‘Always thought of the Devil as male . . . now . . . perhaps a woman.’
Chapter Eleven
The majority of ‘B’ Company were enjoying themselves because they were keen. ‘A good lively bunch, apart from a small minority,’ the adjutant had remarked to the colonel only a week ago. ‘If it wasn’t for a couple of shirkers, my lot would be the best in the brigade,’ Lieutenant Frisby frequently boasted in the Mess. ‘Not a bad mob as peacetime soldiers go,’ Regimental Serjeant Major Hiscock had begrudgingly admitted. ‘Though there are two idle bastards I’d like to see in the glass-house.’
‘B’ Company had arrived on Bala in a blaze of publicity which pleased them greatly. Cameras had whirred and flashed as they landed at the quay. Children and girls had waved and cheered their entrance into Lochern as if they were the vanguard of some liberating army, and they had seen at least a dozen newspapermen making notes of their progress. The majority were also serious and public-spirited men, with a high regard for their calling and responsibilities. Somewhere on the island a dangerous maniac was lurking and it was up to them to discover her hiding place. They had the best officers, the best equipment, the best esprit de corps in the British army and it was they who would find Anna Harb. The majority were only too pleased to be scouring the hillsides and they worked with a will, toiling up scree and down valley and only pausing to lift their walkie-talkies and communicate with the helicopter which hovered overhead.
‘Ker-ist, Jesus unprintable Ker-ist.’ As one man the tiny minority halted, scanned the horizons to see if they could be observed and lowered themselves on to a shelf of dry heather. ‘ “Join the modern army, eh?”’ Private Smith remarked to Private Hutchinson. ‘“Mechanization is today’s key word,” they keep repeating like a cage of bloody parrots.’ He pulled out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. ‘I’ve just about had a bellyfull of this caper, Hutch. Me feet ache, I’m dead beat and I think I broke a rib, maybe two, when I fell over that sodding boulder just now.’
‘You can count me in on sodding, Jack.’ Hutchinson stared gloomily up at the face of Ben Lind, towering a thousand feet above them. Their company was spread out along its five-mile slopes and on either side they could see the brightly coloured anoraks of the other teams well in advance of them and gaining steadily.
‘Ta, Jack.’ He accepted a light and inhaled greedily. To their right, the peninsula curved out into the Atlantic and, through a gap in the crags, they could just make out the orphanage buildings in the far distance, while to the south and east, the mainland hills stretched away in long purple lines. The whole scene was strikingly lovely, but the only beauty Hutchinson appreciated was the female form which may not always be divine, whatever poets say.
‘Rover Dog Party, where are you?’ The intercom crackled and they saw the helicopter come wheeling over the mountain. ‘You should be halfway up the ridge by now and in plain sight. Report at once, Rover Dog.’
‘Rover Dog answering, sir.’ Smith stood up hurriedly. The wind had been blowing towards the aircraft and they had not heard its approach.
‘We are at the foot of a vertical cliff face, sir, which looks dangerous, and there appears to be no means of ascending it. I submit that it would be best for us to find a more easy way round across the moor.’ He looked longingly at the level route behind them.
‘You will do nothing of the sort, Private Smith.’ Lieutenant Frisby’s voice was a mixture of despair and cold fury. ‘All the other teams are finding a way up and you must use your initiative. The whole point of the operation is that we keep in line together.’ He paused, obviously studying the terrain.
‘Yes, I can see you, Rover Dog. Now, look to your right. Can you make out a rock pinnacle shaped rather like a man’s head?’
‘Yes, sir, but I still don’t think that . . .’
‘Then don’t think, Smith; climb.’ Frisby had been following the police procedure of containing vice in one area when he placed Hutchinson and Smith together and already he regretted the decision. ‘From up here I can see that beyond that pinnacle there is a perfectly easy gully leading to the summit. I want to have you both on the top within an hour. Now get going, Rover Dog. Over and out.’ The set cut off and the helicopter rattled away to encourage the other teams. Smith and Hutchinson threw away their cigarettes and plodded on across the wilderness of boulders that led to the base of the cliff.
‘Seems all wrong somehow, Jack; hundreds of men hunting one poor woman.’ Hutchinson was slightly ahead, toiling up the first of the scree shoots which filled the gorge. ‘Unsportin’ like.’
‘Don’t be so bloody silly, Hutch.’ Smith scowled at two ravens circling overhead who now and again croaked hoarsely, as if mocking their slow progress. ‘This thing we’re after ain’t a woman. Remember the pictures of ’er, remember all the geezers she’s done in already, remember that loonies have twice the strength of normal people like you and me. I just ’ope we don’t catch up with the bitch. Job for the police this should have been. And if they had to get troops to do their dirty work, they should at least ’ave armed us. “No rifles, lads,” said the bleeding R.S.M. “You’re ’ere to arrest a demented maniac, not fight a war.” ’ A jagged rock wall barred their progress, the helicopter was a good mile away and he came to a halt and pointed up at two tiny figures scrambling towards the summit like apes. ‘Look at those stupid sods. Must be Corporal Jones and old Wiggy Bennet. They’ll get busted hearts running up like that.’
‘Jolly good show, Hunting Dog. You’re making excellent time.’ A cheery voice rang out from the radio. ‘Be sure to keep your eyes skinned for caves when you start down the other side, Hunting Dog. It seems possible that the woman may be hiding out somewhere on the lower slopes.
‘Well done you too, Boxer Dog. Almost to the top, eh, and you had by far the stiffest pull. We’ll have you in the Olympic team one day.
‘What the hell . . . ? Rover Dog!’ The aircraft had turned towards Hutchinson and Smith and all good humour left Frisby’s voice. ‘Why are you loitering there, Rover Dog? Get on and catch up with the others immediately. Do you hear me, Rover Dog?’
‘Receiving you loud and clear, sir. I have merely halted to perform a natural function.’ To prove the point, Smith turned and urinated down the hillside. ‘Be up to the top in a brace of shakes, sir.’
‘You had better be, unless you want me to deal with you.’ A voice with a snap and a bark and a growl in it took over from the lieutenant. ‘I know you, Private Smith. I know you too, Hutchinson. I dislike both of you. It will give me great pleasure to punish you. Good God, men, don’t you realize the situation. That woman has to be found. She is an insane killer and she probably has a child with her. She may be attacking that child while you stand there loafing. Get up the mountain and be quick about it.’
‘We’ll do our ’uman best, sir. Can’t say no more than that.’ Smith grinned, but Hutchinson was already scrambling up the slab.
‘Come on, Jack. That was the R.S.M. and I’m in his bad books already. Don’t make it worse for me.’ That was putting things very mildly. The unit had recently been stationed near a large public school and a rugger match had been arranged between an army side and its first fifteen. The game had been close and exciting and the troops had cheered their team enthusiastically while the boys kept up monotonous bird-like chants of ‘School-School . . . Well played, School . . . Heel, School . . . Come on, School.’ There had been an embarrassed silence however after Regimental Serjeant Major Hiscock had been brought crashing to earth and Hutch’s voice had roared across the field, ‘Gouge him, School . . . Bite him, School . . . kick the rotten bastard in the teeth, School.’
‘All right, mate, but remember I’ve got the radio to hump.’ Smith fingered the harness of the walkie-talkie. ‘Rot the man who first invented transistors. If this had been a valve set we could have broken it, accidentally like, and the sods couldn’t have bothered us.’ He shrugged his shoulders, wiped his sweating forehead and followed his companion up
the mountain.
It took them a long time to reach the top of the ridge, and when they finally got there dusk had started to close in and mist was drifting up from the sea. There had been no sign of the helicopter for a good half hour and none of the other parties were in sight. The climb had been hot in the sunlight, but now the sun had gone down they both felt the sudden cold. Below them the other side of the mountain appeared to stretch endlessly away through scree and boulders and isolated crags, and the moor below it looked dead and hostile.
‘I don’t like this, Hutch.’ Smith had been born and lived most of his life in a crowded tenement and the desolation of the place worried him. ‘I know there are two of us, but I hope to hell we don’t catch up with that woman. Some of the lads might have waited for us if they’d had any decency. No joke going down there in the dark either. All we’ve got is a torch and they should’ve given us ropes and pulleys and special equipment.’
‘Still we gotta get down, Jack.’ Hutchinson consulted his watch. ‘We was told to rendezvous at the orphanage gates by sixteen thirty hours and time’s getting on. They won’t make the trucks wait for us . . . not for us they won’t, and we’ll have to slog all the way back to camp.’ He glanced towards a cluster of lights across the moor and then opened his map.
‘That must be the orphanage straight ahead, but there’s no point in trying to get there on time. What we’d best do is to cut over to the left. The road’s down there and we may be able to intercept the convoy. The captain’ll have kittens at first, but when you see the lorries sling your arm around me shoulders, limp like buggery and play up that fall you had earlier on.’
‘That’s the ticket.’ The range sloped far less steeply to the left and Smith’s spirits returned. ‘“Make room for a wounded hero, mate. Give this poor man a hand up into the lorry, Corporal.”
‘Let’s get going before the fog cuts us off, Hutch. I seem to remember there was a lighthouse near the road. They’ll probably start letting off a signal gun if it gets really thick.’
They hurried quickly down the hillside, but the mist was far quicker. It rose in thick grey spirals, filling every gully and crevice, and as dusk fell their only sense of direction came from the sloping terrain and the lighthouse. Smith had been right about the signal gun and every five minutes the rocks echoed dully with the distant explosions. As the angle of the mountain turned, however, the echoes appeared as real as the original detonations and the gun became a worthless guide.
‘Blimey, Jack, this is no fun at all.’ Hutchinson had stumbled into a patch of marsh and was up to his knees in slime. ‘It’s getting darker and darker every minute. Let’s have a squint at the compass. I haven’t a clue which way the road is.’
‘Compass? But I gave it to you, mate. Don’t you remember when we stopped for a smoke at the foot of that bleeding cliff?’
‘Yers, you’re right at that. I must have left it there after Frisby bawled us out.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to take pot luck then.’ Smith suddenly stiffened and pointed uphill. ‘Do you hear something, Hutch? Something moving above us?’
‘I can and all. I can smell it too.’ He gripped his friend’s arm as he heard a tinkle of scree and smelt a rich, salty odour drifting down through the mist. ‘That maniac’s bound to be armed, Jack, and she could come creeping up behind us in this fog. Let’s get on down and keep close together all the way.’
‘No, wait a minute.’ Smith was no hero, but he was not quite as abject as his friend. ‘I think I can recognize that stench.’ He picked up a stone and flung it into the mist. There was bellow of animal rage as the lucky shot found its target, and a big horned body hurtled past them and went clattering down the hillside.
‘Just a bleedin’ goat, Hutch. My old man used to keep a couple of the perishers in the back yard when we was kids.’ He chuckled. ‘Bit of luck for us too. I’ve heard that the brutes have regular paths to their drinking places. All we have to do is to follow him down, find a stream and that’s bound to lead us to the coast road.’
‘Okay, Jack, but for Gawd’s sake let’s keep close together.’ Hutchinson staggered after him down the narrow goat track. It ran diagonally across the mountain, through damp gullies and over isolated cliff faces which made them crawl on their knees at times, while at every minute the mist and darkness grew thicker. Now and again, Hutchinson would turn and look anxiously around him, imagining that every boulder, every crevice, every rock wall screened a crazed, inhuman figure about to rush out at him through the gloom.
‘Well, where’s your blasted stream, Jack?’ The track had finally petered out at the foot of the hillside and they had been tramping across level ground for the past ten minutes. ‘I can’t hear any running water.’
‘Neither can I, but the road’s bound to be somewhere ahead of us. It’s gotta be.’ Smith spoke loudly to reassure himself. ‘Come on, Hutch, we can’t be far off now.’
‘I hope you’re right, mate. Blimey I hope you are right!’ Hutchinson plodded forward after him. There was no sense of gravity to help them now and soon the going became difficult again as the firm heather changed to peat hags and ridges of rotting vegetation, some so slippery that they had to be taken at a run. More often than not, one of them would fall and lie gasping in the sodden valleys, while at times the stuff was so soft that they had to wade through it up to their knees and their hands would bring huge armfuls tumbling down on top of them.
‘Hutch! Where are you, Hutch?’ Smith had made the quicker progress and he stopped on top of a ridge and screened his eyes against the fog. He knew that his friend could not be far behind, but could see no sign of him. ‘Yell out and let me know where you are. I can’t see a blasted thing.’
‘I’m here, Jack, down here.’ Hutchinson’s voice was almost a sob. ‘Come back quick and bring the torch with you. I fell just now and my hands went right through the bloody peat. I grabbed hold of something, Jack, and I think it may be . . .’
‘Coming, Hutch.’ Smith came running and stumbling across the ridges to where his friend was crouched on his knees. He could hear Hutchinson sobbing openly as he slid down beside him, and as he switched on the torch he understood why. A human face was staring out at them from the brown peat.
Chapter Twelve
‘That was Sidney Molson, gentlemen.’ The island possessed no proper morgue, only an out-house built on to the Cottage Hospital, and Grace Alison stood blinking in the sunlight as Inspector Grant closed the door behind her.
‘He had been tortured, hadn’t he? Killed slowly for pleasure.’ Mrs Alison, the orphanage matron, a short capable woman who would normally appear bustling and cheerful, was a kindly disciplinarian who could run the lives of a large group of children and never reveal her own feelings. Now she looked like someone who had physically recovered from a long illness and, in the process, discovered that life had no meaning at all.
‘Sidney was such a nice little boy, General. Always so friendly and cheerful, always affectionate, and yet this happened to him. To die like that, to be buried in the peat less than a mile away from our own grounds.’ She allowed Kirk to take her arm and lead her into the hospital and to the almoner’s office. ‘How many wounds were there, General? What have we done to cause this hatred? When did it all start?’
‘Sidney had been stabbed thirty-two times, Mrs Alison.’ Kirk knew that she was the kind of woman who had to be told the truth, but he winced inwardly as he remembered his first sight of Sidney Molson. The little body had been lifted down from an army truck and it was naked and stained brown by the peat which had been its shroud. At a brief glance the boy looked unmarked and peaceful, almost as if he were sleeping, then they had wiped away the stains and it was possible to see the marks of a thin knife that had run him through and through as though he were a pin cushion. The coroner and Marcus had agreed that only three of them could have caused death and the others were clearly intended for the infliction of pain.
‘It doesn’t do to dwell on these thi
ngs, Mrs Alison, and very soon the woman is bound to be found.’ He watched Cameron pour out a cup of tea and saw her take it in a hand that did not tremble at all. ‘The Chief Constable has ample men at his disposal at last and it is just a question of time.’ Kirk spoke to reassure himself, but through the window the shadows of the lowering hills mocked him. He had the sudden and unpleasant feeling that Anna Harb was not a creature of the world at all, but a demon and the mountains were allies who would hide her for ever.
‘It will take a specialist in morbid psychology to understand Harb’s motives, but for the moment may I ask you one or two questions?’
‘If you wish, General, though I have told the Inspector all I know. We missed Sidney shortly after eleven o’clock. We have no idea how or why he left the grounds of the house.’ Grace Alison sipped at the tea, holding the cup in a hand which still remained quite steady, though her face was tortured.
‘I know that, madam. Inspector Grant has already shown me your evidence.’ Kirk gave the policeman a brief nod.
‘But it is the background of the Fellowship itself I would like to hear about. I have always understood that it is very difficult to adopt children these days, that there is a waiting list for all except the abnormal, and to collect so many normal and healthy children and place them in a private home would be very difficult indeed. How did your society go about it?’
‘General Kirk, I really do not see the point in such a question. Mrs Alison is naturally distressed and she has told us all we need to know for the time being.’ Cameron broke in angrily, but the woman waved aside the interruption.
‘No, I would like to reply to the General’s question, though I fancy he already knows the answer.’ Her voice had a ring of quiet authority as if she were calming a fractious child.
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