The Death Chamber (21 page)

Phin was glad to know this, because it was a place where you wanted to be sure nothing was lurking in a dark corner watching you.

‘As soon as we’re in, I’ll lock this door as well. Drusilla, you’ve got the torches, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, here you are. One each.’

‘Then let’s go inside.’

Even with the light from Chad and Drusilla’s torches, Calvary was a dreadful place. Phin, keeping one hand on Jude’s arm to guide him, instantly felt the swirling
memories of Calvary’s past pressing in on them. Or was it simply his own knowledge of the place’s history influencing his reactions? He wondered what Jude was feeling, but he did not
look as if he was feeling anything. He was using the silver-topped cane to test where he was going, but was apparently shutting out his surroundings with reasonable success. Phin had no idea if
this was due to Mozart or to sheer force of concentration.

As they went further in Phin reminded himself that he did not believe in ghosts; ghosts were for kids. He liked a good ghost story as much as anyone, but you needed a few cans of beer and a gang
of like-minded friends with you. Ghosts became quite cosy at that kind of party.

There would not be anything cosy about Calvary’s ghosts if they turned up to join tonight’s party. Did Neville Fremlin’s ghost walk these unquiet halls? Fremlin was supposed to
have killed five people – or had it been six? Phin could not remember, although the legend was that the police had never established the final number, and that Fremlin had never talked. Faced
with the gallows had he begged for mercy in his final moments? I’d bet the ranch that you didn’t, said Phin to Neville Fremlin’s ghost. You were the Silver-Tongued Murderer and
I’ll bet you kept up the image to the bitter end.

Chad was leading them along a wide corridor – it did not look to Phin as if anyone had been in here for about a hundred years and the atmosphere was getting worse all the time. It
certainly seemed to be affecting the others: even Drusilla had stopped making languid remarks about the dust and saying things like, Oh God, this is ruining my boots. Phin thought if you came into
a place like this wearing suede boots you should not expect much sympathy if they were spoiled. Drusilla had good legs for boots though, in fact she had good legs for anything, although Phin was
not going to tell her so because she would only make some ball-shrivelling reply.

Their footsteps rang hollowly in the emptiness of the corridors and several times Phin caught a faint overspill of Mozart. Jude had been quite right about it being prowling through dark forests
music.

They walked past what were unmistakably cells: rows of thick-looking doors with small grilles near the top. Some of the doors were sagging off the hinges, and twice they passed cells where there
were no doors at all. Phin glanced inside and repressed a shiver, not because it was such a small soulless place but because it reeked of such loneliness and misery.

Veils of cobwebs hung everywhere and several times scuttling sounds came out of the darkness. Phin had known there might be rats but he had been trying not to think about it. He knew this was
pretty cowardly of him but he could not help it. They would have to make sure there were no rats in the execution room before they shut Jude in and he hoped that particular task did not fall to
him. Meantime he tried not to flinch every time the shadows scuttled.

Dr Ingram was saying something about the place being in quite good repair under the neglect and dirt – Phin suspected he said this more to break the brooding silence than for any other
reason.

‘It’s in lousy repair,’ said Jude. ‘Dry rot everywhere.’

‘I thought you were listening to Mozart.’

‘It’s the end of the first movement. And you can’t really miss the smell of dry rot. Wherever this is, Chad, I hope you haven’t bought it.’

‘Of course I haven’t bought it.’

‘In that case I’ll return to the London Philharmonic. Let me know when we get to wherever we’re going.’

Chad stopped in front of a thick oak door. He did not say anything, but looked back at the others and Phin knew the condemned block – the separate little suite of rooms with the condemned
cell and the execution chamber – was beyond this door. He felt his heart rate bump itself up a few notches. I wish I were a million miles away, he thought. No, I don’t. I’d hate
to have missed this, rats and all. It’s nothing like I imagined, though.

But it was Jude who said, ‘Is this it?’

‘Yes,’ said Chad. ‘Yes, this is it.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The minute they went through the oak door it felt as if a massive weight was pressing down on them. Phin saw Jude recoil and put up a hand as if to shield his face. He turned
his head slightly as if he had heard a sound from the corridors behind them, and Phin’s heart leapt. He thought – there’s someone else in here with us. Jude’s heard someone.
But although he listened intently, he could not make out anything except the rustlings they had heard earlier on and the faint drip of water.

There could never have been much light in here. No windows looked onto the outside world and if Calvary had ever had electricity it had not been brought to this part. Rusted gas brackets hung
from the walls at intervals and the stench was dreadful. Rats again, thought Phin. Or Jude’s dry rot. Or is it the stench of despair and fear? No, I’m being absurd.

Drusilla suddenly pointed to a door on their left. There was a hefty lock on the outside and the now familiar grille three quarters of the way up. She looked at Dr Ingram enquiringly.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘That’s it.’

Condemned cell, thought Phin, remembering the layout plan. He wondered if it would be locked.

It was not locked, but when Chad tried to open the door it groaned and seemed to be stuck. Phin went to help and under their combined pressure it yielded slightly.

‘Harder,’ said Chad, and they tried again. This time a shriek of hinges tore through the dimness like a hundred souls in torment. There was a splintering noise and the door fell
inwards, crashing onto the floor of the cell, sending clouds of dust and debris billowing upwards. Drusilla and the other two jumped back.

‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us,’ said Jude, removing his earpieces. ‘What in the name of heaven was that?’

‘A door collapsed,’ said Chad shortly. ‘Phin, are you all right?’

Phin had been at the forefront and had consequently received the entire dust cloud in the face. His eyes were streaming and he would probably never stop coughing from the ancient dust that had
gone down his lungs, but he said, a bit gaspingly, that he was fine.

‘Have some coffee from the flask,’ said Jude, and Phin gulped it down gratefully and managed to stop coughing.

‘Are you sure it was only a door that fell in?’ demanded Jude. ‘It sounded as if the roof had collapsed at the very least. I suppose this isn’t a wild elaborate joke? You
haven’t brought me to a film set where they’re remaking Dracula, have you? Because between rotting doors and groaning locks this is starting to be almost too good to be true.’

‘You’ve been listening to Mozart’s Twenty-first too much,’ said Chad. ‘But no, it isn’t a film set and it isn’t an elaborate joke.’

Drusilla suddenly said, ‘What’s that?’ and Phin’s heart leapt all over again.

‘What? Where?’

‘That sound. It’s like something vibrating somewhere.’

Phin started to say he could not hear anything and then stopped, because Drusilla was right – there was a faint thrumming sound coming from somewhere quite close to them.

‘It’s not exactly machinery, I don’t think,’ said Jude. ‘But something’s been disturbed by the door crashing in. Like when you pluck the strings of something
and it goes on resonating all by itself.’

The thought of something resonating all by itself somewhere in the darkness of Calvary was almost more than Phin could bear. He saw Dr Ingram’s expression and realized with horror that the
sound was coming from the execution chamber. It’s something to do with the gallows, he thought.

‘It’s stopping,’ said Chad after a moment, and shone the torch inside the condemned cell.

It was larger than the other cells, perhaps twelve by fifteen feet, and incredibly some furniture remained in place. There was a square table in one corner, with a couple of chairs drawn up to
it. That’s where the prisoner would have sat, thought Phin. He’d have turned his head to this door if anyone came in. There’d have been two warders with him and they would have
played cards or chess or chequers. Would they pretend to care who won?

‘Is this where I’m spending the night?’ demanded Jude. ‘In the room where the door fell off? Because if so . . .’

‘No, this isn’t it,’ said Chad. ‘But wait here with Drusilla, will you? Phin, come with me. Bring the other torch and your notebook, will you? Oh, and the
camcorder.’

In American prisons there was, Phin thought, a macabre procession across courtyards and along corridors, but in Calvary the execution shed was just along the corridor from the condemned cell.
Phin, the camcorder slung around his neck, counted the paces as they went. A dozen. Twelve steps between cell and scaffold. He tried not to wonder if the rats might have got into the execution
chamber.

‘This will be it,’ said Chad, and opened the door.

The thrumming of the machinery had not completely died away and with the opening of the door it seemed to shiver under their feet. Phin stopped dead on the threshold, because if the condemned
cell had been bad this was like stepping into a huge suffocating blackness. Waves of anger and fear came at him like invisible smoke. We’re not wanted here, he thought. Whatever ghosts
– whatever memories – are trapped in here, they’re boiling with hatred and resentment and they’re trying to beat us back. But he set his teeth and forced himself to go
inside and examine the room objectively so he could make suitable notes. Size of room, objects in it, condition, construction. The camcorder would pick up a lot of it, but it was as well to have
notes in addition.

The room was approximately the same size as the condemned cell. Chad shone the torch around, showing up the bleak decay. There was a small window high up in one corner, the glass thick with the
grime of years. The brickwork directly beneath it was leprous with damp.

The gallows trap was near the centre: it was about four feet square.

‘Double trapdoors,’ said Chad, shining the torch directly on it. ‘D’you see? They’re sunk into the floor. Not absolutely flush with it, but nearly so. And
that’s the mechanism for the trap alongside it.’ The torchlight fell on a heavy iron lever jutting out of a small square aperture in the floor.

‘It’s nearer to the trap than I thought it would be,’ said Phin after a moment. ‘You’d think they’d have tried to hide it a bit. Had a screen tucked in a
corner, or something. But the – um – the condemned man would have seen it.’

‘They nearly always blindfolded them at the end, I think,’ said Chad, walking around the edges of the trap.

‘The mechanism’s still humming a bit, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. The crash must have disturbed the metal rods under the floor – they’ve probably worked a bit loose over the years. It’s quite a simple mechanism from the look of it
– can you see, Phin? The lever works horizontally. When the executioner slid it across, it pulled the metal rods back, and that removed the plugs holding the doors in place.’

‘And the doors would have dropped,’ said Phin.

‘Yes. The plan shows a vault directly beneath the trap. There’s a stairway from this level, leading down to it.’ He shone the torch onto a second, much smaller trapdoor in a
corner of the room. ‘It won’t move,’ he said ‘I tried it when I checked everywhere. There’s a ring handle, but I can’t budge it.’

Phin knelt down to try, but he could not open the flap either. ‘I don’t think it’s locked or bolted,’ he said. ‘It’s just warped.’

‘That’s what I thought. But it doesn’t materially affect tonight’s shooting, although I’d still like to know what’s down there. We’ll see if we can
force it tomorrow.’

Phin looked up at the thick crossbeam directly over the trap. There was a massive metal bracket clamped to it and a thick iron chain hung down, clearly for the rope itself. The end of the chain
was just over his head; if he reached up he could grasp the last few links. They felt harsh and cold and he let go at once. It was difficult to decide if the crossbeam and chain were more grisly
than the trapdoor mechanism.

‘Should I try for some stills?’ he said. ‘The light won’t be good though, and flash isn’t ideal for this kind of thing, is it?’

‘We’ll get the stills tomorrow,’ said Chad. ‘But we’ll take some footage now, just to get the flavour and scale of the place, and then some of Jude actually
entering. It’ll be shadowy but it’d certainly indicate the atmosphere. Will you do that, Phin? Get as much as you can. Both sets of trapdoors and the levers, of course. Once
Jude’s in here we’ll leave the camcorder running.’

‘Shooting the ghosts,’ Phin could not help saying.

‘Yes.’ Chad waited until Phin had recorded the room from all possible angles, and then went across to the edge of the gallows trap and knelt down to examine it more closely.
‘Switch the camera off for a moment,’ he said. ‘I want to double-check these doors are safe. Because if they aren’t, and if Jude walks onto them without realizing it—
Close the door first. I don’t want him to hear what we’re doing and pick up any clues.’