch that I hadn’t killed Lewis were fading away.
I felt sick. I had no plan B. And wasn’t this place meant to be full of adders?
Wasn’t that one of the reasons it had been so hard to develop?
A shudder went through my entire body as I pictured the floorboards falling away to reveal a vast pit of writhing snakes.
I managed to get hold of myself but steered clear of any floorboards that looked rotten.
The next room along was a bathroom, with a filthy, stained bathtub and a smashed mirror that had fallen into the sink.
An indescribable smell emanated from the toilet, as if the plumbing reached down into Hell.
From below me, I heard Holly and Miranda walking around, their footsteps echoing.
‘Have you found anything?’ Holly called up.
‘Not yet.’
‘Me neither. I’m just going to check the library.’
I carried on going from room to room, phone in hand, flashlight shining, checking the bedrooms and bathrooms. They were all empty and seemed like they hadn’t seen life for years.
No dreams had been dreamt in these bedrooms for a very long time.
No sleep, no sex. Some of the rooms had been visited by spray-paint-wielding teens, though I didn’t see any more messages about Charles, just taggers’ names and a lot of crude cocks and balls.
Other rooms had nasty patches of damp and mould.
There was a hole in the ceiling of the master bedroom which exposed the attic, and another hole further up, in the roof.
I could hear pigeons cooing and flapping in the rafters above me and wondered if the local birds of prey used this place as a buffet.
I left the final bedroom, sighing with disappointment.
I had been certain we’d find something here – if not Jasmine herself, at least some sign that she’d been here.
I had no idea what to do next. Weariness swept over me, the day’s events finally catching up with me, and I swayed on the spot, closing my eyes for a second.
When I opened them, I almost jumped out of my skin.
‘Jesus!’
It was Holly, standing in the doorway. ‘We found something.’
She headed towards the stairs, moving fast, and I hurried to keep up with her, along the downstairs hallway, the light from our phones playing off the walls, past sitting rooms and more signs of decay and neglect, into what had once been a library.
It was clear this room had been magnificent once.
A vast space filled with bookshelves, some of which still contained volumes of old books, their spines peeling and mouldy.
There was an area in one corner that must have once been a reading nook, a reclining chair still in situ.
The room stank of pigeon shit, and several birds hopped about on top of the bookcases above our heads, cooing.
‘It’s round here,’ Holly said, leading me behind the stacks on the far side of the room.
There, hidden behind the empty bookcase, was a double mattress on the floor, with a pillow and sleeping bag. Miranda stood beside it, covering her nose with a gloved hand.
‘It could be nothing,’ I said. ‘A homeless person kipping here.’
‘I know. Except, look …’
She shone her phone’s flashlight towards the bookcase, and something glinted.
‘What is it?’
‘Take a look.’
She kept her phone’s light trained on the spot on the shelf, and I took a step closer.
It was a gold signet ring, chunky, with a star-shaped emblem set into it, with a small diamond at its centre. I picked it up and examined it.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I said.
‘You recognize it?’
‘It’s Samir’s. I spoke to the podcaster earlier. She told me it was missing from his body. The police never found it.’
‘What podcaster?’ Miranda asked.
I ignored her, holding the ring between finger and thumb.
‘I bet he hid it there,’ I said. ‘As evidence he’d been here.’
‘No, it’s more than that,’ Holly said. ‘It was designed to attract attention to this part of the bookcase. Reach under the shelf.’
I put my fingers beneath the spot where the ring had sat and immediately felt something, wedged into a spot in the wood. I pulled it out and found myself looking at a thin wallet. A card-holder.
Inside the wallet was Samir’s provisional driving licence.
There was a bank card, too, and a membership card to a shop that exchanged video games and tech.
I pulled out the licence to take a closer look at the photo – wide eyes, wispy moustache – and a piece of paper came out with it, fluttering to the floor.
I shone my flashlight at the floor but couldn’t see it. I crouched and was about to start swearing with frustration when Holly said, ‘There.’
I picked it up. It was a small sheet of lined notepaper, and it was folded several times so it would fit into the wallet. I unfolded it.
At the top of the page, he had drawn what looked like a logo, scratchy and crude, but the four letters clearly legible:
Fase. The name of the facial recognition app.
‘Let me see,’ Miranda said, pushing past Holly. ‘What the hell?’
This was it. Proof not only that Samir had been connected to the Grants, but that he was linked to Gravitas.
‘This is it,’ I said. This was it. I was going to be able to tell Miranda what her husband had done. ‘This is proof that Zack—’
Halfway through the sentence, I turned the paper over and saw something that stopped me dead. A phone number and a name.
Not Zack’s name.
Lewis.