Resurgence, page 13
part #10 of Necroscope Series
‘Aye, so ye were,’ old Angus chuckled again. ‘Ah suspected it was yeresel’ - even in that nonedescrip’ heap o’ old junk ye call a car! But are ye no ashamed o’ yeresel’.George? Hidin’ in the bushes an a’, as if yere old pal was up tae no good!’ Then, for good measure, he made tsk, tsk noises so that lanson could picture him shaking his head disapprovingly.
He had to smile. And it was good to smile, for he’d been down in the dumps for some time. But now, almost audibly sighing his relief, he said: “Well, just what were you up to, Angus? If I hadn’t recognized your Beetle, I might even have suspected I was following the murderer!’
There came another, longer pause, then McGowan’s rasping voice again, its tone more serious than lanson could ever remember hearing it before. ‘Ah, but ye were followin’ just such a murderer, George. Ye were!”
‘What!’
‘Not me - and AMI never forgive ye if that’s what ye’ve been thinkin’, even though ye may have had cause! - but the no so wee bonnie lassie hersel’. Aye, Bonnie Jean Mirlu - and her pack!’
lanson’s brain whirled. ‘Angus, what in the—?’
‘Big dogs, George! D’ye no remember?’
‘Well of course I remember, but…’
‘And what about big bitches, eh?’
lanson shook his head, for all the world as if he thought McGowan could see him. ‘Bitches? I’m not with you.’ But at the same time he recognized a not so vague connection with ex-constable Strachan’s story. And more, he remembered one of McGowan’s comments at Sma’ Auchterbecky, at the murder scene: about a dog or a bitch of a different colour.
‘Not wi1 me, George?’ old Angus repeated. ‘Are ye no? But ye’d be a damn clever policeman if ye were! Or maybe a madman, eh? There’s weird here, mah friend, and that’s puttin” it mildly. Ah’ve been gatherin’ it for years, and now Ah have it a’! But there’s a hell o’ a lot o’ it, and it’s no the sort o’ stuff a man shid talk about on the telephone.’
‘A lot of what, for God’s sake?’
‘Evidence, man, hard evidence!’
‘Angus, now listen—’
But he wasn’t listening. “Will ye come?’
To your place, now?’
‘Aye, the nicht. The sooner the better. The noo!”
The Inspector made up his mind. Old Angus was eager; whatever he had, he seemed ready to spill it all and delight in his cleverness. Which would be his right if he really had stumbled onto something, and if it was as big as he appeared to think it was. But ‘Bonnie Jean Mirlu?’ McGowan’s accusation had finally sunk in. ‘Are you telling me that—’
‘Ah’ve said a’ Ah’m sayin’ on the phone, George. So?’
‘… Ill come as soon as I’ve eaten,’ lanson told him.
‘As ye will, but don’t keep me waitin’, George. Ah mean, the game’s afoot - and it’s big game this time!’
With which the Inspector was finally convinced - at least that there was a lot he was yet to be convinced about And so: ‘I'll be there in about an hour,’ he said.
‘Guid!’ said the other. ‘But drive careful, George. They roads are awfy treacherous wi’ the slush freezin’ on ‘em. Aye, and a man can never tell who’s followin’ behind him - ye ken?’ And in the moment before the phone went down, lanson was annoyed yet again to hear the little vet’s irritating chuckle…
It was barely five but already dark when lanson reached old Angus’s place and parked his car behind the vef s Volkswagen. He had been here before - well, on occasion - and so wasn’t at a complete loss. But as he left the street through a complaining wrought-iron gate, climbed a short flight of steps to the arched-over entrance, and went to ring the bell, so the stout oak door gaped wide and Angus was there, waiting on the threshold.
At that precise moment some vehicle must have gone by in the road and sent a glancing headlight beam to strike the vet’s eyes, which for a second burned yellow with reflected light It wasn’t the first time that the Inspector had noted this effect Perhaps it was the contrast, for behind McGowan the hall lights were out; in fact the entire house seemed to be in darkness.
The little vet was dressed for outdoors: a raincoat over his street-clothes and his customary wide-brimmed hat He took lanson’s arm and greeted him with a whispered, ‘No, George. It willnae do tae park just there - Ah’m probably bein’ watched! So come on, well put yere car in mah garage by the sea.’
He led the way back to lanson’s car, and directed him to a row of garages set back from the dark waterfront a quarter-mile away. His garage was spacious but damp, built of rotting bricks on waterlogged foundations. ‘Ah’m told they’re comin’ down in a year or so,’ he said. ‘A lot o’ they crumblin’ old houses, too. A new promenade or some such fancy scheme. For the tourists an a’.’ And then they walked back in silence to his place.
But as they reached the house and McGowan turned a key in the door to let them in: ‘Angus,’ the Inspector took his elbow. ‘Man but _ you’re mysterious tonight’ I mean I really don’t know what to make of all this. You’re being watched, you say?’
‘Aye. if s more than likely,’ the other nodded, glancing back out into the street ‘So we’d best no be standing around out here, eh?’ But as lanson made to enter McGowan blocked his path. And: ‘George,’ he said, staring hard at his guest. “What Ah’m about tae tell ye - and maybe show ye - isnae for common men. Why, it can change ye forever, and it’s no mah desire tae be the one yell be blamin’!’
lanson shook his head in bewilderment ‘Angus, if I didn’t know you better,’ he said, Td have to take this as being some kind of joke. I can’t imagine what you’re into!’
‘But ye do want tae know?’
‘Of course I want to know. I have to know!’ Irritated now, and with his patience quite exhausted, the Inspector brushed by him - and McGowan let him pass.
‘Of yere own free will, then,’ he whispered, as he locked the door behind them.
The passageway leading past the gloomily climbing staircase to the living-room was night-dark ahead. lanson knew the way, however vaguely; in any case it was McGowan’s turn to take his elbow as he ushered him deeper into the house. But at last some welcome illumination - even if it caused the Inspector to stagger a little and blink in the sudden glare - as his host switched on the lights.
lanson had never much cared for McGowan’s house, nor even for the district in which it stood. The area was too old, cold, and too close to the sea. Only a few of the houses were habitable, and as Angus himself had pointed out they were being demolished street by street But it was possible there’d be a government subsidy in it if and when he had to move out. So maybe that’s what had kept him here all these years.
The houses were tall, narrow, terraced Victorian affairs, with gabled attic windows. They must have been handsome enough in their day, but the area had long since fallen out of favour with estate agents; much of the waterfront just here was dilapidated to the point of ramshackle. lanson was fairly sure that was why old Angus never asked him round much: because he was a little ashamed of the district But in any case the Inspector’s bright and spacious flat had seemed more suitable for their occasional get-togethers. And come to think of it, it would have been just as suitable for this meeting tonight.
‘Why here?’ It was a trait of lanson’s - the hallmark of years of police-work - to ask leading questions. And sometimes it could be an error, too. T mean, why couldn’t you have come to my place? And since you fancied I had been tailing you, why didn’t you call me, to put both of our minds at rest?’
‘Ah was waitin’ for ye tae admit defeat’ McGowan grinned. ‘Ah was wantin’ tae see how ye’d get on with yere “man and big dog” theory.
Oh, but never fear, Ah’d a’ called ye for sure if ye’d taken much longer tae call me.’
The living-room was L-shaped and high-ceilinged, draughty, yet damp-smelling, too. McGowan lit a gas fire in a converted hearth, fetched a whisky bottle and glasses, saw lanson comfortable on an ancient leather couch and seated himself opposite. And: ‘George, it’s time Ah confessed,’ he said. ‘Ah didnae do mah job. Ah’ve no checked up on local zoos and what a’, and Ah dinnae intend tae. But desertion o’ duty? Never! And why not? Because Ah ken only too well where our murderin” beastie comes frae - where she lives - and it’s no a zoo or a wildlife park! Am Ah goin’ too fast for ye?’
lanson took his glass, stood up and moved to a bookshelf. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘because so far you’ve told me exactly nothing! You said or hinted that you had evidence of something far-reaching - but all we have so far is meaningless words. You’re obviously talking about B.J. Mirlu - and it’s also obvious you think she’s guilty of something. Murder, you said. Well, maybe she is,’ he shrugged. ‘I won’t know until I know it all.’
McGowan had followed him. ‘So, ye’re ready tae hear me out are ye, George? Guid! But are ye open-minded enough? Ah told ye it was weird.’
The Inspector had found what he was looking for. The book he’d seen once before on these very shelves - the second edition of Wild Dogs, Big Cats, by Angus McGowan. He took it back to the couch, and laid it on an occasional table close to hand. McGowan again followed him, looked at him in a curious fashion, and at the book, and said, ‘Well?’
‘Ill hear you out, aye,’ the Inspector nodded.
‘Verra well. But no interruptin’, mind. Mah tale’s a long yin, and once Ah’m started Ahll want tae finish. It’s how tae start that’s the problem.’
Try the beginning,’ lanson advised. And after old Angus had topped up their glasses, he did…
‘Here’s a word for ye tae conjure wi’: lycanthropy! Say nothin’, George, just listen. Now, ye ken Ah’ve been interested in wild creatures a’ mah life. Why, they books on mah bookshelves there tell it a’ - that the diseases and hurts o’ wild things have been mah life, Ah mean literally. But mah interest hasnae confined itsel’ tae broken bones and ailments; it’s the nature of the animals theysels that fascinates me - zoology, aye. And Ah’ve awiz had a verra special interest in predators, big dogs or cats. But especially dogs. For y”see there’s this tradition in mah family that certain ancestors o’ mine -kith at least, if not kin - were killed by wolves. That was here in Scotland, of all places, but more than three hundred years ago.
“Yell no doubt recall mah passion for myths and legends? How Ah cannae resist a guid story in the papers about beasties killin’ sheep on Bodmin Moor, or Dartmoor, or in the Highlands, or just about anywhere else? Aye, and even the really big-yins - though often the no-so-real yins, indeed ye might even call ‘em bogus beasties, if ye take mah meanin’ - in the lochs and such? How Ah pack mah bag and go off tae check such things out, and sometimes how they even pay me tae do it!
‘Well, when Ah was younger Ah was very well-travelled. Ah got about in this big wide world, and learned a lot o’ strange stuff. Ye’ve no doubt heard o’ beast-children, George, brought up frae bairns by creatures o’ the wild? Wolf-children in India and Nepal and Russia, dingo- or hyena-people in the Australian outback or the African veldt Whenever Ah heard o’ that sort o’ thing Ah’d be off again, tae see what it was a’ about ‘Most o’ these “marvels” are faked, o* course - “tourist attractions,” for want o’ a better description, much like auld Nessie hersel’, Ah fancy - but in Hungary and Romania Ah did come across the odd case or two that simply defied explanation. And in Sicily… oh, a’ sorts o’ rumours in Sicily and the Mediterranean in general! But in fact it was in Sicily that Ah met up wi’ folks o’ similar persuasions, people who were interested in trackin’ down the same kind o’ legends as mahsel’…
‘Where was Ah? Oh, aye: Romania.
‘Why. it’s only thirty years ago in a place called Dumitresti in Romania that they had a spate o’ wolf-killings - murders, mah friend! - by the light o’ the full moon! The local folks knew what it was. They waited a month ‘til the moon was full again, then sent out hunters intae the mountains wi’ rifles and silver bullets tae kill the beast They knew where tae find him, too: near a Gypsy encampment Because they’d made a connection, d’ye see? That whenever the Romany folk came this way, the bleddy werewolf came wi’ them!
‘Romany, “Szgany,” George; that’s what they call Gypsies in they parts. And these were the Szgany Mirlu! Eh? And did ye no think tae ask that bonnie Bonnie Jean where she hails frae? Or if not the lassie hersel’, her people before her?’
Oddly enough, lanson had asked B.J. that selfsame question, though in a different connection and because of her accent, not her name; but as he opened his mouth and stumblingly went to make some comment that he hadn’t quite thought out ‘Ah, no, dinnae gawp and wave yere arms!’ McGowan seemed excited now. ‘Dinnae start yappin’ on about “coincidence” and such but hear me out! D’ye think Ah’m stupid, George? Ah mean, d’ye think Ah dinnae ken how a’ this must sound? Well, Ah ken well enough, but first let me tell it a’ and then make up yere own mind. For Ah’m no the luny here. Ye can take bets on that!
‘Aye, and there’s another good word for ye. Lunacy! Moon madness! The madness o’ a creature who howls to his - or her -mistress moon, and whose foamin’ mouth contains a bite that’s contagious and carries a fever! A fever o’ change, aye! What, impossible? D’ye think so? And what about rabies, spread bite by bite, that’ll change a creature - even a man - tae a ravin’ monster? And doesnae cancer change the cells o’ a man’s body? And malaria change the colour o’ his skin? And acromegaly his verra shape!? So tell me, who’s tae say lycanthropy cannae do the same?’
By now the Inspector was more than a little concerned for McGowan; in fact, he was downright worried. Despite the logic’ of certain of the contents of the man’s - what? his ‘dialogue,’ or harangue? - they seemed to have no connection with lanson’s view of reality. Indeed, the little vet appeared to be outlining some peculiar obsession, something that he had kept hidden, bottled up inside him for a long, long time.
But as yet there was no sense of danger here; in fact if anything lanson was starting to feel drowsy, lethargic, lulled by the vet’s whisky. This despite the fact that old Angus himself waxed ever more excited, more animated.
‘As for the “myth” o’ the silver bullet,’ he went on now, ‘—but isnae lead a metallic poison, too? Or mercury? Or plutonium? Or a dozen others? Different chemicals affect different species, George. One man’s meat as they say…
‘So, what am Ah ravin’ on about? But by now it’s surely obvious, even tae a down-tae-earth bawbee such as yersel*. But hold yere fire a while longer, and AhTl say on.
‘Excep’ Ah see ye’ve run dry. So let’s top up yere glass a wee. There - and a drop for me, too.’ As he poured, so lanson found strength of will to reach inside his pocket and draw out McGowan’s first edition of Wild Dogs, Big Cats, placing it face-down on the table beside the other book. There was no hidden threat in this, no intention to surprise or startle; he merely intended to ask McGowan about the photograph and didn’t want to forget, that was all. For surely someone - Mr Greentree? - must be seriously in error here. Indeed, a great many things seemed in error here.
As in a dream, the Inspector opened the back flap of the book to old Angus’s picture, which seemed to float up off the paper at him. Then he let his hand fall into his lap where it lay trembling, exhausted - apparently from the effort of handling the book!
McGowan’s eyes darted from the book to lanson’s face and back again. He pointed at the photograph, and his pinched face gave an involuntary twitch as his thin lips drew back a little from teeth that were sharp and white. The Inspector had always thought they were false, those teeth. And surely they must be?
But: ‘Longevity!’ McGowan had burst out, without any recognizable sense of continuity. ‘Another key word, aye! And Ah can see ye’ve been worryin’ about it. But o’ course, ye wouldnae have any reason tae check up on that sweet young thing at the wine bar, now would ye? Well, well get tae that - eventually. But for now…
‘.. .Where was Ah?’ (McGowan’s voice was rough and rasping as always, but angry, too, lanson thought; his eyes kept straying to his photograph in the book on the table). ‘Aye, Ah remember now.’ he pulled himself together. Thirty years ago in a place called Dumitresti, in Romania. Werewolves, George, werewolves! They hunters Ah mentioned - they shot theysel’s a wolf. A great grey monster o’ a beast that had one o’ they men’s left arm off at the shoulder before they killed it! Then the authorities had them a’ up for trial… for murder. For o’ course it was the same auld story: they hadnae shot a beast but an innocent Gypsy lad, a youth frae the Romany caravan site. Oh really? So why were they , acquitted, George? Set free - turned loose - wi’ never a stain on their characters!
‘A backward land, ye say, and even today full o’ monsters in their own right - such as its bleddy government! Well it’s true enough. And that’s the noo. But Romania thirty years ago? And so Ah’m obliged tae agree, it’s no fair o’ me tae base man argument - or shall we say, mah dissertation? - on alleged occurrences taken place in such a barbaric hellhole. So let’s take a look at a more enlightened society, shall we? Like, how about England? Or even closer to home, Scotland maybe? What about the Highlands, just thirty years ago? Aye, just about the same time as this incident in Dumitresti. Ah, but it would surprise me if by now ye hadnae done yere homework, George. Indeed, Ah’m certain sure ye ken what Ah’m on about ‘So then, what about it, eh? That incident at the wildlife park on the Spey, eh?… EM
‘Ah see it in yere eyes, George: how would auld Angus ken a’ about that? But have ye no been listenin’? Man, this is mah field; it’s a part o’ me no less than police-work is a part o’ yeresel’!
‘But thirty years ago? Well let me tell ye that was some weird time! It was a phase o’ the moon, somethin’ different, a time o’ unrest among a’ the world’s lycanthropes. Romania, Hungary - aye, and Scotland, too - it was everywhere. They couldnae control theysel’s; they ran wild for however brief a spell. The moon held a’ the wolf-folk in her power, and the bloodlust ran high as the highest tides…
