The Lost Village: A Haunting Page-Turner With A Twist You'll Never See Coming! (Ghost Hunters 2) by Spring Neil

Author:Spring, Neil [Spring, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2017-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

– 19 –

LIES BETWEEN FRIENDS

‘Mr Hartwell,’ the commander said, his jaw flexing – with annoyance, I thought. ‘We were told you were resting.’

‘I heard from one of the soldiers that there have been enquiries from the newspapers.’

‘Indeed, and we are just discussing—’

‘How to manipulate the headlines? The news of my dear wife’s tragic demise?’ he said belligerently, advancing into the office. From the stormy look on his face I worried he was about to throw a punch. ‘How bloody dare you broach such matters without thinking first to involve me?’

‘Actually,’ Price said, ‘we were discussing your son – Pierre.’

Hartwell looked taken aback. ‘And what, pray tell, has my son got to do with you?’

‘Gentlemen,’ the commander said hastily, ‘can I suggest that we all take a seat?’

I offered my chair to Hartwell, thinking the poor man looked impossibly weary. Before he could sit, however, he saw on the commander’s desk the queer cast of putty bearing the impressions of three small fingers.

He caught his breath sharply.

Price looked across at me, then stood and angled his head towards Hartwell.

‘You recognise this cast, sir?’

‘Why, yes. I’ve seen one just like it, at home. It belonged to Marie –’

He trailed off, his mind making the connections. Then he looked questioningly, accusingly, at Price. ‘You said you were discussing my son? Now look here, what’s all this about?’

Price studied him. ‘Do you know whose fingerprints this cast bears, sir?’

‘No, why should I? What are you . . .’

He broke off, looking around at us all somewhat self-consciously.

I stood there, numb, anxious, anticipating. Surely to heavens Price wasn’t about to disclose to Hartwell the facts of the Imber séances – was he? I didn’t believe he would. At least I hoped not.

‘You’d better sit down,’ Price advised.

Hartwell did sit now, slowly, shaking his head with impatient confusion. And as Price opened his mouth to speak, I barely restrained the impulse to tell Hartwell to clamp his hands over his ears – or better, to get out of the room, for his own sake.

‘This will be hard to hear, but the warden here believes . . . Oh dear.’ Price took a breath.

I clamped a hand onto his arm. ‘Harry, no—’

Almost immediately, the commander rallied to my cause. ‘Quite – Mr Hartwell does not need to hear this! Certainly not now!’

‘The warden believes he has witnessed the ghost of your son.’

Hartwell jerked his head back. In a terrible silence, his eyes made an uncertain circuit of the room. It was as if Price had pulled the pin on a grenade and lobbed it, and now there was nothing to do but wait for the explosion.

But none came, not at first. Only a quiet, hurt voice. ‘Is this some sort of depraved joke?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Price answered, picking up and examining the cast of putty.

Then he told Hartwell the rest, about the séances carried out at the Imber mill.

‘I can barely believe I’m hearing this,’ Hartwell said, his eyes shifting hatefully between Sidewinder and the commander. ‘After all that has happened this dreadful day.

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