“What do you mean, you’ve got to stay there all week? Surely you knew about this beforehand, didn’t you?” Anya’s disapproval was palpable, even over the phone—the coldness of her tone matched the chill air in the surrounding wood. Kester was reminded uncomfortably of his mother on the rare occasions he’d disappointed her.
He swallowed hard, horribly aware of the collective eyes of his colleagues boring into his back, and moved behind the nearest tree, keeping his voice as low as possible.
“I honestly had no idea I’d have to come away,” he said as he leant back against the bark and studied the naked branches above, probing at the death-white sky. From his elevated position on the cliff, he could see the famous Lyme Regis Cobb, a rough stone wall snaking into the sea mist. He could even see a few people walking their dogs along it, which made him feel more isolated still.
At the other end of the line, Anya sighed. Then paused. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Kester wondered whether he should say something, then chose not to. Knowing me, whatever I say will just make it worse.
“It would help if you’d just tell me where you are and what you’re doing,” she said finally. “I know we’ve only just started dating, but already this secrecy is becoming a problem.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Not least because he was stuck in an unbearably whiffy room with three men who snored in a variety of irritating pitches and tones. He’d also managed to end up with one of the top bunks, which had at least four springs protruding painfully through the mattress. “I really am sorry. I wouldn’t have suggested meeting this week if I’d known this was going to happen.”
“Oi! Hurry up, mate, I’m freezing up here!”
Kester glanced over to see Mike stamping from foot to foot, rubbing at his arms. He hadn’t brought a coat, and so far, they’d had no chance to go into town and buy a change of clothes.
“I’ve got to go,” Kester said. “Can we rearrange for next week instead? I really would like to see you again.”
Anya paused. “I suppose so,” she said finally with a wry chuckle. “But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell me everything. I get to ask you at least five questions and you have to answer all of them. Deal?”
Christ, I very much doubt Dad would be happy about that, Kester thought as he adjusted his glasses. “Sure,” he agreed eventually. I’ll figure out how to handle this nearer the time.
Pocketing his phone, he skipped over the dead branches and stones to his colleagues.
“Had enough smoochy-time with the girlfriend?” Serena kicked a rock with her shoe, grinning.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied tartly. “Have you finished booting the ground yet? How are you finding those stilettoes in this mud, by the way?”
She grimaced. “If I’d have known we’d be trekking into the woods, I wouldn’t have worn them.”
“It must be really annoying, having the heels sinking into the ground with every step,” Mike added and gave Kester a wink.
“It is, but I’m sure I’ll feel less annoyed if I sink them into your backside instead.”
“Now, now, you lot.” Pamela hurried over like a spinning top, whirling to an energetic halt beside them. She looked around, took in the spectral trees and wintry clouds, then exhaled noisily. “This woodland is interesting. I’m not picking up much yet, but it’s got atmosphere, I’ll give it that. What about you, Dimitri?”
He shuffled forward, hands thrust into his leather pockets. “Nothing yet,” he declared as he coughed and spat on the ground. “Are you sure this is the right place, Kester?”
“Xena Sunningdale, the tarot-card woman, told us that the Celtic graveyard was in this wood. Didn’t she, Lara?”
Lara nodded. “She said it was up on the headland. This is the only damn headland I can see.”
“Well,” Miss Wellbeloved said, rubbing her hands together and peering through the thick trees behind them. “Shall we get on with it? We’ve got a lot to get done today.”
“Goodness me, woman, it’s a Sunday!”
She raised an eyebrow in the direction of the complaint. “Ah, Larry. I see you’ve finally woken up.”
Kester smothered a laugh. Since being rudely awoken by Dimitri at seven this morning, Larry had hardly said a word, except to order a fried egg sandwich at the café down the road and to berate Lara for taking the last sachet of tomato ketchup. Even by Larry’s usual irate standards, he looked furious.
“Let’s just crack on,” he muttered, glaring at them all. “I don’t appreciate spending my precious weekends mucking around in woods.”
“What are you talking about?” Lara exclaimed and gestured around her. “Seriously, you guys take all this greenery for granted. Come to El Paso. Ain’t nothing but dry old desert for miles.”
Higgins grunted. “I’d rather not, thank you all the same.”
They trudged through the woods. If anything, it got colder the further in they went. Mike looked as though he might be slowly dying of hypothermia, if the rate of his shivering was anything to go by. They passed through copse after copse, wrestling through thick tangles of briars and mountainous piles of fading leaves. After a while, Larry held up a hand, imperious as an emperor.
“Stop!”
Obediently, they halted.
Higgins surveyed the woodland, wiping a hand across his forehead. “This is getting ridiculous. Do we have any idea where we’re going here?”
“Absolutely none whatsoever,” Lara confirmed cheerfully.
“I hadn’t realised the woods were quite so big,” Kester said, taking the opportunity to catch his breath.
“What did you think they’d be? The size of a children’s playground?”
Serena perched on a nearby rock, then folded one leg neatly over the other. “Well, thanks to you lot, my leather trousers are now ruined. Look at the mud on them.”
“Ever heard of a washing machine?” Mike said.
She grimaced. “You obviously have no idea how to care for leather, do you?”
Miss Wellbeloved scratched her head. Her hair sprung from behind her ear like a steel spring. “I must admit,” she said as she looked around, “this doesn’t feel terribly productive.”
Kester ran his hands over his face, massaging the tension out of his temples. Stubble was already forming in grainy patches on his cheeks, and goodness knows when he would be able to get into town to buy a razor. “I know what you mean,” he said. He felt suddenly very tired, not to mention utterly unenthusiastic about the task at hand. “Perhaps we should turn back?”
“Too right we should turn back,” Larry retorted. “This whole thing has been a waste of time. Let’s go and get on with some real work instead.”
Serena rose from her rock, flexing her calf muscles with a wince. As she stood, Pamela suddenly let out a squeal and gesticulated wildly in Serena’s direction. The others watched her in consternation. She began to bounce on the spot and kept stabbing her finger in the direction of Serena’s legs.
“She’s flipped,” Higgins concluded finally. “Gone stark-raving mad. Shall we just leave her here, and see if she can find her own way back?”
“Pamela, why the hell are you pointing at me?” Serena asked. She looked down at herself in confusion. “I know my trousers are muddy, but they’re not that bad, are they?”
“The stone! The stone! Look!”
“Oh my giddy aunt. What is she wittering on about?” Higgins leaned against the nearest tree and shook his head. “Does she often have these sorts of seizures?”
Pamela wheezed in exasperation, then slapped him on the arm. “Look at the stone that Serena was sitting on!” she said, ignoring Larry’s fury at being man-handled.
“Yes, it’s a stone. Just like any other bloody stone. What’s your point, woman?”
“It’s not just any old stone, Larry! Look at it!”
Kester moved closer to get a better look, then beamed with delight. “Pamela, you’re a genius,” he said slowly, casting his eye over the weathered stone surface.
Serena peered behind herself, then started to laugh. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Well,” Miss Wellbeloved said as she strode to the stone and stroked its surface. “It appears you found our first Celtic stone, Pamela.”
“I found it first,” Serena corrected.
“Sitting on it doesn’t count,” Mike said. “Unless you normally identify objects using your bum-cheeks.” He marched over to join Miss Wellbeloved and examined the stone in more detail. In the autumnal morning light, the vague markings were easy to miss, the carved lines brimming with moss and weathered with age. But they were there nonetheless—a soft, barely visible geometric pattern decorating the top right-hand corner like a spider’s web.
Lara and Dimitri quickly scouted the rest of the clearing. A minute later Lara hollered, cutting through the quiet. “Here’s another one!”
Kester raced over to join her. They tugged the loose weeds gripping the surface. Sure enough, vague linear patterns traced the edge of the rock, just like the previous one. Dimitri discovered another only a moment later.
“I knew we’d find it in the end!” Kester declared as he wiped the dirt from his hands. They stood in the centre of the clearing, huddled together, studying the surrounding stones in wonder. The sea wind blew around them, its icy bite whistling through the trees.
“Now what?” Serena said after a while.
Kester shrugged. “I rather thought this would be the point that Pamela and Dimitri took over. Can either of you pick anything up?”
Pamela frowned, body tense as a hunting dog trying to pick up a scent. Likewise, Dimitri froze, his expression showing his concentration. The others waited patiently.
Finally, she shook her head. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” Larry sputtered. “Come on, try again. There must be something here.”
Dimitri pulled his leather coat more tightly across his chest, frowning. “She is right,” he confirmed. “There is nothing here. It is flat. No energy at all.”
“Seriously?” Serena said with a bleak look at the nearest Celtic stone. “You can’t even detect any residual energy?”
“That’s the strangest thing,” Pamela replied as she raked a hand through her hair. “I’d have expected to pick up at least a trace of whatever this thing is. But there’s literally nothing. If a spirit was ever here, it hasn’t been here for a while.”
Miss Wellbeloved circled the stone. “That’s problematic,” she said thoughtfully. “A fetch is one of those spirits that roots itself to a particular place, Kester. I would have thought it would have been here, if your suggestion was correct.”
“Really?” Kester looked around and felt suddenly rather gloomy again. Why do we keep running up against dead ends? he wondered as he kicked at the dirt. When are we going to get a lucky break?
“Yes, fetches usually attach themselves to places or people,” Pamela added, interrupting his thoughts. “And there aren’t any people here for a fetch to attach itself to—unless anyone’s been here who’s from the right area in Ireland or Scotland. So it looks like your idea might not be quite right after all. It was a good suggestion, though.”
“Oh great. Just great.” Larry’s expression turned even more murderous. “Yet more time wasted.”
“Not necessarily,” Miss Wellbeloved said quickly. “Kester told us that the members of the Lyme Regis Ancient History Club, or whatever they’re called, started dying after they’d visited this place. Right?”
They nodded.
“And we’ve come up here today, expecting to find what they found. We expected to find the spirit here, because we thought this was where it lived? Yes?”
“Do get on with it, Jennifer.”
She waved a hand. “Bear with me. What if we’re looking at this wrongly? Let’s forget about the suggestion of the fetch for now, as it may just be a red herring. What if, rather than simply disturbing this spirit, causing it to get angry, the Lyme Regis History Club actually ended up taking it away with them?”
“A take-away spirit?” Kester repeated, blinking.
“Not like a Chinese take-away, don’t worry, mate.” Mike patted him on the back.
“Sometimes,” Miss Wellbeloved continued, “as Pamela said a few minutes ago, a spirit chooses to latch onto a person. So it follows them around everywhere. In fact, lots of spirits exhibit this behaviour, as we all know. I wonder if that’s what’s happened here?”
“Nope. Doesn’t add up.” Higgins shook his head vehemently to emphasise the point.
“Why ever not?”
“If it had attached itself to one person, why would it bother murdering all the rest of them? That’s not common spirit behaviour. Doppelgängers especially. They do attach themselves to one person, I’ll grant you that. But they don’t then go around killing loads of other people.”
No one replied. Kester could feel the optimism draining out of his colleagues, a darkening in the atmosphere as each of them dwelled on the complexity of the case. He was finding it difficult to remain positive himself. Every lead they uncovered seemed to point to nothing. The different elements jostled in his mind, clamouring for attention. The Ancient History Club. Peter Hopper. Xena Sunningdale. A Celtic graveyard. Tarot cards. Murders, made to look like accidents. He needed time to sit and think about it all properly, but time was exactly what they didn’t have. The puzzle was becoming more complex, not less so—and his frustration was growing.
“Let’s head back,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She glared at the Celtic stones, as though berating them for not giving up their secrets. “There’s nothing more we can do here, that’s for sure.”
“We could try digging up the graves,” Mike suggested, tugging at his shirt sleeves.
“What, with our bare hands?” Higgins scoffed. “Have you felt how cold it is? The ground will be hard as anything.”
“Also, what do you think you’ll find?” Serena said. “At best, you’ll just find a knackered old skeleton or two.”
Kester pushed his glasses further up his nose. “That’s not such a bad idea,” he said slowly, as he surveyed the surrounding area. “I mean, what have we got to lose? Plus,” he added, kicking at the ground, “it’s not so hard. Remember, the soil is sandy here. We’re by the sea.”
“You are kidding, surely?” Dimitri said. “We cannot just dig up ancient graves. That is not right! Such a thing would horrify my mother.” He crossed himself diligently and cast his eyes to the skies.
“Oh, poor dear mummy,” Mike muttered.
“And I’m certainly not dressed for it,” Serena said, emphatically pointing at her shoes. “I’m going back. You can have a go at digging up graves in the freezing cold if you want, but you can leave me right out of it.”
“Me too,” Dimitri said. “I think it is more sensible for me and Pamela to go to each of the murder locations and check the residual energy.”
“Yes, good idea,” Higgins said, brightening. “I can try phoning the victims’ partners, see if they’ll let us into the house. You never know, we might be able to get them to agree.”
Mike and Kester looked at one another and shrugged.
“I’m game for a bit of grave-digging if you are, mate,” Mike said.
“Hey, I’ll help too,” Lara offered and flexed her biceps in their direction. “I’m built for the job.”
“No offence love, but this is man’s work.” As soon as Mike finished his sentence and saw Lara’s furious expression, he realised his mistake.
“I’m as strong as any guy, you sexist moron. Now cut the BS and let’s get to work.”
Kester laughed. “Quite right,” he replied. Lara grinned at him and started looking around for a suitable stone or branch to use as a makeshift shovel. Watching her roving around the clearing like a big cat prowling for prey, he could fully see why she was well equipped for the task. She’s very muscly, he thought, looking down at his own paltry arms with a grimace. Perhaps I should join a gym when we get back. Or at least do some sort of exercise.
“We’ll leave you to it then and carry on with investigations in town,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She observed them in turn, concern wrinkling her brow. “Don’t push yourselves too hard, we don’t want you burning out before we’ve even got started.”
“Yes, especially as you’re probably wasting your time,” Serena added, delicately picking a bit of leaf off her shin.
Kester nodded. “We’ll just dig for a couple of hours. If we don’t find anything, we’ll head back.”
“Let’s arrange to meet back at the hotel at one o’clock then. Good luck.”
Kester watched them head off into the dense thicket of brambles until they were completely out of sight. A lone pigeon cooed mournfully in a neighbouring tree before flapping off in a clatter of feathers. He shivered.
“Are you joining us, or just watching while we do all the heavy work?” Mike brandished a large branch in his direction.
Spotting a particularly large, pointy-looking stone by the root of a tree, Kester scooped it up and held it aloft, mirroring Mike’s movements. “I’m with you. Let’s get going.”
As the others had predicted, the ground was fairly hard. However, once they’d broken through the top layers, the soil soon lost its firmness, becoming far looser and sandier. Worms and bugs writhed in the dirt, aggravated by the sudden exposure to light, and pale pebbles gleamed like tiny eggs against the darkness.
“We need to have a system here, guys,” Lara said finally. She wiped her forehead and observed their shallow hole with concern.
“Ah, sod systems, let’s just dig!” Mike said, accidentally flicking soil into Kester’s face.
“Nah, we need to be more organised, because as soon as I’m digging stuff up, you’re chucking more stuff back down,” Lara said firmly. “Trust me. Me and my brother, we used to dig holes all the time, out in the desert.”
Kester stood up and stretched his back. “That sounds a bit ominous.”
“It was a good way to catch lizards.”
“Not very fair on the lizards.”
She grinned, rolling up her sleeves. “Yup. I suppose that’s true. But we didn’t care much about that back then.”
“Does your brother still live in El Paso?” Kester asked, getting back to work. His shoulders were already starting to ache, and they’d only been doing it twenty minutes or so.
Lara shrugged. “Darned if I know. He ain’t spoken to me for years.”
Kester glanced at Mike, who shook his head slightly.
“Families, eh?” he said finally, not knowing what else to say. As an only child, he had no idea what having siblings was like, though he imagined having the company must be nice. His own childhood had been quiet, to say the least.
Lara nodded, tugged a flat rock from the soil, and tossed it to one side. “Yeah, families. You got that right.”
“My brother’s a complete moron,” Mike said conversationally.
Kester looked up. “You don’t really talk about him much, do you?”
“For good reason. He’s completely mental.”
“Where does he live?” Lara asked.
“London. He’s . . .” Mike paused for dramatic effect, “an investment banker.”
“Ouch.” Lara started to laugh. “I bet he’s a laugh-a-minute.”
“He’s an absolute prat of the highest order. My parents love him. They’re always saying ‘ooh Mike, I wish you’d be more like Crispian.’ It drives me mad.”
“With a name like Crispian, he was destined to go into banking though, really, wasn’t he?” Kester said. His finger slipped off the rock, and he scraped his nail against a shard of stone. “Ouch! This is lethal work.”
“Yeah, I bashed my fingers too,” Lara said, rubbing her shorn head and glaring at the hole with dislike. “But we gotta get on with it. I doubt we’re gonna find much, but we have to give it our best shot, right?”
“S’pose,” Mike said reluctantly.
“You’re the one who suggested doing this in the first place!” Kester pointed out, nudging him.
Mike scratched his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on the idea though, did I? Mind you, the soil’s looser than I thought it would be.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Kester agreed. It reminded him of freshly ploughed soil in the farmer’s field near his old house in Cambridge, which was strange, given how long the ground must have remained undisturbed for. I wonder if someone’s tried to dig it up before? he thought, then remembered how old the Ancient History Club members were and changed his mind. Surely nobody would bother doing this unless they had to.
They continued in silence. After a while, the sun rose higher in the sky, warming the air just a little. The wind also began to dip, and the dead leaves hung eerily still on the branches in its absence. It was an unusually quiet spot. Aside from the occasional bird, it was completely silent. No other people passed them, which was fortunate, given that they were effectively digging up someone’s grave. It probably wasn’t a popular place to walk, Kester thought. Because it’s so overgrown. Obviously, they all stick to the beach instead. Or perhaps they’re sensibly staying indoors in the warm, rather than freezing to death like us.
After an hour, they stopped digging simultaneously: an unspoken, unanimous agreement. The hole was now about three-feet deep, but still looked frustratingly shallow. Kester surveyed his watch with dismay. It was already past eleven, and they only had an hour at most to continue with the task.
“Whadd’ya think, guys?” Lara scuffed her boot across the top of the pile of soil, studying the hole with disappointment.
“I personally think we’re wasting our time,” Mike said with a contemplative rub at his beard. “Look at it. We’re never going to get down deep enough. We need proper shovels.”
“So what do you propose we do?” Kester asked, a note of testiness creeping into his voice. His arms ached, his back hurt, and he felt unbearably frustrated with it all. He also suspected they weren’t going to achieve anything, but the last thing he wanted to do was admit it. “Do you think we should give up?”
Mike raised his hands. “Hey, it’s your call, mate.”
Kester looked at Lara. “What’re your thoughts on the matter?”
Lara swilled her mouth thoughtfully before spitting on the ground. “I say we give it a bit longer. Truth is, I don’t much like the idea of telling Larry that we came up with diddly-squat.”
“You and me both,” Kester agreed. He crouched down and peered intently into the gloom of the hole. “Mike, are you in for another hour’s digging or so?”
“Or are you getting a bit too old for this sort of thing?” Lara said, slapping him on the back.
“Less of that, thank you,” Mike grumbled as he massaged his shoulders. With a sigh, he scooped up his branch again. “Go on then. You talked me into it. Let’s get it over with.”
Lara chuckled. “Let’s rock and roll, folks.”
They dug in grim silence. The blisters on Kester’s hands started to burn, but he steeled himself against the pain, dragging his jacket sleeves further over his palms to provide some protection. As he dug, he started to chant a mantra in his head. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. A glance at Mike’s face indicated that he was feeling exactly the same.
Why did I even think this would be a good idea? He ploughed the rock deeper into the soil and flicked it behind him with irate abandon. Now I’m going to have to return and admit to Larry that yet again, we’ve come up with nothing. It isn’t fair!
Grunting with exertion, his mother’s face swam before his eyes—how she’d looked when he’d been a boy, with brown curls and rosy cheeks, before the cancer took hold. Clapping fervently as he came last in the 100 metre race. Hugging him when he’d got his GCSE results. Consoling him when his pet hamster had died. She’d always been there, every time he felt like giving up. Every time he thought he wouldn’t make it. Although she’d been dead for close to five months now, he felt like she was suddenly there with him, if only in his head.
Perhaps it’s all this hard labour, he thought, muscles burning with exertion. It’s making me go delirious. His rock slammed into something hard, and he yelped.
“You alright there, partner?” Lara looked over, pausing her digging.
Kester wiped his nose. “Yes. I just hit another stone I think.” He massaged his wrists, which were starting to swell up with the effort of digging for so long. Deep in the hole, there was something jutting out of the soil, which didn’t look like it should be there at all. Kester looked away and rubbed his eyes. Then looked back again. His mouth dropped open. “Hang on a minute.”
Leaning over, he reached into the hole, nearly pitching forward into it as he did so. A gleam of metal poked out, a smooth, perfectly round edge of dull silver. It’s probably the top of a tin can or something, he thought and issued himself a stern order not to get excited. Surely it can’t be anything useful. Can it?
Gently, he dug around the sides of the metal object until he could wriggle it free. Then he gasped.
“Look!”
Mike raised his eyebrows, then let out a laugh. “Well, well, well. Is that what I think it is?”
Kester looked again at the object in his hands. Although age and dirt had mottled and warped it, it was undoubtedly some form of ancient brooch or necklace—complete with an intricate Celtic pattern. He delicately dusted it down, pushing the dirt from the metalwork, then held it up to the light.
Lara squealed. “Aw man, I don’t believe it! Do you think it’s genuine?”
Kester shrugged, studying it intently. The circular side was crusty and dented, though the dimpled metal still gleamed in the weak daylight. “Who knows? But it’s certainly worth getting someone to check it.”
Mike roared and waved his arms towards the sky. “Come on then!” he said. “Keep digging!”
“Really?”
“Yes, if we’ve found an ancient brooch, I guess there’s every chance there’s an equally ancient skeleton not too far away!”
Kester’s eyes widened. “Gosh. You could be right.”
Breathlessly, they tore into the soil, energy renewed by the discovery. For fifteen minutes, they dug in silence, a trio of ceaseless grave-robbers, with eyes focused firmly on the soil in front of them. Then, after another five minutes, Lara gasped.
“I definitely hit something,” she said and clambered into the hole to gain better access. Mike and Kester stood back, giving her room. After a while, she threw her branch out and got to work with her bare hands.
“Well?” Mike asked finally, unable to contain himself. “Found anything?”
“Jeez, Mike, give me a minute, would you?”
They waited impatiently, hopping from foot to foot, trying to see better over Lara’s shoulder. Finally she straightened and grinned back up at them.
“Bingo.”
Kester and Mike looked at one another with widening eyes. They helped Lara clamber out, then crouched by the hole, scanning the disrupted soil. There, poking out like a piece of dead wood, was a yellowed piece of bone.
Kester steadied himself. He felt rather faint. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe we’ve actually found it.
With a thump, Mike leapt into the grave and began digging at the sides of the bone.
“Be careful!” Kester croaked. “If this skeleton is as old as we suspect it might be, it’s probably very fragile.”
Mike dug in silence. They waited, hardly able to contain their excitement, before Mike finally turned around and gave them a thumbs-up. He clicked his fingers to Kester and Lara, who pulled him out of the hole. “Check that out,” he said, pointing behind him.
Now that Mike’s shadow wasn’t obscuring the view, Kester strained to get a better look. His glasses were filthy, which wasn’t helping. However, after he gave them a quick rub on his shirt, he could clearly see the bones on display, in all their ancient, mossy glory. A ribcage. Broken and pock-marked, filthy with centuries of underground imprisonment, but a ribcage nonetheless. And protruding from the centre, about where the heart must have once been, a rusted knife.
Now we’re on to something, Kester realised, heart beating faster. Now we’re finally on the right track.