The Cold Calling Part 53

The squat one walked out into the middle of the yard. 'I said 's there any f.u.c.ker in?' Turned back. 'Deserted. What y'wanna do, Bez?'

'Not going back without. No way. We f.u.c.ked up once. f.u.c.k up twice, you get a reputation. We'll wait. I'm not staying out here, neither.' Bez looked up. 'Gonna rain. Yow go'n do a door, I'll just check the outbuildings. In case. And the castle, case Dracula's in. Eh? Gallow?'

'f.u.c.k off.' The squat one, Gallow, jerked up a forefinger and walked off towards the house.

'Hey!'

''s up?'

'Just in case ...' The red-haired one, Bez, took his hand out from inside his jacket. Something gleamed. 'Which one you want?'

'Gimme the sawn-off then. Might be a few of 'em in there, keeping quiet sorta thing.'

A gun? A sawn-off b.l.o.o.d.y shotgun? Marcus's whole face seemed to explode with sweat. They were a.s.sa.s.sins. They were here to kill. When you thought about professional killers, you somehow imagined serious, sinister, taciturn individuals. Not mindless young cretins, egging each other on, taking the p.i.s.s. What was happening to the world?

Bez turned away and looked up and around and Marcus saw his face between the stones, through the branches, saw that Bez was old beyond his years, his face hard and flat, his smile stamped on, his eyes small and bright and compa.s.sionless.

Marcus cursed Maiden. Clutched the jagged stone that stood up like a single battlement and wished that Maiden might never have a night's sleep for the rest of his miserable second life.

When Gallow reached the front door, Malcolm barked.

's.h.i.+t. f.u.c.king dog in there, Bez. I hate it, me, when there's a f.u.c.king dog. En't scared, dogs en't. Can't threaten a dog. Gotta shoot it, then y'gotta f.u.c.k off case it made too much f.u.c.king noise and some f.u.c.ker phones the filth.'

'Get f.u.c.king real, w.i.l.l.ya, man. No problem, place like this. No neighbours, shotguns going off the whole time, rabbits and things, n.o.body gives a s.h.i.+t. n.o.body even notices. Now, go on. Do a door, do a window. Any problem, shout.'

'I hate the f.u.c.king country. Everything's too big.' Gallow began to kick the front door, looking for weak points. In the kitchen, Malcolm barked and barked.

Marcus hugged his jagged stone for support. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d would get in. Start kicking open door after door, until he reached the kitchen, and then, when the door was open, Malcolm would go silent. Observe the newcomer through his unbalanced eyes, wondering if there might be a chocolate biscuit in this. Come waddling towards him, a dog that wouldn't go in his basket at night without his teddy bear, but unfortunately looked like a complete psycho, an animal you wouldn't ever argue with. Especially if you happened to be tooled-up and nervous.

Meanwhile, Bez, the one with no fear of spooky old buildings, would probably be unable to resist investigating the one stone, spiral staircase in the ruins.

Bez was prowling the buildings and he was tooled-up.

He was supposed to do ... what? Stand up on the battlements, boom out, You, boy! Threaten them with five nights' detention?

Could've been out of here two hours ago, the dog too. And why hadn't he gone? Because he didn't really believe it? Not precisely. It was because Maiden and Cindy had b.u.g.g.e.red off to face up the delightful Falconer with evidence that his ideas had inspired a madman. Leaving old man Bacton to hold the fort, make the tea, attend to a few senior citizen's ch.o.r.es.

Marcus looked round for his eroded pitchfork.

'OK, we had a breakdown,' Grayle said. 'Adrian organized a ride for me into Chipping Norton, and he said he'd call up the AA and wait for them and then he'd bring the car later. Why do you need to know this?'

They were standing out in the lane, across from a big, twirly-shaped outlying stone surrounded by railings. Cindy looking even more bizarre, somehow, in men's clothes had with him Bobby Maiden, sans eyepatch and grilling her like a cop.

'What's the car?'

'It's a Rover. A small, red Rover something.'

'And you haven't seen him since you left him at the roadside, with the car?'

'No.'

'You're sure he's not here?'

'He's not here. Where could he be? Hiding out behind the pines?'

Still suspicious of these guys. All this shamanic stuff, the way Cindy found a supernatural dimension to everything. She hadn't needed it last night after her experience at the stones; it had surely caused that awful dream of Ersula. And she sure as h.e.l.l didn't need it at the Rollright Stones on the edge of a thunderstorm.

Except that Bobby's questions were clipped and urgent and entirely prosaic.

'When you picked him up, he have anything with him?'

'Change of clothes was all.'

'In what? A case? A bag?'

'Yeah, he had ... he called it a cricket bag.'

'Big, long, leather bag, two handles?'

'We couldn't fit it in the trunk, had to stash it across the back seat.'

'Did you feel there was anything in it, apart from clothes? Did it seem heavy when he picked it up? Was it bulging out anywhere?'

'I don't know! What else could be in there?'

Cindy said, 'Perhaps a crossbow?'

'Jesus, what's all this about?'

'When you broke down,' Bobby said, 'what do you think was wrong? What happened?'

'I don't know cars. We started losing power, the engine kind of whined.'

'Fan belt? Could it have been that?'

Grayle shrugged. Cindy said, 'What would be the significance of that?'

'Was there any time Adrian was with the car and you weren't there?'

'Not really. I was driving. Oh. After we ate, I, uh, went to the bathroom and when I came out he was waiting in the parking lot. At the car.'

'And you were in, what, five minutes?'

'Jeez, you wanna know what I did in there? Well, I took a pee, I washed my hands, tried to make my hair look normal ...'

'And how long after the pub did the car start playing up?'

'Not long. Half a mile?'

'Right. See, while you were in the bog, he could've slashed the fan belt, so it'd snap soon after you drove away.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. Most likely to get you out of the way and get himself some wheels. We should all be b.l.o.o.d.y glad it worked. He might have done something more drastic.'

Cindy said, 'He would never do that unless it was a sacrifice. Where killing is concerned, he has his rules.'

Grayle said, voice faltering, 'What is this? Just what is this about?'

'All right,' Cindy said. He held her shoulders, looked into her eyes. 'You remember when we spoke the other night, in my room at the inn, of the contrasting aspects of the Knoll, male and female? And the male element linked to blood, slaughter ...'

Grayle shook herself away. 'Before you go any further, what's your angle? Who are you?'

Bobby brought out his wallet. Grayle had never seen British police ID, but it looked straight. Also, he sounded right. He looked all wrong, but an undercover cop, the whole point was he should look all wrong.

'And you?'

'Me?' Cindy said. 'A concerned member of the public.'

'And Adrian?'

'Someone who kills people,' Bobby said.

It was kind of a hollow moment, the words repeating themselves in her head.

'And why?' Grayle asked, her head somewhere up there in the curdling sky but her voice down here and surprisingly calm. 'Why is he killing people?'

'Because he believes that's how we should be living,' Bobby said. 'Hunting and hunted and feeding the earth with blood. We think he's killed about half a dozen people.'

'Including my sister, Ersula, right?' That scarily calm voice giving verbal substance to what she'd instinctively known before she even left New York, that Ersula was dead and had been dead for weeks.

'We think that's possible. I'm sorry.'

'How did he kill her?'

'We don't know,' Cindy said. Too quickly.

'We think ...' Bobby said '... we think he may be planning to do something today.'

'Here?' Her voice still calm, still grounded. How was she doing this?

'Here seems the obvious place.'

'Why would he want to take my car? Why not just stick along with me?'

'We don't know. Maybe he needed the car for something and he didn't want you around. He'd replace the fan belt, no problem ...'

'Practical guy,' Grayle said bitterly. 'Comes from a long line of solid chaps who are not terribly bright, but good with their hands. Rigged up the Portakabins, laid down the helicopter pad.'

She saw Cindy wince. Ersula's death hung in the air between them. Either she could haul it down and go some place to weep or she could leave it suspended there until this was over. If it would ever be over.

'I think ... maybe ...' Something dawning on her. '... he didn't want to be seen to be here. Didn't want to come in his own truck. Made some excuse that it wasn't road-worthy. I thought he was just grabbing at the chance to be with me. I thought maybe he, uh ...'

'When was this?'

'Early morning. I'd just checked out of the inn, he pulled up in the street. Seemed ... surprised. Yeah. Real surprised to see me there.'

'He would be,' Bobby said. 'He thought he'd killed you last night.'

Grayle drew breath, felt a weakness behind her knees. Fifteen, twenty yards away, a metallic blue Jaguar melted into the side of the road and a guy in a dark suit climbed out the driver's side, came round and opened the pa.s.senger door. Performed a theatrical bow, extended an arm ... and Janny Oates stepped out in a long, plain white dress, a golden circlet in her hair. She saw Grayle and waved, all flushed and excited, looking about sixteen, and Grayle waved back and forced an encouraging smile.

'He followed someone last night,' Bobby said. 'We're sure he thought it was you.'

'And he ... he killed her?' Janny was luminous against the sky.

'Yes.'

'OhmyG.o.d.'

'I'm sorry to unload all this on you, Grayle.'

'We have to find him, don't we? We have to find him right now.'

'We do,' Bobby said.

'Just tell me. Who else did he kill?'

'Just people. You wouldn't know them. He didn't know them.'

'Except for Ersula.'

'Yes.'

'A friend,' Grayle said. 'She was his friend. Listen, he talked about sacrifices. He said people would be horrified if they actually knew what it was like here in the old days. He said ... sacrifice ... he said it was cruel but it was necessary.'

'He said that to you?'

'On the way here. He said the best sacrifice, the only real sacrifice was if you did it to someone who hadn't done you any harm. He said the ultimate sacrifice was to take the life of a friend. And ... and ...'

'Go on,' Cindy whispered. 'And?'

'He doesn't like New Age stuff. It's like they're wimps. He said they'd done real damage to the traditions.'

The wedding march was being played on a violin, ragged and a little out of tune, with guitar backing. Some people were cheering.

'And I said a couple times I think I said this I said Janny and Matthew because those guys are real New Agers, as you can see I said, you know, what about them? Like, how come, if you hate all these people, you're going to their wedding? And he goes, he just goes ...'