by Matt Hilton
The assistance beacon transmitting from Entwhistle’s radio stayed live until it was physically cancelled at his end. However, the open microphone was only a ten second feature. As his moan of anguish cut out, other voices interjected. Inspector Marsh shouted them down.
“Sixteen twelve receiving?”
“Go ahead, Sir,” Shelly thumbed back.
“Can you update on the situation?”
“Negative at this time. I am in company with Nine-twenty-three. Approaching Trowhaem from the north. Coastal path. No sign of movement.”
“Find Entwhistle. As a priority.” Marsh’s command was of course academic. It was exactly as Shelly intended. She didn’t say as such, she knew that the inspector was attempting to take control of the situation. There were certain things he had to say. They had to appear on the running log that would already be streaming across computer screens back in Lerwick control. Others would be watching the log - people higher up the food chain than Marsh. His words were an arse-covering exercise.
Two could play at that game. “All units, all units,” Shelly called. “I want a perimeter set up around the suspect’s last known location. Double teamed at all times. If the suspect is sighted, approach with caution. Wait for armed back up. No one…repeat NO ONE fires without Inspector Marsh’s permission.” She heard responding confirmation from a number of officers before she was satisfied that her command had been heard and understood. She cut back in. “We have a man down. In need of urgent assistance. The suspect is probably armed and prepared to use force. Caution, people, caution. But I want this man detained.”
Whilst talking she’d never stopped running. Bob had been her guide as they’d jogged along the cinder path that marked an ancient wharf side. On her left, holes dug into the ground were a series of irregular steps leading up the hillside. Occasionally they passed a tent guarding a particularly interesting find. Somewhere above them was the grave of the murder victim. Christ, it was only minutes ago since she’d been standing there and saw the muzzle flash of a gun stabbing at the night. The nucleus to this madness. It seemed like hours ago.
“There,” Bob yelled. He tugged at her clothing, urging her forward. Entwhistle was lying on his back, his shoulders propped up against the edge of the path. His knees were drawn up and he was clutching at his groin. Nothing lascivious. His posture spoke of agony.
They both slowed as they approached. Caution over-riding urgency. The suspect could still be nearby. They’d be no use to Entwhistle if they also were injured. Entwhistle’s head turned towards them, and even in the darkness his face was pale. The red glow from his flashing terminal swept his features in intermittent beats, lending to his unnatural pallor. Entwhistle’s eyes were wide, his mouth open in an extended ‘O’ shape.
“John?” Shelly said as she approached. Bob scanned around them as they moved in, his fist flexing on the grip of his extendable baton. Her guardian. Feeling safe enough to proceed, Shelly rushed towards Entwhistle, crouching down to inspect his injuries.
Entwhistle moaned. He held tight to the source of his pain. Shelly struggled with him to move his hands.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. A spurt of blood jumped a hand-span into the air. Entwhistle’s injury was immediately life threatening. A severed femoral artery could kill in minutes.
“The fucker got me, Sarge,” Entwhistle hissed. “So much for the stab proof vest, huh? Should have been wearing a jock strap.”
Shelly’s smile was more a forced grimace. Some officers expected humour in the face of adversity, but Shelly had nothing to laugh about. Entwhistle was dying. The copious amount of blood making arches across the path marked his countdown to oblivion. Shelly felt like crying.
“Put your hands back on the cut,” she said, voice wavering. “Press down hard.”
“No strength.”
“I know, I know, but you have to try.” She thumbed at her radio, hands slick with Entwhistle’s blood, called in their location, requested immediate medical assistance. She shouted Bob over. “You have to help me, Bob. Press on his hands, stop any more bleeding.”
Bob gave a final sweep of the area. The suspect was gone. Other officers were rushing closer. He bent down, pushing hard on Entwhistle’s hands. Shelly tugged on her belt, pulling loose the Velcro on her meagre first aid pack. As she leaned down to attempt to staunch the flow with an ineffective gauze pad, Entwhistle snaked a hand loose from beneath Bob’s, took hold of Shelly’s hand. He gripped her.
“I almost had him, Sarge. I got him across the shoulder with my baton. But then he stabbed me. Don’t ken what with. I think it was claws.”
“Claws?”
“Like a bloody animal,” Entwhistle said. He paused to gather himself, sucking in air. “I know it’s mad, but he had claws. Honest, Sarge!”
“I believe you.” And she did. Janet hadn’t been wrong. She’d seen what she described. A monster. A Skeklar.
Entwhistle laughed, delirium and pain sending him half-mad. “He had claws.”
Then he said no more.
He sank back. His hand felt floppy in Shelly’s grip.
Bob pressed harder.
Shelly joined in.
“We’re going to lose him, Bob. We can’t let that happen.”
“No. No. No.” Bob’s words were a continuous loop.
Shelly screamed for the medical assistance they needed. But she knew in her heart that any help would arrive too late.
THIRTYFOUR
Near Broom’s Cottage
About four hundred metres short of Broom’s cottage, the familiar shape of a Subaru drew up alongside me. I was still jogging, and I did a double take before staggering to a halt. I clutched at the roof of the car and bent down to give Paul Broom the baleful eyeball. It didn’t immediately occur to me that Broom had followed my route along the road from the direction of Trowhaem, and it was only when I realised that I was glaring through the passenger side window that I noted that the car was pointing the opposite way to what I would have expected. I rapped my knuckles against the glass, motioned for him to wind the window down.
Broom shook his shaggy hair. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Get in.”
I pulled at the door handle, yanked open the door. “Where the hell have you been, Broom?”
“Where do you think? I’ve been back up to Burra Ness looking for you. Why didn’t you wait for me coming back like we agreed?”
I threw myself into the seat, slammed shut the door. The SIG dug into my lower spine and I reached round and pulled it free. I brandished it like an icon of my anger. “Wait for you? You were gone for hours, you arsehole. How long was I supposed to wait for you?”
“Easy, Carter,” Broom said. “Just calm it, will you?”
“Calm it? If you’d gone through what I just did you’d be anything but calm.”
“I take it the shit just hit the fan?”
“And then some,” I snapped. Then my anger deflated. I dropped the gun in my lap. Suddenly shattered. “You left me for hours, Broom. What the bloody hell have you been doing?”
“Important research.”
“What? You’ve been reading books whilst I was freezing my bollocks off in the middle of nowhere?”
“Actually, I was conducting research on the internet.” Broom shifted gears, bounced the clutch pedal until he was satisfied, and set off down the shallow decline towards the cottage.
“That makes it okay, then,” I said.
The corners of Broom’s lips lifted and fell.
“Next time you can do the stake out while I stay at home and browse porn sites,” I said.
“I’d have gladly stayed this time.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Wander about the moors hunting evil? Me? That just isn’t my bailiwick, Carter.”
“It isn’t mine, either. Who do you think I am all of a sudden? Van-frigging-Helsing? I’m only a salesman, for God’s sake!”
Broom slapped his crippled leg.
“Who out of the two of us is most capable?”
“Or the most stupid?” I added.
“You must tell me what happened,” Broom said. “I’ve just driven by Trowhaem, and it’s like World War Three up there. I take it that’s where you’ve just hot-footed it from?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m sure that I would.”
We’d arrived at the cottage and Broom parked the Subaru on a hard stand next to the garden.
“Inside,” I told him. “We’d better get shot of the gun. I’ve a feeling that the police are going to be here before long.”
Broom’s gaze flickered to the SIG resting on my lap. “You used the gun?”
I exhaled. Though initially repulsed by the thought of shooting anything I hadn’t exactly paused to check my morals when threatened by the monstrous thing that had leapt on me from the crag. “Yeah, I had to shoot. If I hadn’t, I doubt I’d be here right now.”
“Who did you shoot? Please…tell me it wasn’t a police man.”
I gave him the dead eye.
“Then who?”
“I’ll tell you inside.” I shoved to get him moving.
“Did you…?”
“Kill it? No, I don’t think I did.” I climbed out of the car. “Come on, Broom. I don’t want to be found with this thing on me when the police turn up.”
Broom clambered from the car. Nodded me towards the cottage. “Go ahead. Door isn’t locked. Put the SIG back in its box. I’ll shove it in my safe.”
“Won’t the police ask to look in your safe?”
“They can ask what they want, but without a warrant they can go whistle.” I’d almost reached the front door before I realised that Broom had halted. Turning, I saw that he was studying me with something akin to revulsion.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tell me you haven’t done something that would give them a reason to come bursting into my house uninvited.”
“Don’t worry, Broom. They’ve no reason to come after me. If anything, I did them a favour.”
“Police don’t always see things the way we do.”
“Perhaps not,” I agreed. “But if you’re concerned that I shot an innocent, you can forget it. Whatever tried to jump me would have killed me if I hadn’t shot it. Another thing, the police didn’t come after me, they chased it. By the sounds of things they might have found it, too.”
“You didn’t see them catch it?”
“No.” I felt cold abhorrence creep across my skin. “All I heard was screaming.”
Broom lurched towards me. His bad leg seemed to be giving him extra trouble tonight. I guessed that the chilly air had something to do with it. He ushered me towards the door. “I don’t think they got it.”
“Why not?”
“Too much activity going on. There were groups of officers spread out all over the place, beating the grass, shining torches here, there and everywhere. They had dogs as well. And a helicopter. I guess that - if they’d caught this thing - they’d be centred on a particular area, or concentrating on gathering evidence.”
We moved through the cottage to our usual hub of operations: the kitchen. The air was stale with the lingering odours of our breakfast. Christ, it seemed like days since we’d last been there.
“Hadn’t they set up road blocks?” I wondered.
“Of course.”
“So how come they let you through?”
“Do I look like a murderer to you, Carter?”
Neglecting to look his way, I found a tumbler and held it under the cold tap. Water bubbled into the glass. I quenched my thirst before saying, “What exactly does a murderer look like, Broom?”
“You tell me. You said that you shot at it. You must have seen what it looked like.” He watched me from the other side of the kitchen; his buttocks perched on a counter top, arms folded across his chest. Was that a subtle challenge in his voice or was I simply imagining it? Made me wonder…
“I didn’t get a good look at it.”
“First things first. You keep referring to the murderer as it. Are we talking about anything other than a man?”
I thought for a moment. Shook my head at my own incredulity. “It had to be a man.”
“As opposed to a woman, you mean? Or are you talking animal?”
I dry swallowed. The action prompted me to refill my glass. “As opposed to animal,” I clarified. “I didn’t get a good look, everything happened very quickly and it was dark. Just this thing that dropped on me from some rocks I was hiding in. I managed to dodge out of the way and I shot at it.”
“Hit it?”
“I think so.” I jerked my head. “No. I did hit it. At least once. I shot it square in the chest from as close as I am to you.”
“But you didn’t kill it? How is that possible?”
My hands raised in reflex. Water sloshed from my glass. “I don’t know. The bullet knocked it off its feet and it fell down the hillside we were on. I thought that it had to be dead, but…well, the next thing I heard was screaming coming from the first policeman to reach it. I didn’t stop to find out what had become of it after that. I did a runner. Didn’t stop running until you caught up with me on the road out there.”
Broom rocked back, tightening his arms across his chest. “Judging by the extent of the search that’s being conducted, I think that guarantees that it got away.” Broom blew out air. “Now you’ve got me calling this thing ‘it’.”
“It’s all I can think of to describe the bloody thing.”
“Not an animal, though. You said that already.”
I nodded slowly. “But more than a man.”
“Try to remember, Carter. What did it look like?”
My pause filled the kitchen with expectancy. Broom leaned forward, urging me on. Finally he pushed away from the counter, allowing his momentum to swing his upper body over the kitchen table. He leaned on it with his knuckles. “Describe it to me.” His words were more than the intended prompt; more of a demand.
“It was shaped like a man. Big. Tall and powerful.”
“As big as me?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Could have been. Could even have been taller. But that’s hard to judge. I was lying on the ground at the time. This thing jumped me. I rolled out the way and fired at it. When I turned over it stood up tall for a split second. Looked fucking massive, I’ll tell you.” I probed my memory, attempting to get a clear impression of it in my mind. “It had claws.”
“What? Like a lion’s claws?” Broom gave me a look that showed conflict in his own mind. Like skepticism blended with awe. The scepticism seemed to be winning.
“More like a bear’s claws. Black, shiny talons. Kind of hook shaped. I don’t remember much else.”
“You managed to see its claws, but can’t remember anything else about it?”
“I remember the claws ’cause they were what the fucking thing intended using on me,” I said. “What do you think I’d have been looking at?”
“You must have looked at its face?”
“I did. But it was too dark to see its features.” I frowned. “Wait a minute. I do recall something. Its head was a weird shape. It looked too big, out of sorts with the rest of the body. It had these protrusions that looked like horns.” I pre-empted his next question. “Not like the horns on a bull or anything. More like growths of bone. Just knobby lumps, if you know what I mean?”
“Weird,” Broom breathed.
“Weird isn’t the word for it. It was totally unnatural. Couldn’t be real.”
Broom studied me. Then, nodded along with me. “You’re saying that it was a man, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, a man in a mask of some sort. A big man in Halloween get up.” I allowed my words to hang in the air between us. Something that had suddenly occurred to me made me bite my tongue. Broom read my silence for what it was. An accusation.
He lifted a finger to his chest. “You think it was me
?”
My face was as hard and cold as a granite tombstone. “Am I correct?”
He gave a grunt of disbelief. Stepped towards me. “Carter…you can’t be serious?”
I lifted the SIG and aimed it directly at his face. “Not another step, Broom.”
He lifted his hands, back peddling away from me. The colour drained from his cheeks as though a sluice gate had opened at the base of his throat. Tears shone in his eyes.
“You’ve played me for a fool, but no more,” I said. Conflicting emotions threatened me, but I remained cool. “You must have had a good laugh at my expense.”
“What do you mean? I haven’t -”
My step forward was enough to snatch the words from his lips. I probably didn’t need to put the gun to his chest, but I did.
“You’ve been playing me all along, you shit. Bringing me up here with all sorts of crazy stories about hogboy curses. What? Was I supposed to be you’re fall guy for when you get finished with your murder spree? Pretty handy having a diagnosed schizoid-nut-job on the island, eh? Someone that you could point the finger of accusation at and have locked away in a mental institution for the rest of my life?”
“Carter…no, you’ve got it wrong.” Broom’s words came out like an elongated sob.
“So tell me what you did plan.”
“I didn’t plan anything.” He was crestfallen, betrayed by the prodigal son. “I brought you here to help me stop this thing.”
“Bull shit! You left me sitting in the middle of nowhere fucking bird watching. What the hell was that all about?” When he didn’t answer, I gave him my take on the nonsense with the crows. “You left me there while you came back here to collect your monster mask, didn’t you? Got yourself all dressed up and then went to Trowhaem with the intention of murdering Janet. Only things didn’t go too well, did they? Something happened to spoil your plans. You had to run away. You were surprised, angry, when you came across me hiding in the rocks. It was a bad move, Broom; if you’d killed me like you intended, it would have fucked up any hope of using me as a scapegoat.”
