Ryan's Christmas: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 15) Read online

  “Well, what are we goin’ to do, then?” Phillips exclaimed.

  “Find the back entrance,” MacKenzie said, with her usual good sense. “There’s bound to be one, a place this size.”

  They looked out into the shadowy night, and then at each other.

  “I’ll find it,” Ryan offered, thinking of Denise’s leg, which had been badly injured a couple of years before and was still a source of discomfort, especially in cold weather.

  But MacKenzie had her pride.

  “We’ll all go,” she told him.

  “Aye, if there’re any spooks about, we can’t leave you to fend them off on your own,” Phillips declared. “Howay, let’s go and invade this castle.”

  CHAPTER 3

  By the time they found the side entrance, their extremities were numb. It was located less than half a mile away from where they’d abandoned the car, but what might have been an easy walk in high summer was now a hazardous trail covered in snow and ice. They kept close to the boundary wall which ran parallel to the road, using the torch function on their phones to guide their way through the penetrating darkness until they arrived in front of a second, slightly smaller set of gates.

  Only to find they were padlocked too.

  “I don’t believe this,” Phillips muttered, and wrapped a supportive arm around MacKenzie’s shoulders as they stood shivering in the frozen landscape.

  Ryan tugged the chain, half hoping it was only for show, but the heavy iron links refused to budge. He blinked snowflakes from his eyes and looked down at the ground.

  “Somebody’s been out here recently,” he called out. “I can see tyre tracks and footprints.”

  “Let’s try the gatekeeper’s lodge,” Anna called back, and began trudging towards a nearby cottage, keeping her head bent against the driving snow which stung her cheeks.

  No lights burned in the windows of the lodge, except for the faintest glow of a candle sitting on one of the sills. Anna had scarcely raised her fist to knock on the front door, when it swung open to reveal the silhouette of a man. He was tall and broad—at least as tall as Ryan, at well over six feet—and dressed for the weather in thick clothing and a padded waterproof jacket. They could see nothing of his face, having been blinded by the glaring light of the torch he raised to inspect each of them in turn.

  “Lost?” he asked.

  “Stranded,” Ryan replied. “Our car’s out of petrol, so we left it over by the main gates and hiked over here. We’d be grateful if you could shelter us for a while, and perhaps we could borrow your phone? None of us can get a signal on our mobiles, out here.”

  “No, you wouldn’t in these parts,” the man said, enigmatically. “You’re welcome to come in, but there isn’t much I can offer you, since the power line went down ten minutes ago.”

  That explains the lack of light, Anna thought.

  “I’m the Estate Manager at the castle,” the man continued. “I was about to head up there, myself. You’re welcome to join me, and I’ll drop you at the door.”

  Soon after, they found themselves ensconced in a battered Land Rover, and Phillips could only be glad that he’d resisted his wife’s attempts to reduce his bacon consumption for, without the extra padding in his posterior, the lack of suspension would have done untold damage as they rattled through the side gates and up a winding, pot-holed driveway.

  “How’d you find yourselves all the way out here, then?” the manager asked.

  “There was a diversion from the A1,” Ryan replied, blowing on his hands to warm them. “It was supposed to take us via Wooler or Chatton, but there were no signs and, like I say, we haven’t any mobile signal.”

  The Estate Manager nodded, and Ryan turned to get a better look at him. Although he’d kept his hood up and wore a thick ski mask beneath it for warmth, the man’s eyes were visible, and he’d have estimated from the fine lines fanning out on either side that he was somewhere in his fifties.

  “Thanks for helping us out,” Ryan said. “We were starting to run out of ideas, back there.”

  The man gave him a quick look, then turned back to the wheel.

  “Aye, if you’re not prepared for bad weather, it can be murder up here.”

  No pun was intended, but Phillips was amused, nonetheless.

  “What’s your name, mate?”

  “Bill Dodds,” he replied.

  “Well you’ve narf saved our bacon, tonight, Bill. I thought they’d find me frozen solid out there, lookin’ like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.”

  MacKenzie wondered idly whether she should be worried about her husband’s obsession with pork produce.

  “It’s no trouble,” Dodds replied. “There’s a few people staying at the castle already, so a couple more won’t hurt.”

  “Oh? I hope we’re not interrupting a family gathering?” Ryan asked.

  “The family are visiting friends in the south for Christmas,” Dodds explained. “The staff are looking after the place and dealing with the last of the guests this season. We were due to have a Candlelit Christmas Ghost Hunt this weekend, but the weather’s put paid to that, I reckon.”

  “Do you think there’ll be room for a few more?” MacKenzie asked, raising her voice above the roar of the engine as it fought its way over the snowy turf.

  Dodds didn’t answer directly, but looked amongst them, as if wondering for the first time whom he’d invited into the confines of his car.

  “Where’ve you come from, anyhow?”

  “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Maxwell Ryan, and this is my wife, Anna—and these are our friends, Frank Phillips and Denise MacKenzie. We were on our way back from Edinburgh when the storm hit.”

  “Came in quick,” Dodds agreed. “Were you up there on business?”

  “No, we’re enjoying a couple of days off,” Ryan said.

  “Aye, the boss is a tyrant,” Phillips chimed in, with a wink for MacKenzie.

  “Watch yourself, Frank, or I might suddenly remember a stack of paperwork that needs filing before the twenty-fifth,” Ryan said, wickedly.

  Dodds smiled at their by-play.

  “What line of work are you in?” he asked.

  “The thin blue one,” Anna replied. “They’re all murder detectives, from Northumbria CID.”

  Dodds made a small sound of surprise behind the muffler on his face.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he said. “There must’ve been hundreds of murders committed up here, over the centuries. That’s why so many ghosts roam around, haunting the living.”

  “Never fear, the Ghostbusters are here,” Phillips said. “You just point us in the direction of Old Headless Harry, and we’ll have a word with him for you.”

  The others laughed along, but Dodds grew serious.

  “I know what people must think,” he said quietly. “Most folk think it’s nonsense, or that it’s all staged to frighten people who’ll believe anything. But, until you’ve seen it, or heard it for yourself…Just be careful what you wish for, that’s all.”

  The car fell silent and its occupants turned their attention back to the passing scenery, having experienced a sudden chill that had very little to do with the weather. Dense woodland lined either side of the road, so thick they could see little more than the brief outline of ancient elm trees, whose eerie, twisted trunks had grown wild and free to form a loose arch above their heads. Ryan had a fleeting impression of being driven through some kind of portal; a tunnel from one world into another, where reality was not quite as it seemed, but he immediately dismissed the notion as ridiculous.

  There was no such thing as ghosts.

  Presently, they emerged from the thicket to find a vast, crenellated castle awaiting them on the other side. Its fortified walls stood tall and firm against the snow which pummelled it from every direction, and Dodds urged his Land Rover up to the entrance, which consisted of a set of gigantic, heavily-reinforced wooden doors at the top of a short flight of stone steps.

&nbs
p; “Here we are,” he said, and brought the car to a jerky stop at the foot of the stairs.

  They followed him back into the blizzard, treading carefully as they mounted the icy steps leading up to the castle doors. Dodds produced a large iron key, and, after a moment they heard the lock click free and the heavy oak door began to creak open on rusted hinges.

  Ryan looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing except snow and the vague outline of trees, as far as the eye could see. He gave himself a mental shake and turned back to find the others hurrying inside the protective fold of the castle’s walls.

  “Enter freely and of your own will,” he muttered, and stepped over the threshold.

  The door clanged shut behind him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Beyond the heavy oak doors, the castle had been built in a quadrangle formation, with a large inner courtyard giving access to each floor via a large central staircase and four smaller, spiral staircases located in each corner. The wind continued to howl the inside enclosed space, circling around the nooks and crannies like a banshee while the foursome huddled inside the entrance portico.

  “What’ve we got here, then?”

  A lady of indeterminate middle-age emerged from a side door, dressed in comfortable ‘country’ garb consisting of fleece-lined waterproof chinos and worn leather boots, a thick woollen jumper and gloves, accessorized by a padded jacket that covered her from neck to knee.

  “Got a few weary travellers for you, Carole,” Dodds said, giving her a peck on the cheek. “They’ve had a bit of bad luck and their car’s stranded over by the main gates. They’ll be needing a place to kip, for tonight at least. It might be best if I stayed here tonight as well, at least until the power’s back on at the lodge.”

  “I’m sure I can rustle up a bed or two,” she said, turning to them with a cheery smile. “I’m Carole Black, the housekeeper here at Chillingham. Come on inside and warm yourselves.”

  They followed her through a door immediately to their right, bearing a smart plaque that said, ‘ESTATE OFFICE’. It was a cosy, cluttered space, warmed by several storm heaters placed around the room and to which they were immediately drawn in an effort to thaw their frozen bones. The remaining space consisted of two large desks, several filing cabinets, notice boards and various other odds and ends that were no doubt integral to the running of such a large establishment, and a good deal more besides.

  Dodds moved to his desk at the back of the room and began unwrapping the layers of clothing he wore, revealing a well-built, ruddy-faced man of around sixty—older than Ryan had first imagined, but with a youthful demeanour that belied his years.

  “We’re sorry to put you to any trouble,” he said, to the room at large. “It’s been a bit of a nightmare journey, so we’re glad to have a roof over our heads.”

  Carole looked up from where she was rooting around her desk drawer for a set of apartment keys and gave him a sunny smile.

  “Oh, don’t mention it! You won’t find a sturdier roof than here,” she said, and then pulled an apologetic face. “I’m afraid all the best rooms are already occupied; we were due to host a Candlelit Ghost Hunt this evening with a meal beforehand, and most guests managed to get here before the snow set in. There are a couple of apartments you can use in the north-west tower which should be very comfortable—”

  “We’re grateful for anything you can offer us,” Anna said quickly.

  “That’s settled, then. Of course, you’re very welcome to join us in the Great Hall for dinner at eight,” Carole said, and checked the time on her watch. “It’s almost six, now, so I should be getting along to the kitchen. Normally, we have a chef who lives in, but he’s away visiting family and the stand-in hasn’t been able to make it through the snow.”

  They looked among themselves.

  “We’ll lend a hand, if you need it?” MacKenzie offered. “It’s the least we can do—”

  “Oh, no, no. That’s kind, but I like my time pottering in the kitchen and, besides, I have Mr Black to help me,” she said. “If you’d like to sign the guest book, I’ll show you around.”

  “Tomorrow morning, we can try to tow your car,” Dodds put in, while they each took it in turns to scrawl their names in a leather-bound book. “I’ve got a bit of fuel I keep for the quad bikes and the Land Rover—I can siphon some off and try to get you going again, once the snow lets up.”

  “That’d be much appreciated,” Phillips told him. “Y’ know, confidentially, this would never’ve happened if we’d taken my Volvo—”

  MacKenzie snorted from the other side of the room.

  “If you’d been driving, we’d have probably ended up in a snowdrift,” she said, roundly.

  Phillips didn’t bother to argue, since she was probably right.

  “Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?” Ryan asked, once the formalities had been completed.

  “Lines are down, over at the lodge,” Dodds said, turning to Carole. “What’re they like up here?”

  “We had a bit of a wobble with the lights, but they came back on, so the cables must be holding up, so far. I haven’t tried the phone line,” Carole replied. “Why don’t you try the one on my desk?”

  Ryan moved around to pick up the handset and, when he heard the dial tone in his ear, gave them all a thumbs-up.

  A couple of seconds passed, then his voice rang out into the expectant room.

  “This is DCI Ryan,” he recited his badge number. “Can you put me through to Chief Constable Morrison, please?”

  Ryan caught the startled look which passed between the Housekeeper and the Estate Manager, and wondered about it. Then again, people tended to get nervous at the very mention of police, even when they’d done nothing wrong.

  “Ma’am? This is Ryan. I wanted to let you know that there’s a chance that Phillips, MacKenzie and I may not be back into the office by Monday.”

  From her desk back at Northumbria Police Headquarters, Sandra Morrison raised her eyebrows.

  “Oh, yes? Far be it for me to remind you, but we have a fair amount on the books at this time of year. Now isn’t the time to scamper off for a jolly—"

  “I realise that, ma’am, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience but I’m afraid it can’t be helped. We ran into some trouble on the road back from Edinburgh today, and we’ve taken shelter at Chillingham Castle.”

  “I heard the snow was bad up near the Borders, but I hadn’t realised it was that bad,” she admitted. “Well, just get back as soon as you can.”

  “We’re hoping things might clear up by tomorrow, but it doesn’t look good, so far.”

  “Understood. Take care of yourselves—and, Ryan?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Try not to get into any trouble.”

  * * *

  Reluctantly, they left the relative warmth of the Estate Office and braved the open courtyard, their boots sinking into a fresh layer of snow as they hurried towards the north-west tower and followed Carole up a narrow flight of spiral steps.

  “Here’s your apartment,” she said, panting a little as they reached the top. “We call it ‘The Lookout’.”

  They could see why, for it was just below the uppermost rafters of the castle and would likely have far-ranging views of the parkland and gardens to the west, once the snow cleared.

  “This is one of the oldest parts of the castle, dating back to the thirteenth century, and I’m afraid it has the draughts to prove it,” Carole said, turning on all the radiators. “We weren’t expecting to use this apartment, or I’d have made sure it was ready for you.”

  “We’ll manage just fine,” Ryan said, eyeing the small kitchen which boasted a kettle and, better yet, a jar of coffee sitting beside it.

  “There are two double bedrooms through there, and the bathroom’s next door. I’ll send Bill or one of the others up with some spare pyjamas and towels,” she said. “If you need anything else, just use the internal telephone and dial the number for the Estate Office. Dinner will be
in the Great Hall, which is up the main stairs across the courtyard. You can’t miss it. Feel free to explore the castle until then—the only area which is out of bounds is the Dungeon in the north-eastern corner of the castle. We’re repairing the wall of the oubliette, so it’s roped off at the moment.”

  “Oubliette?” Mackenzie asked.

  Carole smiled. “I think the word has a French origin, something to do with ‘forgetting’. The oubliette is basically a pit in the corner of the dungeon where they used to throw the prisoners and forget about them. There’s a guidebook on the coffee table through there if you want to learn more about the castle’s history.”

  She turned to go, but then paused to look back.

  “Sometimes… people say they hear things in the castle,” she said, with a touch of embarrassment. “It probably sounds silly, to those who don’t live here.”

  Wisely, they said nothing.

  “People also complain of being nudged in the back, or of having their hair pulled,” she continued. “I don’t want to scare you, only—just be careful. The staircases are steep in the castle, and there are plenty of them. I wouldn’t want to see any of you taking a tumble.”

  Suddenly, she was all smiles again.

  “I’ll see you at eight.”

  In the brief silence that followed her departure, Phillips turned to the others and spoke in an undertone, as if the walls might hear him.

  “You know, I’m getting an awful funny feeling that we might have fallen out of the fryin’ pan and straight into the fire.”

  Right on cue, the mullioned windows shook as a strong gust of wind battered the western wall and burst through its cracks with a long whine, like that of a soul in torment.

  Ryan moved across to draw the heavy brocade curtains and caught sight of a single beam of light hovering in the gardens far below.

  “You know what, Frank? I’ve a funny feeling you might be right.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Great Hall proved true to its name.