Necroscope - The Lost Years, Vol II Part 4

'Mah hens!' Bishop gasped. They're in wi' mah poor chickens!'

'Let me get mah licht,' Strachan quietly growled, taking a heavy-duty torch from the back of the car.

'And yere truncheon,' Bishop whined. 'But by G.o.d - a gun would be a sight better... !' Already the mad fluttering, squawking and screeching was dying down.

They were on the track, approaching the outbuildings, when a different sound brought them to a halt. But there are sounds and there are sounds. This one was a cry: eerie, ululant, electrifying - and unmistakable.

'Dog,' Strachan breathed, hurrying forward again. 'Out in the woods back o' the house. A big yin, probably, returned tae the wild.' Even as he spoke the howl was answered, from closer at hand. And when the sound had died away, Strachan added, 'Or dogs. There's been some sheep worrying south o' here.'

'Ye say?' Old Bishop seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. 'Dogs? Ye think?'

'Why, what else?' Strachan moved forward again. *Yere animals must o' smelled 'em.'

'Smelled 'em, heared 'em, seen 'em, probably,' the old man seemed steadier now. 'G.o.d, they've been howlin'

this last half-hour! Put the wind up me and Liz, Ah can tell ye! We saw one o' they frae the upstairs window.

But Gavin,' again he clutched at the constable's arm,'... ye can d.a.m.n mah eyes for liars if they didnae see him stand up on his hind legs! And big... man, he was one big yin!'

There came a rustling from the nearest enclosure - and a moment later a squawk.

'Mah hens!' Old Bishop aimed his torch, sprang forward, skidded to a halt in swirling ground mist where a hole had been torn in the high wire-mesh boundary.

And Strachan saw that the wire was of a heavy gauge. Then: 'Dogs,' Strachan whispered again, his own beam flickering this way and that, but nervously now. 'Big yins, aye.'

Old Andrew turned to him and his mouth was slack. 'G.o.d - they chewed through this wire like it was cheese!'

And again it was the old man's voice that did it to Strachan, got through to him like nothing else could have. And yet again he asked himself, just exactly what had Bishop seen that caused him to lock up his wife and run dancing down the road? An old stoic like Andrew Bishop? Why, there wasn't a more down-to-earth man in all the Highlands! And so far (Strachan suspected) Old Bishop had been entirely too reticent, like he hadn't wanted to destroy his salt-of-the-earth image.

Strachan checked himself; he was now as nervous as the old man. It wasn't good enough. Two of us,' he said. 'Which should be more than enough for a couple of rogue dogs. And anyway, the birds are quiet now. In we go.' He climbed in through the large h ole in the wire, with old man Bishop right behind him.

The enclosure was a big one, free range, with hen-houses on both sides and a boardwalk up the centre. But as the beams of their torches sliced deeper into the swirling mist they saw that the houses had been wrecked, wrenched apart And the carca.s.ses of dead birds were everywhere. Old Bishop picked one up in a trembling hand; not a mark on it. It was as if the creature had died of fright. But others were b.l.o.o.d.y, and some were without heads.

Various alternatives pa.s.sed uselessly through Strachan's mind.

49.

48.Uselessly because they didn't work. This could have been done by foxes - indeed the wanton destruction of so many birds was precisely the fox's modus operandi - but foxes would have dug under the wire, not through it; they couldn't have chopped through it As for wildcats: they would never come this close, and certainly not at this time of year, when there was plenty of food in the wild.

"Well, whatever he was, he's out o' here now,' the constable croaked, and cleared his throat The birds would tell us if he was still here.'

Old Bishop was wandering among the shattered hen-houses, gathering up corpses. "What birds?' he said, his face a fearful mask in Strachan's torch beam. There's no a one o' they left!' And he went st umbling to the far side of the enclosure.

'What about the deer pens?' Strachan was acutely aware of the eerie si lence, and he didn't like it *Ye told me the deer had been scared off?'

'Stampeded, aye. Me and the wife saw them scattering away intae the woods. Ye'd think the place was on fire, by G.o.d! But Gavin, it's time ye knew. Ah don't think the things Ah saw oot here were dogs. Ah'm no sure. Ah cannae say what they were... but no dogs, they yins.'

Before he could continue, there came an uproar of chattering and screeching from a large cage set well apart from the other enclosures. The pine martens!' old Bishop gasped.

'Quick! Back out through the hole,' Strachan husked. , But: 'No!' came Bishop's answer. This wa/11 be better.'

Strachan stumbled to him across the shattered boards of a wrecked hen-house, and found him shaking like a man in a fever beside a second hole in the wire-mesh. His eyes stared fixedly at a trail of bloodied feathers, wings, and bird debris in general, that led off into the night and the mist 'Enough o' this!' Strachan was furious with himself, disgusted at the fear that the situation and the old man's obvious terror had inspired in him. 'Let's see what the/fee* this thing is!'

They went through the hole in the perimeter and ran stumblingly towards t he pine marten cage, where it was at once seen that the animals had only been complaining about - or warning of - the presence of outsiders and possible danger. But despite the fact that the cage wasn't damaged, certainly something had been here. The pine martens' fear was manifest in the way they clung close together, spreadeagled on the wire-mesh ceiling of their cage.

The mist was thicker now, swirling knee-deep and sending tendrils up into the trees bordering the park. This mist,' Old Bishop complained, and s.h.i.+vered uncontrollably, 'man, it clings tae ye!'

It was true: the mist seemed alive, like the thick breath of a beast They moved through it, torch beams stabbing ahead, towards the next enclosur e: a small corral containing Bishop's five prized bison of a species long absent from the Highlands proper.

Which was when things livened up again, and in a single moment the night became a nightmare.

First the agonized bellowing of a beast from beyond the corral's four-bar fencing; then the fence itself splintering outwards as a pair of stampeding bison smashed into it, hurling boards and then themselves in Bishop's and Strachan's direction; and a moment later the sound of breaking gla.s.s, and a cry - a scream - from the dimly visible, dark silhouette of the old man's house: 'Andrew! Andrew! Andrew] Let me out... oh, let me out.1"

Sent flying as the wild-eyed, fearful bison went thundering off into darkness, the two men picked themselves up - only to stumble aside as two more animals came snorting and kicking through the break. Then Old Bishop was off at a run, heedless of life and limb, towards the house. 'Liz!' he shouted. 'Ah'm comin', la.s.s, Ah'm cominT And Strachan was on his own, fairly certain that whatever was plaguing the beasts was in the corral. But all he could see through the break was a lake of mist with milky tendrils lapping outwards from some central disturbance. Then- -The black and crimson hump of a thras.h.i.+ng animal's back heaved up into view, breaking the surface... and other things reached up to pull it under again!

Strachan wasn't sure what he'd seen; it had happened too quickly. But an afterimage, of thick white ropes - or arms? - fitted with grapples or claws - or taloned hands? - burned on his riveted retinae. He stood there as if nailed in position, smelling hot blood and listening to tearing sounds... and the bison's panting and bellowing, quickly dying away.

And then the snarling, and s...o...b..ring of frenzied - what, gluttony? - as the ripples of mist continued to swirl outwards from that deadly central area...

How lo ng? Difficult to say. Minutes that felt like hours, before Strachan could think again. Or before he was galvanized to activity, as the knee-deep mist began swirling and rippling in his direction, and vague outlines were seen within the mist, with eyes like lamps that burned on him!

He had no weapon but a torch. Glancing this way and that he saw pieces of shattered fence at his feet and s.n.a.t.c.hed up a two-foot length of inch-by-four sharpened to a splintery point where it had broken along the grain. There were three pairs of luminous eyes in the mist Three - whatever they were - were in there; they spread out as they moved towards Strachan.

But seen out of the corner of Strachan's eye, coming from the Necroscopt: The Lost Years -Vol. II 51.

50.direction of the house and heading for the woods, a figure. Not Bishop but... a figure that leaned oddly forward, upright like a badly formed man - or woman - loping through the mist And its eyes were luminous, too...

... Then Old Bishop was back, and a double-barrelled shotgun in his trembling hands. 'Ah found a couple'ay sh.e.l.ls," he found time to pant... before the scene at the corral impacted on his mind. And cursing as he pointed his gun - without even bothering to aim - he let fly with both barrels. There came a flash and a roar both dazzling and deafening, which for a single second blew apart the menacing dark and stunned silence.

Half-blinded by the flash, Strachan threw up an arm before h im as the mist erupted! He was bowle d over - something bowled him over, and raked at the sleeve of his jacket in its pa.s.sing.

Then there was a blur of sinuous motion, an angry snarling receding rapidly into the woods behind the animal park, and an urgent howling ringing down from the foothills beyond the trees. Almost as if... as if they were being called off.

And there was a gasping and sobbing from old Andrew Bishop, stretched p.r.o.ne on the earth. 'It's mah d.a.m.n leg!' the old man groaned. 'Mah bleddy leg! It has tae be broken. But did ye see, Gavin? Did ye see?1 'No.' White as a ghost, the constable went to him. 'Nothing that makes sense, anyway.'

'But... dogs?' the old man pressed.

And as their eyes met Strachan was obliged to admit: 'No, Ah cannae say they were dogs.'

'What, then?' Bishop's voice was a whisper.

Strachan could only shake his head. The sleeve of his uniform and s.h.i.+rt had been sliced as by razors down to the skin, but by some miracle his skin was unmarked. And no matter what he might think he had seen, what he thought he'd seen couldn't possibly have done that. Not unless it - or she? - had a handful of razor blades...

At the house Liz Bishop was in a bad state of hysteria. Shuddering and almost incoherent, she told a story that night that she could never repeat to any court, nor ever commit to paper. Her husband wouldn't let her, and he himself would later deny all knowledge of anything but 'an attack by wild or rogue animals, probably dogs, on the creatures of the park.' Perhaps he feared ridicule, but Strachan thought not. Knowing Andrew Bishop's character, it seemed more likely he believed that in denying what he truly believed, he might make it go away - like a man whistling in the dark. And later, the constable might have wished that he had taken a similar course. As for Mrs Bishop's story: Alarmed by the squawking of the chickens and the frenzy of the pine martens, she'd gone to the window of her upstairs bedroom and looked out Immediately beyond the window, a balcony overlooked the park; and down below, there was the mist, of course: a milky lake lapping between the trees and various enclosures.

But also down there, crouching by the wall of the house and staring up at her...

... Something wild and naked and awful, and human! Or perhaps not human.

For as its yellow triangular eyes met hers, the creature had snarled, sprung upright, bounded all of fifteen feet into the air to grasp the balcony rail and vault over it And its face had stared at her through the window, as its lips became a muzzle that drew back from teeth like bone daggers! At which she had picked up a chair and smashed it at the thing through the window, then screamed for her husband, and for her life.

But when next she had dared look the thing had gone, and all Mrs Bishop could remember of it was that, 'It looked like ... Ah could swear ... Ah mean, it wasnae all animal, Andrew! Am Ah mad, or what? It looked something like... Ah mean, it reminded me o'... a la.s.sie? But what sort o' la.s.sie, Andrew? What sort?' And her last few words had been spoken in little more than an awed and frightened whisper.

That was what she'd said that night, but the next day she was in too bad a way to record a statement, and old man Bishop too busy looking after her. Meanwhile: 'Mah report had gone in,' Strachan finished. 'Ah was young and eager; Ah would hae made a good cop; Ah tol' it the way Ah saw it Big mistake. When finally they Bishops did speak about it huh, it was animals did the job. No specific creature, ye ken, but most likely dogs. Me? Ah was left holdin' the bleddy baby! And it came out how Ah'd had a couple'ay wee drams that night! So that was that As for the rest...

1... Ah got no peace frae then on in - until Ah got out! What an idiot, eh? For like Ah said, Ah tol' it the way Ah saw it, and Ah tol' what Ah saw. That was mah error.'

'But what did you see?' Inspector lanson pressed, fascinated by the sweat on Strachan's brow, despite that his flat was cool.

The other nodded. 'Hear me well,' he said, for if s the last time, Ah swear. Ah had seen wolves, George!

White wolves, or things that moved, crept and snarled like wolves. Certainly Ah had seen one wolf - the one that came frae the house, after scarin' Liz Bishop half tae death. But the h.e.l.l o' it is that as the thing made for the trees, just before Old Bishop let go wi' that double blast it looked more like a la.s.sie! Aye, just like the old lady had said. But wolf, b.i.t.c.h, girl or some r 52.53 sort of weird mixture - whatever it was - it stood on its hind feet, George, upright! Now how can ye explain that?'

The Inspector believed he had evidence that might explain it. "What if she wasn't a dog?' he queried. 'Or a she-wolf, if you insist Could it be that what you saw was a mad woman running with rogue dogs? How about it, Gavin? Could I be right?'

'Eh?' Strachan licked his lips, frowned, and finally said: There's more tae yere visit than meets the eye. Now how about you tell me a story for a change? Like, how it is wi" this case ye're workin" on?'

There are - might be - similarities,' lanson admitted. Then, sighing, he said, 'OK, it's a deal. Ill tell you something of it, on the understanding it's for your ears only.'

'Done! But let's go through intae mah study... Well, Ah call it a study. As for what Ah'm studyin' - what Ah've been readin' intae for years - Ah've learned better than tae put it on open display.'

He got up, crossed the floor and opened a door to a room scarcely bigger than a closet. There was s.p.a.ce for a desk, two chairs, and bookshelves built into the walls; and there was one small, high window to let in a little light in daylight hours. That was all.

As Strachan saw lanson seated, and went off to fetch his bottle and gla.s.ses, the Inspector stared at the shelved books, so close at hand, and read off some of their tides to himself. And because of recent events and conversations, it didn't take him long to recognize the nature of Strachan's obsession. Lycanthropy: werewolves. Anything and everything in literature to do with them. But there were also a good many books on predators - real-life predators - in general, but mainly wolves...

'Even comic books, aye,' Strachan said grimly, as he entered, sat opposite his guest and poured a drink. 'If if s tae do wi' the beast, Ah probably have it. An obsession? - maybe.' He offered the Inspector the bottle but lanson turned it down.

Thanks, no. I've other people to see tonight. But Gavin, are you telling me that all of this springs from that night up in the wildlife park?'

Strachan's nod was his answer, qualified by: 'So maybe Ah really am as daft as they say, eh? Anyway, now ye know what Ah dream of nights, and why Ah'm reluctant tae talk about it. And, now it's yere turn tae talk.'

lanson had spotted a book he recognized. Its subject was nature's meat-eaters, its predators of course, but the Inspector was more interested in the author. If only because he knew him. And as he told Strachan some of the details of the murder at Sma' Auchterbecky, so he took the book down, opened it, and idly flipped the pages. Wild Dogs, Big Cats, by Angus McGowan. This was an earlier printing than the one lanson had seen previously at Angus's place during a rare, rare visit; it was an old and shoddy copy, strained at the spine and badly thumbed, with creased and discoloured pages throughout. Later editions contained a lot more information, the Inspector knew.

It was definitely McGowan's work, though; despite that the paint had flaked out of the spine's stamping, still the lettering clearly displayed his name. And then there was his picture on the inside back flap.

Finally lanson finished telling Strachan about the murder. And putting down the book (frowning as he rap ped his fingers on it; something bothering him that he h adn't as yet pinned down), he said: 'So now you see why I remembered that business at the wildlife park and wanted to talk to you. Even now the connection may be weak to nonexistent, but however remote the chance, still I had to look into it.'

Strachan nodded. 'Oh, Ah see well enough. But now tell me, George, and honestly, mind: do ye believe mah story?'

The Inspector thought about it. Til tell you what I believe,' he finally answered. T believe there are some things we simply don't know, can't understand. But I also believe that fear is contagious, and that when people are afraid they .become victims of their own imaginations.'

Strachan said, 'Huh! So ye don't believe even now, eh?'

lanson shrugged. 'What does it matter?' he said. 'I certainly believe that you believe! And also that when you left the force we lost... well, "a good yin."'

He glanced at his watch. It was time he was on his way.

But at the door he paused, frowned again, and looked back in the direction of Strachan's small study.

Strachan followed his gaze, lifted an eyebrow and asked, 'Is there somethin'?'

'Do you mind?' the Inspector said. He crossed to the tiny room, entered, and picked up McGowan's book again. And turning to the opening pages, he checked something. Then, frowning yet more deeply, he said, 'May I borrow this? And when I return it, can we talk ag ain?'

'As ye will,' the other shrugged. 'As long as we can talk about yere case, not mine.'

The Inspector agreed, and taking the book with him went to keep his appointment with Bonnie Jean Mirlu.

But first he called in at Police HQ to pick up the file on Strachan's Highland incident, and some photographs of John Moffat, plus one or two other pieces of information that had begun to trickle in. For one thing, the Inspector's investigators had tracked down Moffat's address, and for another they'd found his car in a snowdrift half a mile from Sma' Auchterbecky. At least the frame of the jigsaw was taking shape, if not the finer details...54.Necroscope: The Lost Yean - Vol. II 55.The street was awash in snow turning to slush as the Inspector was let into BJ.'s just ten minutes ahead of his appointment But she was ready to see him. And: 'As ye see,' she said, in the bar-room, 'business suffers a bit on nights like this. Who in his right mind wants tae turn out for a drink on a night like this, eh? So Ah'm sorry, but as ye can see no all mah girls are in tonight. Margaret's no in - Ah've given her a few days off - and no point bringing all four of the others in tae sit around doing nothing. So there's only mahself and these two. And besides, as Ah told ye on the phone. Ah can't see how we can help anyway.'

lanson's coat was taken from him by one of the girls, and as he gave the place a cursory once-over BJ. said, We'd best talk upstairs in mah rooms. It being so quiet, Ah don't expect well be disturbed.' She was right: there were only two men in the place. One was at the bar chatting to the second girl, and the other at a table, head down, nursing his drink.

So now the Inspector could concentrate more fully on B J. Her accent puzzled him face-to-face no less than on the phone. It was antique, yet modern, too - 'stage' Scottish. When she used it, it sounded unreal: a sort of'designer' brogue. Maybe she had an upper-cla.s.s background while her a.s.sumed tongue was that of the lower- to middle-cla.s.ses, as befitted her position. For what was she in reality but a barmaid? lanson told himself that this wasn't his own sn.o.bbish att.i.tude but merely a factual observation. And perhaps that was the essence of it: she didn't want her clients thinking she was 'a posh yin.'

As for the girl - or woman - herself: Well, her age was hard to gauge, as witness lanson's indecision. But then again (he was obliged to ask himself), what is the difference between a girl and a woman anyway? And has age got anything to do with it, or is it a matter of experience? As for his own experience: lanson had never been much of a one for the girls.

Having never married, he had to admit that his knowledge was limited.

BJ. was undeniably attractive. Tall and well-formed, her figure was all curves and her posture self-a.s.sured as any model's. Her hazel eyes were interesting. They had an almost Eurasian slant, and yellow flecks in their cores that loaned them a golden gleam in the bar's muted lighting. One might even say she had feral eyes. Her ears were large but not obtrusive; they lay flat to her head and seemed elflike with their pointed tips. BJ. was probably sensitive about them, however, for she kept them not-quite-hidden in the swirl and bounce of her s.h.i.+ning, oddly neutral hair. Her nose was tip-tilted and a little flattened, and her mouth too ample by far, yet perfect in the curve of its bow. And h er teeth were as white and well-cared for as any the Inspecto r had ever seen.

Thus he captured her description, as years of practice had taught him to do, while she took him upstairs and made him comfortable in her living-room over the bar. There she offered him a drink, which he politely refused, and when she was settled he quickly got down to it.

'D.

id you know the man who atta cked Margaret Macdowell? His name was John Mof fat and he lodged on the other side of town.' He showed her a photograph taken from Moffaf s lodgings.

'Ah recognize him, yes,' she answered, staring at the picture. 'But did Ah know him?' Now she glanced at lanson. 'Not at all. The girls get tae know some o' them, but Ah steer clear.'

'Your girls -1 mean your staff - form romantic attachments?'

'No such thing!' she bridled. They get tae know the regulars, that's all, just as yell know all the crooks.'

'I see. But he did used to come in here. A frequent customer, was he?'

'As Ah said, Ah recognize him. He was in once, maybe twice a week. But it has tae be said, he did fancy Margaret'

'She didn't encourage him?"

B J. sighed - patiently, lanson thought 'Mah girls are no like that, Inspector. Ah pay them tae work, not flirt.

And just in case ye're wonderin' if this is a wh.o.r.ehouse, Ah can tell ye now it's no! Ah rim a wine bar, nothin' more than that*

'I never once thought differently,' lanson could afford to be truthful with her, for in fact he h adn't formed any opinions as yet As was his wont, however, he now pulled something right out of the blue.

'How about dogs?' he said, his eyes riveted to BJ.'s face.

She blinked, just once, and her expression registered surprise if not alarm. 'Dogs?'