Free Blood and Stone by Chris Collett Page B

‘What’s the hell’s the matter with you? Last night, and now this? So I’m gone, and yes, it’s sad, but I’m not coming back and nothing’s going to make me. You’ve got to get a grip; get over it and move on. For God’s sake leave the skanky scarf in the car, or better still, take the whole lot straight to a charity shop.’ Mariner couldn’t bring himself to do that, but he tucked the scarf back inside the box and left it in the boot.
    It was as he was retrieving his map-case from the glove compartment that Mariner spied something shiny lying on the floor in the passenger foot well. A coin, he thought at first, but when he picked it up, he found it was a gold locket, oval in shape and with a red stone set into the centre of it. He hadn’t seen anything like it for years, though he remembered a trend for them amongst the girls, back when he was in primary school, mostly containing pictures of their pets as he recalled. It wasn’t his, and he’d never seen it before. He considered briefly if it could belong to Millie, but he’d never seen her wear anything like it and anyway she’d been in the driver’s seat yesterday. The only other explanation was that his passenger had dropped it last night. Prying it open with a fingernail, Mariner expected to see photographs, but instead found that this one had been used for its original purpose, a lock of white hair curled around the tiny, oval compartment behind wafer-thin glass. The gold had an orangey hue and the pattern was worn, and just beneath the eyelet that a chain would have threaded through was a series of tiny hieroglyphics, hallmarking that signified the possible value of the piece. Regardless of that, the fact that he carried it with him seemed to signify that it was of considerable sentimental worth to Bryce too. Mariner went back into the hotel, where the manager looked up the number for the Lamb and Flag at Plas Brynin, and invited him to use the phone.
    â€˜Is Mr Bryce still there?’ Mariner asked when he was connected.
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Jeremy Bryce, a backpacker. He stayed with you last night. Has he left yet?’
    â€˜We had no-one staying here last night,’ the man said. ‘We’re a pub. We don’t have any accommodation.’
    â€˜Maybe he just had a drink then,’ Mariner said, puzzled. ‘He’s a big guy, white hair and beard, fifties, educated.’
    The landlord sounded genuinely confused. ‘We only had locals in here last night, and not many of them, it was such a foul night. You sure you’ve got the right place?’
    â€˜I dropped him off there,’ Mariner explained. ‘Is there anywhere else in the village he might have stayed?’Perhaps that’s what Bryce meant. They have rooms
in the village.
    â€˜A couple of people do B&B. You want their numbers?’
    â€˜Okay.’ It wasn’t what Mariner had intended, but he felt duty-bound to call them. However, no-one last night had put up a hitch-hiker called Bryce, or anyone matching his description. Mariner replaced the phone.
    â€˜Track him down?’ asked the landlord, reappearing.
    â€˜No,’ said Mariner. ‘He must have moved on. Do you know the Lamb and Flag?’
    â€˜Of course, nice place,’ the hotelier said. ‘Owen keeps a good pint.’
    â€˜They don’t do accommodation then,’ Mariner checked.
    â€˜Nah. Owen usually sends people here, if he’s in the mood to.’
    It was odd, Mariner thought, returning to his car. Nothing more than that; just odd. There would be a simple explanation. But why had Bryce implied that he would be staying in the pub, and where had he gone instead, on such a hostile night? Zipping the locket into one of the many pockets on his rucksack, he put it to the back of his mind.
    Meanwhile, if he was going to get in the eight miles he’d planned to walk today, he needed to make a start.