The Jonah

by James Herbert

  ‘So they would have to make use of the canal.’

  ‘That’s my guess. They’d have to have something to flush away their waste, but I’d assume they’d use this drain sparingly, and only for harmless stuff that could be easily dispersed. The acid was a mistake.’

  Ellie seemed happier. ‘A big one. Let’s hope you’re right.’

  They pushed their way through the undergrowth, following the gulley, both aware and excited by the fact that it had been carefully concealed. Eventually, the ground rose sharply and it was Kelso who uncovered the pipe protruding from a low point in the embankment.

  ‘I’ll bet this leads straight up to the house,’ he told Ellie. He knelt and caught sight of something lying beneath nearby foliage. ‘Look what we have here.’

  Ellie shivered when she saw the dead vole. Its eyes were flat and glassy, its jaw stretched open wide as though it had protested its death. The body had not yet begun to decompose. Kelso prodded it with a stiff finger.

  ‘I’d say it’s been dead for a couple of days at least. No visible marks to show the cause, but it certainly wasn’t old age.’

  ‘Poisoned?’

  They looked at each other and there was grim satisfaction on both faces. ‘Could well be,’ Kelso replied.

  He quickly climbed the embankment, then slid down again. ‘We’re fairly near the house,’ he told Ellie. ‘I want you to take this thing back and get it opened up. Let’s find out for sure what killed it.’ He held up a hand when she began to protest. ‘If the vole died from chemical poisoning – particularly if it’s any chemical used in the making of drugs – then we’ll have conclusive proof that our guess is correct. We’ll have enough to instigate a search of Slauden’s property.’

  ‘But why can’t we both take it back?’

  ‘Because I want to snoop around a bit.’

  ‘For what? This should be enough for now.’ She pointed at the dead animal.

  ‘I’d like to find out how they’re getting the raw stuff in. This close to the coast, it has to come in by boat.’

  ‘Then why can’t I stay with you? You’re just trying to get me out of the way again.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Ellie, I thought you were professional. The sooner we find out the cause of that vole’s death, the sooner we’ll know whether or not to move in.’ His voice softened as he went on: ‘Look, don’t worry about me – I’m not going to take any risks. I just want to look around, then I’ll get out.’

  ‘You looked around the other day – at Slauden’s invitation.’

  ‘He kept me well away from this side of the estate. I’m sure if I’d wandered away from the sanctuary, someone would have been there to point me back in the right direction.’ He reached inside the shoulder-bag and withdrew a clear plastic container he had intended to use for any chemical samples he might have found. Picking up the small, stiff body, he dropped it into the bag and sealed the top. Ellie took the package from him with obvious disgust.

  ‘Here, keep it in my bag – I won’t need it. Now get going, will you, Ellie? And keep this to yourself until you know what killed it. Then tell only me, okay?’

  She moved closer to him. ‘You won’t take any chances?’

  ‘No way.’ He put a hand behind her neck and drew her lips to his. His kiss was tender. Ellie regarded him anxiously. ‘Promise?’

  ‘Ellie, I’ve tried for a long time not to feel this way about anyone, but now that I do, I don’t intend to let anything spoil it. I’m treading carefully – for your sake and for mine – so will you scram and take a load off my mind?’

  She touched his cheek and then she was gone, the shoulder-bag clutched to her side.

  Kelso swiftly climbed back up the gradient and lay flat near the top, just his head and shoulders showing where the ground levelled off. He could see the big, grey-stoned manor house through the trees no more than two hundred yards away. Edging his body over the top, the detective crept forward, keeping low and moving silently through the undergrowth. Cover ran out just about seventy yards away from the building and Kelso kept himself hidden behind a stout oak. The ground sloped gently away to the main lawn area at the rear of the house. He wanted to get a closer look at the house, perhaps even get inside, but decided it would be better to wait for a while to make sure there was no one around. He was immediately thankful for making the right decision: a motor cruiser had come into view and it was heading for the boathouse at the end of the long garden. Kelso knew little about boats, but it looked to be the powerful, sea-going kind, about thirty feet in length and having an upper deck. He remembered having seen the cruiser moored in the harbour on several occasions. So this was one of Sir Anthony’s little luxuries. Impressive.

  He squinted his eyes to see if he could make out who the figures on the upper deck were, but the distance was too great. His binoculars were in the bag he had given Ellie and he silently cursed himself for not having retrieved them before she had left. He would just have to wait patiently until whoever was on the boat came up to the main building. He crouched low, back against the tree, head turned in the direction of the house, and waited. And waited.

  Kelso glanced at his wristwatch. Over an hour had gone by since he had first heard the motor cruiser’s approach. Were they still in the boathouse, perhaps working on the vessel? They had to be: no one had used the path up to the house. A heavy drop of rain fell from the leaves above him, splattered against the back of his hand. Terrific. Now he was in for a soaking. It could be that they had used the path running along the riverbank on the other side of the boathouse, the building itself cutting off his view. But that didn’t make sense: the path only led into the bird sanctuary. Tiny pitter-patter sounds around him made him turn up the collar of his reefer jacket, raindrops beginning to work their way through the leafy layers above. What to do? Observation was one of the duties he liked least, even though it was something he should have become used to by now. He liked to be on the move, routing out or stirring things up rather than sitting and waiting. Especially when it was raining.

  He also knew he did not have much time: Ellie was impatient to bring in reinforcements, even though they had no firm evidence as yet. She believed the incident with the bulldozer the night before was meant as a warning or to get rid of them completely, and she may well have been right; but she knew nothing of his background, only of what others had told her. Ellie could never understand how unnatural happenings in his life had almost become commonplace to him. Maybe not ‘commonplace’, but he had learned to expect the unexpected. Still, he had to admit to himself, the bulldozer starting up on its own was a little too far-fetched. And Ellie had said she’d heard a car. Even so, this was one operation he did not want jinxed, not just because of his own reputation, but because she was involved. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself such feelings, and now he had become afraid once more. Afraid for her.

  Kelso rose from his crouched position, keeping his back against the tree. He wiped a raindrop from his nose, then crept stealthily back into the thicker undergrowth, increasing his speed when he knew he was safely screened from anyone who might be observing from the house. He quickly made his way down towards the water’s edge, thankful for the tall hedge that screened the area he was in from the sloping lawns. The hedge ended several yards away from the river and he became more cautious. The strange building, constructed in the same style as Eshley Hall itself, was about a hundred yards away and there was little cover between. He listened for a while, straining his ears to catch the sound of voices or movement inside the boathouse. He was too far away.

  With one glance back at the house, Kelso ran forward, keeping his body bent almost double, and dropped down the riverbank. Fortunately, the bank was not too steep and, although one sneakered foot sank into the river, he was able to cling to the earth above the waterline. The bank was almost four feet high in parts and, by crouching, he was able to work himself along without being seen by anyone emerging from the boathouse or coming from the manor h
ouse itself. Here and there, where the bank level dipped or was impassable, he was forced to wade through the water, the mud threatening to suck off his soft shoes. He hardly felt the cold, for his concentration was intent on the building ahead; drizzling rain soaked and matted his hair, running down his face and falling from his unshaved chin.

  The earth bank ran out, to be replaced by a straight concrete wall. Kelso cautiously raised his head to see how far he had come; the yawning opening to the boathouse was nearby, to his left, but he could not see the cruiser from that angle. He listened, but still heard no sounds coming from the interior. The building couldn’t possibly be empty. Unless . . .

  Kelso pulled himself over the edge, risking being seen from the house in the distance but having no other choice; he rolled over and came up in a crouching run, making for the side of the grey-stoned building. He smacked into the wall at the side, the palms of his hands cushioning the impact and noise; he stood there frozen, waiting for the sounds of running footsteps or alarmed voices. Nothing happened.

  Surprisingly, the boathouse had no windows, which must have made the interior into a huge, black cavern. He eased himself around the corner and crept towards the waterway entrance, hoping no one would emerge as he drew nearer, listening at every step. Narrow walkways were at each side of the large square-shaped entrance, both edged with stiffened rubber to prevent the cruiser’s hull being scraped, and serving as alternative access for anyone not wishing to use the door at the rear of the building. Kelso knelt so that his head would not be at eye level, then took a quick look inside, immediately drawing back. His second look was more lingering for, gloomy though the interior was, it was evident that the boathouse was empty. He was puzzled. There was no one on the boat – he would have heard some sound if they were below decks – and the back exit had not been used during the time he had watched. Even if they had emerged while he was making his way down towards the river he would have seen them walking back up to the house. There had to be another exit. And it could only be underground. Kelso wondered if it was a part of the estate’s history, or newly built; and if newly built, for what reason?

  He stepped inside, his wet sneakers squelching on the concrete.

  The motor cruiser gently rocked with the current and it looked even bigger close up. Kelso slushed further into the shadowy interior, his eyes quickly becoming used to the gloom. He scanned the walls but could find nothing that should not be in a boathouse – as far as he knew, at any rate. Pieces of machinery, an inflatable mounted on its side on one wall, a small crane-like affair, obviously used for lifting engines, a long workbench, a generator of some kind, and even a rack of fishing rods. A wall-phone was by the rear exit. He wondered what chaos would be caused if he picked it up and asked for room service.

  Although the boathouse was cluttered with various equipment, there appeared to be a clear area towards the back. As Kelso approached, a rectangular black shape became more visible and suddenly he was smiling with grim satisfaction. The black shape was a hole in the concrete floor, and there were steps leading down. He peered into the depths, but could not make out too much. The hole was deep, the stairs stretching down to a distance that must have been well beyond the boathouse’s rear wall. For one brief moment he wanted to turn back – the blackness below looked uninviting – but it would have been pointless at that stage. Yes, sir, I believe Sir Anthony Slauden is up to some skulduggery. Why, sir? Because he’s got a hole in his boathouse. No, sir, that’s not all, sir. He just may have had someone try and kill me and Miss Shepherd, sir. No, sir, I’m not sure he did. What else, sir? Well, I just don’t like him. He’s too perfect. No, sir, I wouldn’t like to go back on the beat.

  Kelso bent low and tried to see more, but it was useless. He descended a few steps, then reached into a pocket for a match. The small flame flickered as a draught from somewhere disturbed it, but it gave off enough light for him to see what was below. There was a door, and from where he was perched, it looked as though it was made of metal. He climbed down a few more steps and the flame grew stronger as it moved below ground level. There seemed to be little gap between the door and its frame and Kelso could guess the reason why: that part of the country was prone to floods and if the river rose above the banks, then water would have cascaded down those steps and swamped whatever lay beyond the door. He felt pretty sure there would be flanges at the back which would seal the door tight.

  So what was beyond? Sitting there like a half-drowned rat was no way to find out. Hot pain seared his thumb and finger and he dropped the match. Grey light from above quickly filtered through his temporary blindness and he fumbled for the matches once more. He struck one and breathed a sigh of relief; he hated dark, claustrophobic spaces. Always had.

  Sticking two spare matches between his teeth for next time, he went down, the sound of his own breathing seeming to echo off the confining walls around him. He was near the bottom when the door swung open.

  And when he turned to run back up the stairs, something was blocking out the light from above.

  April, 1969

  He had been feeling bad all night. He always did when he’d had a row with the old man. And that was pretty frequent nowadays.

  But Christ, it was his life! He had a right to choose for himself.

  Giggles made him turn towards the small rostrum which served as a stage, where the group were packing away their gear, only the drum kit having a life of its own once the plugs had been pulled. Several girls stood around them, trying to chat up the musicians who kidded themselves that their regular gig in the Downbeat, a hall above a pub at Manor House, was just a stepping stone towards Shea Stadium. Even the fact that both the bass player and the drummer were into their thirties – the latter was already washing his hair three times a week to disguise its thinness – did not dampen their ambition. If the lead guitarist would start playing more like Eric Clapton than Hank Marvin, they knew they’d be made. If the lead singer stopped trying to be Buddy Holly their image might improve, too – Heard It on the Grapevine didn’t exactly go with the Holly style.

  ‘You coming, Jim?’

  Two of his friends were making their way through the crowd shuffling towards the only exit. One was pulling on a shortie raincoat, while the other was tying a slim, tartan scarf around his neck. His wire-framed glasses and long flowing hair endeavoured to make him look like John Lennon, but the padded shoulders of his three-button jacket and his Harry Fenton shirt spoilt the illusion.

  ‘Where you off to?’ Kelso asked, swaying slightly from the booze consumed throughout the evening in the downstairs bar.

  ‘Up the Royal. There’s nothing here.’

  Max, the one who had just spoken, pulled up the collar of his raincoat, then adjusted his kipper tie. He had a secondhand Ford Anglia parked around the corner and the idea was to drive up to Tottenham where a larger assortment of girls would soon be leaving the big dance hall there; it was usually easy to pull some birds if you had a car and it was raining – none of them liked getting their Vidal Sassoons wet waiting for buses.

  ‘No, I don’t think so, not tonight. Think I’ve had enough.’

  Max shrugged; he and his companion, Tony, were used to Kelso poodling off on his own. It usually meant he had a dolly lined up, but tonight they hadn’t even seen him dance, let alone set up a lumber.

  ‘Come on, Jim,’ Tony urged. ‘It’s only eleven. You’ve just turned nineteen – you’re a big boy now, for fuck’s sake.’ He, too, was swaying slightly from the drink. He liked to kid people that he was high on weed, but the truth was he’d never tried the stuff, and didn’t even know where to get it. And the old bennies were becoming a bit pricey.

  ‘You two go on. I’ve had it for tonight,’ Kelso told them.

  ‘Suit yourself, Jimbo, but I’m telling you now, we’re going to score tonight.’ Tony grinned, his eyes almost slits behind the glasses.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, don’t you always?’ Kelso mocked. ‘Just don’t go baby-snatching.’

 
; Tony looked offended and Max laughed. ‘What else would fancy an ugly git like him? Boppers and grannies, that’s about his mark.’

  ‘Don’t forget the occasional sheep,’ Tony replied without rancour.

  ‘Yeah, even then you don’t get a good-looking one.’

  Tony feinted a left hook and Max raised his guard. Neither allowed their horseplay to become over-exuberant, for local heavies in the club did not respond kindly to silly sods from outside their manor. Kelso, Max and Tony were from Shore-ditch, alien territory.

  ‘See you later then, Jim.’ Max waved a hand, later meaning anything from a couple of days to a week, and he and Tony jostled their way back through the crowd, careful not to nudge the wrong people.

  Kelso sat on one of the chairs surrounding the dance floor, waiting for the crowd to diminish. A girl sitting opposite, sporting an old-fashioned beehive hairstyle and a nose that was doing its best to touch her chin, stared balefully at him. He gave his best impression of a smile, then turned away. Tony would love you, he thought. She crossed her legs, which weren’t too bad, catching his attention again. There was a girl who would hang on to mini skirts for ever – it took a lot of attention away from her conk. He couldn’t decide whether her expression, aimed directly across the room at him, was a smile or a sneer. Whichever, it wasn’t too enhancing.

  The girl was joined by three others, who had been chatting to the band. She said something and they all looked slyly over at him. Oh shit, he thought. She thinks I sat opposite on purpose; she thinks I’m trying to pull it. No chance. He stood and felt all four pairs of eyes on him as he made towards the door. One of them giggled and his ears became hot.

  Once outside the club, he whipped off his tie, rolled it up, and stuck it in his jacket pocket. He felt a little light-headed and the fresh air wasn’t helping to keep down the pints of beer he’d consumed. He hiccuped.