Thornton and Howard had smiled openly at that, but Whitney-Evans' reaction was more sober he was too knowledgeable of forest folklore to scoff. Nevertheless, he still felt absolute proof of the Black rat's existence was vital before the ultimate decision was taken. Alex Milton, silent until then, reluctantly agreed. Thornton nodded. Howard had leaned forward and spoken gravely for the next ten minutes, explaining to the group his considered plan of action, how his team, organized by his head biologist, Michael Lehmann, and Pender, would search every square inch of the forest, discreetly but painstakingly, until they were sure the Black rat was not alive and well and living in the wooded suburbia of Epping Forest. At the slightest evidence that the rat was there provided it was sufficiently substantiated the panic button would be pushed without further delay. They were all aware of the seriousness of the situation but he felt sure they were also all aware of the panic they would cause if they made their decision for evacuation too soon. He had looked towards Thornton for approval and the private secretary had given it with a further lecture on the merits of caution.
Pender knew he had lost and further protestation was useless. The next two hours were spent discussing how the search would be set up and how the Superintendent's staff could co-ordinate with the Ratkill people. All would be sworn to secrecy, of course, and Thornton would personally inform the Home Secretary of the proceedings. It was decided that Pender would conduct a superficial search of the area the following day, accompanied by Denison, who would act as guide and introduce him to the many residents of the forest to be questioned.
The questions would be asked under the guise of a census on pests in the area; if anything was seriously amiss, the locals would certainly mention it without pointed prompting. Pender would then be able to organize a more thorough search in specific areas the more likely ones which could then spread into more widespread locales.
Throughout, Jenny sat in silence and Pender could feel her disappointment in him. Over their drinks earlier that evening, they had relaxed in each other's company. It had been a pleasant interlude and both had left the pub reluctantly to attend the scheduled meeting. He had soon become involved in the plans for the next day's perfunctory, but necessarily so, search, and on the few occasions his eyes had met hers, the friendliness seemed to have disappeared from them. He could understand her resentment towards the meeting in general, but was puzzled as to why she had turned cold towards him. A mental shrug had tucked the question neatly away and he had concentrated on plans for the search; after the meeting, she had quietly slipped off without giving him the chance to talk to her.
He had driven back across London to his flat in Tunbridge Wells that night, set his alarm for 5.30, and wearily sunk into bed.
Now he was back in the forest, having met Denison at the Centre in the early hours of the morning. There had been no sign of Jenny, but they had talked briefly with Alex Milton and the senior tutor, Vic Whittaker, explaining the areas they would cover and in which order, just in case the Centre needed to contact them urgently. Steaming coffee had been supplied by Jan Wimbush, the student-cum-cook, before Pender and Denison had set off, both men refusing the offer of a full breakfast.
By midday, they had become a little tired of repeating the same questions to the forest residents, and the apprehension caused by brief explorations of the quieter glades of the woodland, knowing the danger from the vermin they sought, had set their nerves on edge.
Pender studied the woodland on either side of the road as the Land-Rover trundled along at a steady speed. It had become another fine, clear day, the mists having vanished as the sun rose higher and, when on an open road like this and within the safety of the vehicle, Pender found it almost impossible to imagine there could be anything sinister lurking out there in the trees. He looked quizzically at Denison as the Land-Rover turned off from the main road into a wide, muddy track to be confronted by rusted iron gates. Tall, brick columns supported the gates and on either side stood two more single gates, apparently to allow access for anything on foot. It was obviously the entrance to some kind of estate, and he assumed the two gatehouses on opposite sides of the road inside were inhabited by whoever maintained the grounds. The road continued beyond, cutting through a forest of pine trees.
‘What is this place?’ he asked as Denison brought the Land-Rover to a halt.
‘It's the Seymour Hall estate,’ Denison replied, jerking on the hand brake ‘Nobody lives here now, not since the main house was gutted by fire over sixty years ago, but the grounds are cultivated for lumber, the fields rented out to farmers. It's a sizeable estate.’
Leaving the engine running, he pushed the door open and got down from the vehicle. It took considerable effort to swing open the iron gates.
‘If you want to look down the road awhile, I'll question the people living in the gatehouses,’ Denison called out, walking back to the Land-Rover.
‘Okay,’ Pender said as Denison climbed back in and drove through the entrance. ‘Who lives in these places? Keepers?’
‘No, they're privately rented, nothing to do with the estate now.’ He stopped the Land-Rover again, turned off the engine and jumped out.
Pender joined him and looked around. ‘It's quiet,’ he commented.
Denison nodded. ‘Private land. A public footpath goes through the property, but not many know about it. They see the gates and assume there's no access.’ He walked over to one of the houses, its yellow-grey bricks faded and crumbled. ‘You go ahead,’ he said, turning back to Pender, ‘I'll catch you up.’
Pender began the journey up the long, straight road, constantly glancing into the pine forests on either side. He soon felt completely alone and more than once he turned to see if the head keeper was back there in the distance. He had the same sensation as the day before when he and Jenny had gone off in search of the creatures she had claimed to have seen -
that same feeling of being watched. He smiled at his own fears.
It was the isolation that exaggerated everything, the quietness of the forest, the leafy screen that hid so much animal life. His upbringing had been in cities, among people, nothing ever still in his vision; here only the breeze seemed to make things move.
He froze when he heard a scuffling noise to his right and then dropped into a defensive crouch as something broke free from a thicket a few yards away.
Pender straightened and grinned, shaking his head sheepishly at himself as the pheasant shot across the muddy road and disappeared into the trees on the other side. The investigator shoved his trembling hands into the side pockets of his green combat-jacket and resumed his journey.
Jesus, he said to himself, this is really getting to me. Was there a genuine tension in the air or was it imagination? Maybe he was over-reacting to Jenny's statement. But still, there had been the rat's droppings and the chewed-up door back at the Centre. And the stoats that had been slaughtered; if rats hadn't done that, then it must have been something pretty fearsome.
Yet the local farmers he'd questioned that morning hadn't reported anything unduly worrying, and it the Black breed really were in the area, surely they would have been detected by now?
Unless, of course, they had developed a new kind of cunning.
He shuddered at the thought.
The trees gave way to his right and the land sloped gently away from the road; lush, bordered fields dipped, then rose into the horizon. A perfectly shaped round tree copse, about a hundred yards in diameter, stood in the nearest field and for some curious reason it made him feel uneasy.
He reached a low, farm-style gate and leaned his elbows against it, a frown creasing his forehead. The ground rose upwards beyond the gate and on the crest of its hill he could see a huge mansion. He assumed it was Seymour Hall itself, but from this distance it was hard to tell the building was only a shell. He counted six square-shaped chimney-stacks silhouetted against the sky, the building itself having three levels. Only the black glassless windows gave any hint of the ruin inside.
But the real cause of Pender's puzzled expression was the land between the gate and the house.
The road leading up to the mansion was made of rubble and the field it ran through was completely barren, the dark earth churned and pitted as though any worthy soil had been scoured away, leaving only the ugly, rock-strewn crust below. It was an unpleasant sight among the lush forestland, and Pender wondered what could have caused such destruction. His eyes narrowed.
He had seen something moving in the distance, up near the house itself. An animal of some kind. Something pink. Something bloated.
His hand gripped the top of the wooden gate and he unconsciously held his breath. It was too far away to make out any discernible shape. It moved slowly towards the house, having appeared behind some nearby shrubbery. It was difficult to tell its true size from this distance.
The sound of the Land-Rover's engine made him snap his head around. Denison saw the curious look on the ratcatcher’s face as he brought the vehicle to a halt.
‘What's up?’ he asked urgently, jumping out. ‘Have you seen the rats?’
‘I've seen something, but I'm not sure what it is.’ Pender pointed towards the house, his finger searching for the pink, slow-moving creature. But it was gone.
‘What's the matter, Pender? What did you see?’
Pender shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I don't know. It's disappeared.’
‘Well what in God's name did it look like, man? Was it a Black rat?’
‘No, no, it was pink, bloated. It moved as though its body was too heavy for its legs. It was somewhere near the house.’
To Pender's amazement, Denison burst into laughter. ‘What is it?’ Pender asked. ‘What's so funny?’
The head keeper controlled his laughter and leaned one hand on the gate, the other against his hip. ‘Pigs,’ he said.
‘What?’ Pender looked at him with curiosity.
‘Pigs, old man. The place is alive with 'em.’ Denison grinned at Pender, enjoying the man's confusion. ‘This field is let out to a local farmer for his free-range pigs. It's his bloody animals that have made such a mess of the land here; they've sucked and chewed every living thing from it'
‘Pigs,’ Pender said flatly.
Denison, still smiling broadly, nodded. They've got a shelter up by the house used to be stables. You usually get them all over this field, but I suppose they've gone in for their afternoon snooze. ‘Nothing deadly about those old boys, Pender.’
The investigator was forced to smile at his own error. ‘Guess I'm in a spooky mood today,’ he admitted.
‘Well, there's one thing for sure,’ Denison said, looking up at the house. There won't be any rats up there, not with the pigs around. They don't tolerate vermin too well, y'know.’
‘Yes, you're probably right. We'll have to check it out later, though, just in case. Where to next?’
‘Well, there are a couple of farms and private homesteads on the estate. We'll have a look . . .’
Both men's attention was caught by the beeping of a car's horn. They looked back down the long road leading from the entrance gates and saw a green van approaching at an unwise speed for the rutted track. Pender recognized it as the Ford Transit belonging to the Conservation Centre, yellow lettering painted on its sides giving it its official title.
He saw the driver was the young tutor he'd met at the Centre the day before - Will, he thought his name was. As the van slid to a halt, the passenger door flew open and Jenny Hanmer sprang lightly to the ground. There was no reserve in her eyes this time as she ran towards Pender, and there was a fear in her voice that made him want to reach out to her.
‘Luke,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You've got to come back to the Centre immediately! They've found something up at the old church! Something - something terrible.’
He looked down into her tear-blurred eyes and then he did reach out to her, holding her close, just for a moment.
Eight
Brian Mollison jogged past the fawn Capri and glanced into the interior. He felt disappointment on seeing it was empty. The woodland area was a well-used copulation centre for the roman-tic and the desperate, and cars parked on roadside clearings in the forest often offered stimulating views of thrashing, half-naked limbs.
He continued running, a light sheen covering his skin beneath the tracksuit. The day before had been a frustrating failure for him: he had failed to expose himself to anyone, the shock of nearly being caught having subdued any further inclinations for the rest of that day. It was a pity, for the woman he had been about to show himself to had been a stunner. Who-the-fuck had been in those bushes? Had it been an animal? Or some bloody deviant lurking there? If he hadn't had his track-suit trousers around his ankles he'd have sorted them out. He had to admit, though, he had been a little alarmed. Running and dressing at the same time was no easy thing and by the time he'd reached his car his whole body was shaking. It was a wonder he hadn't killed someone with the reckless way he'd driven home.
His mother - Christ, he'd love to stop her prattling once and for all - had got short-shrift from him for the rest of that day!
School had been unbearable the following morning. He wasn't sure if it was because the woman had been such a good-looker or because his secret pleasure was making stronger demands on him, but his frustration was extremely upsetting. In fact, he knew he would have to do something about it or his unbesmirched record at the school would be ruined, which accounted for the quick drive out to Epping Forest in the lunch hour.
The journey had taken twenty minutes, but he had a free period after lunch; he would have plenty of time. It would mean not eating, of course, so his mother - God, one day he'd show her - had better have a decent dinner for him that night! Or else!
The grass had made his plimsolls damp, but he had a spare pair back at the school and he wasn't unduly worried. He would have to find someone fast - couldn't afford to be choosy today.
Even an old woman would do - as long as she didn't resemble his mother. He headed for a wide track frequently used by strollers, keeping a steady pace, anticipation already causing a stirring inside his tracksuit. Sometimes he likened his penis to a bloodhound's nose - it seemed to sense its quarry from miles away.
He stopped when he heard the sound of laughter coming through the trees ahead. Knowing he was close to the track, the PE instructor trotted forward with more caution, keeping his body low and avoiding brittle-leaved bushes, slowing to a walk when the dead leaves at his feet gave warning of his approach.
The laughter came again and then a woman's voice, calling.
The trees and undergrowth thinned out and he found himself at the edge of the grassy track. He stepped back out of view and waited.
It wasn't long before a child of about four came scooting by, chased by another, slightly younger. A boy and a girl. The mother wouldn't be far away. He crouched behind a stout oak and his breathing became more laboured.
They came into sight a few seconds later, two of them, two women. And they looked quite young - late twenties, both of them. One was quite plain and dumpy, but the other wasn't bad.
A bit sturdy, perhaps, but no, not bad at all. Let them go by, follow them for a bit, make sure they haven't got a dog with them, as well - dogs could be a bloody nuisance.
He clasped a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing and let several seconds lapse.
All clear? Good. No one behind them. Have to be fast with this one. Do a bit in front of them, then off into the trees, finish off in private. Then straight back to school. One on her own would have been better, but beggars couldn't be choosers: two would have to do. They were braver when they weren't alone, and more inclined to complain to the authorities afterwards.
Two had thrown stones at him once. Taught him to keep away from gravelly paths. Still, he wouldn't hang around. Quick flash, little jiggle, then off. Christ he'd show them something!
He crept forward, his hand reaching inside his tracksuit and squeezing as
though assuring himself his erection was still there.
He had been foolish to wonder. A high bush blocked his view and he stood straight, peeking over the top. It was unfortunate that one of the women - the plain, dumpy one - happened to glance round at that moment. He saw her jaw drop open and her body go stiff just before he ducked down again. Through a chink in the bush he saw her say something to her companion, who looked towards him, her body stiffening. Abruptly they turned and began marching briskly down the track away from him, calling to the children in tight voices as they went. He knew he would have to act fast, the element of surprise now gone.
Leaping into the centre of the wide track, he quickly dropped his trousers and pulled his tracksuit top up with both hands, calling out his greeting of ‘Want a fuck?’ to catch their attention. They stared in horror which quickly turned to disgust.
Loathing even. The children beyond stared in fascination.
‘Piss off, you dirty bastard!’ the short woman shouted and her companion looked at her as though she had committed the greater offence.
Well-used to the rudeness of such females, the PE instructor wriggled his buttocks from side to side, his swollen penis swaying like the boom of a sailing boat in a shifting wind. He only became aware of the little pale blue and white Austin's presence behind him when he heard a burly voice call out, ‘Just a minute you!’
The police officer in his Panda patrol car had been too stunned to move at first. He had been on routine patrol through the forest, enjoying the tranquillity, heading for his favourite lunch spot where he could have his sandwiches and flask of soup in peace, and perhaps get his head down for twenty minutes or so. Travelling almost silently down the bumpy track at little more than 5 mph he had been amazed to be suddenly confronted by a pair of white, naked buttocks. The man's trousers were around his ankles and his upper clothing pulled upwards, revealing a broad, hairy back. It was so unexpected, even though the purpose of his patrol was to seek out such offenders, that his initial reaction was to sit and stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, until his foot slipped off the clutch and the car jerked forward as the engine stalled. The movement galvanized some action.
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