The Second Stranger, page 3
‘Kitchen’s here on the left,’ I said as we reached a pair of steel swing doors. ‘I can fix you some food if you’re hungry.’
Gaines didn’t answer. I wondered what had caught his attention. Then I saw it; the left-hand door sucked in slightly on its hinges, the fur of its brushes hissing as air played through. Another door or window was open somewhere inside. There was a service entrance in there, opening onto the rear courtyard. Back in the autumn I’d watched butcher’s vans unloading carcasses for Christmas; pigs halved down their spines, turkeys like plucked rucksacks. The kitchen door exhaled again. Maybe the service door was open. If it was, someone could get in.
‘That normal?’ PC Gaines asked. Without waiting for an answer, he nudged the doors open with his shoulder.
The glow of metal surfaces in the brittle dark. Outlines of worktop shapes, cooker-hoods and storage cupboards. The kitchen staff had mopped up before leaving and the floor still gleamed in the light of Gaines’s torch. The darkness was cooler than the warmth of the corridor and I waited by the doors as Gaines made his way inside, portioning the space with the blade of his torch, illuminating worktops, the flat-top grill, sinks and taps. ‘Where’s this lead?’ Gaines said over his shoulder.
‘Walk-in freezer,’ I said. It was all swinging carcasses and boulders of conjoined potatoes peeled for roasting. Gaines ignored it and checked the service doors at the rear – securely locked – then traced the source of the air current to the rattling grille of an air-conditioning unit. ‘False alarm,’ he said, and limped back. ‘Story of my life,’ he added as he passed me back into the corridor.
I flushed with relief. ‘The bar’s next.’
Jaival Parik turned as we entered, eyes refocusing from his phone. He blinked in surprise as he assessed Gaines but recovered quickly. I introduced the officer and they shook hands. ‘Looks like you’ve been in the wars,’ Jai said.
‘There’s been an RTA on the mountain road,’ Gaines said. ‘As I’ve explained to Miss Yorke here, I need to focus on the security of the hotel site. My first priority is the safety of the guests so I’ll be asking you to keep to your room for the foreseeable future while I deal with a situation.’
‘A situation?’ Jai swapped his open gaze from me to the officer, then back. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s nothing to be alarmed about, sir. I’m just asking all unnecessary lights are switched off during the storm. For safety.’
‘Surprised we haven’t had a power cut already in this weather,’ Jai observed. ‘I brought a signal booster – fancy one, dish-shaped thing, cost a fortune – but I can’t get anything. It was fine the day before yesterday but when Ezra came in…’ He inflated his cheeks.
‘Are you here working, sir?’ Gaines asked.
Jai grinned. ‘No. I’m here for the hiking. Bad timing, though. The weather’s driven me back to my inbox.’ He held up his phone in demonstration. He had an expansive smile that took us both in: bright teeth. ‘Can’t see why us hiding in the dark might help,’ he said.
‘If you just let me do my job,’ Gaines said, examining the fireplace, ‘we can get this situation resolved quickly.’ He moved to the far end of the room, drew the curtains carefully back and began checking the latches of the windows.
Jai leant in and whispered, ‘What’s he up to?’
I didn’t like his conspiratorial posture and had no intention of sharing anything more than I already had to with a man who recorded conversations. On the other hand, neither did I want to be responsible for holding back information unnecessarily. ‘He’s concerned there may be an escapee,’ I said. I flexed my fingers, trying to shake off an uneasy chill. Sharing the situation had made it somehow worse. If the prisoner was indeed out there, he’d need to escape the storm. It was up to me to ensure the safety of the guests.
‘A what?’
‘Some sort of crash on the mountain road,’ I said, watching as Gaines checked the fire door was securely locked. ‘Someone escaped.’
‘From the prison?’
‘I guess so. The officer’s not exactly eager to answer questions.’ As I spoke I checked off entrances mentally; reception, the kitchens, the cellars, the outhouses. Was it possible our visitor was already inside?
Jai whistled. ‘Hell of a last night for you, isn’t it? Bet that flight can’t come soon enough.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Any danger of another Malbec?’
I poured him one. He swirled and sniffed, momentarily transported. Gaines had satisfied himself that the bi-fold terrace doors were securely locked, and was now cupping his hands to the glass, scanning the darkness beyond. Window-checks complete, the officer crossed the room towards us, swiping at his phone to confirm Jai’s assessment of the signal availability. He tucked it back into a Velcro pocket of his stab vest, eyeing the wine as he rejoined us. ‘Does the hotel have an internal phone system?’
‘We can contact guests in their rooms if that’s what you mean.’
The officer nodded. ‘And if I wanted to contact colleagues at the station? Have you got a satellite telephone? Hand-held radios?’
‘The site team have walkie-talkies,’ I offered. ‘They’ve an office in the basement.’
‘I need to check it. Miss Yorke, do you mind?’ Gaines indicated my key chain. I had close to thirty keys and I leafed through them, pinching the correct one between thumb and forefinger. As I held it up, my hands trembled. Gaines turned to Jai. ‘Sir, why don’t you take your drink and return to your room, keep your doors and windows shut.’
Jai pulled a face. ‘But this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in days.’
‘For your own safety, sir, I’d rather you did as I said.’
‘Officer—’ Jai smiled ‘—I can take care of myself.’ He pushed aside his drink. ‘I’d like to come along. I’m in communication technology as it happens. Broadcasting technician. Good with gadgets – any problem with those radios, I’m your man.’ Gaines studied him in silence for a moment. ‘And if the radios work,’ Jai compromised, ‘I’ll stay out of your hair.’
‘Right,’ the officer said eventually. ‘Miss Yorke, if you could lead the way please.’
* * *
We descended the steep concrete steps from the cellar door. The basement corridors were low-ceilinged, lit by cobwebbed strip lights. The brickwork was white, the floors concreted and the walls lined with pipes, arteries wrapped in a reflective silver sponge. Somewhere nearby the boiler rumbled. The place was stuffy, unusually damp. I led us part-way down, swung a side door open and clicked a light on.
Gaines ignored the room and examined the corridor. ‘What’s further up here?’
I didn’t spend much time below ground. ‘The boiler, lost property, old storage…’
‘I’m going to give it a check through.’
‘I don’t think there are any windows. And no external doors. You’re not going to find anyone hiding,’ I told him. But even as I said it, I felt doubt gnaw. If someone had gained access – maybe using the old coal chute or the ground-floor fire door – where would they hide? Well, fourteen empty guest rooms for a start. My pulse quickened.
Either side of us, low archways opened into storage rooms for tarp-wrapped furniture and filing cabinets. Gaines flashed a torch into them and stiffened. I followed his gaze. The uneven floor of the dark space was gathering water.
Back in the corridor Gaines ran a gloved finger along the white walls. Wet. ‘This is either meltwater,’ he said, ‘which doesn’t seem likely, or you’ve got burst pipes.’ Thin rills were gathering in the cracks of the concrete floor. Dust was dampening to a grey ooze. The site team hadn’t mentioned anything as they’d packed up this afternoon.
‘Is this normal?’ Jai asked.
‘No.’ I led them further down to another hot, damp space. The heating system hissed in an ankle-deep pool. I felt a distinct sinking in my belly as I thought of the accident log and the accompanying paperwork. Maybe if I got it started tonight, Mitchell could finish it tomorrow. ‘I’ve never seen it like this,’ I told Gaines.
We checked the end of the basement corridor – no doors, no windows, no leaking pipes – and returned to the site team’s office. ‘One problem at a time,’ Gaines said. ‘Let’s have a look at these radios.’
I led them in. The site team had prettified the place. The walls might have been exposed brick, but there was a rug, a desk, a sofa and an easy chair with a Cally Thistle cushion. The walls looked dry; lined with industrial metal shelves. Most held books and files, one an ancient radio-CD player, and others archived shelves of CCTV footage in labelled boxes. An ashtray with two hand-rolled cigarette butts. A clock on the wall reading 8.10 p.m.
On the desk were two hand-held transceivers lying next to an empty five-slot charging dock. Gaines looked the radios over, rotated a knob, clicked a few buttons. ‘No charge,’ he said, slotting the two of them into their spaces on the dock and turning to Jai. ‘You familiar with this model?’
‘Not this one exactly but a lot like them. They’re standard site security radios. My uncle had a whole shop full of stuff like this when I was a kid; mobile phones the size of bricks, second-hand desktop computers. Bubble-jet printers, CB radios.’ He grinned at Gaines and plucked the handsets from the charging dock to examine them. ‘You’ll have something similar in your squad car, I bet.’
The officer shrugged. ‘I keep it to the same channel and press the button to talk. No idea how it actually works.’
‘I can have a play with these, figure them out,’ Jai said, placing the radios back in the dock and rubbing his palms together as he took a seat.
‘You stay here, Mr Parik, for your own safety. I’ll come back shortly, see how you’re getting on. Don’t move, OK?’ Gaines turned to me. ‘While Mr Parik works on the radios, I want to check in on our other guest.’
‘Alex Coben, room sixteen,’ I reminded him.
‘And where is Mr Coben now?’
‘Ms,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen her since my shift ended this morning.’
A grunt from Gaines. ‘Well, I need to speak to her. Could you lead the way please?’
I found myself hesitating. ‘Is it safe, do you think?’
Gaines gave a nod of understanding. ‘Miss Yorke, we’ll stick together and do this thoroughly, OK? There’ll be no need to worry once we’ve secured the site.’
‘Sure,’ I said, trying to sound convinced.
We left Jai leaning back in his chair, absorbed in an examination of the two handsets. I closed the door behind us.
5
I took PC Gaines along the main corridor, listening to the officer wince with each unsteady step as I led him to the lift. The second floor was William Morris wallpaper, framed hunting scenes and etched-glass wall lights. The shadows made me jumpy.
‘Looked from the outside like there are three floors,’ the officer observed as we emerged.
I nodded. ‘Live-in staff on the top floor.’
‘So your room’s up there?’ He indicated the ceiling.
‘That’s right. The top floor will be your only chance of a phone signal if Jai can’t get the radios working.’
‘I’ll deal with that shortly,’ he said. ‘First, let’s ensure we’re all safe and well.’
We walked the corridor, reaching the window seat and coffee table at the end. Fanned copies of Horse and Hound, the Shooting Times, Conde Nast Traveller; a cream vase of roses, their scent cloying and their petals browning at the edges. Gaines took a moment to look at the bookcase of leather-bound hardbacks whilst I leant out across the seat and peered through the window panes. The storm pushed cold fingers between the sashes, making the hairs rise on the backs of my hands. Whump went the night, currents of icy air kneading against the roof tiles. Beyond, unyielding darkness.
Room sixteen was to our left. The officer knocked. ‘Hello?’
He gave me an expectant look after a few moments of silence. I shrugged. Gaines rapped the door again. ‘Ms Coben?’ I expected her voice in reply, irritated, maybe from the bath, but there was nothing. Perhaps she was asleep. Gaines tried the door handle. Locked. ‘Taking a nap?’ he asked me. I shrugged again. ‘Ms Coben?’ We waited. ‘She must be out,’ he said. ‘Seems unlikely, though. When did you last see her?’
The breakfast room that morning; the bright clatter of cutlery as the kitchen staff laid out for the last time before close-season. The smell of Lorne sausage, black pudding, potato scones. Classical music for the guests, commercial radio in the kitchens beyond the serving hatches; Chef singing as he plated poached eggs with a slotted spoon. Jai had been up early examining his maps and sipping black coffee; Alex Coben had arrived later and seated herself at the far end of the room at the window table overlooking the terraced gardens running down to the loch’s edge. She’d read the Herald, ordered an omelette, and had then made calls while her food went cold. I’d left her there, clocked off and climbed the stairs to bed.
I’d been on shift the night before, when she’d first checked in, so I tried examining her arrival with fresh eyes, but couldn’t come up with anything out of the ordinary. She’d pulled up in a hire car, crossed reception, pulling a big suitcase, and we’d exchanged a few words as she’d signed the forms, but if Gaines had asked for a description I’m not sure I’d have done her justice. At five eleven I’m taller than a lot of men so I’m used to a small height advantage as I stand to greet guests; Alex Coben was a few inches shorter and dressed in sports gear – a black top, leggings and running shoes. She was slim and agile, with the kind of build that suggested fell running. And her hands, small and strong, were those of a rock climber. We got a lot of physically athletic folk up here – mountain biking was a big part of Fort William’s outdoor scene – and she had the kind of aesthetic that suggested that crew: cropped black hair, a stud in her lip, more in her ears up at the top, some sort of tattoo on the side of her neck above the line of her sweatshirt. She was around my age. I told Gaines what I could remember.
He rolled his lower lip between his teeth and stared out into the night. ‘A tourist?’
I shrugged. ‘Hardly spoken to her. She came night before last, booked a two-night stay. Spoke a lot on the phone this morning so maybe she’s working.’
‘What visitor details do you keep at reception?’
‘Name, address. Contact number.’
Gaines nodded, his expression troubled. ‘Let’s get this door open.’
I swiped the card. Room sixteen was dark and the air was cold. I called her name, got nothing, so slipped the key card into its power slot and clicked the lights on. A fireplace and scarlet rug, a claw-footed bath and thick curtains drawn across a bay window overlooking Loch Alder. Beside the bedhead was a second, smaller, window. Its curtains were drawn but they were wet and billowing. The sash window beyond was open, humming in its runners like a wasp in a jar.
It looked for a moment as if Alex Coben had thrown herself out of her room.
Gaines crossed the carpet, lifting his boots gingerly to check he wasn’t leaving prints. ‘Switch the lights off please, Miss Yorke,’ he said, waiting by the curtains. I could see his breath.
I removed the key card, returning us to darkness, and found myself leaning against the wall, my body rigid. Where was she? Gaines parted the curtains and looked out into the storm, examining the dark pines. Next, he studied the snow that had settled on the windowsill – carefully checking for any signs of disturbance – before brushing it out with a gloved hand, lowering the window and shutting the wet curtains again.
He cleared his throat like a man who’d been holding his breath and said, ‘No sign of anything out there.’
In the gloom I could see the rest of the room was neat. Our staff had remade the bed and refreshed the bathroom towels before heading off, leaving Mitchell to take care of any further cleaning when he clocked on tomorrow. A light above the mirror had been left on. The sink-shelf had a zip-bag for make-up and toiletries. I watched as Gaines checked the wardrobe. Empty hangers chattered. There was the shell-suitcase I’d seen her arrive with, its zip-grin wide. Gaines lifted the lid with the tip of his boot. I expected a change of clothes but the case was empty, her stuff gone.
Only the tripod telescope standing in the bay window suggested anything. It was nothing to do with the hotel; she must have brought it with her. Gaines seemed struck by it, though it was standard-issue birdwatching kit. He opened the bay-window curtains and rounded the telescope, stooping to look through it, adjusting the viewfinder with wet gloves. ‘What’s over there?’ he said, beckoning me.
The bay faced northwards across the loch to the lower slopes of Bray Crag. I didn’t need to look through the lens to know what it was pointed at. There was nothing but frozen water and hillside to see. I struggled my mind into motion. ‘Golden eagles?’ I tried.
Gaines stooped, grunting, and looked again. ‘Possibly. White-tailed eagles just as likely near a body of water like this. The central section isn’t frozen over yet. Or geese? Isn’t Alder famous for geese?’
It was. Each winter, barnacle geese come over from Svalbard in vast numbers. They’re not like the brents I used to know back on Northumberland’s mud flats; barnacles holler and honk like jammed cars, particularly when they gather on the water or fly in long lines. Loch Alder is no Lomond, but it has deep ravines along its edges cut by water coming off the side of Farigaig, and the geese liked nesting away from predators up among the cliffs. It was possible Alex had been watching them.
Gaines was opening desk drawers. ‘Well,’ he said when he was finished, ‘no phone here. Empty luggage, no sign of outdoor clothes or walking boots. Which suggests she went out, probably on foot and, if the telescope is any guide, probably to explore the loch edge. So, she left sometime earlier today?’
I tried to draw some sense from the situation but it didn’t yield to logic. Alex Coben had been gone all day? I felt a fist close around my stomach. If she was out there in Ezra, she might not be the only one. ‘I’m not… I can’t help you with specifics,’ I managed. ‘I was off duty.’
