Darkness at Dillingham: An Austerley & Kirkgordon Adventure #2

by Jordan, G R

  The ladies stared in disbelief but Havers didn’t wait for questions. Instead he touched his ear and ran quickly through HQ’s password routine. Breaking his conversation, he asked the landlady for the name of the street behind the guest house. After she had answered, he repeated the information before confirming “five minutes”.

  “Right, ladies. We are going to leave via the rear entrance. Madam, if you would lock up the house. Don’t be seen at any windows. Miss Goodritch, you will need to open the doors for me.”

  The ladies nodded, both slightly pale with shock. Havers took Kirkgordon and threw him over his shoulder. The fugitives exited through the rear door of the property and negotiated a small wooden fence before stepping out into the street. A red transit pulled up and the driver’s window rolled down. Before the driver, a young fair-haired man, could say anything, Havers spoke.

  “Visionary! Yes, you heard me, Visionary. Yes, I know, you never thought you’d hear that codeword. But this is for real, so look lively, gentlemen. Now, assist these ladies into the back and then straight to your station. You stop for no one.”

  The driver gulped but gave an affirmative nod before jumping out and opening the rear of the van. After seeing his passengers aboard, he returned to the driver’s seat and sped off. Meanwhile, the two people in the red hatchback continued to stare at the front door of the guest house. They were unaware of the local street camera now turning its attention to them. Neither were they aware that their names and addresses were being displayed on Havers’ mobile phone.

  His operation had been compromised. Supernatural indicators were off the scale. And one of his people was dead. Inside the cool and calm exterior, a rage was building, a hunger for revenge. Relax, Arthur, he told himself, relax. Time for a chat with Miss Goodritch.

  Observations

  The lab boys back at HQ had been very helpful. There was more to Kirkgordon’s incapacitation than Havers had first thought. The dosage, of a compound he hadn’t even heard of, was so large that Kirkgordon was going to be out until at least tomorrow. Clearly there was some motive in taking him out for so long but what, exactly? Havers couldn’t make sense of it. Wilson had probably seen something. So they killed him. Well, that was the assumption. But Kirkgordon had merely been drugged and watched, suggesting a future need of some sort. But what need?

  Havers had given thought to removing Austerley from the care home, but the policemen who visited on a bogus call confirmed Austerley was there and peaceful, if not conscious. Anyway, extracting Austerley would arouse suspicion, and the perpetrators would probably go underground with their secret. He needed to understand, to build a picture. He was convinced Wilson must have been on to something. Hopefully Miss Goodritch would yield some help.

  Havers entered the police interview room and crossed the floor to shake hands with Jane Goodritch. Her face looked a little worn with worry but otherwise she seemed in good health, maintaining the rounded smile which matched her plump disposition.

  “Sorry to have to be in here. I’d rather sit in a café somewhere and have a more pleasant chat, Miss Goodritch,” said Havers.

  “Jane, call me Jane. I understand this is important. The constable, when I asked him, said it wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell me who you were but that he couldn’t. So you must be of some importance.” Jane folded her arms nervously.

  “My work is important, Jane, not me. I’m a servant to this country like us all, I’m afraid. And yes, what is going on at the moment is important and not for discussion outside these walls, if we understand each other.”

  “Certainly.” Jane coughed.

  Why do I always make people nervous even when I’m being nice? thought Havers. Then he remembered the gun.

  “Apologies for holding a gun at you, but your life was in danger. To keep you safe I needed your co-operation, not your gratitude.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  “Now, please tell me everything you know about Mr Kirkgordon. It’s his surname, by the way.”

  “Right. What’s his first name?”

  “That’s probably something he should divulge himself. Anyway, what do you know of our Mr Kirkgordon?”

  Jane Goodritch spent the next half hour recounting Kirkgordon’s visit to her arts centre and the history of the town. Focusing intently, Havers made notes on a small pad.

  “You say they hung him up on the hill?” asked Havers.

  “Yes, the viewing spot, Gibbet Point. Do you know it?” Jane replied.

  “Yes, Jane. I was up there this afternoon. Now that is worrying. Are there any elements in the town who take these stories seriously?”

  “Well, I take them seriously.”

  “Indeed, Jane, indeed you do. As do I. I was meaning, are there any groups who take these matters seriously but with more of an evil intent?”

  “Evil intent?”

  “Yes, Jane. Evil. Curses and the like and revenge of this sort don’t just happen. Usually, some influence from the earthly world is required to readmit the spirit world. I was wondering if there were any particular people who might be so disposed to try this.”

  “To be honest, Major Havers, I don’t know of anything occult or evil, witchcraft or anything like that. We’re just a quiet little town with a bit of history.”

  “Much obliged,” said Havers. “I need to get Mr Kirkgordon to someone who can watch over him properly and, as you have been seen in contact with him, I would suggest you accompany me and place yourself under the protection of a colleague. Just for a day or so, until we clear this all up. It’s probably nothing, but best to be safe.”

  “Do you really think I’m in danger?”

  If the indicators are right we’re all in for it, thought Havers. “Probably nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry too much about it. Just a precaution.”

  Time was starting to press and Havers decided that the care home would be his main reconnaissance. But first he would need to organize back-up in case the situation was as he feared. A swift call to HQ put the wheels in motion before Havers exited the police station in an unmarked car with Miss Goodritch up front and a prone Kirkgordon lying across the back seat.

  The evening was drawing in as the car pulled into the church car park. Before Havers could open the car door, the priest was already reaching for the handle. He had a worried look on his face.

  “You’re here without a disguise. Is it that bad?” asked Father Jonah.

  “It may be. Indeed, it may be. But it is good to see an old friend,” replied Havers.

  “Old friend?” The priest laughed. “You must want something, Arthur. The f-word never appears unless you want something. But I am magnanimous. God bless you anyway.”

  “I do need help. Mr Kirkgordon is in the back of the car and is under the influence of some nasty sedatives. His cure has been administered, but the reaction time means he won’t see anything of this day. Somebody did this to him and I need him protected. The lady in the car—”

  “Jane Goodritch.”

  “Ah, good, you know her. Well, she’s tangled up in it now too. So just to be safe, keep an eye on her, please.”

  “Strangers in distress. I believe I am commanded to help by our dear Lord. By the way, good choice in Mr Kirkgordon.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, he never believes a word you say. Smart man.”

  “Unfair,” countered Havers. “Well, I have a bit of watching to do tonight but I’ll drop by for breakfast.”

  “Of course, you’ll be most welcome. My daughter does some excellent mussels.”

  “Still at that old trick?” Havers chuckled. “Well, Father Jonah, be ready! We may require sanctuary.”

  The priest nodded before collecting Miss Goodritch and then carrying Kirkgordon inside with Havers’ help.

  Night had fallen by the time Havers had changed into his camouflage outfit. Urban colour and pattern for this job, he had reckoned, and so he wore a mix of blacks and greys. Over the years, he had grown a great
disdain for the paint he had to put on his face as his skin reacted ever so slightly to it. More a nuisance than anything else but still annoying. Not that he ever allowed this gem of information to be passed on.

  With the car parked some five hundred metres away, Havers moved silently through the streets and reached a vantage point in the shrubs where the only road in and out of the care home passed by. He settled down for a long wait, listening to the sound of the sea in the distance. It reminded him of his feelings at Gibbet Point so he tried to take his mind elsewhere.

  They had said he wasn’t cut out for a life of service in the secret divisions of the military. MI5 had rejected him out of hand. He had pushed himself hard through various training courses, learned how to fight in many different styles and achieved fluency in three languages, but his background was always seen as too risky. It had hardly been his fault that his father had delved into the black arts. Dad, he thought, you always pushed the limits, always wanted that which was out of reach.

  The event which would be his father’s downfall turned out to be the making of Havers. It’s not every man in his twenties who takes on a summoned demon and wins. Win: it’s such a short, sweeping word. Yes, I vanquished it. Yes, I sealed it away for good. And yes, I saved a lot of lives that day. But I lost you, Dad. I lost you. There was no choice, no chance to get you back after you had summoned it. And I did it like you taught me – always focused, weighing the needs, getting the job done. I always get the job done.

  There were various comings and goings at the care home with many people visiting their relatives or friends on a Sunday night before the busy week ahead. Havers, methodical as always, watched each of them, intently looking for anything out of place. Soon it was time for the home to be locked up. Havers saw Graham the manager waving goodnight to his staff and leaving the place in the care of his night crew.

  And there was that girl again, the one who had come into Austerley’s room. He noticed she was watching carefully as Graham left and stood at the door observing for another ten minutes after he had gone. Doors were locked and lights all turned down low.

  The next three hours were dull. Absolutely nothing happened. Or, to be exact, as Havers always was, nothing apart from the fox which he saw lurking in the car park for five minutes before it caught a scent and scampered off. And the hedgehog which ambled its way right past him.

  At about 2 am he saw movement in the home and then a figure exiting the front door. They were dressed in black and began to search the immediate vicinity of the care home. The figure moved in a simple pattern and Havers was able to avoid them easily as they approached. Evidently satisfied with their search, the person returned to the home and could be seen through the glass with a telephone in hand.

  Two minutes later a black van arrived. Four figures exited the care home briefly and opened up the doors, including a large sliding one on the side of the van. Havers watched them return to the building and then re-emerge carrying two bodies, one of which Havers recognized immediately. Austerley. And there’s his missing foot to confirm it.

  Having dumped their cargo into the van, all four figures climbed on board and the van drove off serenely. Havers noted the plate as it went by and with a flick of his wrist threw a small tracker, no bigger than a slice of carrot, onto the side of the van. He waited for a few minutes to make sure the action had moved on before returning to his car.

  On sitting down at the driver’s seat he switched on the computer interface and selected his tracker software. Good, he thought, it’s working. The tracker software showed the van entering the lower car park for the town’s viewpoint, Gibbet Point. Havers drove to a spot some distance from the car park and followed the alternative path to the hill top. Mentally checking his armoury, Havers hoped there would be no encounters. This was strictly reconnaissance.

  At the top he was able to find a dark spot in the bracken. Crouching down, he saw six figures approach Gibbet Point via the main path. Two of the figures appeared to be walking in a drunken state. One had to be supported because he was missing a foot. Austerley. The figure at the front was slight, but attractive.

  Austerley and the other man were dumped unceremoniously on the ground while the slight figure began to remove her outer clothing. It’s that nurse, thought Havers. The one from Austerley’s room. The other three figures crowded over Austerley’s companion and began to chant. Havers watched as the chanting increased. The nurse cried out in a bizarre language unknown to Havers and shed her remaining clothes. Any erotic thoughts were driven from Havers’ mind by the sound of the language. It wasn’t just guttural but positively hellish.

  The man on the floor cried out and Havers could see, by what poor light there was, the man’s features start to shrink. Before Havers’ eyes, the man’s hair began to fall out and his nose and ears grew significantly. Blotches appeared on the skin and, without warning, the man’s joints began to contract. He was shrivelling up.

  Time to intervene, thought Havers, and he reached inside his outfit to press a button. At HQ, the loudest alarm rang and agents who had previously been spending a quiet night shift sprang to life. Drawing a gun from within his garb, Havers checked it was loaded and pushed through the bracken.

  Before him, an apparition began to form, intensely luminous with a distinct tri-cornered hat. After firing off three shots directly into the rapidly forming pirate, Havers fell back as a neon cutlass blade sliced the air.

  “Say your prayers, soldier, Captain Smith’s back!”

  Gibbet Point

  Havers rolled backwards, clear of the first swipe of the cutlass. With one hand he reached deep into his clothing and activated the panic button to alert HQ. The other hand was still on his gun, firing at the apparition before him. It was dressed like a swashbuckler from the movies, complete with buttoned longcoat and pantaloons, but the face was one of decay, with pieces of green flesh attached sporadically to a luminous skull. The eyes were missing from the sockets and there was just a hole for its nose.

  After Havers’ initial panic had passed, he realized the bullets were passing straight through the ghost. Pocketing his gun, he reached inside his clothing and retrieved two wooden sticks with short stumpy handles on each end. Taking one handle in each hand and allowing the sticks to run the length of his forearms, Havers stood his ground against the ghastly Captain Smith.

  “You’ll feel my blade, son,” hissed the ghost as it lunged forward with an almighty swipe of its cutlass. Havers parried the blade with one of his sticks and drove his other forearm into Captain Smith’s skull. The ghost was thrown backwards and its spectral hat fell from its head.

  “You’re not the first thing from hell that I’ve seen. And I sent the rest back to their pit.” Havers was not a particularly large man but now he was looming over the ghost.

  “But I rarely venture alone,” said Smith. “Lads, get this ship rat!”

  Greenish figures appeared from thin air. Deckhands swinging knives and clubs were running towards Havers. The longer grass parted as the pirates rushed past. Havers’ mind seized this detail and built a plan on it. Looking around desperately, Havers spotted an old archway, filled up with concrete but with an alcove of some six feet. Well, he thought, there’s nothing else for it. Havers ran to the doorway and turned to face his foes. It was a horde. There must have been nearly sixty of them. This is it, Arthur, he told himself. No surrender, no retreat. There’s no mercy and no escape. Focus and let loose. Send this filth back to hell!

  Havers pulled two more short pieces of wood from his clothing and dropped them into neat slits on the shins of his trouser legs. The first pirate was on him, thrusting a knife. Havers stepped to one side and launched an almighty kick to its midriff, causing a cracking sound which split the air. Havers marvelled at how even ghostly ribs can be cracked when hit with the right tools. The apparition dropped to the ground, felling two others behind it. Havers brought both arms straight down onto their heads, cracking both skulls.

  Sometimes it would
be handy if ghostly bodies would behave in the same way as human ones, thought Havers. A body pile in front of him would have been a good shield for this fight. But the bodies just faded away, their glow disappearing. The initial blows struck by Havers had caused reluctance amongst the pirate horde to be at the front of the attack. Havers laughed, remembering his younger days and his first fight. No one likes to disappoint those in charge. They may have come from hell but they wanted to stay on earth, not return as vanquished souls and have to explain their failure to an unsympathetic boss.

  “Take him now, lads, and be quick about it! Or I’ll hang every one of you from the yardarm and feed you to the hounds of hell.” The rally from Captain Smith caused a panic, but as the captain slew one of the deckhands at the rear of the charge, the horde raced forward again.

  Havers was cool and methodical as he smashed and bludgeoned his way through the horde. Taking the odd blow from a fist or a foot, he avoided all weapons as he tore through the ranks. The protection of the alcove meant he faced a front of only three to four attackers at a time. Gambling that the rules controlling their manifestation in this realm meant they could not pass through solid concrete, Havers didn’t even glance behind him, taking his untouched back as the only assurance he needed. But there was no easy escape and he doubted any help would be found within the hour.

  Gradually the ranks of the deckhands thinned and Havers thought he saw his opportunity for escape. Stepping inside the lunge of a sword, he smashed his right arm into one of the figures before racing forward in berserker fashion. Like a whirling dervish, he spun and struck and struck again. With a ten second burst, he broke the ranks on his left-hand side and sprinted for his life. There was a two hundred metre run until the bracken and bushes which would impede both himself and his pursuers, but he was banking on being the more nimble.