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<h2>25</h2>
<p>&#8220;We should take a look,&#8221; Helen had protested and
David had reluctantly agreed, over his better judgement. Both of
them were subliminally and consciously aware of the presence of
threat, the imminence of danger, yet each of them were now driven
to put an end to this, to find Ginny Marsden and the mysterious
baby. The young policeman was whey-faced and every now and again
his stomach muscles would spasm and he&#8217;d double over,
dry-retching. He had not been sick yet. Helen had felt the bolt and
roil of nausea and swallowed it back. The dead man&#8217;s awful
injuries had not been the worst, though they had been devastating.
The shotgun wounds were black and still liquid, while the blood on
the walls was black and dry, soaked into the paper. Other things,
dotted like flies still stuck there, shrivelling as they too dried.
The dead man had not been the worst of it, though his frozen
grimace, lips stretched back from bloodstained teeth, making him
look like a savage snarling in death had been a sickening sight. So
too had been his empty, bloodied eye sockets blindly staring at the
ceiling, mutely appealing for help.</p>
<p>The baby&#8217;s thin and waxen little body had been the worst.
David had tried to push her back from it, sparing her the horror,
but she had squirmed past him and now she wished she hadn&#8217;t
done that. The other policeman had not seen the baby. If he had, he
might have been a stretcher case by now.</p>
<p>She was shaking inside, shaking in fear and in anger and in a
sudden pathological loathing for the thing that had done this.</p>
<p><em>Not human.</em> The words repeated themselves in her mind.
<em>Thing</em>. She tried to shuck that thought away, but it came
back insistently, reinforcing the crazy theory that David had
raised.</p>
<p>What sort of woman steals a baby? What sort of baby steals a
mother?</p>
<p>And what sort of devil could do this to a helpless infant?</p>
<p>She had bit down on the nausea and backed away from the cot
where a thin trail of congealed blood hung down in an elongated
drip, like old black toffee. The baby&#8217;s little mouth had been
open</p>
<p>in a perfect circle, its tiny tongue, soft and delicate as a
rabbit&#8217;s tongue, protruding over the toothless gums. Splashes
of black, fathomless and alien, sank where the eyes had been. The
tiny chin was angled to the left and below it was a hole in the
flesh that reminded her of something. It was not until she got
outside that she remembered what it had been. She had once seen the
body of a tramp who had died of exposure in an old derelict
warehouse. He had not been found for some time, not by humans. The
rats had discovered him and had gnawed their way under his rib-cage
and were eating him from within. The body had twitched in a
ghastly, possessed way and the rats had come scurrying out of their
fleshy tunnel, glutted and fat. The baby did not twitch or tremble.
The tunnel in her little neck showed ragged and abraded ends of
tendons and blood-vessels. It looked as if something had drilled
its way through her skin and flesh. The small arms and legs were
thin and wasted, as if all the goodness had been sucked out of her,
and though Helen did not know it, that is exactly what the
pathologist would discover.</p>
<p>Outside in the yard, where the snow had begun to fall, swirled
round by the wind boiling up from the estuary, she had leaned
against David, while he had used Jimmy Mulgrew&#8217;s radio to
call in. He had kept it very brief. She held on to him, more for
the warmth of another human being, than for anything else, while
the initial ripple of shock and abhorrence faded to a level where
she could grasp it and wrestle it down. He put the radio back in
its socket in the front of the patrol car and then moved towards
their own car.</p>
<p>It was then that Helen had sensed something, and later on she
would say it was just like the scrape of awareness that had made
her flesh creep down in Levenford as she was leaving the old women
in the cafe, footsteps on her grave. Something touched her and she
stopped dead.</p>
<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; David asked. His face was pale and
pinched, showing he was not immune to what they had found in the
farmhouse.</p>
<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I got a
feeling.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;What kind of feeling?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;We should look here.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;We should wait for reinforcements,&#8221; David said.
&#8220;I think we should get out of this yard, just in
case.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;There could be something here,&#8221; she said.
&#8220;The guns are inside, and the used one is on the floor.
Whoever did this has cut and run.&#8221;</p>
<p>The contact touched her again, a feather stroke on the edge of
her thoughts, slightly greasy, ominous as a distant thundercloud.
She sensed it and something deep within her responded.</p>
<p>&#8220;I want to look around,&#8221; she said, suddenly afraid,
but needing to move. &#8220;It can&#8217;t do any harm.&#8221;</p>
<p>He had looked at her, weighing it up. She was probably right, he
finally conceded. This had not happened today, or yesterday. The
damage was a couple of days old and the killer had gone. He thought
that, yet the other part of him, the part that had read old Ron
McBean&#8217;s account and had dreamed of parasites, told him to
get the hell out of there. Ginny Marsden had come to Barloan
Harbour with her creepy little baby. Down the years, there had been
a trail of death and madness, suicide and lost, abandoned lives,
and they were all linked. Ginny Marsden had come here with her
creepy little baby and they had followed her trail and they had
found a tiny infant with a black, gaping hole in its neck and not a
drop of blood left in its body. He lifted up a hand to call her
back, but she was angling away towards the corner of the garage.
Behind him, Jimmy Mulgrew gurgled like a drain and then heaved his
substantial lunch onto a pile of potato sacks.</p>
<p>David shrugged. She was probably right. The inner voice nudged
and tweaked at him, but he ignored it. They were the police, his
rational voice said, stolid and definite. This is a murder.</p>
<p>Helen was across by the wall. The touch came again, gentle as
fog. She thought she heard the squeak of tiny bats, whispery as
insect legs on dry sand. It drew her onward and she did not even
know she was being pulled.</p>
<p><em>Go back.</em> The logical segment of her brain, the one
corresponding to David&#8217;s rational part, urged powerfully.
<em>Get out of here NOW,</em> pleaded the deep, subconscious core
that sensed a deep and alien danger and an awesome threat in the
shadows. Yet beneath that, something darker egged her on. Her
nipples tingled. At first she had been unaware of it as she crossed
the yard, feet muffled by the thickening snow. It came as a
pressure in her breasts and then a warmth that spread to the tips
and suffused them with a fierce, prickling heat. Down in her belly,
another warm, sensation spread, edged down between her legs, pulsed
twice, unexpected and powerful. For an instant her vision swam and
she thought she was slipping on ice. She reached a hand out to the
wall, found its cold surface, steadied herself. The brief flare was
gone, leaving her with only an itch and a sudden sense of need that
she could not identify.</p>
<p>Go back! <em>Get out of here!</em></p>
<p>It came loud, like a physical blow, just as she pushed forward.
Her hand shoved the faded red door. It creaked open in a shudder.
She was in before she knew it. The bat-squeak subaudible sound in
her ears swelled stronger. It felt like a resonance in the bones of
her skull. The fillings in her teeth sang in sympathy, sending a
ripple of galvanic shock down her jawbone. Behind her she heard the
clatter of the byre door as it swung along on its rollers, but it
sounded far away. She was here and she was now and her whole world
was suddenly shrunk right down to this singularity.</p>
<p>Above her, a slow, flopping sound rolled down from on high. The
air was cool and dry, filled with dust and another, more familiar
smell. She walked inside, across the dry straw-covered floor,
between two stalls festooned with ancient harnesses and bridles, to
the other side. Very slowly, and with hardly a sound this time, the
door swung shut. The darkness here was not absolute.</p>
<p>Another smell. She breathed in and the flush fluttered over her
skin in a hot tide. She turned, feeling the touch stronger now,
feeling it close. Deep within her, in her mind and in the cells of
her body, urgent messages were pulsing, exchanging, jumping from
axon to dendrite, from cell wall to cell. They shunted through her
nerves. For an instant, everything else was forgotten and a tide of
hungry need rolled up to swamp her.</p>
<p>Up there, the sound came rumbling, as if heard through several
layers of canvas, while the whispery call that snagged her went on
and on and on, insistently tugging at her. She was halfway up the
short flight of wooden steps when a shape launched itself from the
doorway ahead. Helen saw a pale face and a flapping coat, white
skin. It came rushing at her.</p>
<p>The singing in her ears soared to a glassy, brittle pitch, and
pain drilled into her skull, but over them, the appalling need
swamped everything. It took hold of her and drove her on. She
wanted it. It wanted her. She had to have it, Protect it,
<em>mother it.</em></p>
<p>Uncontrollable ripples of emotion pulsed into her, pulsed out
from her. The shape came lumbering down, pale in the gloaming
light, the edges of a coat flapping, while legs, moving slow, as if
through glue, thudding with soft, muffled crumps on the treads. She
saw a dark triangle of hair, realised this was a woman. She tried
to raise her head. There was something dark clutched tight in the
other woman&#8217;s arms.</p>
<p>The baby.</p>
<p>A surge of need was like a bolt of electricity, shivering her
from foot to head. She had to look after it, had to protect it. She
felt its touch and heard its cry and smelled its smell and for an
instant she was completely and utterly ensnared. She reached to
take it. It reached towards her, focusing its thoughts. She heard
its hunger.</p>
<p>Yes. <em>Yes.</em> Come now. Sizzling messages jangled between
them and the darkness started to close in on her.</p>
<hr />
<p><em>He saw her.</em></p>
<p>In that moment of recognition, his new hunger yawned, huge and
empty, confusing his senses and for an instant stripping his
instinct away.</p>
<p>The scent of blood was even now still in the air, the
mother&#8217;s blood, and with his own essence in it, rich and
powerful. She had come for him on the cusp of the change, when he
was freeing himself from the tight and fraying shackles of the old
skin, while he struggled to break out. She had almost succeeded
this one, even more than the last. The anger had flared and he had
almost put his head against her neck and sucked her dry, but he
still needed her. Instead he put the hurt in her, pushing the pain
deep inside, sensing the explosion within her and hearing that
sudden mental shriek as it burned in her head.</p>
<p>The mother had stopped, snared by the hurt and then he had
pulled the pain out and covered it with a different pressure,
making her love him again. She had nursed him in the dark, and he
had fed, stronger now and needing more. He had fed ravenously,
glutting himself even as she felt her own strength diminish.
Another change was already boiling inside him, making his blood
sizzle and his muscles tremble. It was coming so swiftly, hard on
the heels of the last one, that its speed confused him and he only
knew he had to feed fast now. Soon he would have to make her move
on, because he sensed this change would not last long. The growth
inside him was phenomenal. There were changes within changes, new
senses, new needs, waxing with every feeding. He could not resist
those changes any more than he could turn away from the need to
feed.</p>
<p>Still he had no conscious thought, though a kind of intelligence
burned behind the thick lids that protected his eyes from the day.
His instinct, however, was all. He fed and slumbered, holding the
mother tight with his neural connections as he did, making sure she
could not escape again.</p>
<p>The sensation of threat, his ever-alert sentry, woke him and he
knew they were coming again. Unconsciously he had reached out and
touched, feeling them approach and he recognised their glow, the
way a dog sniffs a familiar scent. He pushed the mother, waking her
brutally. She came awake, coughing harshly, choking in the dust
until he suppressed it. Her lungs were filling up with fluid. He
made her sit very still, despite the cold of the old loft. They
both heard the trundling vibration of the cars as they came round
into the courtyard and still he waited, despite the urgent
instinctive need to move, to fly.</p>
<p>His new hunger confused his instinct and made him wait.</p>
<p>After a while, noises came outside. People talked,
unintelligible grunts and creaks to him and he recognised her
sounds again. He stretched out, sending a tendril curl down towards
her and slid it over the top of her thoughts.</p>
<p>She sensed him and recoiled. A delicious heat spread inside him,
and the new thing between his legs swelled, urgent and
thrusting.</p>
<p>He waited a while, fighting the need to be away and in a safe
place, unable to comprehend the speed of the next change. The
mother breathed steadily, her eyes closed and mouth open, a trickle
of saliva dangling from her cracked lips. He could feel her
encapsulated horror tumbling inside her mind and ignored it.
Outside, beyond the walls, danger walked. He stayed stock still,
all his senses stretched to their ultimate, picking up sounds and
vibrations and the heat of the moving shapes. In the dark,
surrounded by the old hay, clutched in the mother&#8217;s arms, he
was safe for the moment.</p>
<p>Out there, the noises faded for a while, leaving a silence
broken only by the rising moan of the wind, until a cry came, low
and inarticulate. Some more noises, a clang of metal. His nerves
twitched and he waited, awake and aware. Something was about to
happen. The imminence of danger pressed at him. He closed his eyes
and reached out just as the door opened below and alarm suddenly
flared.</p>
<p>The mother jerked, hauled out of her torpor.</p>
<p>&#8220;Wha...?&#8221; a sudden sound blurted. He punched a
command at her and her mouth clamped shut. The door rattled, the
old loose hinges protesting. A shape came inside, sensed, rather
than seen, through the gaps of the floorboards of the hayloft. He
reached again, and touched the other female. An explosion of
emotions erupted within him. The mother jerked back, hitting her
shoulder against the heavy oak beam. The thud boomed hollowly.</p>
<p>Some reflex, some intuitive force made him move. He shoved at
the mother, giving her a savage mental wrench. Her eyes opened
wide, mouth wider. She got to her feet and moved slowly to the top
of the steps.</p>
<p>______</p>
<p>When Kate Park became aware, she was already moving. Her body
was a mass of pain and her foot was shrieking loudest of all. The
bones of her toes had been dislocated and distorted as the tine of
the pitchfork ripped between them. The puncture holes, top and
bottom, were now ragged and black. A gangrene was setting in there
on top of the infection from the rats droppings. Her joints sung a
protest song as they ground together. Her breasts, now thin and
dangling, felt as if they had been torn in a clawed vice. She was
moving down the stairs from the dark of a hayloft. A blink of
darkness flooded her vision, as if an internal switch had been cut,
then her sight came back and with it came her own conscious
self.</p>
<p>She was moving and her body was screaming in pain but her mind
was her own. It had turned away from her, swung its dreadful
concentration from her own mind. She stumbled down the stairs, not
even limping, though the agony was so immense it felt as if she was
riding an impossible surf of hurt. It carried her along, carried
her down.</p>
<p>A pale face floated in the gloom.</p>
<p>She saw the woman, seeing her eyes widen, all of it in slow
motion. She was slim and dark haired and she was reaching outwards
towards the baby as if her life depended on the contact.</p>
<p>In that instant of recognition, Kate Park became a martyr.</p>
<p>In that moment of time, all three of them were bonded. The other
woman&#8217;s hunger came sizzling between them and her primitive
need to protect the baby came rolling up from her depths. The baby
was calling out to her, a feral, mindless demand. The girl was
reaching for it, snared by the thing.</p>
<p>The image of her baby&#8217;s pallid face lying in the cot came
suddenly back to her and Kate Park&#8217;s mind almost broke with
the pain of it. She saw her dead husband twitching his last while
his blood ran across the floor. She saw the thing sucking down
there at his face.</p>
<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; she grunted, though the sound was hardly even
audible. She perceived the young woman&#8217;s need, knew it would
have her, would capture her mind and soul, and in that instant she
reacted.</p>
<p>Helen Lamont reached to touch the thing that was still huddled
between Kate Park&#8217;s breast, overwhelmed by the need to hold
and protect it, and overcome by the strange, hot urgency in the pit
of her belly that was something entirely different from
mother-love.</p>
<p>She reached with both hands and Kate Park slammed her to the
floor. There was no hesitation. The woman swung out a sturdy arm
and hit her square on the side of the face. The slap sounded like
leather on wood. Helen went spinning away. She hit an upright with
a dull thud and fell to the floor.</p>
<p>The beast howled in fury.</p>
<p>Kate&#8217;s momentum carried her across the store-room, past
the stalls and out the back door. The thing in her arms was
shrieking madly, its mind still casting round to grab the other
woman. But for seconds, for a few vital seconds, Kate Park&#8217;s
mind was her own, and in that brief, somehow eternal, space of
time, she refused to let the monster take another human.</p>
<p>She pushed the door hard. It swung back, hit the wall and she
was out in the snow. Cold bit at her skin. The thing at her breast
cowered from the sudden lack of warmth. It&#8217;s mind was singing
in screeching anger and thwarted hunger. She ran along, loose shoes
clacking on the hard-pack ground, coat flapping in her wake, right
down the line of the hedge, taking advantage of its frustration and
confusion, putting distance between her and the farm, knowing she
was doomed anyway, but doomed to hell if she stayed to let it take
another woman.</p>
<p>Down at the bottom end of the field, where the old fence gave on
to woodland, it stopped her headlong, staggering rush with a savage
twist of demand, but she was too far now. It turned its attention
to her, seething with incoherent anger. It pulsed at her and an
augur of pain drilled into the back of Kate Park&#8217;s head. The
last thing she knew before she lost control of her own mind was the
appalling satisfaction that she had fought it, and on one level,
she had won.</p>
<hr />
<p>Helen Lamont had hit against the post and she dropped like a
sack. The darkness spun and fragmented into crazy whirling
Christmas lights. The sound was shrieking in her ears and the smell
filled her pores and then everything broke up into shards. She
rolled, gagged, got to a knee, fell again and then she burst into
tears of loss and anger and pain and relief.</p>
<p>She had almost seen it. As soon as it was gone and as soon as
she had got to her knees she realised that it had almost had her
and a dreadful horror surged inside her at how close it had been.
Everything was blurred. She remembered walking away from the car
and nothing else after that except the humming sound of music in
her ears and an urgent sense of want. She had turned and something
had...</p>
<p>She reached for the memory, not wishing to see that it might
show her, shuddering all the while, trying to overcome the racking
sobs that shook her and filled her with that deadly, hopeless sense
of loss. She turned, got to a crouch, tried to stand.</p>
<p>The image wavered in her memory, trying to get through.
Something had come at her, big and white. A woman? Yes, it had
been. And in her arms she had held something that had reached out
to her and demanded her love. She had stretched and even in the act
of reaching she had sensed the wrongness that jittered under the
urgent compulsion. She had not been able to help herself at all,
snared in the intensity of its command.</p>
<p><em>Alien.</em> She had almost been there. It had almost had
her. She had been smothered by the need to protect and nurture it.
It was a parasite. The realisation swamped her in a tide of terror
and relief. The false imperative was ebbing away fast and on its
heels came the fear. It had been an alien thing. It had reached
into her soul and touched her and for a moment she was not herself
at all, just a thing to be commanded by the filthy mental touch of
something that should never have existed.</p>
<p><em>Parasite</em>, she thought, breath now hitching violently.
It was a parasite and it had wanted to feed on her.</p>
<p>The woman had slapped her, hit her. Had it been Ginny Marsden?
Had she inadvertently saved Helen from it? Or had she deliberately
saved her?</p>
<p>The door opened and David came running in. He took one look at
her, hauled her to her feet. &#8220;What happened? Did you see
him?&#8221;</p>
<p>Helen coughed, felt a bubble swell out of one nostril. She wiped
it away unselfconsciously, pointed at the door.
&#8220;There.&#8221; She said. &#8220;She got away.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;She? Was it Marsden?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. She hit me.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Did she have the baby?&#8221; David wanted to know. Helen
could not even respond for a moment. She felt a warm itch of blood
trickle from a scrape on her temple. David was across at the back
door, pushing it open. Here in the lea of the wind, the snow had
not gathered. There was a space of about two yards clear behind the
building that was bare of snow. He looked up and down, but there
was no sign of movement. There were no footprints on the hard mud.
Finally he came back to her.</p>
<p>&#8220;You sure you saw something?&#8221; he asked.</p>
<p>&#8220;Yes. I saw something and it hit me. Oh God. It was a
woman and she was carrying a bundle. I think it was a baby. It
almost had me, for god&#8217;s sake.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;How do you mean?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;It reached inside me and told me to become its
mother.&#8221; She turned to David, blinking the tears back.
&#8220;It felt like leprosy, David. It felt like it had been
waiting just for me. And I couldn&#8217;t do a thing about
it.&#8221;</p>
<p>She held on to the lapels of his coat until a fresh and violent
shudder of sobbing passed. He knew he should be out there looking
for the woman, yet all he could do was stand and hold on to
her.</p>
<hr />
<p>Kate Park made it to the bottom of the hill hobbling in little
spastic jerks, her body bent against the pain of disintegration.
Her eyes were wide and blinkless, despite the whipping snow. She
was heading for shelter, driven on by the force of its will. She
reached the fence and skirted along the tree-line, now out of the
direct wind. Ahead, the land rose and she forced her way up, every
breath a purgatory of rasping pain, every step a hell of hurt, but
she could not pause, not flag. Her mind was no longer her own.</p>
<p>She stumbled on, as the light was beginning to fade in the sky
and the clouds rolled overhead. At the crest of the low slope, a
black cloud erupted from the field that had been ploughed the week
before. A flock of rooks, great black birds, took to the air,
startled by her sudden lurching presence. There were forty or more,
wide and glossy, cawing angrily. They wheeled, took off for the
trees, then turned towards her. She reached the corner where a
stile gave on to a woodland path which would lead to the far side
of Barloan Harbour, close to the soaring bridge over the estuary.
As she levered herself to the top of the steps, the flock of rooks
came winging in, beaks wide, wings whooping. They swooped down,
beating at her with their wings, black beaks pecking at her head.
In at her breast, the baby thing hissed and spat, sensing their own
perception of something alien, but unable to turn his head and open
his eyes to the daylight.</p>
<p>If Kate&#8217;s mind had been her own, she would have known the
crows were mobbing her, driving her off as they would a stoat or an
owl caught out in the daytime, vulnerable in the open. They sensed
the predator and the parasite and instinctively drove it away. She
stumbled over the stile, landed heavily and twisted her ankle.
There was no stopping. The crows followed them a short distance
into the tangle of the woods and then pulled off, still cawing
deafeningly. She moved on, down towards the old railway, lugging
the weight she was forced to carry.</p>
<hr />
<p>It had all been his fault, David knew that.</p>
<p>The sirens howled like banshees and the ice-blue lights pulsed
like electrical sparks on the home straight. Jimmy Mulgrew was
shivering and not from the cold. His eyes rolled every now and
again and he would grab something to stop him from falling. He had
been sick so often and so violently he believed the next spasm
would turn him completely inside out.</p>
<p>David sat with Helen, merely holding her hand. She was shivering
like an aspen leaf. He could feel it vibrate into him. Her eyes
were wide and dark and she looked into the distance as if she had
gone blind. Two red grooves angled from her ear to the point of her
jaw and the side of her face was swollen alarmingly. It reminded
David of Greta Simon&#8217;s slumped leer and he winced at the
comparison.</p>
<p>Helen had not been badly hurt, not physically. But the look in
her face told it all. She looked as if she was in the middle of a
nightmare she could not escape from.</p>
<p>He should have pulled out.</p>
<p>She wouldn&#8217;t have been hurt if he&#8217;d just got them
out of there and waited for the cavalry. Yet both of them had been
compelled to stay, compelled to look. Christ, they could have been
killed, he thought, all of them. He put his arm around her, pulling
her close. Nearby, beside the barn wall where he&#8217;d hauled
them back, the young constable was bent over again, gagging
ferociously. David and Helen were sitting on the upturned trough,
out of the wind, out of the gathering blizzard which had started
only a few minutes ago and was now already covering the dead,
fluttering bodies of the pigeons.</p>
<p>Exactly what had happened here? He couldn&#8217;t begin to
imagine, he tried to tell himself, but his imagination was all
fired up and doing nicely on its own. She shivered beside him,
breathing hard, as if she&#8217;d run a long way and had some
distance yet to travel.</p>
<p>The sirens howled a cacophony, the blinking lights battling
bravely through the snowstorm. Down on the lane the gate opened,
slammed hard against its post with the sound of a heavy bell and
the cars came rolling on, wheels crunching on the gravel that would
be hidden when the wind came round to let the snow lie on the
track. A big sergeant, grizzle haired and jug-eared, wide as an
outhouse and towering over them all came striding forward, followed
by four other men in uniform and a pair of ambulance men in medics
greens. Another car let out two pairs of plain clothes men and
David recognised one of them as a Chief Inspector from the west
division. He bulled his way forward.</p>
<p>&#8220;Well, young David,&#8221; he said, recognising him by
sight, or simply from what he&#8217;d heard. &#8220;What in the
name of God&#8217;s going on?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Two dead,&#8221; David said, &#8220;In there.&#8221; He
pointed towards the farmhouse. &#8220;Plus some dead
animals.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Signs of violence?&#8221; The detective asked. His name,
David remembered was Bert Millar</p>
<p>David nodded. Helen shivered. &#8220;One of them&#8217;s
gunshot. Shotgun. Haven&#8217;t a clue about the baby.&#8221; She
shivered against him again at the sound of the word.</p>
<p>&#8220;Jesus. A baby?&#8221; The detective turned to one of his
men. &#8220;Tell the office we need a full forensic, if it&#8217;s
not on its way. And dogs.&#8221;</p>
<p>He swung back to David. &#8220;This a today job?&#8221;</p>
<p>David shook his head this time. &#8220;Couple of days, I think.
The blood&#8217;s dried and clotted, no sign of mould
yet.&#8221;</p>
<p>The older man looked at Helen. &#8220;Does she live
here?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;No, she&#8217;s with me. D.C. Lamont. Waterside section.
City division.&#8221;</p>
<p>It was almost like a code. Short, rattled sentences, the
machine-gunning of professionals.</p>
<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s up with her?&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Slipped on the ice, Sir,&#8221; Helen spoke up. She had
gone very still and David could feel the vibration in her body,
tense and trembling. &#8220;Hit against the wall.&#8221; David said
nothing. He had only seen a shape, maybe, a kind of movement along
by the far hedge leading along the side of the field towards the
trees. He&#8217;d considered pursuit, but Helen had been on the
ground, hands to her face, obviously in pain. She&#8217;d seen it,
and she wasn&#8217;t ready to tell another soul. Not yet.</p>
<p>&#8220;There might have been somebody in the barn. I
couldn&#8217;t be certain,&#8221; he said, knowing he had a duty to
tell them at least that. The senior man nodded, jerked his head to
one of the others who strode towards the gaping door.</p>
<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d get that seen to,&#8221; Bert Millar said. He
beckoned to the big sergeant who came clumping forward, his collar
up against the gathering wind. &#8220;David&#8217;s going to show
us. There&#8217;s a man shot in there.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Is it Jack Park?&#8221; he wanted to know, but David
hadn&#8217;t a clue, and the young policeman had been no help at
all. He had been unable to speak from the violence of his vomiting
and he now looked as if his mouth had forgotten how.</p>
<p>They all walked in through the gap towards the courtyard of the
farm as the snow fell in a silent shroud, giving the day an eerie,
slow-motion effect. The flashing lights added a winking
Christmas-card image as the snow began to pile quickly on the roofs
and chimneys and the curve of the nearby barn, while inside, they
both knew, was like a scene from hell. He was reluctant to go back
inside again. They passed the door that led to the old hay-loft. It
was still swinging on its hinge. He felt Helen cringe as they
walked by.</p>
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