There were more people in the courtyard below, in groups or alone, enjoying the suddenly clement weather. As before, he directed his gaze towards the far side of the courtyard and the ruined arch from where he’d been given his first view of the castle; at present, a single uniformed guard stood beneath it, as if to dissuade any drifters from taking that route. As he watched, Ash saw the guard turn his head to speak into his wrist radio. The investigator wondered what his message would be: all quiet on the home front? No trespassers and no escapees? Despite the grandeur and the plushness of its interior, Ash couldn’t help thinking of Comraich as a luxurious Colditz, with its extensive electrified and razor-wired fence, patrolling guards and strategically placed CCTV cameras. Sir Victor Haelstrom could almost be the Kommandant. Or . . . his thoughts lingered on this . . . or maybe the thin man with the grim face and the pot-belly, who seemed to have deliberately avoided meeting Ash this morning, was in charge.
