No Mercy (10 page)

'No.' She thrust her automatic back into the special pocket
in her shoulder bag. Then she took out her camera and took
photos of the contraption from different angles quickly.
'Now, if it's all the same to you, I think we ought to get back
to the car.'

'Let's do that. Nothing more here I can see.'

'No point in looking, then.'

They got back into the car and Warden drove off again.
He speeded up, but not recklessly. They drove through a
sector where the sea had recently covered the road. Warden
made one of his rare remarks.

'Good job the road climbs again. The sea swamped that
area of road while you were away.'

During the journey to the coast Paula had felt all round her side of the car for her map without success. Dropping
her torch, she reached down and her hand located the map.
She began studying it with the aid of her torch.

'Harmer's Head is marked,' she said. 'To get back we take the first right pointing to Bideford, then keep all the way on
the A386, which eventually gets us almost home.'

'Spoke just in time, miss,' Warden replied. 'There's the
signpost. So sorry I made such a pig of it. Buchanan will give
me stick. I'll be lucky to stay sergeant.'

'Then,' Tweed said amiably, 'you tell him you followed a
route into the wilds on my specific instructions. Don't
mention any details of our getting out of the car.'

'Thank you, sir. I do appreciate that.'

They parked alongside the high wall at the back of Abbey
Grange. Paula showed Warden on her map how to circumnavigate Dartmoor until he arrived back in Post
Lacey. He smiled - the first time she'd ever known he could
do that. Tweed guided Paula to the entrance in the wall, saw
the gate was open and took her by the arm so they both
walked along the side of the mansion on the grass verge. He
pointed at the slab path he was avoiding.

'Knowing the place is well protected, they've probably laid
pressure pads under those slabs. We'll enter by climbing up the steps on to the terrace. Officially we've just returned up
the track over the
moor.'

When they reached the foot of the steps they saw that the whole ground floor was a blaze of lights. Paula checked her watch: 6 a.m. As they approached the heavy door it opened
and Larry stood in a thick colourful dressing gown, smiling.

'Dirty stop-outs,' he greeted them with a grin. 'There's
some hot coffee in the pot. In my study.'

'I could do with a cup.' Paula agreed.

They stood up to drink it, despite Larry's urging them to sit and be comfortable. When he spoke his expression was
serious.

'They've dealt with the skeleton?' he enquired.

'With the first one,' replied Tweed.

'The
first
!' Larry jumped up from his chair. 'What does
that mean?'

'They found another one. Tell you about it later.'

'I'm off to the works early.'

'When we next meet, then.'

'You can stay here as long as you wish. Eat here. Up to
you.'

'We'll see.' Tweed waved a hand. 'Maybe the whole of
Dartmoor'has become one vast burial ground.'

'Don't!' said Paula. 'I'm off to bed now before I fall over.'

9

Ken

Lee

Christine

John

Seated at the breakfast table in Abbey Grange, Paula studied
the list of names Tweed had given her. She scooped up the
rest of the boiled egg Mrs Brogan had prepared. It had been
11 a.m. when she had descended the staircase from her
room. Warily, she had slipped into the kitchen, apologizing
for being so late, Mrs Brogan had immediately suggested an
egg when she'd asked only for toast. Returning with her breakfast to the dining room, she'd found Tweed, fully dressed, seated at the table. He had handed her the sheet
containing the names.

'What do you make of that? Buchanan gave it to me. The
only item found on Michael when they thoroughly searched
him at the Yard.'

'It's typed badly. The typewriter is an old portable, maybe an Olivetti Lettera. The "e" jumps out of line every time. So
if we ever found it — doubtful, I know — it would be evidence.
Of what, I'm not sure. It's typed on good paper.'

'Good paper you can buy at any decent stationer's. No
way of tracing where it came from. Not even a watermark.
It's going to be the devil of a job identifying those names but
we'll have to try.'

'Not even any surnames to help us.'

'Which should make the search more interesting.' he said ironically. 'Let's hope it's not a list of victims.'

'Four. I think that's unlikely. Where is Michael?'

'He came down from his room earlier, walked straight out
on to the terrace, wearing a blue business suit. Then he
marched down the track to Post Lacey, gazing ahead all the
way. I watched him from my room through the monocular. He reached Post Lacey., paused, turned round, came back. His posture was the same - stiff-backed as a martinet - the face bloodless as ever, gaunt.'

'The Ghost Man,' Paula said quietly. 'Did he look at those tapes the police must have left round the area of the graves?'

'No. Didn't even seem to notice them. When he arrived
back he came upstairs to his room, went inside, locked the
door.'

'What on earth was he doing?' she wondered aloud.

'My guess is his old habit of going to the plant at Gantia
reasserted itself. Hence the suit. He
arrives in Post Lacey
and his car isn't there. He forgets what he was going to do,
comes back.'

'Everything about this part of the world is strange.'

'I've had a walk while you were in the land of Nod,' Tweed
told her. 'I walked along the A382 beyond the wall towards Moretonhampstead. Now I'd like to go the other way. Want
to come?'

'Fresh air is what I need. I'll grab my overcoat from the
hall.'

'I would. Since Michael came back mist has blotted out just about everything. Dartmoor weather!'

Opening the gate in the wall, Tweed turned left. He warned
Paula to keep on the grass verge. The mist was dense and a
car coming might not see them in time. At that moment a
loud church bell started clanging, its chimes pealing through
the mist, which crawled over Paula's face. Combined with the
pealing bell, it made the atmosphere unsettling.

'We can visit the church on the way back,' Tweed
suggested as they passed the ancient granite-walled edifice.
The bell tower reared up apart from the church like a
sentinel. Further along the deserted road they passed a long row of thatched cottages, their walls of new stone. Shutters were drawn over every window and each cottage joined its
neighbour. Paula pointed.

'It's a solid block of cottages. Is that
a
Devon tradition?'

'If it is I've never come across it before. That bell is
deafening.'

Again the atmosphere was peculiar. Despite the mist
muffling the clanging to some extent, it was still a blasting
sound. Paula was staring at the cottages, which showed no sign of life, when Tweed began shifting his feet among the gritting which covered this part of the road. He cleared a small area and below was another oil mark.

'We'll start back,' he decided. 'Might as well explore the
bell tower first. Pity we haven't brought cottonwool to save
our eardrums.'

They opened an old door at the base of the tower, went
inside. Paula stiffened. Another 'character'. The man hauling
on the rope which activated the large bell high above them
wore a thick pullover rolled up to his elbows. Muscular, he was about six feet tall and wore corduroy trousers covering
his legs.

His white hair was thick and untidy. His long lean face
was bony and Paula guessed his age as sixty. The nose was
hooked, the eyes pouched. His mouth was a rat trap, the jaw heavy and aggressive. She took an instant dislike to him. He
glanced at them, continued his arduous hauling of the rope.

'The Reverend Stenhouse Darkfield?' Tweed shouted.

'That's me. Need the exercise. Reminds the flock that the
church is here for them,' he shouted back.

They stood while he continued his labours. Paula noticed
that at intervals he checked his watch. Timing himself? Tweed
gazed up at the swinging bell, which seemed enormous.

'They must have heard it now,' he shouted.

'The Lord expects,' Darkfield bellowed back.

'Thought we'd just say good morning.'

'Goodbye!'
Darkfield shouted.

They left the tower, made their way to the ancient church.
It was a relief to get inside. The walls seemed to muffle the clanging effectively. They strolled down the central aisle
towards the altar. Paula started shouting, then lowered her
voice.

'Didn't like the look of the vicar a bit. Something sinister
about him.'

They had almost reached the altar when she stood stock-
still. Her face lost its normal colour and she grasped Tweed
by the arm. He also halted, following her gaze. They were looking at the altar.

On the top of it was a horrific sight. A calf's severed head
was perched on the altar. A recent execution. The head faced
them; blood was spilling down on to the altar, dripping over its edge.

'The cult,' Paula whispered.

'Let's get out of here, collect our things and walk down
the track to the car,' Tweed said decisively.

Paula had never packed her things more quickly, cramming
her small case without care in a way she'd never packed
before. Descending the staircase, she found Tweed, carrying
his own case in the hall.

'Should we say goodbye to Mrs Brogan?' Paula
suggested.

'No. You've had enough. We'll head down the track now.
Get out of this weird place fast.'

'The bell's stopped clanging,' she remarked as they moved quickly through the mist down the track, guided by Tweed's
powerful torch. 'That must have been an obscene sacrifice.'

'That cult business is nothing but simple people
occupying their time,' he replied.

'I was wondering whether the Reverend Darkfield had been inside the church. Could it be he was the one who
beheaded the calf? He looks capable of it.'