Guardians Of The Haunted Moor (12 page)

“
Oh, right. I heard him on
Spirits of
Cornwall
, reading part of one of the old
mystery plays. He really is talented, isn’t he?”

“
You have no idea.” Gideon let it sound as suggestive as
Pendower’s ears chose to hear. He realised he was enjoying making
the poor man blush, and stopped himself: that kind of distraction
from personal grief was both short-lived and unfair. “His family
taught him as a second language. They’re staunch Celtic
Revivalists.”

“
Ah. Marvellous. But what did you want to tell me about Mrs
Ragwen?”

“
Her surname means
white
witch
. It’s pretty much a direct
translation.”

Pendower came to hungry attention. He whipped out his
policeman’s notebook. “I don’t think I quite see it. No,
wait—
ra
, as in
W-R-A...”

“
And
gwen
for
white. Yes. So I don’t have to pretend to fall in with her beliefs,
as you put it. My beliefs or yours are irrelevant to her. Her
bloodline’s older than the hills around here.”

Pendower was scribbling frantically. He looked up, eyes
shining. “That really
is
marvellous.”

“
Yes, isn’t it?” Annoyance surged in Gideon’s chest despite his
best intentions. He’d meant to inspire this little collector with a
bit of respect for the Dark village elders, but had only handed him
another juicy fact for his archive. “So best tread lightly around
her,” he added, gathering all his best gravity of demeanour, “or
she might just turn you into a toad.”

“
For heaven’s
sake
, Frayne! This is a murder inquiry. And even if my involvement
is only peripheral—”

“
Yes. Sorry.”

“
I’m having serious doubts over your impartiality. I reviewed
the Lorna Kemp case notes before I came out here. Joe Kemp’s body
never was found, was it?”

“
No. Why—”

“
And there’s only your testimony, Mr Tyack’s and that of a
traumatised child for the circumstances of his disappearance. The
people around here look up to you, don’t they? You wouldn’t be the
first village copper to take matters into his own hands with a
child molester on the loose.”

“
Joe wasn’t a molester. He kidnapped Lorna to punish Sarah for
rejecting him.”

“
Well, whatever his crime, the Beast didn’t like it. That’s the
gist of your report, although you’ve done your best to sound
rational. Kemp got away from you, and vanished after what you
ultimately describe as a wild-animal attack.”

“
That was the only conclusion I could draw.” Gideon was drawing
another one now. He could hardly believe it. “Hang on. Are you
saying I made away with Joe myself, and blamed his death on a local
legend?”

“
Why not? The framework was in place. People around here talk
about this Beast as a reality. I might have done the same myself,
in your position.”

“
Did you say you wanted to watch Lee work?” Gideon asked
distantly. He was wondering if he could punch Pendower in the face,
sling him over the hedge and blame that on the Beast too. “Because
I think he’s found something.”

Pendower
whipped round. His face lit up strangely. “This should be
interesting. Is he on a scent?”

“
He’s not a bloodhound, Sergeant.”

Lee had
set off between two rows of corn. Gideon saw his target straight
away—a thread of blue wool, snagged on a barley ear and dancing in
the wind. The forensics team must have missed it. Lee was too
experienced a police consultant to need Pendower’s shout of
warning: Gideon hushed him with a gesture, following him to the
edge of the crop. Lee would check it over without touching, and
then either leave it in situ or, if it was likely to blow away, ask
Gideon for gloves and a bag.

He
leaned close to the strand, closing his eyes, inhaling the air
around it. Then, to Gideon’s astonishment, he snapped it off the
stalk in one impatient gesture and strode back along the furrow.
“Sorry, Gid. This isn’t relevant to your investigation.”

“
Bloody hell. It had better not be. Do you know who it belongs
to?”

“
Afraid so.”

Gideon
thought he knew too. The wool was a particular shade of blue. With
a sinking in his gut, he stepped back to let the pantomime play
out. Lee wrapped the wool around one forefinger and extended it to
Pendower. “You’d better have this back, or your jumper might
unravel.”

Pendower
wasn’t wearing a jumper. Like Gideon, he was in his warm-weather
uniform of short-sleeved shirt and utility vest. In the cool of the
morning, though, arriving with DI Lawrence and her team...
“Goodness,” he said shakily, attempting to retain his fascinated
mask. “Can you really tell that just from being near an object?
Touching it?”

“
No, you idiot. From smelling. I like your cologne, but if you
don’t mind my saying so, you overdo it just a touch.”

Pendower
undid the wool. He was blushing to the eyeballs, and Gideon didn’t
think he needed say anything to add to his humiliation. He was
puzzled, though. “Did Lawrence give you permission to leave
that?”

“
Not permission, exactly. She told me I could if I
wanted.”

“
To test Lee, right? What did Lawrence say to that
idea?”

There was an honesty in Pendower underneath his tricks and
bullshit. Caught out squarely, he looked up in wry acknowledgement.
“She said,
good luck with
that
. Believe it or not, Mr Tyack, I’m
actually really sorry.”

Lee
pushed his hands into his pockets. “I believe you, Rufus. It’s not
the first time. One client planted a pair of her boyfriend’s
Y-fronts in an underwear drawer when I was supposed to be helping
find her missing husband. But her husband wasn’t missing, just off
on a bender with his mates in Camborne, and there was a bit of a
furore after that.” He smiled faintly, turning to look out across
the field of silkily dancing corn. “The thing is, I’m not asking
you to believe in anything. Your faith doesn’t matter to me one way
or the other. All you have to do is judge by my results, and if I’m
not getting any, I’ll tell you right away. Speaking of which,
Gid—I’m really sorry. I’m drawing a total blank here. Maybe that’s
because it’s getting dark.”

Gideon
took his hand to steady him back out onto the field’s edge. The sun
was just rising to noon above Minions Hill, the day gathering its
full brilliance. “All right, love,” he said calmly. “Got one coming
on, then?”

“
What? No, I’m fine. Did you ever wonder...” Lee swayed, and
took hold of Gideon like a scaffold, an oak tree in a storm. “Did
you ever wonder why it was
called
Dark? The village, I mean?”

“
Sometimes, yes.” Gideon gave Pendower a look that backed him
up five paces. “Come here. You’re okay.”

“
Seems stupid. It’s so full of light most of the time. Sunshine
and leaves, and you’re part of it. You’re the same as the moor,
massive and lovely and laid out in the sun. Sometimes I have
nightmares that I left Sarah Kemp’s house five minutes earlier on
that day when she called me in about Lorna, and I never met
you.”

“
Didn’t happen.” Opening his arms, Gideon let him huddle close.
“Met you, married you. Everything’s all right.”

Lee
looked up at him. His pupils were constricted, gaze washed out to
sunlit silver. His attention seemed to pass blindly through the
bones of Gideon’s skull and into the closely guarded innerspace
where the lightest touch was sweet anguish, inexpressible pleasure
and pain “How, though? How did I find you? I love you,
Gid.”

“
I love you too,” Gideon choked out. He couldn’t do this here,
not with Pendower watching. But nor could he spirit Lee away to a
place that would be private and safe for such naked declarations.
Lee’s vision had to play itself out right here, and Gideon knew
he’d have hell to pay for interrupting. “What do you
see?”

“
Leaves. My head is full of leaves and light. But there’s a
cold wind blowing, and it’s starting to get dark. Turn me so I can
face into it—just for God’s sake don’t let go.”

“
You know I won’t.” Holding his shoulders, Gideon eased him
round, warming and shielding his spine. “Is there a monster I need
to unmask?”

“
No. It’s a lamb. But the lamb will devour the wolf and... he
slew John Barleycorn.”

Wow.
This one was wild. Gideon squeezed Lee’s shoulders.
“Breathe.”

“
It’s hard. Hard to breathe the darkness. Everything’s black
now. The leaves are withered, and the moor’s gone, and there’s no
water, no water anywhere. No fields, no trees.” He shuddered. “It’s
coming. It’s going to hit.”

This
time Gideon felt it. Back in All Saints Hall two Christmases ago,
he’d sat in the audience and watched while an unseen force made a
fist of itself and knocked Lee down. He had a fraction of a second
to brace—to hold his lover fast and tight under the impact and then
to catch him, one clean grab as he dropped like a stone. “Got you!”
Gideon gasped, lowering him onto the turf. Lee’s head was back, his
muscles in spasm. “Come home now, sweetheart. Come
home.”

“
What’s wrong with him?” Pendower demanded. “Is he having a
seizure? Should I call for help?”

“
Not just yet.” Gideon restrained one wild, flailing movement,
remembering that they’d missed Lee’s last two MRI appointments, one
in the flurry of their wedding preparations and the second because
Tamsyn had been ill. “Get your phone out. Jesus Christ, Lee. Easy.
Easy.”

Pendower
crouched beside Lee in the grass. “What can I do?”

“
Just help me hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. And don’t
look so scared.”

“
But he seemed so calm—so normal...”

“
He
is
normal.
He just has visions.” Gideon rolled Lee onto his side. “Mate, if
you don’t come out of this in thirty seconds flat, I’m calling
Commander Summers from Hawke Lake to get you medevac’d. Do you hear
me?”

The dark
wing passed. Gideon felt it like a pressure-change in the air. Lee
jolted once more under his hands and went limp, breathing hard. He
half-turned his face into the grass and said, distinctly, and
apparently to the daisies and the moss, “The shepherd. The good
shepherd of Dark.”

“
Who’s the good shepherd?” Gideon stroked his damp hair. “Is it
my brother? Do you want Zeke?”

“
No.” Lee lay still for a few seconds longer. Then he pushed
onto his elbows and sat up. “I just want our baby. You’re the good
shepherd of Dark, Gid. It’s you.”

Gideon
helped him stand. Between them they brushed off most of the bits of
barley from his hair. He glanced regretfully at the grass stains on
his shirt, then at Gideon’s vest. “Shit. Did I drool on your
uniform?”

“
Only a bit.” He was trying desperately for normality. Gideon
propped him discreetly as he could, aware of Pendower in the
background, frantically scribbling down notes. “Do you want to try
and tell me what it means—the lamb and the wolf?”

“
Is that what I said?”

“
And something about John Barleycorn, and the fields going
dark.”

His
colour faded from parchment to grey. “Do you remember... last time
something like this actually knocked me on my backside?”

“
Yes. You were dramatically sick about a minute
later.”

“
Minute’s up, nearly. If you let me go now I’ll get to the
fence. Don’t want to contaminate the scene.”

Gideon
patted him on the back. “You’re a true pro, you are. Want me to
look after you?”

“
No. Just keep Sergeant Weird-Shit out of my face.
Please.”

He
stumbled away. Pendower watched him go, pen poised over a page of
his notebook. His expression was hard to interpret. Was there a
trace of disappointment there? Lee reached the fence and doubled
over. Gideon moved to block Pendower’s view. “This is the reality
of it,” he growled. “The work he does. It isn’t always
pretty.”

“
Yes, but...” Pendower flipped a few pages back in his notes.
“It doesn’t seem to make much sense, either. A lamb eating a wolf?
And John Barleycorn’s just an old rhyme. This isn’t how he comes
across on his TV show. I’ve seen a couple of his stage acts, too.
He can cold-read an audience with no props at all.”

“
Those are controlled environments. Think about what happened
here, Pendower—what we asked him to open himself up to.”

“
I’m not questioning his courage. What was the point of it,
though? He didn’t give us anything useful at all. Or if he did,
it’s so cryptic that even he doesn’t know what it means.” He turned
another page or two, shaking his head. “And... wait. He said
something about a baby.”

Weariness swept over Gideon. “Yes, Sergeant. He’s my husband,
and we had a baby. It’s almost like we were human beings, isn’t it?
But we lost her.”

Pendower
blanched. “Oh, God. Did she die?”