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 Fender'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 Fender 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 rat catcher 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." Fender pointed towards the house, his finger searching for the pink, slow-moving creature. But it was gone.
What's the matter, Fender? What did you see?"
Fender 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 Fender's amazement, Denison burst into laughter. What is it?"
Fender 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?" Fender looked at him with curiosity.
"Pigs, old man. The place is alive with 'em." Denison grinned at Fender, 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," Fender 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, Fender."
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. Fender 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 Fender, 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 romantic 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 tracksuit 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 un besmirched 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.