PAIN HAS A PERMANENT ADDRESS - READ BETWEEN THE LIES

READ BETWEEN THE LIES - EPISODE SEVEN

27  The upper half of a face emerged, like a shark breaking the surface of the water.  His forehead, eyes, a cheek, the ridge of his jaw. 

The stranger wore the uniform of the Coast-Guard and stood huddled in the doorway with a big, warm grin on his face, bracing himself against the wind and the rain.    

 The weather was worse than ever.  Rain fell like lead shot, dripping from the hood of the coast guard's coat in shining strands.  "Adrian Goodchild," he said, offering his right hand for me to shake.  "But my friends call me Ace."  I stood to one side and let him in.  I shut the door behind him, and I bolted it once more. 

 He pulled back his hood and wiped the rain from his face.  Even covered with his coast-guard uniform and waterproofs, there was no mistaking his sheer, hulking presence.  His upper body was immense, yet the shaved head seemed outsized. 

 The skin on the face was pitted with scar tissue and his mouth was still curled in the warm smile he had greeted me with. His gentle blue eyes softened his appearance almost completely.  

 "I was doing my rounds," he explained. The accent was local, but the voice was soft. "Often get boats washed up on this part of the beach in this sort of weather.  Tourists going out in these waters for the first time, thinking they have the nautical skills to deal with anything and quickly find out they are out of their depth." 

 "Well, we're glad you came," Yazmin said from the dark corner of the hide. 

The coast-guard swung his torch around to her face.  "Is that you, Miss Nash?  What are you doing out on a night like this?  Not looking for that elusive scoop, are you?" 

 "Hello, Ace," she said dismissively.  "I'm assisting Mr Handful here in his investigation." 

 His torch swung back to focus on my face.  I squinted in the light. 

 "Mr Handful, you say?"  His voice almost mocking.  "The private detective?  What are you doing, taking a young lady out on a night like this?  Up to no good, are you?" 

 "Take a look around you, will you?" I gestured to the dead animals behind me.  "I would hardly say this is the most romantic of settings, would you?"   He shone his torch on the mutilated animal corpses.  "Well?  What have we here?"  He walked closer to the bizarre collection and then sniffed.  "Don't smell too sharp neither, do they?" 

 "You could say that," I agreed. 

 "We've had a lot of trouble with poachers around here lately," he commented. 

"Bit of a bloody nuisance, if you excuse my French." 

 "I don't think this is the work of a poacher," I told him. 

 He raised a quizzical eyebrow.  "Oh, you don't, do you?  And why's that?"  "Why would a poacher leave these hanging here to rot?" I asked.  "What would he hope to gain?  Where was the profit in it?" 

 "Alright then, Mr clever-clogs," Goodchild scoffed.  "What are they here for then?" 

 "Trophies." 

 "Trophies?"  Goodchild pressed.  "Don't make me laugh." 

"If we had a Geiger counter, I bet you any money you like that these animal corpses would register levels of radiation." 

 "Well, it just so happens that I carry one on me all the time."  He smiled, really pleased with himself.  "We have to just in case we get toxic waste washed up on the beach.  We must check it before we report it, and then we know what safety strategy we need to put into place." 

 "Good," I said confidently.  "Let's try it out." 

 Goodchild's Geiger counter was the same size as a mobile phone.  He turned it on and waved it near the dangling animal corpses.  Almost straight away, the familiar clicking sound of the Geiger counter filled the hide.    "Well, I never," Goodchild exclaimed.  "There is definitely a radioactive trace on these animals." 

 "As I said earlier," Yazmin put in.  "I think we should leave." 

 "I think maybe you're right," Goodchild agreed.  "I'd better get back to the coast-guard station and fill out a report and contact the police." 

 "You might also have to contact the Ministry of Defence," I said. 

 "Why's that?" 

 "They're now running the investigation."  "The

Ministry of Defence?  You're joking, surely?" 

 "I wish I was," I said. 

 "Well, blow me down.  Whatever next?"  

 Goodchild turned away from the animals but the clicking sound still continued.  He looked at the Geiger counter and shook it vigorously.

"Temperamental thing," he said impatiently.  "I'd better check the batteries when I get back.  I bet you Marty hasn't changed them since he used them last.  He's always doing that." 

 Goodchild pulled back the bolt on the door of the hide before turning to face us.  "Are you two coming with me?" 

 "Of course," Yazmin answered for us.  "I'm not staying out here any longer."  "I don't blame you," Goodchild smiled as he opened the door.  "As I said earlier, this is a strange place–" he began, and then with a blood-curdling scream, a shadow charged at him out of the rain.  The noise of the impact I heard was meaty and bone-on-bone. 

 It happened so fast I barely had time to think, and it was Yazmin's scream that freed me from my shock.  "Run!"  I yelled, grabbing hold of her hand, and pulling out of the hide.  

 I felt my breath quicken as behind us, above the noise of the torrential rain, I heard Goodchild scream and then that was suddenly cut off, followed by an inhuman noise that sounded similar to laughing as it ripped the coastguard

to bits. 

 We ran flat out, hammering across the uneven marshes as easily as if we were in a park. Everywhere I looked, the marshland moved its grass dipping and lurching in the wind and the rain.  We followed a vague trail, trampled out of the bogs, that seemed to follow the lay of the land, but the further we went, the more disorientating it seemed to become.  It was like the whole place was mobile, changing and evolving, and even when the weather calmed in the lull between the gusts, it didn't settle completely. Rain flecked against our faces; the ground squelched and shifted as if it were about to slide out from under us; the grass seemed to reach up – swiping at our hands, grabbing them. 

 The rain clung to the dark horizon like a gossamer sheet that had snared on something in darkness and – beyond its limits – they were only shadows, traces of things, vague shapes that formed and dissolved, and it wasn't long before I felt even more discomfited. 

 "Keep going," I shouted at Yazmin as I saw her falter. 

 A vague sense of panic started to grip.  I didn't know where the hell we were or how far I'd gone, and the absurdity of what we had seen.  But what had we seen? 

 We'd glimpsed Goodchild attacked by a humanoid figure with what seemed to be things growing out of its head.   A humanoid figure?   

What was I thinking?    

Was I reinforcing the notion what we had seen was not human? 

Something moved. 

It was right on the periphery of our vision, so far, off to our left that we had to turn forty-five degrees.  I looked back to where we had come from, south of us.  There was no sign of the hide, although I knew it was somewhere in that direction.  Between us and the ring of misty rain, nothing had changed: it was just mounds of tussock grass and streaks of peat, like puddles of oil sprayed across the earth. 

I watched …waited. 

Nothing.   

We began moving again, glancing over my shoulder, then again, my heart starting to beat faster, a vibration that had nothing to do with the exertion of our escape.  I looked behind us again and then again, each time scanning the mist, watching it form a reform as if it were maturing and growing.  We picked up the pace like we were being pursued, but there was nothing behind us, just my uncertainties and the sounds of Goodchild's screams echoing around inside my head. 

 28 

Out of nowhere, a sound tore across the marshes. 

 It caught me so much by surprise I stumbled, the noise loud enough I felt it tremble through the earth. 

 "Are you OK?"  Yazmin reached out a hand and helped me to my feet. 

 "I'm fine," I said, embarrassed at how I'd reacted. 

 "What was that?"  The fear in her voice was clear. 

 "It's the call of whatever is out here with us." 

 As the sound ended, the echoes hung in the air.  It was like the cry of an animal that had been distorted; one long note full of turbulence and static.  It was bizarre and disconcerting, and the longer we stood there, the more exposed I felt.  I tried to think rationally, stay focused and logical, but we were so deep into the marshes and the sound felt so out of place At this moment, so alien, it was impossible not to feel unsettled by it. 

 I looked around us, and then we quickly carried on further across the marshes. 

 Then, another noise behind us. 

 I looked back, down the part of the pathway we'd already walked, out at the marshland we'd crossed to get here.  Streaks of peat glistened.  The long grass moved, and the rain kept coming: it was light now, fine, and delicate, but as it swirled and changed direction, it gave the impression of things stirring.  And then I fixed on something. 

 What was that? 

 What the hell was that? 

Inside the mist, hidden in it, I glimpsed a silhouette.  It was there and then gone again, like a shape standing at a window as the light snaps off.  I raised a hand to my face, trying to protect my eyes from the rain, to see clearly, maybe to hear something, too, but all I saw now was mist and all I heard was my heart thumping in my ears and my breath whispering in my throat and chest. 

 "What is it?"  Yazmin whispered. 

 I said nothing. I waved my hands to signal to her to start moving back. I kept my gaze fixed on the same spot, I started walking backwards, across the marsh, trying to pull the memory into focus; reassemble what I'd seen of the silhouette, rebuild it in my mind's eye.  I stumbled but managed to keep my balance.  I was drained, on edge, the exhaustion of the case starting to eat at me.  There were no more shapes, no hints of movement. 

 But that didn't calm my anxiety. 

 I waited a little longer, unsure of what I believed and what I didn't, and then I zeroed in on what mattered: the case, the truth and what was taking place here. 

 "John," I heard Yazmin say quietly behind me.  "John.  Look." 

 I looked. 

 Like two yellow dots, a car appeared, driving towards us.  We were near the road.  I held my breath as it came closer.  It wasn't a marked police car.  

There were no flashing blue lights or sirens.   

 The passenger window came down automatically, and I was relieved to see the driver was Sergeant Patrick Higgins. 

 "What are you two doing out here?" he asked cheerfully. 

"There's been another murder," I told him. 

 "What?  Who?  Where?" 

 "Adrian Goodchild, and it was near the hide overlooking the nature reserve." 

 Higgins climbed out of the car, with a torch in his hand.  "You two, stay here." 

 "You can't go on your own, Pat," Yazmin said.  "It's too dangerous." 

 He turned on the torch.   

 "I just need to see for myself before I call it in." 

 "You want me to come with you?"  I asked. 

 The Sergeant shook his head.  "Get in the car and stay in the warm.  I'll only be a few minutes." 

 I helped Yazmin into the back of the car, but I remained outside in the rain watching the torch beam sweep the marshes, like a small searchlight.  "Found anything?"  I shouted, but my voice got carried away by the wind and the rain. 

 Then the torch beam went out.  Extinguished like a match. 

 "Oh, my God!"  I gasped. 

 A terrible scream – a prolonged yell of horror and anguish – burst across the marshland. 

 "What was that?"  Yazmin called from inside the car. 

 "Quiet," I whispered. 

 The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy marsh.  Now it burst upon my ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before. 

"Pat!"  I called. 

 Again, the agonized cry swept across the marsh, louder and much nearer than ever.  And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered rumble, musical, musical, and yet menacing, rising, and falling like the low, constant murmur of the sea. 

 "Yazmin! Stay in the car!"   

 I ran swiftly over the marshes.  But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in front of me, there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull heavy thud.  I halted and listened.  All I could hear was the wind and the rain. 

 Blindly I ran through the gloom, blundering through the marshes, heading always in the direction where those dreadful sounds had come.  At every opportunity, I stopped and looked eagerly around me, but the shadows were thick upon the marshes, and nothing moved upon its dreary face. 

 A low moan had fallen upon my ears.  There it was again on my left.  On that side, a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked a stone strewn slope that ran down to the beach.  On its dark, irregular object.  As I ran toward it the vague outline hardened into a definite shape.  It was a man lying prostrate on the ground, the head doubled under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded, and the body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault.  So, grotesque was the attitude that I couldn't for the instant realize the moan had been the passing of his soul.  Not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which I stooped.  I laid my hand on the corpse and held it up again with a feeling of utter horror.  The gleam of my pencil torch which I turned on shone upon my clotted fingers and on the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim.  And it shone on something else which turned my heart sick and faint within me – the body of Sergeant Patrick Higgins. 

29 I stood beside the mangled body, overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable death. Then, as the rain ceased and the moon rose, I gazed out over the shadowy marshland, half silver, and half gloom.  Far away, miles off in a westerly direction, lights of Oxmarket shone in the moonlight.   

 A figure approached me from the road.  The moonlight outlined her body, and I could distinguish the walk of Yazmin.  She stopped when she saw me, and then came on again. 

 "I thought I told you to stay in the car?"  I said, annoyed. 

 "Where's the Sergeant?"  She hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. 

I heard a sharp intake of her breath. 

 "Oh, my God." 

 "Come on."  I reached out and touched her shoulder.  "We need to report this and get off these marshes before we're next." 

 We walked back towards the car.  Over the wide expanse, there was just the sound of the wind, the movement of the long grass and the darkness.  The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and the urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. 

 A curlew soared aloft in the indigo heaven sweeping away between the huge arch of the sky and the marshland beneath it, shrilling its displeasure at us for being disturbed.  Several yards away I distinctly saw another movement away to my left.  A small dark dot silhouetted against the rising moon.  A man.

He glanced around with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. 

Then he vanished. 

We reached the car and I suddenly thought about the keys.  I checked the ignition and was relieved to see a set dangling harmlessly. 

 Once inside and belted in, I started the engine and the headlights immediately came on. 

 Something flashed rapidly across our vision.   

 "What was that?"  Yazmin shuddered.  

 I said nothing.  There was some sort of pervasive evil on the marshes, the very air either itself corrupted and corrupt in some toxic way.  I sensed its ungodly influence was at its most potent here in the nature reserve.  I'd felt it earlier in the hide, but not as acutely as I did now. 

 Earlier, when the rain had obscured so much, I could merely see the spectral shape on the marshes, but now as the rain had stopped, I could make out the moving figure circling the car. 

 I released the handbrake and pressed hard on the accelerator, missing the figure shuffling toward us with his hands dangling uselessly by its sides.  Above the noise of the engine, I could just about make out a strange mewling sound that came from the figure's mouth. 

 I looked in the rear-view mirror and all I could see was darkness illuminated by the car's tail-lights. 

 "Did you see it?"  Yazmin screamed.  "Did you see it?" 

 "Yes, I saw it."  I tried to keep as calm as possible while driving on the dark country roads. 

 "What was it, John?" 

 Then, in the windscreen, a tormented face appeared, upside down, growling somewhere deep in its throat.  The glass shattered at the impact of his fist, showering us with minute fragments.  Without hesitation, the figure pulled his clenched fist back behind his shoulder and this time aimed a punch directly at me. 

 It yowled and keened, whined, and shrieked, as I blocked the wild-man's fist with my forearm.  Its hostility was almost overwhelming, but I fought hard with only adrenaline helping me endure the agony, turning it into numbing discomfort rather than unbearable pain.  The adrenaline also enhanced my strength.  Yazmin tried to help my punching it, like a deranged mad-woman, but it was to no use.  I pushed, hit, and lashed out, fighting with all my might, not caring how many times I hit this deranged cannibalistic figure, conscious only that if I didn't do something rapidly, Yazmin and I would probably be its next victims. 

 I stared into its threatening bestial eyes as it tried to bite my face while a gloved hand snatched at my neck. I slammed on the brakes.  The tyres screeched on the wet road and the figure flew off the car and away into the darkness. 

 It rolled on the tarmac over and over, before coming to rest.  I looked across at Yazmin.  I had never seen anyone who looked so frightened.   

 "John!" she shouted. 

 In the headlights of the car, the figure rose from the ground in almost slow motion.  The effect of hitting the ground at forty miles an hour looked like it had only had a minimal effect.   

 When it reached its full height, I saw that the humanoid figure was well over six-feet-tall with what seemed to be damaged blood-stained aerials growing out of the head. 

I revved the engine, then I put it into first gear, and we lurched forward.  The figure didn't move and inexplicably I swerved, wrenching the wheel as hard as I could.  There was a teeth-grating squeal as the side of the car scraped against a hedgerow, and the car juddered as the off-side went onto the grass verge.  As the figure flashed by the window there was a dull thump of impact.  But I had no time to see what I had done as I fought the car, branches snapping, forcing me to take a turn I didn't want to take.  It was either that or collide with a tree, and if we survived that we would be at the mercy of the

killer. 

 It was little more than a gap in the tall hawthorn hedgerow, a single lane track that cut off at a right angle.  Hoping we didn't meet another car, I continued down it at speed.  The tarmac was broken and overgrown with weeds and grasses, except for two parallel ruts made by previous vehicles.  The tall hedgerows funnelled us along, keeping us from seeing where I was going.  I was forced to trust Sergeant Higgins' satnav map, which showed a T-junction with another road coming up.  All I had to do was turn on to it and follow it for about a mile, then I'd be able to cut back on to the route we'd just left.  We needed to get as far away from this place as quickly as possible.  Whoever it was stalking the Suffolk countryside had an unquenchable lust for murder, and I had no intention of one of us being its next victim.  The hedgerows ended, and we saw what lay ahead. 

 The road ran into a river. A broad swathe of water lay in my path, cutting us off from the road on the far side.  Not a river, I realized a tidal stream.  It must feed into the estuary, and now the returning tide was flooding it as well.  It was taking longer this far inland, but water already covered most of the muddy stream bed.  The road promised by the satnav was no more than a thin causeway, a rough finger of built-up shingle.  Crossing it wouldn't be a problem at low tide, but sections of it were already submerged and the rest soon would be. 

 I swore and stopped the car.  Yazmin looked at me a bit shocked but said nothing.  There was no room to turn around, and I didn't relish trying to reverse all the way back up the winding lane and back into danger.  I told myself to stay calm as I stared at the rapidly flooding causeway.  The stream wasn't expansive here, and over on its far side, I could see the T-junction with the road I'd intended to take.  It was agonizingly close.  The water covering the causeway was still shallow, and I couldn't see that it would be any different from driving along a flooded road.  But it wouldn't stay like that for long; if we were going to cross, we'd have to go now. 

 "What are you going to do?"  Yazmin panicked.  "Are you going to go or stay here?" 

 I looked at her frightened face.  "I don't really think there's a decision to make, do you?" 

 "No," she said, resignedly. 

 Putting the car into gear, I drove down the causeway. 

 Shingle crunched under the tyres, then was muted by the hiss of spray.  I kept my speed slow and steady, not taking my eyes off the barely visible strip in front of me.  In places, it disappeared altogether, and I had to keep the car straight and trust there were no bends.  My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as water sluiced up on either side like a bow wave.  But the opposite bank was drawing closer, and as I passed halfway, I allowed myself to relax.  "Almost there," I said cheerfully, but Yazmin didn't react.  Her eyes were also fixed on the opposite bank.  Fixed with utter terror. 

 Then, the car jerked as a front wheel dropped into a submerged pothole.  It wasn't massive, but it didn't have to be.  The car's front end dipped down, slipping deeper into the water, and as quickly as that the engine cut out. 

"s**t!"  I said, hurriedly reaching to restart it.  "s**t, s**t, s**t . . ." 

 The engine wheezed for long enough to give me hope, then died.  I turned the key again, holding it as tight as I could as though it would make difference. 

 "Come on...! “ 

 The engine whined before dying once more.  I tried it again, and then again, but there wasn't even a murmur.  I sat in the sudden silence, stunned by the new disaster. 

 "John, what are we going to do?" 

 "The far bank cannot be more than fifteen feet away." 

 "So?" 

 "If you get behind the steering wheel, I could push the car the rest of the way." 

 "Are you mad?" 

 "Have you got any better ideas?" 

 After a few seconds, she reluctantly said, "No." 

 Without hesitation, I flung open the car door and jumped out.  The water was bitingly cold and came almost to my knees.  It poured over the sill, soaking through my boots and trousers.  The pull of the water surprised me, but I knew that around here, the tide came in faster than a man could run.  Not that I was running anywhere.  Yazmin moved across to sit behind the wheel and when she was ready, I put my shoulder into it and began to push.  The car shifted forward and then stopped.  The wheel was still stuck in the pothole.  Swearing, I dug my feet into the shingle and heaved against the car.  Again, the wheel caught on the pothole, but this time I'd been expecting it.  As the car rolled back, I heaved again, using its momentum to bump it free. 

 "Yes!"  Yazmin called out. 

 Sluggishly, the car began to move forward.  I kept pushing, water sloshing up to my knees as I struggled to keep it going.  The causeway was becoming more difficult to see as the tide covered more and more of it, but Yazmin kept the bonnet aimed at where it emerged on to the far bank.  The water tugged at my legs as the rising tide flowed past.  It was becoming harder to push the car as it deepened, but every yard I managed was that much closer to dry land.  I was getting into a rhythm when the car suddenly lurched to a halt. 

 "What's happened?"  I heard Yazmin shout.   

 "I don't know," I said.  "Hang on a minute." 

 I clutched on to the car as I lost my balance, realizing straight away what had happened.  The back wheel had caught in the same pothole. 

 "You f*****g bastard," I breathed, trying to rock the car free again.  "Please don't do this." 

 "What's happened, John?" 

"It's got the back wheel stuck in the same pothole."    

 "Oh, no," Yazmin exclaimed. 

 I strained against the car, but it didn't budge.  Gasping, I abandoned the attempt.  The car wasn't going anywhere unless I could clear away some shingle.  By now I was absolutely soaked through all my clothes.  Taking off my coat, I put it on the roof and pushed back my sleeves before reaching into the freezing water, groping for the hole, the wheel had sunk into.  Sharp stones and shells scratched at my hands, cutting into my fingers as I tried to scrabble them away. 

 It was a waste of time: the wheel was too firmly held.  I banged the side of the car in frustration, wondering whether Sergeant Higgins would have something in the boot that I could dig with.   

"What are we going to do?"  Yazmin called, the panic returning to her voice. 

"Hang on," I said reassuringly. 

Hugging the side of the car so as not to slip on the causeway, I splashed around to the back.  But even as I did, I knew it was no use.  The water was rising too quickly.  It was already so deep that I wasn't sure I'd even be able to push the car through it.  It wouldn't be safe to stay out here much longer. I wasn't quite ready to give up yet, though.  The water hadn't quite reached the boot.  I opened it up and found that all it contained was a half-empty container of petrol. 

 I was just about to slam the boot shut with frustration when I heard a noise.  Faint, but unmistakable.  Looking out from behind the boot, I saw a flash of silver streaking through the trees. 

 It was coming back for us.