Dark Powers Read online

  DARK

  POWERS

  RAYMOND HAIGH

  ROBERT HALE • LONDON

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  CHAPTER ONE

  Darnel Hall was isolated, hidden within neglected grounds, enclosed by high walls. Its grimy stonework had succumbed to a powdery decay and the once grand interior was stained by patches of dampness. Faded curtains, drawn against prying eyes, were shutting out the golden blaze of a July sunset, and shabby, time-worn furniture lurked amongst shadows in dark, high-ceilinged rooms. On a long table, in a portrait-lined salon, the remains of a cold buffet – gnawed chicken legs, sliced meats, half-eaten rolls, wilting salad – were strewn amongst beer cans, empty wine bottles, paper plates and plastic knives and forks. Behind the closed door of one of the smaller bedrooms, Annushka Dvoskin was being fondled by Vincent Fairchild. His moist kisses and clumsy gropings were beginning to irritate her.

  ‘Promise me, Anna, please promise me.’ Vincent breathed the words into her ear.

  ‘Promise you what?’ She tried to make herself more comfortable on the sagging mattress.

  ‘You know –’ He kissed her neck ‘– what I asked you before the others arrived.’

  She felt his hand creeping up between her legs and squeezed them together to halt its progress. ‘No, Vincent!’

  ‘You won’t promise me?’

  ‘No, take your hand away, and no, I won’t promise you.’

  He turned his attention to her breast, chafing the nipple between his finger and thumb. ‘Why won’t you promise me?’ he demanded petulantly.

  ‘That hurts, Vincent.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He made another attempt to kiss her mouth.

  Annushka turned her face away and wet lips slid across her cheek. She let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because we all agreed, at the beginning, at the very first party, that we’d avoid attachments and just enjoy ourselves. It spoils things when people become emotionally involved with one another.’

  ‘But I simply can’t bear it when I see you going into bedrooms with Farnbeck and Barksdale. I absolutely loathe it.’

  ‘Try to be a little less uptight about things, Vincent, or it’s not going to be fun anymore. You may as well stop coming.’

  ‘I bet you wouldn’t say that to Farnbeck.’ Vincent’s tone had become sarcastic. ‘I mean, he’s a viscount, isn’t he? Son of an earl, a member of the bloody aristocracy. Girls seem to get off on that. You wouldn’t mind being exclusively involved with him.’

  He began to press angry, frustrated kisses on her throat and breasts while his hand made another assault on her thighs.

  Annushka sighed. Vincent was being so terribly, terribly boring. Tall, dark haired, handsome in a half-formed way, he was the youthful image of his father. Similarity ended with appearances. When it came to sex he was painfully inept whilst his father was so very accomplished. The Right Honourable Alexander Fairchild had given her the sweetest tenderest kiss when she’d first met him at her friend’s wedding, but it wasn’t until they’d met for the second time, at that ball, last summer, when everyone was out on the terrace ooing and ahhing at the fireworks, that he’d made her realize what this sex thing was all about. Before Alexander it had always seemed rather meaningless, a part of socializing, something one did after abandoning the pastimes of childhood.

  Vincent’s father had awakened her to its delights. He hadn’t rushed things, he’d been calm and relaxed, not the least bit concerned that they might be discovered on the billiard table. And although he’d been so very gentle, he’d been . . . mmm . . . not masterful, no . . . more like confident and assured, accomplished in the art. He’d murmured such sweet things to her in that deep velvety voice of his, caressing her with words as well as his hands, making her feel protected and secure. And he’d smelt so wonderfully clean and fragrant, not stale and sweaty. Compared to Alexander, the young men and boys she’d encountered were mere beginners in the game of love. If only they could meet more often; if only they could be together always.

  A sudden discomfort roused her from her reverie: Vincent’s hand had made its way to the top of her thighs. What possessed him to think that his clumsy fumblings could give her any pleasure? She sighed out her exasperation. Better get it over with. Just let him do it. It wouldn’t take long. If she didn’t, he’d only start throwing the toys out of his pram. Was it just public schoolboys, or was it all boys? So impatient, so insensitive, so utterly inept.

  Annushka lifted her haunches and hooked her thumbs under the elastic of her knickers. It was then that she caught the faint sound of voices and laughter approaching along the passageway, heard a distressed girl crying, ‘You pig, Julian Barksdale! Give me that phone!’ The laughter grew louder as the crowd passed the bedroom door. Rising above it all, a male voice of somewhat affected refinement was saying, ‘It’s only a memento, Nicole. Something for me to treasure through those long lonely nights when I’m back at Oxford.’

  ‘Give it to me.’ The voice was tearfully insistent. ‘Give me that phone.’

  More jeers and laughter drowned out the girl’s pleadings, then the commotion began to fade as the girl and her tormenters jostled on towards the landing and the stairs.

  Annushka pushed Vincent away and propped herself up on her elbows. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Some of the boys have been creeping around, taking pictures and videos of people having sex. They’ve been doing it for most of the evening. They were doing it at the last party.’

  Alarmed, she swung her legs from the bed, picked up her short black skirt and wriggled into it. ‘Have you been doing it, Vincent?’ She slid her feet into black patent leather shoes, then pulled a crimson sweater over her head.

  ‘Not had a chance, have I? I grabbed this room for us, then waited ages while you were with Benson. I told you I was going to find a room. Couldn’t you have stayed with me, let me be first for once?’

  Ignoring him, she snatched up her bag, then, on an afterthought, took his phone and car keys from amongst a pile of coins on the bedside table.

  ‘Dammit, Anna, we’ve not finished. We’ve not even started. I waited ages, and now you’re dashing off. Come back to bed. Don’t take any notice of those silly buggers. Come back . . .’

  She opened the door and looked towards the landing. Young men in various stages of undress, some completely naked, were jostling around a naked girl. One of them was holding a mobile phone above his head. Distressed and agitated, she was leaping up, breasts bouncing as she tried to snatch it from him. Annushka turned and peered into the gloom at the other end of the passageway. A dark-haired girl was leaning out of a doorway, exposing a naked hip and shoulder.

  ‘What’s all the shouting about?’ the girl asked.

  ‘They’ve been taking pictures and videos.’

  ‘What sort of pictures?

  ‘Intimate pictures. Couples having sex. Is anyone in the room with you?’

  ‘He’s gone to the bathroom.’

  ‘Get dressed,’ Annushka urged. ‘Take his mobile, then come and help me find as many phones as we can. I don’t want sniggering boys watching videos of me.’

  Annushka darted into the adjoining bedroom. A naked girl, her long hair dyed blue, was sitting on a rumpled bed sharing a joint with a girl in black satin underwear. Annushka searched jackets and trousers strewn on the floor, fo
und two phones, then turned to leave.

  ‘Looking for something?’ The blue-haired girl’s voice was slurred. She giggled, then passed the badly made spliff to her friend. The girl in black underwear dragged on it, grinned sleepily, then passed it back.

  Deciding it was best not to spread the word, Annushka said, ‘Car keys. We’re going to put them in a bowl, then we’re each going to choose a set, find fresh partners, liven things up a bit.’ She noticed a mobile phone on a dressing table, crossed threadbare carpet and snatched it up. The two girls were giggly and relaxed, their dulled senses hardly able to grasp, much less remember, that a tall blonde girl in a short skirt had taken something.

  ‘Don’t forget to tell us when you start the draw,’ the girl in black underwear called after her. ‘And make sure you leave a Rolls or a Jag for me,’ cried the other. They collapsed in a fit of giggles.

  As she emerged into the passageway, Annushka almost bumped into the dark-haired girl, who’d put on a black dress. She said, ‘I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Rebecca. Rebecca Fenton. Yours?’

  ‘Annushka.’

  Together they crept into more bedrooms. The occupiers had either left to see what all the noise was about, or were too engrossed in one another to notice two girls searching the pockets of discarded clothes. Between them they found six more phones. Small, smooth and slippery, it was difficult to hold on to more than two. Annushka peeled the cover from a pillow and they dropped the phones inside.

  ‘I’ll check the bathrooms,’ Rebecca said. ‘Some of them may have left jackets in there.’

  The young men’s shouts and laughter became a chant as they grabbed the protesting girl’s arms and legs and hoisted her, kicking and screaming, above their heads. They’d emerged from the passageway and were progressing along a wide landing that curved above a columned entrance hall. Terrified now, her frantic pleadings mingled with the clamour of male voices echoing around the vast shadowy space.

  Alarmed and revolted, but unable to tear her eyes away, Annushka watched from a safe distance. The naked girl was being tossed in the air by a gang of youths made wild and senseless by drink and drugs. Moved by some impulse, Annushka took her own mobile phone from her bag; deft fingers pressed keys, touched icons, then she pointed its tiny eye towards the melee and began to capture the scene.

  The jostling became more violent, less controlled; the girl’s screams shriller and more terrified. To the sound of cheers and inane laughter, the young men began to throw her higher and higher. She suddenly bounced from their grasp and tumbled, arms and legs flailing, over the balustrade. Hands reached out and snatched at calves and ankles, but she slid free. There was an audible thud when her head hit the chequered marble floor of the hall below. Shocked into silence, the stupefied youths lined up along the marble handrail and peered down at the body.

  Annushka pointed her phone towards the sprawling figure of the girl. The head seemed misshapen, flattened, compressed into the shoulders, and blood was oozing over the tiles. Fear aroused in her an instinct to flee. She turned, left the landing and ran back down the passageway, calling Rebecca’s name.

  The dark-haired girl emerged from a bathroom and dropped two more phones into the pillow case. ‘Run,’ Annushka insisted. She grabbed the older girl’s hand and pulled her along.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’ve thrown Nicole down into the hall. She’s got to be dead.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Rebecca moaned, and ran faster.

  ‘Over here.’ Annushka steered her through a door and they plunged down winding flights of servants’ stairs. ‘This leads to the kitchens in the basement. They lock the outer doors and the windows on the ground floor are too high to jump from, but we can climb out of one down there.’

  ‘Aren’t there any lights?’ Rebecca panted. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Don’t know where the switches are, but I know the passageways. I used to play hide-and-seek here when I was a child.’

  Heels clattering over stone floors, they turned into a short corridor where some light filtered in through a grimy window at the bottom of a glazed brick shaft, then pushed through a door and staggered, panting, into a large and gloomy kitchen.

  Annushka crossed over to an old porcelain sink, climbed in and released the catch on the window above it. When she tried to lift the sash it wouldn’t move. She glanced around, saw an old iron saucepan, grabbed the handle and swung it at the glass. The crash as it shattered was alarmingly loud, but she continued to wield the pan, breaking away the jagged remnants still lodged in the frame.

  ‘Is that a rug?’ Annushka nodded towards a rectangle of darkness on the floor beside a big Welsh dresser.

  Rebecca lifted a corner and confirmed that it was.

  ‘Bring it here.’

  She dragged it across to the sink, Annushka grasped the end and heaved it over the window frame to protect them from splinters of glass, then took Rebecca’s hand and helped her up. They clambered out of the chilly dampness of the basement kitchen into the fading light and lingering warmth of the summer evening.

  A flight of worn stone steps took them up to ground level. Annushka glanced back at Rebecca. ‘Have you got a car?’

  ‘Left it at home. Don’t like driving when I’ve been partying, so I asked one of the boys to pick me up in town. Someone called Stoggers – I’m sure that’s not his real name. He told me he’s the eldest son of the fourth Baron Pelgrove.’

  Unimpressed, Annushka said, ‘They’re all the sons of something or other. We’ll take Vincent’s. I’ve got the keys.’

  They ran, hand in hand, round to the front of the house where a number of cars were parked, some on weed-invaded gravel, some on a lawn lumpy and coarse for want of care. The facade of the old building towered over them, a dark and brooding silhouette against the evening sky. Not a single gleam of light escaped through the curtained windows; not a sound could be heard. It was as if there had been no revelry, as if a young girl’s life hadn’t ended, just a few brief moments ago, in the hall behind the impressive entrance doors.

  Annushka clicked a key. The lights on a yellow Mini Cooper blinked. She tugged open the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. Rebecca clambered in beside her. Doors slammed, the engine fired, and Annushka crashed her way through the gears as they snarled off down the drive.

  ‘Should we be running away like this?’ Rebecca’s voice was panicky and scared. ‘They’ll have to call the police and the police will want to interview everyone who was here.’

  Annushka braked hard, sent gravel flying as they spun out on to a narrow country lane. ‘The idiots who killed Nicole can talk to the police. And there’s coke dust everywhere: on tables, in the bathrooms.’ She risked a glance at Rebecca. ‘Did you snort any?’

  ‘Just a couple of lines.’

  ‘Well, then, that’s another reason to get away. They’ll test everyone. If you stay, you’ll be charged with possessing. And if they do contact us we can say we got tired of it all and left early and we don’t know a thing about Nicole being thrown off the landing. Did anyone see you taking the phones?’

  ‘Don’t think so. The one or two that hadn’t gone out onto the landing were too stoned or squiffy to remember anything.’

  ‘That’s OK then. Charlotte and a girl with blue hair saw me, but I told them I was collecting car keys for a draw.’ Annushka braked, negotiated a bend, then changed the subject. ‘Did you go to Martha’s?’

  Rebecca tried to brace herself against the erratic motion of the car. How could Annushka chatter on so calmly about nothing when a girl was lying dead back there?

  ‘Martha’s,’ Annushka prompted. She stood on the brakes and dragged the car round a sharper bend. ‘Did you go to the Martha Hemmingway School for Girls?’

  Rebecca let out a breath. ‘That’s right. And you?’

  ‘I’m still there.’

  ‘Still there?’ She gave Annushka a surprised look.

  ‘Going into the sixth form when the
autumn term starts.’

  ‘You look much older than that.’

  Annushka laughed. ‘Everyone thinks so. It can be useful. Who invited you along to the parties?’

  ‘Teddy Farnbeck. We went to Oxford together, met up again at Charlotte’s twenty-first, about a month ago.’

  ‘Viscount Farnbeck? He’s a bit of a Hooray Henry, don’t you think?

  ‘I think he’s rather sweet,’ Rebecca retorted sharply.

  ‘They all can be for a while, then they get bored and become rough and you can tell they couldn’t care less about you. What did you do after Martha’s?’

  ‘Oxford. Took a history degree, then Daddy got me a job as PA to one of the directors of Volmack Financial Services, at their head office in Cheltenham.’

  ‘That where you live?’

  ‘Yes. I used to have a flat there, but last year I had problems and decided to move. Daddy bought me a little house closer to the town centre, in a Regency terrace. It’s rather pretty and very convenient. And you?’

  ‘Underhill Grange, in the countryside, east of Gloucester. But I’m away at school during the week and out and about most weekends now Father’s away. He’s on his honeymoon.’ Annushka’s voice took on a bitter edge. ‘It’s his third. He’s spirited her away on his yacht. They’re cruising in the Aegean.’

  ‘You don’t care for your new stepmother?’

  ‘She’s a bitch. Even worse than the second. They only want his money, but he can’t see it. And they get younger and younger. This one can’t be much older than you. Tatiana Milosovitch, as was. Now she’s Tatiana Dvoskin.’

  ‘Your father’s Vladimir Dvoskin? CT and T Dvoskin?’

  ‘That’s him. Copper, tin and titanium: CT and T. That’s the name he trades under in the West.’

  ‘We buy and sell shares in his companies for clients.’

  Annushka swung into a bend. A wall loomed in the headlights. She stood on the brakes and heaved at the wheel. Tyres screeched, they mounted the verge then bounced back on the road and swayed on. Her voice unruffled, she asked, ‘I presume it was man problems that made you want to leave?’