Scorpion [Scorpions 01] (6 page)

    - all it had done was get her aroused. Try as she might she couldn’t erase the image locked in her thoughts. She felt her nipples tense and start to rise. That was the trouble with those kinds of thoughts they were easy to start but the devil to stop! She sat upright suddenly, her full breasts trembling heavily, nipples exposed as the cotton pads fell away. She twisted her body round as she made a grab for the pads. She caught one in her fingers, the other settling on the far side of the blanket. Fran leaned across to pick it up.

    Something touched the firm flesh on the inside of her right thigh. It was only a light touch, a tickling sensation. Fran moved her leg a fraction and reached out with her long fingers for the wayward pad. She was about to pick it up when she felt the slight tickle again. This time it lingered, and suddenly it increased, as if weight had been added. And it was moving. Something was crawling over her leg! Oh God! She almost screamed out loud. Fran had the normal human responsiveness to the unexpected, alien feel of something unseen, unknown, touching her. Through her mind flashed a jumbled imagery, conjuring up all kinds of terrible creatures. She jerked her head round, glancing down between her spread thighs, and this time there was no restraint. Her utter revulsion - the cold terror that swept over her - was expressed in a piercing scream.

    There, crawling steadily across the silken flesh of her thigh, was some nightmarish insect. Fran didn’t pay too much attention to its shape or size or color. She was too involved in getting it off her leg. Her right hand swept down in a frantic sweep, the back of her fingers striking the insect. The blow wasn’t hard enough to dislodge it and it simply curved its body round, hesitated, then began to crawl again, its dry, feathery touch making her flesh cringe. Still screaming, Fran aimed another blow at it, missing completely this time. But the insect reacted instantly to the shadow of Fran’s hand. It hunched its dark body, the rear section curving up and over its head, stabbing down at Fran’s thigh.

    A sudden pain numbed Fran’s leg. It burst deep inside her flesh, spreading rapidly, hot and almost alive. The shock of the pain brought Fran’s hand down again, and this time it crushed the dark body against her leg. In the same movement Fran scooped the insect aside, flinging it from her. It twisted over and over, dropping to the ground yards away, where it lay on its side, its body jerking and writhing. Part of the dark shell had split and a pulpy wetness oozed out of the body.

    Fran clutched her hands over the pulsing wound. Her leg seemed to be growing more numb with each passing second. She had stopped screaming now, in an attempt to conserve her energy.

    After a time she regained control of herself. Her mind worked out the logical thing to do. She needed to get to hospital. And quickly.

    She struggled to her feet and promptly collapsed as her right leg gave way. She rolled across the grass, throwing out her hands to stop herself. Panting wildly she raised her head. A few yards away she could see a broken branch off one of the trees. Dragging herself across the grass she reached it, and used it as a crutch. She hobbled painfully to where her clothing lay neatly folded inside a canvas shoulder bag. Unzipping the bag, she tipped the contents out over the grass. She ignored the clothing, picking up only the bunch of keys that had fallen from the bag. Slowly she limped her way through the trees to where her expensive sports car was parked. Biting pain dulled her concentration and it took her precious minutes to insert the key in the lock. It took her just as long to drag herself inside the cramped space behind the wheel. Fumbling, dropping the keys, retrieving them, she finally switched on the ignition.

    The powerful engine burst into life. Fran released the handbrake, put the car in gear, and jammed her pain-filled right foot hard down on the pedal as she released the clutch. The car burst out of the trees, the rear end sliding back and forth as the wheels fought for traction on the soft ground. Fran hung on to the jerking wheel as the car slewed across the grass. She slammed the gears into second, keeping her right foot hard to the floor, desperately trying to ignore the spreading pain. It had reached her groin now and still seemed to be moving.

    There was a thump as the car breached the grass verge and hit the tarmac road. The rear tires howled, smoke streaming from the tortured rubber. Then they gripped and the sports car leaped forward. This stretch of the coast road was fairly straight, with nothing to slow a vehicle down; the speedometer needle rose at an alarming rate.

    It was doubtful whether Fran Collingwood would have reached Long Point’s hospital without having an accident even if she had managed to negotiate the coast road. As it was the question became academic.

    She had travelled for just over one mile and was doing exactly 121 miles an hour when the front offside wheel struck a shallow pothole in the road. It was enough at that speed to jerk the steering wheel from Fran’s grip. If she had not been suffering from the weakening effects of the poison spreading through her body she would probably have corrected the alteration in her line of travel without any problems. Instead she panicked, clamped both hands on the wheel and pulled. The car swung in towards the grass verge in a screeching half-circle. The car’s weight plus its forward momentum flipped it over. Landing on its roof, the car carried on along the road, sparks trailing behind it. Again its own body mass became its worst enemy. The car began to roll, bouncing along the road. Debris flew from the disintegrating wreck. One of those pieces of debris was Fran Collingwood’s body. Her momentum carried her out of the shattered car and took her screaming along the road. The screaming ceased as her body hit the tarmac surface. It took the flesh from her bones, smearing her blood and her entrails in a greasy splash of red and white and grey against the black road. Her mangled remains came to rest against the side of the road. There was barely an unbroken bone left in her twisted corpse. One arm was completely torn from her body. Her face was unrecognizable, the features reduced to pulped flesh and blood and ground-in dirt from the road. All the dreams that had existed inside her beautiful head were gone. The future plans, the fame and fortune that was to have been hers, all gone. There were no erotic images to be captured on photographic paper. The last picture of Fran Collingwood was taken by a man named Milo Wallace. He was a police photographer, called out by the accident unit which went to the scene of the fatality out on the coast road.

    

    

    ‘I don’t give a damn what Camperly says - it’s got to be more than just a coincidence!’

    Allan Brady paced impatiently back and forth across the lab.

    ‘Why, laddie?’ McFee inquired.

    ‘Hell, Fergus, can’t you see?’ Allan turned on his heel. ‘First Les Mason. Yesterday this Lippman chap. The same symptoms.’

    ‘With a wee difference, Allan,’ McFee pointed out. ‘Lippman died within a few minutes of suffering a massive coronary.’

    ‘Brought on by something injecting him with venom. Something which stung him,’ Allan insisted.

    ‘All right, let’s agree that the sting contributed,’ McFee said.

    ‘What about the girl who crashed the car?’

    ‘Come on, Allan,’ McFee said. ‘That imagination of yours is working overtime.

    Ever since you got involved in the Mason case you’ve been prowling around like Doctor Kildare.’

    Allan ignored the jibe. ‘Did you look at the girl’s body?’

    McFee shook his head. ‘No. And I’ll tell you why - because it was nothing to do with me or this department.’

    Allan sat down. ‘That’s what I thought until I heard the details. She crashed her car on the coast road. She was doing 121 miles per hour, and she was driving that car naked.’

    ‘So?’ McFee questioned. ‘Maybe she was a kinky speed freak.’

    ‘The police found where she’d had her car parked. And where she’d been sunbathing. But she left that spot in one hell of a hurry, Fergus. So quickly that she didn’t even bother to put on her clothes. She left all her stuff behind. A woman wouldn’t do a thing like that unless she was in a real panic’

    ‘So you sneaked a look at the body?’

    ‘Yes.’

    ‘Find anything?’

    ‘A single puncture mark on the inside of the right thigh. She was pretty badly smashed up. It took some finding.’

    McFee scratched the side of his chin. ‘You’re not thinking of telling Camperly, are you?’

    ‘You don’t think I should, do you?’

    ‘Look, Allan, he’s already had one go at you. Warned you off. All you’re liable to do is make it worse for yourself.’

    ‘As far as I’m concerned, Fergus, I’m only doing my job.’

    ‘And as far as I’m concerned, Brady, all you are doing is wasting time. Your own and the department’s!’

    Allan turned to find Andrew Camperly standing just inside the open lab door. Camperly’s face was taut with anger, his eyes glittering icily.

    ‘I thought the function of this department was investigative,’ Allan said, refusing to back down from Camperly’s hard stare.

    Camperly closed the lab door.

    ‘The function of this department is my affair, Brady,’ he said. ‘You are here to do as you are told. I put it in such simple terms because it’s obvious you are incapable of understanding.’

    Allan would have stepped forward if Fergus McFee hadn’t tugged at his lab coat.

    ‘Doctor Camperly,’ McFee said, ‘I think it ought to be appreciated that Allan did what he thought was right.’

    ‘What was right in this case,’ Camperly snapped, ‘was to abide by my instructions.’

    There was a strained silence.

    ‘Doctor Camperly, I’m serious about this matter,’ Allan said.

    ‘So am I, Brady,’ Camperly retorted. ‘I’ve heard about your inquiries and your poking into matters which do not concern you.’

    ‘Have you stopped to look at the results?’ Allan protested.

    ‘Results?’ Camperly laughed harshly. ‘All right, let’s analyze your findings, Doctor. You’ve based this whole episode on the fact that one man had a severe reaction to an insect sting. Now you are assuming that the second man, Lippman, died from the same causes. The post mortem revealed that he was suffering from a defective heart. He could have dropped dead anywhere at any time.’

    ‘But he was stung.’ Allan insisted.

    ‘I don’t deny that, but my tests have proved there was very little poison in the bloodstream. Facial discoloration is not uncommon with this kind of attack.’

    McFee cleared his throat softly.

    ‘Now,’ Camperly continued, ‘we come to the young woman who overturned her car on the coast road. Fatal injuries were received after she was thrown from her overturned car… at the speed she was travelling there was no chance of her surviving. You’re maintaining that she was stung?’

    Allan nodded. ‘I found a puncture mark on the inside of her right thigh.’

    ‘After an accident like that I’m sure there must have been many puncture marks on the body.’

    Allan opened his mouth to speak but Camperly cut him off.

    ‘We’ve wasted enough time over this matter,’ he said. ‘You, Brady, will concentrate on the work I assign. Nothing else. There isn’t room for individual flights of fancy… not in this department. We’re part of the Health Service - remember that. Taxpayers’ money built this place and keeps it running. I will not allow any behavior liable to jeopardize this department’s existence!’

    ‘So as far as you’re concerned there isn’t any basis for further investigations?’

    ‘Correct, Doctor Brady,’ Camperly said briskly. ‘Now, let us get on with our work!’

    He turned and strode out of the lab. As the door closed behind him Allan glanced across at Fergus McFee. The Scot shrugged and moved off to his bench. Mentally chalking up a round to Camperly, Allan turned to his own work.

    He concentrated hard, taking his frustration out on his work, and by lunchtime he had completed a series of tests that would have normally taken all day. At one o’clock he took off his lab coat, picked up his jacket, and crossed to McFee’s bench.

    ‘Coming for lunch?’ he asked.

    McFee shook his head. ‘I want to classify these cultures first,’ he said. ‘You go ahead, Allan, I’ll get something later.’

    Outside the building Allan paused on the steps. The controlled temperature in the building protected the department’s staff from extremes on the outside. Now Allan was subjected to the full force of the cloying, clinging heat. He glanced up at the cloudless sky, wondering when the weather was going to break.

    ‘Hello!’

    The voice was female and vaguely familiar. Allan glanced down and saw Chris Lane.

    ‘I was on my way in to find you,’ Chris said as he joined her.

    ‘How are you?’ Allan asked.

    Chris smiled quickly. ‘Better than I was the last time we met.’

    Allan took a long look at her and decided that she was still looking pale. There were faint rings around her eyes.

    ‘Did you want to see me about anything in particular?’ Allan asked, though he admitted that any reason was good enough - he was only too pleased to meet her again.

    ‘I wanted to say thanks for your help last week. You appeared at just the right moment.’

    ‘That’s the way it is with us Good Fairies,’ Allan grinned. ‘But I’m glad I was able to do something.’

    He touched her arm. ‘Are you still feeling down because of Les?’

    ‘It still bothers me.’

    They crossed the car park, silent for a moment.

    ‘Have you had lunch?’ Allan asked suddenly.

    Chris shook her head.

    ‘There’s a nice little pub about half a mile down the road,’ Allan said. ‘The Greener’s Arms. Shall we use my car?’