SEVEN BODIES

  V.J. RANDLE

  Copyright © 2026 V.J. Randle

  The right of V.J. Randle to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2026 by Bloodhound Books.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Print ISBN: 978-1917705561

  CONTENTS

  Newsletter sign-up

  How It Ends

  48 hours earlier

  Lucas

  Zach

  Jules

  Zach

  Jules

  Lucas

  Marta

  Calan

  Zach

  Lucas

  Jules

  Lucas

  Marta

  Jules

  Zach

  Lucas

  Calan

  Lucas

  Marta

  Jules

  Zach

  Calan

  Marta

  Lucas

  Jules

  Lucas

  Marta

  Jules

  Marta

  Lucas

  Jules

  Marta

  Calan

  Jules

  Marta

  Lucas

  Jules

  Lucas

  Calan

  Jules

  Lucas

  Jules

  Lucas

  Calan

  Jules

  Lucas

  Jules

  Calan

  Lucas

  Calan

  Jules

  Lucas

  Jules

  Calan

  Calan

  Lucas

  Jules

  Epilogue

  Author’s note

  Also by V.J. Randle

  You will also enjoy:

  Newsletter sign-up

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A note from the publisher

  For my lovely Dad, who I’m certain is always looking over my shoulder as I write.

  ‘Don’t you see? We’re the Zoo… Last night, we were hardly human any more. We’re the Zoo…’

  VERA CLAYTHORNE, AND THEN THERE WERE NONE, AGATHA CHRISTIE

  HOW IT ENDS

  The bodies were inside.

  A lone figure watched over them and waited, their breathing shallow and excitable. It took on a rhythmic quality against the churn and spit of the radiators springing to life.

  The Tornivan Hotel loomed over the loch as if everything was as it should be. The snow on the driveway had already begun to turn grey and sludgy as the temperatures warmed, but the winds still howled through the hills before circling around the building’s dark turrets. The sound of sirens called from nearby, as well as the churn of a helicopter.

  Tyres rolled over the wet gravel. The main door swung open; it was unlocked. The first wave of officers entered. Shouts echoed up the stairs against the backdrop of fuzzy radios and under-the-breath swear words.

  Eventually, the footsteps made it to the top floor. Hands grabbed the figure, dragging them roughly and efficiently out of the place. Commands were issued, orders were shouted.

  Then, the rush of cold morning air, the aggressive push of the shoulder, the slamming of vehicle doors. Wheels skidded as they reversed in haste. Driving away, the hotel looked idyllic – the backdrop for the perfect weekend.

  And it had been perfect. In the end.

  48 HOURS EARLIER

  JULES

  Jules told herself to pull it together. Her face was blotchy and bloated. Mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. She had fifteen minutes before she had to be at reception, based on the first arrival time. She couldn’t greet guests in this state. They’d take one look at her and jump straight back into their cars. And who would blame them? Who on earth would want to spend their weekend hosted by a blubbering mess like her?

  The trouble was, the more she told herself to stop crying, the more the tears flowed. It was the same as yesterday morning, and the morning before, and, if she was honest, most mornings this year. Nothing seemed to help. Every day, her alarm drilled through the side of her skull, chasing away the remaining drag of sedatives, and she opened her eyes to that great, daunting yawn of a black hole.

  She could not see what the point was anymore. The prospect of carrying out even the simplest of tasks overwhelmed her. She often imagined herself wrapped up tightly in her duvet, the door to her small attic flat closed, as the rest of the hotel crumbled and disintegrated around her.

  But things could turn around today. She mouthed the words as an affirmation: make this weekend count. Make it count, Jules.

  She shuffled out of the bathroom to answer the buzzing of her phone. Swearing softly, she rejected the video call. She’d forgotten that her therapy session had been rearranged. There wouldn’t be enough time to do it now. And, anyway, she preferred to talk when she was calmer. She began typing what she hoped would be a good enough excuse to avoid paying for the cancellation – apologies, last-minute hotel emergency! Chef’s off sick, so I need to step in – and perched herself on the love seat below the window that looked over the driveway.

  This view was half of the problem. It was magnificent. The mountains reached purple and jagged into the heavy skies, piercing low-lying clouds, so their peaks seemed to float in space. The loch stretching alongside the driveway mirrored the landscape with such clear precision that it was as if the hotel was perched on the edge of a prism, where the boundaries of reality and reflection were blurred.

  Jules placed a finger on the windowpane and traced the outline of the upside-down mountains on the loch. Her life was like them, she thought. A reflection of what she used to be, how she used to act. A half-reality. She looked the same, give or take a few comfort-eating pounds, but underneath her skin, she was a cold and watery mess of pills, alcohol, and caffeine.

  She remembered the first time she had seen these mountains four years ago. Rob had been so excited to go the long way on their hike back to the campervan. She knew that he’d been keeping some sort of a secret, but she went along with it, pretending to complain her boots were rubbing to wind him up. When they turned the corner at the foot of the loch, she hadn’t known what she was looking at. Rob had held her face in his hands. His fingers had been icy against her cheeks, but she hadn’t cared.

  ‘What do you think then?’

  ‘Of the castle…?’

  ‘It’s not a castle. But, yes… do you like it?’

  She’d laughed. She used to laugh all the time with Rob. His boundless sense of possibility, an almost childlike excitement at the world had been the thing that first attracted her to him. The place was run-down, obviously, but it was stunning, so lonely and beautiful nestled amongst the landscape.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s for sale… needs work, but…’

  ‘Rob—’

  ‘Neither of us needs to be in London for work, do we? We could sell the flat and have money left over! Look, just hear me out… this is what we’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’

  She’d been speechless. He was right: every time they packed up the van and drove through the night to the West Coast, they fantasised about owning a huge house in the middle of nowhere. They’d turn it into a boutique hotel, a Scottish escape, fill it with log fires and whisky lounges. Jules would run the marketing and hospitality; Rob would instruct the outdoors pursuits. This was the dream.

  Rob had massaged her temples in the van that night. He’d poured them both a whisky in plastic beakers. They ran through the finances, the hopes, the dreams. At the time, it had seemed that there was no reason not to put an offer in. They put their London flat on the market a week after that.

  Six months later, they had been elbow-deep in plaster and paint, music blaring from the speakers as they worked, giggling every five minutes in disbelief at the fact that they’d actually done it. They’d made the move. They were living the life that they had dared to imagine.

  Then she’d ruined everything.

  Jules felt her face grow hot and rested her forehead against the cool window. Her stomach tightened as the familiar lick of shame reared its head. She stood quickly, tugging herself away from the memories. There was no use going over and over them, despite what the therapists said. The only way for her to survive, and she was sure of this, was to forget about her previous life. And if that took alcohol, pills and other distractions, so be it.

  A car, a silver Mercedes, emerged from the pine forest at the end of the drive. It stopped just before the car park, as she’d predicted it would. New arrivals liked to take in their surroundings. The medley of baronial architecture, the loch, the mountains, the field of free-roaming Highland coos, promised a romantic start to any weekend break. She watched a man, probably in his late thirties, open the passenger door and edge towards the nearest cow.

  He was we
aring what most hotel guests viewed as “country chic”: dark jeans, a jumper (most likely cashmere), a quilted gilet, and leather ankle boots that wouldn’t last a minute on the estate walking trails. His hand hovered in the air, slightly apprehensive as he approached the huge, shaggy animal. Jules identified the cow as Fern; she was, like the whole herd, completely docile. The calves, Bracken, Heather and Thistle, trotted behind her. The man patted her forehead and he grinned, turning to call something back to his partner in the driver’s seat.

  Exhaling, Jules licked her lips and set her mouth into her best smile. The Mercedes was now parked, and the couple were taking their bags from the boot. She would make it work, she thought.

  If it was the last thing she did, she would make this godforsaken hotel work. There was really no other option.

  LUCAS

  So far, so excellent. Lucas knew how smug he must look as he followed Sandeep through the huge, arched hotel doors. Give or take a few cows (who were adorable, actually) and that weedy gardener, nobody was watching him. He could enjoy a little bit of self-congratulation.

  From the moment he had woken Sandeep up early that morning with a mimosa, a kiss, and a hint for him to pack clothes for “walks and snuggles”, everything had gone according to plan. The cab had arrived on time, there’d been business flights available for an upgrade, the car he’d hired at Inverness was just as swish as he thought it would be.

  Sandeep didn’t seem to mind too much that Lucas had forgotten about having to drive from the airport to the hotel, so had been, let’s say, a tad enthusiastic about the free champagne on the flight. Anyway, Sandeep enjoyed driving. He’d said so himself. Who wouldn’t have loved speeding along those scenic roads, past ruined castles built on islands in the middle of frozen lochs, undulating mountains everywhere you looked? It was completely breathtaking. And Lucas had planned it all.

  He did have to admit that the girl at reception was a bit of a let-down. She looked like she’d been weeping – either that or she suffered from a very unfortunate complexion. He’d hoped for something more befitting of the lofty surroundings. Certainly, they ought to get someone Scottish on the front desk. This woman sounded as if she was from across the road in Tooting.

  She was also completely incompetent, clicking away at the old mouse listlessly, biting her chapped lip, glancing up and down at them. It had taken her an age to locate his booking, even though he’d repeatedly shown her the email, which was clearly labelled: Highland Getaway Package. For an awful breath, he’d been nervous she might ask him to pay full price. This weekend was all about treats and luxury… but he wasn’t sure his credit card would stretch to this place’s non-discounted rates. The Tornivan was properly exclusive – it even smelt expensive… what was that… lavender? – which is why he’d been delighted to see it on offer this weekend. They deserved only the best. Thank goodness she’d found the booking in the end.

  Anyway, they were here! He and Sandeep. At a luxurious castle retreat.

  ‘Could we please have some champagne brought up to the room?’ The words spilt out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He then added, for good measure, ‘Pink, if you have any!’

  ‘Lucas, I think we’ve had enough…’ Sandeep began.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Lucas presented his credit card to the receptionist, who observed it in a strange manner, before sliding it back to him and mumbling something about a room tab. She turned her back to them and opened a key cupboard, muttering something else about breakfast timings.

  Lucas grinned as Sandeep moved closer to him, nuzzling into his neck. He could not remember the last time he had felt so relaxed. It’d been a long and tiring term at school; they really needed a proper break. He sighed and moved his face to meet Sandeep’s, melting into the embrace.

  ‘Seriously though, Lucas – champagne? We can’t afford that. Just get some Prosecco.’

  Lucas stiffened. Why couldn’t he just lighten up? Life was for living, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as if they did this sort of thing all the time. And Prosecco! Was he mad? Everyone knew only people who knew precisely nothing about anything ordered Prosecco.

  ‘Just getting into the mood!’ he replied. He took Sandeep’s hand and swung it into the air, spinning beneath it. ‘This weekend is exactly what we need. Your wish, my love, is my desire!’

  He had hoped that Sandeep would find his over-the-top display funny and endearing. Instead, he gave a very small, awkward laugh and hunched his shoulders forwards. ‘I’m just a bit concerned about how much⁠—’

  ‘It’s my treat!’ Lucas heard his voice rise a little higher. He gulped, calming himself. Everything was fine. There was no need to lose his cool. This was typical Sandeep, which was precisely why he loved him. He was a planner, an organiser. He liked spreadsheets and numbers and tech and details and all those sorts of mind-numbing things. He was, let’s not forget, a Computer Science teacher. In fact, this little frugal tantrum was quite cute.

  He brought Sandeep into a deep hug and said, ‘There’s no need to worry about anything this weekend. I promise. I’ve got it covered.’

  The woman at reception handed them their key, and, without offering to carry their bags, Lucas noted, led them up the wide mahogany stairs and along an impressive corridor lined with oil paintings.

  ‘The, um, Dunmore Suite,’ she said, opening the door.

  Lucas’s annoyance at her less-than-enthusiastic demeanour disappeared as he entered the room. It was simply stunning. An enormous four-poster bed, pulled tight with pressed white linen and a mound of decorative tartan cushions overlooked tall bay windows which framed the spectacular mountaintops outside. Two luxurious armchairs sat invitingly before a log fire and a magnificent mahogany platform beneath the main windows mounted a bronze bathtub.

  ‘We check the fireguards periodically throughout the day, otherwise we couldn’t allow guests to have log fires in the rooms,’ said the miserable receptionist. ‘It’s just for safety reasons. I’ll always knock, so don’t be alarmed.’

  Lucas fought a flutter of irritation as Sandeep met her with earnest approval. Why were they talking about health and safety? Why was she still here? He was ready to crack open the champagne (although he suspected she’d already forgotten), strip off, coax Sandeep into a bubble bath, and while away the rest of the morning in fluffy robes.

  ‘Right! Well, if you need anything, then do let me know…’

  The woman was clearly attempting to sound bright and cheerful, but her voice rose with a manic edge. Lucas moved towards the door to usher her out.

  ‘And the champagne…?’ He ignored how Sandeep shifted uncomfortably behind him.

  ‘Ah, yes! I’ll bring it up in a moment,’ she said. She scratched her head, as if confused about something. Lucas couldn’t help but notice the telltale signs of stress: raw, red, chewed fingernails, dark circles above sallow cheeks. He’d become quite apt at spotting this sort of thing in his role as Head of Year Ten. There was no judgement on his part, none at all, but didn’t she feel the need to do herself up? This was a sophisticated place, after all.

  ‘Just knock and leave it by the door,’ he said, attempting to sound as cavalier as possible, as if champagne and boutique hotels were regular features in his life. He had to admit, he was taking to all this like a duck to water. If only he could get Sandeep into the groove. For the weekend’s plans to really come into their own, he needed him to cut loose a little. At the moment, he was standing uneasily in the middle of the room as if he’d been asked to give an impromptu assembly.

  The woman nodded and closed the door behind her. Lucas turned to Sandeep, his arms wide, his mouth spreading into a naughty grin. ‘Time for a bath?’

  ‘It’s eleven o’clock in the morning…’

  ‘Come on.’ Lucas sashayed towards him, making sure to inject a cheeky glint into his eyes. Sandeep could never refuse him when he really turned it on. All it took was lowering his voice to a breathy whisper, hooking his fingers into the waist of Sandeep’s trousers, and pressing against him, not too hard, but certainly suggestively.

  As he expected, Sandeep relented. He sighed, hanging his arms around Lucas’s neck.

  ‘You’re too much,’ he said. Lucas watched the hesitance leave his face and give way to a softer expression. This was much better.