Lair (4 page)

Trying to control his rising excitement, he pulled the tracksuit top over his head and lay it on the ground behind him. He peered through the bushes and saw she was coming forward again. He licked his lips and cleared his throat of juices. She stopped again and this time he, too, heard the rustle of undergrowth from a point to her left. Mollison frowned and tried to see into the thicket. Must be an animal in there.

Come on, you silly cow, it can't hurt you! He tugged at the trousers of his tracksuit, pulling them down his legs, the elasticated bottoms catching at the heels of his plimsolls. Sod it! he said to himself.

No time to work them free, she'll be off down another path in a minute!

His whole body was trembling now, a light sheen of perspiration covering his well-developed muscles. He began to rise but suddenly fell back, his trousers tangled in a root. Spiky leaves scratched at his buttocks and he pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp jabs as his hands were prickled by brittle foliage, knowing she must have heard him by now.

He leapt from the hiding-place, his arms outstretched and legs out as far as his fallen trousers would allow, a wide grin on his face and pelvis thrust forward, all in an announcement of his enlarged organ.

But she was gone. He just caught sight of her retreating figure as she scurried off down the path.

His surprise gave way to disappointment and then to resentment and frustration. He looked down bitterly at his fast-shrinking member and swore. She couldn't have reacted that fast to the noise he'd made when he'd stumbled! Then he heard the other sound again and realized it came from the same spot as before. The bushes were rustling as though something was moving through them. Oh Christ, there was someone else hiding in there.

He hoisted his trousers, hastily retrieved the jacket, and ran off in the opposite direction.

The children called excitedly to each other as they lowered their long-stemmed nets into the murky water. It wasn't very often that their school organized a day out at Epping Forest's Conservation Centre, so it was a special treat for them. All under eleven years of age, not many truly appreciated the lessons on the woodland's abounding wildlife taught by the Centre, but with the ever-growing threat to the natural environment, it was judged to be a worthy aim to inst il in them a respect for nature rather than a deep knowledge of it. That was why the Centre was prefixed with the title "Conservation' and not

"Nature'. Outside pressure from primary schools and colleges whose pupils attended the Centre meant lessons had to be orientated towards future examinations, but the tutors' main purpose was still to make the children more ecologically aware.

Jenny Hanmer was one of the Centre's four tutors, and it was her class that had gathered around one side of the water's edge. Because a whole section of the pond was overshadowed by the forest, the bottom was choked with dead leaves covered with a purple scum due to sulphur bacteria, making its depths very dark and its vegetation restricted to algae and a few clumps of starwort. Nevertheless, the oxygen-scarce water still contained many forms of life: water-lice, tubifex worms and blood worms; mosquito larvae and rat-tailed maggots; pond skaters, water crickets and water beetles. Jenny had described all these creatures to the children in the classroom. Now she wanted her pupils to discover them for themselves in the much bigger, outdoor classroom.

It was exciting for them to 'fish' in this way and even more fun when they studied their samples under a microscope back at the Centre.

"Careful now," Jenny called out to one adventurous nine-year-old whose name she didn't remember, and who was stretching out precariously over the water in order to net an interesting looking insect. She regretted never getting to really know her pupils individually, but it was almost impossible with so many different schools visiting every week, each class made up of twenty-five to thirty-five children. Some of the older groups, those taking "O' levels or CSE exams, would take longer and often concurrent day courses, and it was possible to build up something of a relationship with them; but not with the younger pupils, although she found them more fun.

"It's all right, Miss, I can reach," the boy said, his net extended to its limit.

"Patrick, will you step back!" The sharp command came from the boy's schoolteacher, a small, round woman whose eyes never seemed to agree in which direction to look; Jenny could have sworn she was talking to a boy innocently standing well away from the pond's edge.

The guilty Patrick took a grudging step backwards, disappointment evident in his face. "I won't be able to get it now," he complained.

"Look," Jenny said, pointing at a small insect skimming across the surface of the water. That's a water skater, the one I told you about back in the classroom. We won't be seeing much more of him now the colder weather is on its way."

She smiled as the children followed her pointing finger with their eyes and exclaimed triumphantly when they caught sight of the swift-darting insect. It was fine to talk about such animal life in the detached atmosphere of a classroom, but it certainly added a new dimension when the children could see that Me for themselves in its natural surroundings. Five nets were immediately plunged into the water to capture the startled skater.

"No, children," Jenny said, laughing. We're looking for algae.

Remember I told you about the rootless, flowerless plant? Volvox is what we're after. Let's see if you can spot it."

The children stopped tormenting the insect which had the sense to head towards the centre of the pond.

"Come on, boys and girls, do as Miss Hanmer says," their stray-eyed teacher said heartily. She clapped her hands as if to emphasize the command and the giggling children scattered around the pond's muddy bank.

"Keep to this side!" Jenny called out anxiously.

"Keep to this side!" their teacher instructed.

Thank you, Miss Bellingham," said Jenny, inwardly amused. They're very well behaved."

Miss Bellingham gave a small, self-conscious laugh, both eyes defiant of one another as they singly followed the children running off in different directions. "You have to keep them under control, mind."

Jenny nodded, blinking and shifting her gaze from the teacher's undisciplined eyes. They seem to enjoy coming out here," she said.

"Oh, yes, it's a great lark for them!" Miss Bellingham quickly realized her slip. "And so educational' she added. "How long have you been with the Conservation Centre, Miss Hanmer?"

Jenny had to think hard; the time had flown by. "Nearly a year, I think. Yes, about eight months. I was with the Juniper Hall Field Centre in Dorking before."

"It must be a lovely life, my dear. Very interesting," Miss Bellingham enthused.

"It is, most of the time. I had planned to be a geologist, but I somehow got sidetracked into ecology. I'm not complaining, though."

Jenny dug her hands into her loose-fitting cardigan and looked around, checking that the children hadn't got into any awkward situations.

Miss Bellingham was about to ask another question, her interest aroused by the attractive young tutor, wondering why she should choose what seemed to her an almost monastic existence at the Centre, when a shout from their left distracted her attention.

"Look, Miss, look over there!" One of the children, a coloured boy, was pointing towards the shaded side of the pond. "What's them?"

Jenny and Miss Bellingham looked towards the spot, the rotund teacher's eyes swivelling past and taking several seconds to settle back onto a moving object in the water. "What is it, Miss Hanmer?"

Jenny wasn't sure for a moment; she moved further down the bank for a closer look.

There's three of 'em, Miss," shouted the sharp-eyed boy.

At first the tutor thought they might be water-vole, but remembered that voles usually swam beneath the surface, and rarely in a group like this. These swam in an arrowhead formation.

As they entered a sun-lit area, she saw only their long, pointed heads above the surface, the water barely disturbed by their progress. They ignored the excited clamouring of the children and continued on their way, making for the bank on Jenny's left. The boy who had first seen the creatures picked up a thick piece of rotted bark and hurled it towards the centre of the pond, a point just reached by the three animals.

"Darren, you naughty boy!" Miss Bellingham was outraged by the youth's action. Jenny felt a good clout from the teacher might be appropriate.

She quickly turned her attention away from the culprit and back to the pond. The bark had landed with a loud splash directly in front of the animals and she was relieved none had been hit. They had merely changed direction and were now heading for the shadowed bank directly opposite.

Their sleek, black heads glided through the murky water at an almost leisurely pace and Jenny's eyes widened as they emerged on the other side. She recognized the creatures, but something told her she must be wrong. They were too big. The long, black-haired bodies, shiny with water, were far too large for rats!

Their tails, slimy and grey-pink, slivered from the water behind them and the tutor suddenly felt repulsed: the tails alone must have been a foot long. Without waiting to shake themselves free of water, two of the creatures disappeared smoothly into the gloom. The third, the one that had been leading, turned to face the group across the pond. It squatted there and Jenny shuddered as she felt herself being observed.

Several of the children began to cry and the young tutor knelt down to comfort the nearest.

When she looked up again, her attention diverted for no more than a few seconds, the rat if the creature had been a rat was gone. The forest, and the pond, were perfectly still.

FOUR

Fender pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator pedal, glad to be free of the city again. The journey from the Ratkill laboratories in Surrey had taken him through London's vehicle-choked centre and the constant frustration of stopping, starting, waiting, avoiding, had made his mood grim. Although he didn't regret moving back down to the south again he often missed the more open country of the north. Huddersfield had provided a splendid base for trips into the surrounding counties, and, although he was city-bred, he appreciated their coarse beauty.

Perhaps the people-crowded years had heightened his respect for the countryside's seclusion. The car gathered speed and, as the woods on his left thickened, so he began to relax. Soon it was woodland on both sides of the road.

Fender knew the area, but not too well. The Epping New Road ran straight through the forest, but he would have to turn off onto one of the quieter roads branching into the forest itself. The car was doing seventy-five when he slowed for the roundabout ahead. He saw the sign for High Beach and swung into the narrow winding road leading from the roundabout. The trees almost met overhead, the bright sun sparkling through dying leaves, and he felt the last ounces of tension drain away. Another narrow road to his right took him past a small church into a slightly wider road, and then the scenery opened out as if the car had been squeezed through a funnel.

The high ground fell away to his left down into a vast green valley, its lower slopes filled with trees of every kind, stretching for miles into the distance. Beyond them Fender could see the hazy suburbs, glints of sunlight reflected here and there off glass surfaces. He stopped the car for a moment to take in the vista, feeling heady with its abrupt freshness. Driving along the winding road, he hadn't realized the swift ascent the car had been making. He remembered reading once, long ago, the theory of how the rolling hills of Epping Forest had been formed. A great sheet of ice had slid down eastern England at the end of the Ice Age and split in two on a high bank north of the forest, each section scouring out two valleys on either side of the bank and, as they pushed forward like the pincers of a giant crab, the soil was squeezed between them into rugged contours. From his vantage point he could see the truth of the theory.

A few cars were parked on a muddy area on the rim of the valley, their occupants gazing out at the view through windscreens, as though to leave their metal cocoons and make contact with fresh air would shrivel their bodies. Fender drove on, looking for a sign which would tell him the location of the Conservation Centre.

A huge public house stood on his right, a lofty and cold perch at the top of the long, grassy slope, and beyond that he saw the sign pointing towards his goal. He drove down the curved road, almost doubling back in direction, and came upon the entrance to the Centre. Passing through the narrow gate posts, he found a small, gravel car park. He sat and studied his surroundings before leaving the car.

The white-bricked single-storey buildings were set in a square horseshoe shape around a close-cropped lawn, a ribbon of gravel cutting across the grass from the car park towards a glass-doored entrance to the building on his left. The low-ceilinged building had no windows at least, not on that side and a sign in front of him indicated it was the school section. An arrow, pointed in the same direction as the path, bore the heading: INFORMATION DESK. Directly ahead and slightly apart from the main building was a continuous row of chalet-type structures joined at right angles by a similar row leading back in his direction.

They were of the same neat, functional design as the school and reception section and Fender guessed they were the staff's living quarters. Stephen Howard had briefed him on the Centre before Pender had left, explaining that the Warden, as the principal was ominously called, and his tutors were resident at the establishment. Trees loomed up darkly behind the Centre, dwarfing the buildings, making them seem more squat than they really were. He crossed the lawn, keeping to the gravel path, and entered the reception area.

The rectangular hall was cluttered with single-panelled exhibition stands displaying pictures of various animals and plants, accompanied by written information on each subject. The area was empty but there was a reception window to his right. He peered into the room beyond; a woman was at one end typing busily and a man sat reading a book at a table nearest the window. The man, youngish, intense-looking, glanced up at Fender.

"Yes, sir, can I help?" he asked.

"My name's Fender. I've come to see Mr. Milton." Fender had learned to be discreet about his profession: people were still nervous of rat catchers

"Oh yes. From Ratkill, aren't you?"

Fender lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

The man grinned as he got up from the desk and came over to the window.

"It's all right, there's no secrets among the staff. I'll just see if he's in his office."

The young man disappeared through a door and reappeared a few seconds later.

'Yes, he's there. If you'd like to go through the door round to your right, I'll take you to his office."

Fender followed the instructions and was met in the corridor beyond.

"I'm not sure we really need you people," the young man said as he led the way. We've seen signs of vermin, but they haven't done any bad damage yet. It's just the uh, law, you know?"

Fender nodded and went through the door which had been opened for him.

The Warden of the Conservation Centre stood and offered his hand across the desk as Fender entered.

"Mr. Fender? I'm Alex Milton. Didn't take Ratkill long to get someone up here, did it?"

Fender shook the proffered hand and sat in the seat opposite.

Thank you, Will," Milton said to the man at the door. "I'll see you about the arrangements for tonight's lecture a little later on. Would you like some coffee, Mr. Fender?"

The rat catcher felt like something stronger after the wearing drive, but he smiled and said, "Coffee'll be fine."

Would you mind asking Jan for me, Will?"

"Right." Will closed the door behind him.

The two men faced each other across the desk, Milton smiling and slouched back in his seat. He seemed to have forgotten why Fender was there.

"Interesting place you have here," the Ratkill man said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, it is," the Warden agreed enthusiastically.

"Have you been here long as Warden?"

Milton thought for a moment, his smile still beaming. "Just over two years, I think. The Centre itself the Epping Forest Conservation Centre, to give it its full title was only opened nine years ago, so it's still in its youth." He gave a small almost embarrassed laugh.

"In fact, most of my staff are rather youthful apart from myself and my wife, of course."

Fender nodded politely, smiling at the man's self-deprecating humour.

He hoped the Warden would soon get to the business in hand. Tell me about your rodent problem," he prompted.

"Oh yes. Mustn't waste your time." The Warden leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his face serious and his tones hushed. "It started a couple of days ago, actually. Nothing much, just signs, you understand."

"What kind of signs?"

Well..." A light tap at the door interrupted the Warden's next words.

"Yes, come in," he called out.

The door opened and a small, thin girl, clad in jeans and sweater, entered the room. She carried a tray bearing two coffees, milk and sugar, which she placed on the Warden's desk.

This is Jan," said Milton and the girl pushed her gold-framed glasses back towards the bridge of her nose, giving Fender a nervous smile.

"Jan saves our lives every day by cooking our meals and providing us with gallons of coffee," the Warden said as Fender smiled back at the young girl. "She's only filling in a year between school and agricultural college, actually, but I must say, she'd make an excellent chef. Perhaps we can persuade you to remain one, eh, Jan?"

The girl shook her head and said in a quiet voice, "I don't think so, Mr. Milton." She left the room, keeping her face low to hide a blush.

Fender hadn't seen a girl blush for quite some time.

"You were saying?" he said as Milton handed him a coffee from the tray.

"Saying?"

"About the rodent signs."

"Oh, yes, forgive me. Yes, the signs. Well, we keep examples of forest wildlife in pens outside the classrooms the children love to see the animals, you know. Rabbits, hares, squirrels even had a fox until recently. A couple of nights ago, the pens were broken into."

Fender poured milk into his coffee, then looked steadily at the Warden.

Were the animals killed?"

"Good gracious, no! Nothing like that'

Fender relaxed in his seat.

"No, it was just their food that was stolen. But the animals, when we found them next day, were in a state of shock, do you see? Absolutely terrified. Hadn't even attempted to escape through the holes in the wire left by whatever broke in."

"It could have been anything. Maybe the fox you had before returned it would if it knew it could find food here."

"Oh, no, the fox died."

Then another."

"Yes, it could be possible. There are about fifty foxes that we know of still living in the forest. But we found droppings, you see. And they certainly weren't those of foxes."

"Did you keep them? Can I see them?"

"Of course you can. That's why you're here. I'll take you along to the laboratory in a moment."

What shape are they?"

"Roundish, spindle-shaped, I'd say."

Were they in groups?"

"Yes, yes. Small groups."

Milton could read nothing in Fender's expression.

"Anything else?" the rat catcher asked.

We have an outhouse round at the back of the buildings where we keep the refuse. All the kitchen waste is put there. Yesterday morning we found the bottom of the door had been gnawed through."

Fender sighed. "Yes, rats would do that."

"Of course. But you must understand we are in the middle of the forest and are used to night-time marauders. The Centre was built to keep out our more persistent friends. The bottom of the outhouse door is reinforced with a metal strip. A corner of the strip had been completely pulled away."

Fender sipped his coffee.

The metal was securely attached to the door, Mr. Fender. It would have taken a crowbar for a man to tear it loose."

"I'll have a look at it. Have you laid any poisons?"

"No, we thought that best left to you. The rule is to inform the Ministry immediately rodent signs are found. We're still not sure it's rats, of course, but we thought the two unusual events warranted investigation, don't you agree?"

Fender nodded. He placed his coffee cup back on the Warden's desk and began to rise. "I'll look at those droppings ..."

The loud rap at the door startled both men. It burst open without waiting for a reply from the Warden, and a young girl dressed in denims and a loose-fitting cardigan entered the room, closely followed by the man called Will. The girl looked breathless and she leaned with two hands on the Warden's desk, her long dark hair falling across her face.

Milton was too surprised to speak.

"I've seen them, Mr. Milton," the girl said, trying to keep her voice calm. They're down by one of the ponds."

"What are, Jenny? What are you talking about?"

"Jenny's seen the rats, Mr. Milton," Will said anxiously.

Milton glanced at him, then back at the girl. "You have?"

Yes, yes. I'm sure they were rats. But they were so big," the girl said, her face earnest.

"Sit down, Jenny, and just tell us exactly what you saw." The Warden indicated a chair opposite Fender's and as she sat, the girl noticed the rat catcher for the first time.

"It's rather opportune, really," Milton said. This is Mr. Fender, Jenny. He's been sent from Ratkill. I'm sure he'd very much like to hear what you have to say. Jenny Hanmer is one of our tutors."

Fender looked at the girl and, now that he could see her face fully, realized she was very attractive, not at all 'tutorish'. She brushed her shoulder-length hair back and gave Fender a faint smile, her mind too busy with what she had just witnessed to pay him much attention.

"Now, Jenny, tell all." Milton smiled benignly at the tutor.

"I took my class down to the small pond the one before you get to the Wake Valley Pond. We'd only been there a few minutes when one of the boys saw something swimming across the water. I couldn't make out what they were at first, but there were three of them."

"Not necessarily rats, then?" said the Warden.

"We got a better look at them when they were climbing out. The boy threw something at them and they changed direction and made for the bank. We saw their whole bodies then."

"But it is rather, er, gloomy down there, isn't it? I mean, are you sure they weren't some other animal? A water-vole would be the obvious choice."

That was my first thought. They were too big, though."

"Big enough to be dogs?" said Fender. Black dogs, mistakenly taken as the giant Black rat, had caused several scares over the past few years.

"No, I'm sure they weren't," the girl said, looking directly at Fender.

They had long pointed heads, and their ears were long too, and pink.

Their tails ... their tails were horrible."

"Did the children see them?"

"Yes, and their teacher, Miss Bellingham. I didn't imagine them, Mr.

Fender."

"Where are the children now?" The Warden had a worried look on his face.

"I brought them back right away. Miss Bellingham's with them in Class Two. It's all right, they're not frightened; we played it down, told them they were coypus."

Fender grinned. "And they believed you?"

"Most of them did it was rather shady down there. It's not so unlikely anyway. Coypus live mainly in Norfolk and Suffolk, so it's not improbable that some should find their way south. A few of the children were a bit doubtful, though."