Hatchley sighed and followed. ‘I’ll bet the bloody door’s locked.’
Before they could close the gate behind them, they heard a car coming. It was Sam’s Land Rover. He parked near the pub across the narrow Swain, as there was no road on the Greenocks’ side, and came bounding over the bridge.
‘Evening, gents,’ he called out. ‘And what can I do… Oh, it’s you.’
‘Don’t sound so disappointed,’ Banks said. ‘We might be able to do something for you.’
‘Oh?’ Sam’s boyish face looked puzzled. He patted his curly hair. ‘All right. Never turn down a favour from a copper, that’s me.’
‘Can we go in?’
‘Of course. I’ll get the missus to brew a pot of tea.’ He dug in his pocket for his keys, finally found the right one and stuck it in the lock, where he poked and twisted it for a while, then turned to Banks and frowned. ‘That’s odd. It was already open. Katie usually locks up at ten sharp and the guests let themselves in with their own keys. And it’s not usually as dark as this. She puts the hall light on for the guests. They’re probably still in the pub, but I can’t imagine where she is.’
Banks and Hatchley followed him through the front door into the dark hall. Sam turned the light on. The guest book lay open on its varnished table by a stack of tourist guides, maps and brochures advertising local businesses and leisure pursuits. Automatically, Sam looked at himself in the mirror over the phone and patted his curly hair again.
‘Katie!’ Sam called.
No answer.
He went into the dining room and flicked the light switch on. ‘Bloody hell!’
Banks followed him inside. ‘What is it?’ All he could see was the room where he and Hatchley had eaten breakfast. The varnished tables gleamed darkly in the shaded light.
‘She’s not set the tables for the morning. She’s not even put the bloody cloths on,’ Sam said. He sounded more angry than worried about why or where Katie might have gone.
They paused at the foot of the stairs, where Sam called again and got no answer. ‘It doesn’t look like she’s at home,’ he said, puzzled. ‘I can’t imagine where she’d be at this time.’
‘Maybe she’s left you,’ Banks suggested.
‘Don’t be daft. Where would she go? Why would she do a thing like that anyway?’
They carried on to the door that separated the Greenocks’ living quarters from the rest of the house.
‘Katie!’ Sam called once more, hand on the knob.
Still no reply. The absolute silence in the house made Banks’ hackles rise.
Sam opened the door and walked along the short narrow corridor that linked the two parts of the house. Banks and Hatchley followed close behind. Coats on hooks on either side brushed against them as they walked in single file behind Sam. The only faint illumination was at the end of the passage.
‘At least she’s left this light on,’ Sam said.
The light came from the pane of frosted glass on the door that led into the Greenocks’ living room. Sam called his wife’s name again but got no answer. He walked into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he gasped, then stumbled backwards into Banks and started to slide slowly down the wall, hands over his eyes.
Banks regained his balance, pushed past Sam and went in, Hatchley close behind. They stopped in the doorway, awed and horrified by the scene before them. Banks heard Hatchley mutter a prayer or a curse.
There was blood all over the room: on the carpet, the sofa, the hearth, and even splashed like obscene hieroglyphs over the wall above the mantelpiece. Nothing moved. Nicholas Collier lay awkwardly, half on the sofa and half on the carpet, his head bashed in, his face a bloody pulp. He wouldn’t even have been recognizable if it hadn’t been for the prominent yellowish teeth splintered and bared in agony and shock.
Katie sat on the arm of the settee still holding the heavy wooden cross of her granny’s that had stood on the mantelpiece. Her beautiful brown eyes were looking at things nobody else could see. The front of her dress was ripped open at one side and a few drops of blood glistened against the pale skin of her blue-veined breast.