Nothing But the Night

by John Blackburn

  ‘Of course not, sir, but if you would just listen for a moment, I think you will agree that you should come down here. What Sir Marcus suggests is that . . .’ Grant spoke more firmly now, and in spite of his temper Cameron did listen. But not for very long. After hearing five sentences, he let the telephone fall from his hand, knocked back the whisky in a single gulp and hurried out of the house without bothering to put on his coat.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘I am sorry, Sir Marcus, but I cannot follow your reasoning at all.’ Dr James Knight was a young man with a deep sense of grievance which had made him arrogant and suspicious. In time he might become a useful G.P., but he had only been at Lochern for six months and found the going extremely rough. The local people distrusted him because he was English, and since he had fallen foul of the laird his practice had been halved.

  ‘We know the exact time and manner in which these unfor­tunate people died. They were killed by an explosion of petrol and dynamite which you yourself witnessed, Sir Marcus. Why should you wish to examine their remains now?’

  ‘Because no proper autopsy has been performed on them, Doctor. That may not have been thought necessary at the time, but I would like to make a certain test on the bodies now.’

  ‘Autopsy! Bodies!’ Marcus had spoken quietly, almost with a plea in his voice, but Knight scowled at him. His hospital appointment had been made automatically when he bought the practice from its former occupant and he felt it was the one thing he could still call his own. Now a London specialist had joined the locals to flaunt his authority and was bearding him in his own den.

  ‘Don’t you realize that there was nothing that you could call a body, Sir Marcus? The police consider that approxi­mately three pounds of dynamite were detonated on the launch. Isn’t that right, Inspector? All that was brought here were shattered fragments and only one man could be identified because he happened to have a tattoo mark on his right forearm which was recovered.

  ‘No I did not perform an autopsy, Sir Marcus, and there was not the slightest reason why I should have done so.’

  ‘But the bodies . . . Sorry, Doctor. The fragments of human tissue which were recovered are still in your keeping and were placed in cold storage as soon as they were brought to you.’ Marcus fully understood Knight’s feelings and he forced himself to appear friendly. ‘All I am asking is that you allow me to examine some of that tissue.

  ‘No, I would prefer not to give you detailed reasons at this point, Doctor. I have mentioned my theory to the Chief Constable and Inspector Grant and they are agreed that the tests should be made. But, at the moment, it is only a suspicion, and I would much rather not commit myself.’

  ‘Listen to me, Knight.’ Cameron and the Inspector had been silent witnesses up to the present, but now the laird decided to lend a hand.

  ‘I am aware of your professional qualifications, but I also know that Sir Marcus Levin is an internationally respected scientist. He has made a perfectly reasonable request and I am ordering you to grant it.

  ‘Please let me finish.’ Marcus tried to break in, but Cameron raised his voice to silence him.

  ‘I happen to be Chief Constable of this island, its most important landowner and the Chairman of the County Council, Doctor, and I am going to make you a firm promise. Enough time has been wasted already, and unless you agree to co-operate with Sir Marcus immediately I shall see that your appointment to this hospital is not renewed and that you lose the few remaining patients you still have. Is that clear, Doctor?’

  ‘Perfectly clear, Captain Cameron.’ The young man flared back at him. ‘From the day I told you the truth about your physical condition your attitude towards me has not only been clear but openly hostile. I have no doubt that you can bully your peasants into terminating my appointment, but for the time being I am in charge here. Now, will you please leave this building before I have you thrown out?’

  ‘Oh, try and grow up, Dr Knight.’ Marcus’s voice was suddenly strident and foreign; Israel wailing at the petty squabbles of Aryans. ‘We are professional colleagues, remem­ber, and I am asking for your co-operation as one colleague to another. There was not the slightest reason why you should have performed an autopsy. Nobody is criticizing you in any way, so please get that into your head. All I want is to be allowed to make a few simple tests and, as a col­league, I think you should have the good grace to help me.’

  ‘Very well, Sir Marcus. If you put it like that, I will do what you want, though I still think it is a complete waste of time. Please come this way, gentlemen.’ The repetition of ‘colleague’ had done the trick and Knight was mollified at last. He led them across to a room which obviously served as both laboratory and operating theatre, nodded to a sister on duty and then turned to Cameron.

  ‘You heard what Sir Marcus said, Captain Cameron? That I had no reason to perform an autopsy because the time and causes of death were obvious. That no blame can be attached to me.’

  ‘Naturally I heard, Doctor.’ The laird gave a curt nod. ‘Nobody is criticizing your conduct in any way, and I apologize for my outburst just now. But for God’s sake get on with it, man. If Sir Marcus’s suspicions prove to be correct, we’ll have to act on them quickly.’

  ‘Of course.’ The apology had completely restored Knight’s good humour. ‘What do you wish to examine, Sir Marcus? As I told you we were unable to piece together a single complete body.’

  ‘What I want is a small section of cerebral tissue, Doctor.’ Marcus glanced around the room. ‘I don’t suppose you hap­pen to have a high-magnification microscope I could use?’

  ‘We have indeed. Sister Angus will get it for you.’ He turned and hurried out of the door and Marcus crossed over to the sister who was already lifting the instrument from a shelf below the bench. He had not expected to find such a thing on Bala and this was a recent German model and exactly what he needed.

  ‘Thank you, Sister. That is a very nice piece of machinery indeed.’ He smiled at the girl, noticing the strange mixture of races in her face: the dark hair of the Celt merging with a fair skin and pale-blue eyes handed down from some Viking pirate.

  ‘Now, all I will need is a few slides, a scalpel and some stain; gentian violet would be best. And a devil of a lot of luck, Sister.’ Though Marcus smiled, he did not feel cheer­ful at all. Like Kirk waiting for the computer reading, he hoped that his suspicions were completely groundless. If they were, he would merely have earned the scorn of Knight and Cameron and Grant and that was unimportant. But if he were correct, if Tania’s hysterical theory on the telephone had put him on the right lines, then he would have proved that Anna Harb was not the only source of evil and the real enemy was Legion.

  How he wished that Tania was with him. From outside a ship’s siren bellowed three times; the ferry boat which would have started him on the journey back to London. If only Charles was here. Why did the old boy have to go rushing off to the orphanage without even leaving him a message? Presumably Kirk knew his own business best, but it would be nice to have his reassurance now: to have some­body to tell him that his suspicions were groundless; that there were no devils, no possession, no force of darkness walking the earth. Once again Marcus had a clear image of the illustration which had troubled his childhood. A bent, deformed figure toiling up a mountain and, high above it, the wings of the circling eagles.

  ‘Here we are, Sir Marcus.’ Knight had returned and laid a sealed container on the bench. ‘Sister Angus given you all you need?’

  ‘She has indeed.’ Marcus unscrewed the metal top, smell­ing a faint tang of antiseptic as he peered down at what had once been part of a man: George L’Eclus, amateur yachts­man, racehorse owner, millionaire and philanthropist.

  ‘Scalpel please, Sister.’ He prepared a specimen carefully while the nurse switched on the lamp and Cameron and the policeman craned forward like children waiting for a conjuror to produce his first rabbit.

  ‘I understand that L’Eclus was not only the sole victim to be iden
tified, but the first to be recovered, Doctor.’ Marcus laid the slide in position and turned the fine adjust­ment. Salt water, chemicals and refrigeration had done their work well, but the picture was rather beautiful—an action painting of shrivelled cells and blood corpuscles stained a light purple by the dye. They told him very little. ‘How long was L’Eclus in the sea?’

  ‘Under an hour, Sir Marcus. A fishing boat managed to pick him up almost immediately.’ Knight was standing at his elbow with a look of complete bewilderment on his face. ‘But I still don’t understand. The man has been dead for two days. What do you expect to find?’

  ‘I shall probably find nothing, Doctor. Forty-eight hours is a long time. All the same, for most of that period the tissue has been frozen and mortification would have been slowed down, if not arrested.

  ‘No, this doesn’t tell me a thing, I’m afraid. Just a moment, though.’ Marcus had been about to remove the slide and prepare another when suddenly he stiffened, because there was something of interest. Nine-tenths of the picture were consistent with the evidence and showed nothing except the dead world of shrivelled tissue. But in the top right-hand corner there was a difference. The cells had a hard, almost metallic look about them which might tell him that his worst fears were justified. Only might, how­ever. Marcus pushed emotion and loathing aside and concentrated on the job in hand. There was a hint of mummification present but no more.

  ‘Good girl.’ The sister had forestalled him by preparing another specimen and he exchanged the slides, feeling a trickle of sweat on his forehead and his heart beats speed up as he peered through the eyepiece. Because there was the proof clear before him. That was all he needed to know. The demons did exist and it had taken Tania’s preoccupa­tion with the occult to reveal their faces.

  Cajal and Forbes and Tyrell and Lashley. The names of the four scientists raced through his head as he straightened from the bench and motioned Knight to take his place.

  ‘Have a look for yourself, Doctor. The progress of the gangrene is rather significant, I think.’ Marcus heard Knight give a low whistle of astonishment as he walked over to a wash basin and started to soap his hands very carefully.

  ‘Well, Sir Marcus, what is it, man?’ Cameron was flushed with impatience and irritation. ‘Did you confirm your theory or not?’

  ‘I am very sorry to say that I have confirmed it, Chief Constable.’ Marcus was staring down into the basin. The hot water had dislodged the sticking plaster from the cut in his palm and was reddening with the blood.

  ‘We know that this man, L’Eclus, was on the launch and his body was so mutilated that it could only be identified by a tattoo mark. That was almost exactly two days ago.

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’ He took a towel from her and dried his hands. ‘The point is this, gentlemen. George L’Eclus was not killed at the time or in the manner you suppose. The condition of the brain tissue makes that quite clear. L’Eclus had been dead for at least twenty-four hours before the launch exploded.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was an evening of contrasts. In the south and east the sky was clear and full of stars, but from the north, bars of dark cloud were moving inland like the spearheads of an advancing army.

  ‘First time I’ve been up in these parts, sir, but I should say we’re in for a blow before morning.’ On his way to the police station for transport Kirk had thumbed a lift from an army truck and the officer at his side smiled happily. He had one pip on his battledress tunic and looked about sixteen years old. ‘We’re sleeping under canvas, as I told you, so a good storm will be something for the boys to remember.’

  ‘You appear to have been enjoying yourself, Lieutenant.’ The road to the peninsula was under repair and Kirk clutched the door as they rattled over the uneven surface.

  ‘You’re right about that, sir. We are part of a training unit, and for the last three months we’ve been stuck in barracks outside Carlisle. This has been a real break for us; almost like proper combat practice. Bit of a let down in the end of course.’

  ‘How do you mean, Lieutenant?’ Kirk turned away from the smiling face. Why did so many young men in uniform remind him of his son these days, he wondered bitterly, staring out at the wide sweep of the Atlantic. Alan had been dead for more than twenty-five years. He was at peace, buried safely under the ocean, and there was no point in torturing himself with the memory. All the same, how he wished that he was in a police car with a stolid, middle-aged driver and not beside this eager youth to bring back the past and trouble his memory. ‘What is the let down, my boy?’

  ‘That there’s no chance of taking the woman alive, sir.’ The young man saw the query in Kirk’s face and shook his head. ‘Oh, that’s definite enough. Apart from the moorland section which they’re beating at first light tomorrow morn­ing, every surface yard of the island has been covered. The C.O. is certain that she must be dead or has left Bala, and we’ll be on our way back to Carlisle in a day or two. Pity, but there you are and it was fun while it lasted, sir.’

  ‘I suppose it must have been.’ The general kept his eyes fixed on the lines of cloud hurrying in towards the hills. Good training for soldiers, he thought. News for reporters, exercise for the young men of the mountain rescue teams and an endless source of material for the writers of crime articles. The only price was ritual murder, mass murder and a group of old people who had been almost driven out of their minds by fear and sorrow.

  Entertainment had been provided for louts too. The driver sounded his horn and in the headlights Kirk saw that the road ahead was blocked by a crowd of youths in leather jackets and crash helmets. Some of them were busily light­ing fireworks which they clearly intended to use as grenades.

  ‘Don’t slacken speed, Corporal Jervis. Blow your horn, but keep your foot on the accelerator too and I’ll take full responsibility for anything that happens.’ The lieutenant’s voice was full of excitement. ‘Drive straight at ’em.’

  ‘My pleasure, Mr Baxter. Your message clearly under­stood.’ The driver’s foot went down to the floor boards, the truck roared forward and Kirk braced himself for the crunch of metal on flesh. A shower of crackers exploded before the windscreen, Roman Candles flared and then, at the last possible moment, the jeering, capering ranks broke and scurried for safety like rats in a stubble field.

  ‘Bastards! I wish you’d managed to get a couple of them, Jervis.’ The officer turned round to watch the abject figures pulling themselves out of the ditch.

  ‘Did you hear what happened to that company of R.E.s last night, sir? Twenty unarmed men attacked by over fifty louts with knives and bicycle chains. I’ll take the wheel on the way back, Corporal, and if there’s any more trouble I intend to enjoy myself.’ He laughed in anticipation as the truck thundered on. The moon was coming out from behind the mountains and the narrow lane appeared like a ribbon stretched tightly across the dark moorland.

  Oh never fear, man, nought’s to dread,

  Look not left nor right:

  In all the endless road you tread

  There’s nothing but the night.

  Kirk frowned as the quotation came to mind. He was the only person who had wondered why Anna Harb should have quoted Housman’s ‘soul that should not have been born’ and now he appeared to be the only person who con­sidered that the woman was still living and remained a threat. All of them, the police, the military, Cameron and even Marcus were convinced that the danger had passed. But somehow he knew that Anna Harb was very much alive and tonight he would see her for himself.

  ‘I’m afraid this is where we’ll have to part company, sir.’ A torch was flagging them down and the lorry drew up beside a group of soldiers. ‘I’m to relieve these chaps and take them straight back to Lochern.’ Boots clattered as the relief party left the rear compartment and the lieutenant held out his hand.

  ‘Goodbye, sir. Inver House is only about a third of a mile off and you’ll see it from the top of the next rise. I would have liked to take you the whole way, but the a
djutant is a bit of a tartar and my orders are to get back as quickly as I can.’

  ‘Don’t give it a thought, my boy.’ As their hands touched, the khaki uniform seemed to turn blue and Kirk saw a young midshipman saying goodbye to him. ‘With all those violent characters on the prowl it was noble of you to pick me up in the first place. Good night Mr Baxter, and thank you very much indeed.’ Kirk climbed down from the cab and started off along the road.

  After what happened later, the general retained no single memory of his walk, but only a series of disjointed impres­sions. How bright the beaches looked in the moonlight; the approach of the belt of cloud driven by a breeze as steady and unfaltering as a trade wind; the lights of a trawler far out to sea and the constant call of gulls. Now and again he had the feeling that he was not alone and that a tall gaunt figure was creeping behind him, and twice he turned and looked back before shrugging his shoulders and striding on with Housman’s reassurance in his mind. ‘In all the endless road you tread there’s nothing but the night.’ He recalled the roughness of the tarmac through his thin city shoes, the constancy of the wind and his blind assurance that he was right and everybody else was wrong. Anna Harb was alive and he was walking towards her.

  The lieutenant had underestimated the distance and Kirk had covered a good half-mile before he topped the ridge and saw the orphanage in front of him. The sun had been shining when he and Marcus had visited the place and even then they had found it sad. Now, in the gloom, Inver House had an air of utter defeat and helplessness, with its mock towers and battlements forlorn against the wild sky and the wall which would never keep out a determined enemy.