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<h2>31</h2>
<p>Gordon Pirie's shift had been over for an hour, but he'd stayed
around the office after midnight talking to the blonde policewoman
who worked on Ralph Slater's team and who was three years older
than he was, wondering if he should ask her out. He was too new to
the job to realise that she was surreptitiously involved with
Sergeant Thomson whose divorce papers had come though only a month
before. She recognised and even appreciated the young recruit's
interest and chattered to him amiably while she typed up her
reports. He took the hint when she pointed out that he was getting
unpaid overtime and should either be home in his bed or in the back
room of the County Bar whose rear alleyway door was always open, no
matter the hour, to off-shift policemen.</p>
<p>He got his hat from the stand and adjusted it self-consciously,
struggled into his still-new coat and went down the corridor
towards the fire-door which led to the front office. Before he
pushed through, he could hear raised voices out at the reception
desk and when he opened the door, a barrage of noise erupted. Close
to the front entrance, a man was bawling at the top of his voice,
while two policemen were trying to calm him down by the time
honoured method of getting him in a head-lock and bending him
forward, one arm up behind his back, so that his head almost
touched his knees.</p>
<p>At the desk a woman in a faded grey coat was screaming as loudly
as the pinioned man was, her shrewish face screwed up and red from
the effort. A drop of saliva spat out from a mouth which showed
long stained teeth. She was using words which Gordon Pirie had
heard many a time, but had rarely used himself. Beside her, two
small children in dirty fake-fur-lined anoraks were crying almost
loud enough to drown their mother out.</p>
<p>"That's the last time I bail you out," she screamed. "Ungrateful
shite," she screeched. "Just you wait 'til I get you home.</p>
<p>"Aye, well just don't bother your arse next time, bitch that you
are," the man bawled back, still struggling against the two
policemen. "And get your fuckin' hands off me you shower of
bastards." He lashed out with his heel and kicked fresh air, but on
the back swing, his heel caught one of his captors right on the
shin. From where he stood Gordon heard the crack and he winced in
sympathy.</p>
<p>"Get off me you swines," he snarled.</p>
<p>"Aye, leave the wee bastard alone," the woman shrieked. "He's
not worth the bother."</p>
<p>"See you, you ugly bitch. You're nothin' but a po-faced shrew
like your mother."</p>
<p>"Don't you bring my mother into this." She turned to the
snivelling children. "That's your granny he's talking about, God
rest her soul. Have you ever heard the likes? Just don't yous
listen to him."</p>
<p>Gordon stood bemused, watching the tussle as the small man in
the greasy donkey jacket and outsize navvy's tackety boots writhed
and twisted like a cat in a sack while the two big policemen tried
to get a firm grip of him, one of them still hopping on one foot.
Bobby Thomson, behind the desk, was trying to keep the smile from
his face.</p>
<p>"Domestic bliss," he remarked jovially, whereupon the woman
rounded on him.</p>
<p>"Just you shut it. He never did anything wrong," she hooted,
diverting her wrath at Bobby, who merely shrugged and failed to
keep his face straight.</p>
<p>Just at that moment, from down the other corridor, another blast
of noise erupted. The sound of a man shouting hoarsely came
reverberating up the passage, followed by a loud, violent banging.
Gordon turned round just as the man's voice rose to a yammering
scream.</p>
<p>"I thought this would be a quiet night," Bobby Thomson said with
a long-suffering sigh.</p>
<p>"I suppose that's another one you've been kicking lumps out of,
you big bastards," the woman yelled.</p>
<p>Down at the cells, the shouting rose to a crescendo and the
furious hammering on the door resounded up the passageway.</p>
<p>"Here, son," Bobby said. He reached behind him to the green
board and unhooked a tangled bunch of keys which he slung onto the
desktop. "Away and see what's eating him. Tell him if he doesn't
shut up and get to sleep I'll come down and give him something to
shout about."</p>
<p>"Aye, that's typical of you lot," the woman shouted. "Folk that
never did you any harm. You should be out looking for the nutter
that's killing those bairns, instead of picking up decent folk just
because they've had a wee drink." She turned to the ongoing
struggle at the door.</p>
<p>"Hey Hughie, stop your nonsense and get yourself home before I
take my hand off your face."</p>
<p>Gordon stood with the keys in his hands, wondering what to do.
Bobby glared at him and told him to get moving.</p>
<p>"But I'm just going off..." Gordon began to protest, but stopped
when the sergeant simply stared him down. Bobby's moustache was
beginning to bristle. The young man turned and went down the
corridor towards the cells where the racket was almost deafening in
the enclosed, narrow space. He followed the sound and stood outside
the metal door.</p>
<p>Inside, hardly muffled by the thick steel, he could hear the
prisoner screaming incoherently. There was a loud thump and the
door quivered on its hinges. The young policeman flipped back the
cover on the peephole and put a wary eye up close to the door.
There was nothing to be seen. The cell was pitch dark, but the
man's screams soared upwards in a harsh cacophony. Something hit
the door again, making it ring like an anvil. He rattled the key in
the lock and gave it two turns to the right. The mortice snicked
back and he pulled the door open.</p>
<p>At first there was nothing to be seen. The overhead light, which
should have been on continuously, was out. The hard cot against the
wall was empty. In the corner next to the re-inforced window-grate,
the prisoner was bawling dementedly, and from the sound of it, he
was thrashing on the floor.</p>
<p>He kept the door open with his foot, letting the wan light from
the corridor shine against the wall of the cell while his eyes
accustomed themselves to the darkness. He snaked a hand on to the
outside wall and checked the old brass switch. It was in the on
position.</p>
<p>"What's going on?" he called out.</p>
<p>"Keep away from me," the man screeched, the first coherent words
Gordon had heard from him. "Keep away for the love of Christ."
Something moved in the far corner and rolled in the gloom towards
the cot. There was not enough light to see what it was, but he got
the vague impression of a man's form writhing on the floor.</p>
<p>"What's all the noise about?" the young policeman asked,
stepping forward. He crossed to the wall and hunkered down beside
the hunched shape. As soon as he touched him, the man lashed out
with a fist and caught Gordon a sharp crack on the cheek.</p>
<p>"Keep away from me. Get." the man squawked. He was kicking and
struggling. One foot hit the side of the cot with a thud and his
head rapped against the cold tiles of the wall. All the time he
kept repeating his demands to be left alone.</p>
<p>"Hey, hold on," Gordon said. The blow on the cheek had made his
eye water and he could feel the flush of heat spread round to his
ear. "Come on now. Get a hold of yourself."</p>
<p>Behind him, the heavy door swung very slowly until it clanged
against the post. The light faded to a deep gloom. Through the
thick and dirty glass on the cross-hatched window, there was hardly
any light at all from the nearest street lamp. Gordon groped
forward in the dark and felt the man's shoulders, They were
shivering violently as if a shock of high voltage was running
through him.</p>
<p>"Come on and I'll help you up."</p>
<p>He pulled at the man who jerked back as if he'd been
scalded.</p>
<p>"No. Oh please, no," he screamed. "Don't touch me. Keep your
filthy hands off me. You're a fucking devil."</p>
<p>"No, no, it's alright. I'm a policeman."</p>
<p>Gordon hadn't heard about the arrest that day. He didn't know
why the man was in jail. He assumed he was a drunk who'd been
hauled in from the street or one of the benches at the Cenotaph
grounds. He also thought the man might be suffering from the DT's,
although he'd never seen that happen, only heard about it. He
wondered if he should go back and tell the sergeant.</p>
<p>Ignoring the man's frantic writhing, he grabbed him under the
armpits. "Come on man, get up," He tried to lift the fellow,
bending right down over the slumped form, when a foul smell
suddenly filled the cell. At first Gordon thought the reek was
coming from the man on the floor and he drew back, disgusted,
throat gagging.</p>
<p>"Dirty bugger, have you shit yourself?" he gasped through the
throat-puckering stench.</p>
<p>He let the man fall to the ground, turned away, almost
retching.</p>
<p>Beneath him, the man was moaning and blubbering. By now the
words were all jumbled up and incomprehensible. Gordon dived a hand
into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief his mother had
pressed into a neat square. He clamped it over his face.</p>
<p>Then the room got colder. It wasn't like a draught, or a breeze
from an open window. In one quick moment of time, the temperature
of the cell simply plummeted. Gordon breathed in through his mouth
and he felt the sharp glacial air catch in his lungs.</p>
<p>"What the hell?" he mumbled though the handkerchief. The cold
was so intense it was already numbing his fingers and nipping at
his ears. He straightened up, eyes widening, trying to see in the
dark, when something moved in the corner just to the right of the
door.</p>
<p>"Eh?" he said. For some reason he couldn't quite understand, his
whole body was instantly <em>singing</em> with unaccountable
tension. He whirled round, trying to make out the movement. Just at
his feet, the man whimpered. Gordon took two steps.</p>
<p>"Don't." the man blubbered. "Stay away. Oh please, get away from
here."</p>
<p>Gordon thought the prisoner was talking to him. He half turned
towards the man when his peripheral vision caught a sudden movement
in the gloom. The blackness just reached out to him, a shadow that
simply expanded out of the darkness. Before he had time to flinch,
it elongated with rippling speed and seized him by the neck with
such force he heard his own larynx collapse.</p>
<p>A muted squawk of sound was forced out of his mouth as the pain
tore across his throat.</p>
<p>Then he was in the air. His feet came right off the ground as he
was thrown backwards by an immense force. The darkness whirled
around him, cutting off every dim ray of light. The grip on his
throat was so fierce he couldn't breathe, and he felt his eyes
begin to bulge with the unbelievable pressure inside his head. A
hot metal taste of blood filled his mouth. Something else popped in
his neck and a jagged pain danced down to his shoulder, followed by
an immediate warm, wet flow.</p>
<p>The young policeman's hat flew off and hit the wall and his
handcuffs sailed from his pocket to jangle to the floor. The heel
of his boot struck the man on the floor on the side of the head,
but the policeman did not notice that. He was still travelling
upwards in the dark. He felt himself turned, still in mid air and
something else took hold of him by the chest and a vast pressure
squeezed at him. It felt as if he was being gripped in an enormous,
relentless vice which was squashing him flat.</p>
<p>Everything went in ultra-slow motion, on the crest of the sudden
tidal wave of fright-induced adrenalin flow. Gordon heard the door
close with a low <em>clang</em> so deep it was like a vibration of
a monstrous gong. Just in front of his face, unseen in the perfect
darkness, something snarled, low and feral and guttural. He was
still rising through the air, too frozen to struggle, when he was
slammed against the wall. His head went whiplashing back against
the glass and one of the tiny, inch-thick panes in the heavy grid
cracked. A sickening nausea swelled and rolled in the back of his
head and an unbelievable ripping pain tore into his back between
his shoulder blades.</p>
<p>Force of the blow expelled the air from his lungs, forcing it
past the enormous pressure on his throat to come out in a cough of
blood which spurted down his nose and sprayed from between his
teeth.</p>
<p>The pressure on his neck vanished and he felt his body sag
downwards. The grip on his ribs squeezed once, with ferocious,
incomprehensible force, then let go.</p>
<p>Completely dazed, Gordon hung there in the dark, twisting in a
sea of hurt which swelled higher and higher, gaining in intensity.
Beneath him, his legs kicked out in a palsied frenzy, though,
bewilderingly, he felt no pain there. Their spastic dance, however,
raised the white hot pain in his back to an incandescent flare.
There was something else wrong, but he couldn't understand what it
was. Something terrible wrong which he was unable to fathom in the
shock of the violence and pain. In front of him, something moved
with a scuttering sound. The darkness expanded again and in that
dark, a huge bare eye flicked open and stared into his. Even
through the blood which clogged his nostrils, he could smell the
putrid breath as the darkness exhaled in a ravening growl so deep
it shivered the walls. The eye fixed him with its dead stare and he
felt as if he was being sucked into it as it grew larger as it grew
closer.</p>
<p>The shrieking hurt in his back rived right through him. He
couldn't breathe. His chest twitched helplessly and every hitch
sent a knife of pain through his chest. The young man's whole body
went into a spasm of trembling and as he shuddered uncontrollably,
up against the wall. He felt the rending <em>tear</em> of skin and
flesh inside him. Gordon's hand came up reflexively, inadvertently
brushing against something that was hard and slickly smooth
protruding from between his ribs. His hand scrabbled there on the
wet fabric of his tunic, his mind reeling in confusion while inside
his brain synapses and dendrites were sparking away with urgent
unbelievable messages.</p>
<p>He was impaled on the wall. Something had come out of the dark
and lifted him up and hung him up on a spike.</p>
<p>In that strange slow motion, stretched-out instant of time, he
realised what had happened and the enormity of it dawned on his
stunned mind.</p>
<p>The dark had moved. It had shoved him onto a spike and put it
right through his body. The realisation of imminent death washed
over him in a flow as cold as the air of the cell. In that moment
his brain stopped its jangling dance and an icy calm spread
thorough him. Beneath his waist, his nerveless legs, cut off from
the command centre at the top of his spine by the curve of metal
driven through from shoulders to breastbone, continued to dance and
quiver on their own. Already the pain was beginning to fade, as
Gordon Pirie, brain starved of oxygen because of the enormous loss
of blood, began to lose consciousness.</p>
<p>"I'm dying," he heard his own voice, as if from far away, though
the words were inside his head. His shattered larynx and the
crushing force on his windpipe had made breathing almost
impossible. His abdomen still bellowed jerkily and he could hear
the hiss of air escape through the gaping hole in the front of his
soaked tunic.</p>
<p>"I've only just started my job and I'm going to die," he thought
distantly.</p>
<p>Just in front of his face, the enormous, putrid yellow eye
glared at him with a light of its own. The absence of any pupil
made it look eerily blind, but the young constable, dangling there
in the dark, could feel the frigid malevolence in its stare.</p>
<p>It continued to watch in utter coldness as the life faded from
the boy's eyes.</p>
<p>The last things Gordon Pirie heard was the odd drumming of his
heels against the wall, the steady hoarse animal sounds of the dark
thing's breathing and the whimpering gurgle of the man on the
floor.</p>
<p>The thing continued to watch, glaring right down behind the
young rookie's eyes, searching for the crossover moment when all
life became extinct.</p>
<p>For a while there was complete silence in the cold dark. Very
slowly, the black shape pulled itself down from where it hung on
the wall. The great eye closed. The shadow flowed back from the cot
in a strange liquid motion, and oozed towards the man on the
floor.</p>
<p>Michael O'Day screamed in panic. He was not quite sure what had
happened. Something had hit him on the head and the blow had
knocked him against the wall, giving him the merciful respite of a
momentary daze. He blinked his eyes, feeling the cold steal into
his bones, and then the dark came rolling towards him.</p>
<p>"No," he said. "Get away. Leave me alone."</p>
<p>He shrank back against the wall, eyes wide and terror stricken.
The shadow flowed over his legs, swelled, then shrunk. Michael
O'Day opened his mouth to shriek his fear and the dark elongated
towards him and flowed between his lips. He tried to clench his
teeth shut, but his jaw was forced open so wide he could hear the
muscles creak. An intense cold, even deeper than the now arctic
chill inside the cell, flowed into him, a glacier of ice. Michael
O'Day gagged, twitched violently just once, and was still.</p>
<p>The dead silence fell like a weight while the man lay, hands
held up like claws in front of his face, eyes staring, face
contorted in a frozen gape. He lay like that without a sound,
without a movement for quite some time.</p>
<p>But after a while, in the dim light of the cell, Michael O'Day's
pale Irish eyes blinked once.</p>
<p>He grunted as he turned and shoved himself to his feet. Without
a sound, he crossed the cell to the door and pushed it open. The
feeble light, a single bulb overhead encased in a heavy mesh,
briefly illuminated the wall at the far end of the small room.</p>
<p>Gordon Pirie was hanging against the wall. His lifeless eyes
stared out from above the spattering of blood at his nose and chin.
His tunic was tented out in the front of his chest, forcing his
radio to twist to the side on his lapel. From a gash in the fabric,
the upward curved ratcheted spine of the window opening protruded
like a blunt sabre. The young man's police boots dangled two feet
from the floor. His eyes were unfocussed, but they seemed to be
peering onto the far distance.</p>
<p>The thing that wore the body of Michael O'Day closed the door
and locked it with a quick turn of the key. It turned, staying
close to the wall, avoiding the light, until it got to the
mortuary. The door was open, and in the shadows, it slipped inside.
A moment later, there was a jangling of keys and a quick snap. The
door opened at the back of the station and a dark shape let itself
out into the huddle of outbuildings. Down from the station, past
College Walk, the shape merged with the shadows of the
rhododendrons of Cenotaph Park.</p>
<p>The pale eyes glinted with an inner light which gave them a
yellow tinge in the deep shade. It remembered this place. It had
been here before.</p>
<hr />
<p>She woke with such a start that her cry of alarm catapulted Jack
out of sleep. For a second, there was a rush of disorientation.</p>
<p>"Whassamater," he blurted. Lorna was struggling in his embrace,
squirming in panic. He tried to move but his arm had gone to sleep
and was caught between the girl and the back of the couch. He
shifted position and pulled free, still dozily confused.
Immediately pins and needles sparked painfully down the length of
his arm.</p>
<p>The effort of Lorna's attempt to use her unwanted perception had
exhausted her and the effect had appalled her. She had slumped back
in the settee, rigid with panic and he'd put his arm round her to
hold her close again. She hadn't said a word for more than twenty
minutes and he waited until the tuning-fork vibration of her body
had faded and she'd started breathing slowly again. He still held
her close, gently rubbing her arm with his hand in slow, soothing
strokes. She mumbled something and he bent his head only to
discover she was fast asleep.</p>
<p>Jack wondered whether to carry her into her room and tuck her up
in bed, but dismissed the notion on the grounds that she might wake
up while he did so and wrongly suspect his intent, and because of
the possibility she might wake up and get another fright when she
found herself alone. Her breathing deepened and she snuggled
comfortably into him. A few moments later Jack dozed off.</p>
<p>When her cry woke him, he didn't know where he was. His eyes
were gritty and the back of his throat dry. The pins and needles
were stinging under the skin of his arm and his shoulder was stiff.
Lorna was writhing to pull free.</p>
<p>"What's happening?" he asked again.</p>
<p>"Get away. Oh <em>please</em> get away from me!" Her cry was
deafening, so close to his ear. Jack twisted round and despite the
numbness in his arm, he took a hold of the girl by the shoulders.
The shivery vibration transmitted itself to him. She was staring
straight ahead, eyes wide and unblinking.</p>
<p>"No. Get away," she cried again.</p>
<p>"Hey. Calm down," Jack soothed. "It's alright."</p>
<p>The girl jerked back and her eyes blinked, then fluttered
quickly, as if she had just noticed his presence.</p>
<p>She shook her head, obviously bewildered, still shuddering with
powerful emotion. "Where? What?" she asked in quick succession.</p>
<p>"It's okay. I think you were dreaming," he said softly.</p>
<p>"Dreaming?" she seemed as confused as he'd been when he woke.
Then her eyes widened hugely again.</p>
<p>"Yes. I <em>saw</em> it. I saw it again, Jack." She drew her
breath in a backward gasp. "It's hunting again. Oh, it was
terrible." She turned into him and grabbed the front of his
shirt.</p>
<p>"It's killed someone. It threw him against the wall. Oh, he was
in such pain. It got him and lifted him off the floor and he hit
the wall and the pain went right through him and he's dead."</p>
<p>The words came out as if she was living the scene,
<em>feeling</em> the pain.</p>
<p>"Where was it, Lorna. Did you recognise anything?"</p>
<p>She closed her eyes, trying to <em>see</em> back into her
dream.</p>
<p>"It was dark. Not high. The man came in. There's a heavy door
and the walls are white. But the door closed and it was dark. Too
dark to see. It's a place I've never seen before. Oh, it's awful, I
don't know and I can't tell you. I'm <em>useless.</em>"</p>
<p>"No you're not," Jack said, though in truth he wished that if
she <em>did</em> have some special perception, it would be little
more helpful. "We'll get there."</p>
<p>Lorna eased herself out from his embrace, first loosing her
grasp on the front of his shirt. Her grip had been so strong that
she'd torn one of the buttons off the fabric. It fell between them
and slid into the gap between the cushions.</p>
<p>"I must have fallen asleep."</p>
<p>"Yes. You were sound. It's getting late. Maybe you should go to
bed." Jack bent to scoop the scattered photographs together and
jammed them in the folder. He stood and reached for his jacket.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?"</p>
<p>"I'd better be off. It's pretty late, or early, depending on
your point of view. You've had a rough day."</p>
<p>"Please don't go," she said, pushing her way out of the settee
to put herself between him and the door. "Please stay with me. I'm
frightened. It knows about me. I can feel it. I've got nobody else
to help me." Her eyes were wide again and glistening with the
promise of tears. The looked so slight and childlike as he looked
down at her that Jack felt a powerful, and very masculine surge of
appeal.</p>
<p>He hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, sure. It's not as if
I've got work in the morning," he said. She took his hand and held
it tightly in a meaningful gesture of thanks and pulled him back
down to the settee. Then, quite impulsively, she leaned forward,
tilted her head and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Just as
quickly, she blushed furiously. Quite taken aback, Jack felt his
own colour rising and he grinned stupidly, feeling for the first in
a long time, like an awkward schoolboy. Lorna pulled away and went
into the kitchen. He heard the click as she switched on the kettle.
He took the opportunity to use the telephone and spoke to Ralph
Slater for a few minutes, giving him what little information he
had, convinced it would be no help at all. A few minutes later, she
returned with a tray of milky coffee and some biscuits.</p>
<p>Then, without hesitation, and with surprising calmness, she told
him exactly what she had seen in her nightmare.</p>
<p>It was close to two in the morning when two-man squad pulled up
outside the front door of the station and the second drunk of the
night was hauled in, a big, belligerent and red faced man who
roared even louder than the previous miscreant and took a swing at
one of the policemen, though he only succeeded in knocking his hat
off.</p>
<p>"Hanging off the edge of the quay," the policeman said. "Can't
get a word of sense out of him. He'd have drowned if he hadn't
huckled him."</p>
<p>The two-man crew pinned the big fellow up against the desk and
with deft expertise, they unbuckled his belt and drew it through
the loops.</p>
<p>"Gerrof," the big man spluttered. They held him tight.</p>
<p>"Alright, McFettridge," Bobby said. "Another free room for the
night and your wife round crying her eyes out in the morning."</p>
<p>He reached behind him absently, to unsnag the keys from the
hook, but his fingers only scrabbled against the baize on the
board.</p>
<p>"Where did I put them?" he asked nobody in particular,
scratching his head before he remembered.</p>
<p>"Damn, I gave them to that new boy. Idiot must have gone home
with them in his pocket."</p>
<p>The first stramash at the front counter had taken a further ten
minutes to resolve. It had almost resulted in the small, dirty and
aggressive man being hauled back to the cells, but finally his wife
had taken him by the scruff of the neck, after giving Bobby Thomson
and anybody else in the vicinity the rough edge of her particularly
scabrous tongue, and led her husband off into the night, with the
two sniffling children trailing behind.</p>
<p>The duty sergeant cursed under his breath, swearing he'd give
the new recruit a real going over in the morning. He unlocked the
cabinet and fumbled about in the mess of odds and ends until he
found the spare set, and handed them to one of the men now involved
in holding up their captive who now looked to be in a state of
drunken collapse.</p>
<p>"Sling him in four," he instructed "I've got his particulars
from the last time." The men started towards the cells with the man
slung between them.</p>
<p>"Oh, while you're down there, check in on number six. The weirdo
was making a right racket earlier on."</p>
<p>He bent down to fill in the drunk and incapable form while the
others dragged the drunk down the corridor.</p>
<p>Stuart Bulloch, who had been showing Gordon Pirie the ropes on
the morning they'd been sent round to the pathway beneath the
castle's balustrade and had come across the body of Annie Eastwood
on the rocks, helped ease the man down on the cot. All the fight
had gone out of him and as soon as his head touched the cold tile
roll which served for a pillow, his snores reverberated round the
cell. Stuart turned the lock, flicked the spy-hole just to make
sure, then slapped it closed. As he turned down the corridor, his
regular partner asked him if he wanted a cup of tea, but didn't
wait for an answer and headed for the muster room.</p>
<p>The light was off in the opposite cell when Stuart checked the
peephole, a natural precaution in the case of potentially violent
prisoners, and in his experience, they could <em>all</em> turn out
to be fighters.</p>
<p>He popped the lock and shoved the door open. The dim light shone
against the shape on the wall.</p>
<p>At first, Stuart thought the prisoner was standing on the cot,
trying to peer out of the almost opaque glass.</p>
<p>He walked forward.</p>
<p>"Come on down," he said, when something <em>clicked</em> in his
brain and the reality of what he was seeing hit him like a
blow.</p>
<p>Gordon Pirie stared into infinity. His mouth was sagging open.
Blood saturated his sagging chin and there was a great dripping
wash of it down the front of his tunic. The curve of metal from the
widow jutted out and up.</p>
<p>Stuart's mouth opened and closed several times. He was trying to
say something, but no words would come out.</p>
<p>He backed off slowly until his backside came up hard against the
wall and he got such a fright he jumped almost a foot into the air.
Without a word he turned round and dashed out of the cell, using
the doorpost as a fulcrum to swing him up the corridor. His
shoulder jarred against the far wall, though he would not feel any
pain for another hour at least. He battered the swing door open and
came hurtling out into the front office.</p>
<p>Bobby Thomson looked up.</p>
<p>"Is he okay?"</p>
<p>Steward Bulloch stood there, still unable to make his mouth say
the words, pointing behind him like a pale-faced mime artist.</p>
<p>"What the hell's up with you?" Bobby asked him irritably. "I've
had enough fun and games for one night."</p>
<p>Finally Stuart got his voice back. "It's that new fellow.
Gordon." he blurted.</p>
<p>"Aye, him that's going to get my toe up his arse in the
morning."</p>
<p>"It's.." Stuart started, stalled, tried again. " He's...oh fuck
sergeant, he's dead."</p>
<p>The fun and games went on all night.</p>
<hr />
<p>Jack Fallon got a call from John McColl at three in the morning.
It was the second time he'd been jarred awake that night. His neck
protested creakingly as soon as he moved. Lorna was huddled at the
far end of the couch, snug under the eiderdown she'd brought
through from her bedroom. She was snoring very softly. His duvet
has slipped to the floor and his back ached from the twisted
position he'd assumed sometime in the past hour. As he reached for
the phone, to answer it before she woke, he was trying to hold the
thought that had sprung to his mind in the split second before
sleep vanished.</p>
<p>"I tried your sister. She gave me an earful for waking the wee
fellow," John said.</p>
<p>Jack rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "She'll blame me. What's
up?"</p>
<p>"The shit's hit the fan Jack. Yon Irishman's just killed that
new boy."</p>
<p>"Hold on John. What are you talking about?"</p>
<p>"That O'Day fella. The one from the church tower? He's escaped.
Bobby Thomson in an awful state. He sent the rookie down to shut
him up. There was a bit of a stramash at the front counter with a
couple of drunks and by the time it was sorted out Bobby forgot
about the boy. Gordon Pirie, that's his name."</p>
<p>"I remember him. Nice lad. So what happened?"</p>
<p>"Ralph's down there at the moment. The place is a bloody
shambles, a real slaughterhouse. Young Pirie's hanging on the
window. Christ alone knows how he got up there, but he's got a
bloody piece of metal from the window right through him. Cowie's
down here and he's going berserk. He put out a note to HQ that he'd
got the killer. Now he's lost him."</p>
<p>"So where's O'Day?"</p>
<p>"Who the hell knows? He's not here. The cell door was locked. I
reckon we were wrong Jack. O'Day didn't look as if he could blow
his nose without falling over, but it had to be him. How he got
that boy up in that spike is anybody's guess, but believe me, it
went right through him. It's sticking out of his chest."</p>
<p>"No John. It wasn't him. Believe me it wasn't, but you have to
find him." Jack remembered what Lorna had told him. A dark place
with white walls and a heavy metal door. Where else could it have
been but the old cell down at the station? He cursed himself for
not seeing it.</p>
<p>But he had seen something else.</p>
<p>"Listen John, I'm still grounded until I hear otherwise. But it
doesn't mean I'm crippled. As soon as you get clear there, find the
keyholder for the Town Hall. I need him round there, and I'll need
you to come team handed."</p>
<p>In the split second between sleep and wakefulness, when the
phone was ringing somewhere in the distance, Jack Fallon had got a
flash of his own extra sensory perception. He'd been unable to
dredge up the information before, but again sleep had unlocked the
filing cabinet of his brain, and the picture had come clear. He'd
grown up in this town and he'd seen every building from every
angle. The elephant and castle coat of arms had helped direct his
mind to the place Lorna had seen when she had closed her eyes and
used her weird power. It was a place with a circular window high on
the gable wall, with wire mesh over it to keep the pigeons out.</p>
<p>Lorna was still asleep when Jack hung up. He debated whether to
wake her, decided against it, and instead wrote a quick message on
a page of his notebook and left it on the coffee table next to the
settee. He washed his face quickly with cold water from the kitchen
tap, then put on his jacket and coat, knowing he must look rumpled
and scruffy. He also needed a shave, but that was the last thing on
his mind. Just as he went out the front door, closing it as quietly
as possible, Lorna turned over in her sleep, mumbled something,
then wriggled into a more comfortable position. She did not wake
up.</p>
<p>She was still asleep at five when Jack got back from the Town
Hall. The caretaker had been very ill-tempered about being woken in
the small hours and even more irate when John McColl told him he'd
have to accompany the officers round to the old sandstone building
on Kirk Street. Grudgingly, he opened the front door. The night was
cold and overcast. No moon or stars were visible and a
bone-chilling wind was whipping round the corners and moaning in
the telephone wires. Jack arrived just as the caretaker turned the
key. John McColl had brought six policemen who stood around in the
cold, swinging their arms and blowing into their hands. They nodded
to Jack, but said nothing.</p>
<p>Inside the elegant marble staircase with its carved wood
bannister swept up to the town chambers where the councilmen
debated with strenuous argument the minutiae of the Burgh's
business and still managed to louse everything up. Jack ignored
that and went past the provost's office and through a back corridor
to the disused police court where as a nervous rookie himself, he'd
first given evidence in a breach of the peace case. Beyond that,
there was an even narrower back staircase which twisted upwards. At
the top, an old green door barred further progress. John McColl
took the keys from the grumbling caretaker and told him to go back
downstairs. The man protested some more but all eight policemen
stared him down and he clumped back down the stairs, muttering
under his breath.</p>
<p>The door creaked open and immediately Jack smelled old paper and
mouldering feathers. He and John McColl moved in first and Jack
felt a twist of tension as his body prepared itself for fight. He
clicked the light-switch down and a fluorescent bar on the
store-room wall stuttered fitfully before coming on. It was covered
with the dust of years and its light struggled to chase the
shadows. The room was filled almost to the ceiling with boxes
bearing stickers with the town's fanciful coat of arms. A narrow
passage between the stacks led away towards the gable. John asked
one of the uniformed men for a torch and sprayed light in front of
him as he followed the lane.</p>
<p>Beyond the boxes they found a fairly large space where a
storeman of old had come to have a fly drink. A couple of dusty
vodka bottles stood against the far wall where the circular
air-vent had been barred with wire mesh which was now jagged and
torn.</p>
<p>The body of Chalkie Black, his white hair like a dim halo in the
wan light hung motionless, his one trainer trailing down close to
the floor, brown with dried blood. His head was twisted to the side
by the piece of electrical cable conduit that had been torn and
bent out from the staples which held it against the wall, and
spiked through his neck, just under the jaw. Beside him the two
others were suspended in the same fashion, except that Votek
Visotsky had no neck to impale. The steel tube went through his
left shoulder and jutted out on his back close to his spine. One of
his arms was missing.</p>
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