Simon Beckett - The Chemistry of Death

Almost immediately I was forced to slow down as the branches closed in. I switched off my headlights, not wanting to broadcast my approach any more than I already had, but without them it was impossible to see. When I turned them back on the track seemed to disappear beyond their beam. The rain was drumming down now. I flicked on the wipers and peered through the smeared glass as the car bounced along the uneven track. My headlights again picked out the bright smudge of the registration plate, a beacon of brightness in the gloom. Then I could make out the vehicle itself. Not a car, but a van.

It was parked next to a low, tree-shrouded building.

I stopped the car. When I turned off the headlights everything outside vanished. I rummaged in the glove box for the torch, praying that the batteries still worked. A yellow beam sputtered into life when I turned it on. My pulse thudded in my ears as I opened the car door and quickly shone the torch around. No-one leaped out; its beam revealed only trees. Through them I could make out the solid blackness of the lake. The rain soaked me, drowning out any noise as I went to the back of the Land Rover and took out the heavy socket spanner from the toolbox. Reassured only slightly by its weight, I started towards the building.

The van parked outside was old and rusty. The back doors were fastened with a piece of string. When I untied it they swung open with a creak. Inside was a collection of gardening equipment: spades, forks, even a wheelbarrow. I looked at the spool of wire it also held and thought that Carl Brenner had told his brother the truth. The snare that had injured Scott hadn't been one of his.

Neither had any of the others.

As I was turning away the torch beam fell on something else. Lying on top of a collection of tools was a clasp knife. It hadn't been folded up, and the exposed blade was serrated like a miniature saw. It was crusted with black.

I knew I was looking at the weapon that had killed Sally Palmer's dog.

I jumped as there was a sudden flash of lightning. The thunder followed almost immediately, a raging bellow that shook the air. I checked my phone again, not really expecting there to be a signal. There wasn't. Leaving the van I went towards the low building, and felt something snag my thigh. I looked down to see a rusty wire fence running through the undergrowth. Hanging from it were dozens of dark objects. At first I couldn't make out what they were, then I shone the torch on the nearest shapes and saw a gleam of bone. The bodies of small birds and animals had been hung on the wire and left to rot.

Dozens of them.

The rain was drumming through the trees as I picked my way along the wire fence. After a few yards it simply stopped, the strands lying curled and broken in the grass. I stepped over them, continued to circle the building. It was a squat, featureless block, without doors or windows. In places its concrete walls had spalled away to reveal a skeleton of reinforcing rods. But it was only when I reached the far side and saw the deep-set door and single, narrow window that I understood what this place was. It was an old air-raid bunker. I knew quite a few country houses had them, little more than latter-day follies built at the start of the Second World War, most of them never used.

But someone had found a use for this one.

Moving as quietly as I could, I went to the door. It was steel, rusted to a dull red. I expected it to be locked, but it swung open when I pushed.

A waft of musty air greeted me. I stepped inside, my heart thudding. The torch revealed a single room, empty except for dead leaves curled on the floor. I shone the light around the bare walls, and then the beam fell on a second door, hidden away almost invisibly in a corner.

A noise behind me made me spin around in time to see the outer door swinging shut. I made a grab for it, but not in time. The bang was shockingly loud. As its echoes died I knew I'd just announced my arrival to anyone inside.

But there was nothing to do but go on. No longer worried about keeping quiet, I went to the second door. When I opened it I was looking at the top of a narrow flight of steps. Above them a feeble light bulb cast a sickly illumination.

I turned off the torch and started down.

The air was stale and fetid. I recognized the flavours of death in it, tried to shut my mind to what that might mean. The steps bent away, doubling back on themselves. After one final turn I emerged into a long, low cellar. It seemed much bigger than the concrete structure above, as though the shelter had been built on older foundations. The far end disappeared into darkness. A light bulb hung low over a workbench, its weak glow revealing a bewildering profusion of shapes and shadows.

I stood transfixed by the sight in front of me.

The entire ceiling was hung with animal and bird corpses. Foxes, rabbits, ducks, all suspended like some macabre exhibit. Many of them had rotted to mummified skin and bone, while others showed more recent putrefaction. All were mutilated. Lacking heads or limbs, they swung with hypnotic slowness in time to some faint draught.

I wrenched my eyes away and looked around the cellar. More images clamoured for my attention. A desk lamp stood on a workbench, aimed into an empty corner of the cellar. Picked out by its harsh light was a rope, one end trailing, the other tied to a metal ring. On the workbench itself was a selection of old tools and vices, given a hideous new significance in this setting. And then I saw an object that seemed even more obscenely out of place.

Draped over a chair, its front an intricate patterning of lace fleurs-de-lis, was an ornate wedding dress. It was soaked in blood.

The sight of it brought me out of my shock. 'Jenny!' I shouted.

From the shadows at the far end of the cellar there was an answering movement. A figure slowly emerged, and then George Mason's grandson moved into the light.

He wore the same harmless expression as always. But there seemed nothing harmless about him now. He was a big man, I realized, taller and broader than me. His jeans and combat jacket were stained with blood.

He wouldn't look directly at me, shifting his eyes instead between my chest and shoulders. His hands were empty, but I could see there was a knife sheath hanging under his stained jacket.

I gripped the socket spanner. 'Where is she?' My voice was cracked.

'You shouldn't be down here, Dr Hunter.' He sounded apologetic. As he spoke he was unhurriedly reaching towards the knife sheath. He seemed as surprised as I was when he discovered it was empty.

I took a step towards him. 'What have you done to her?'

He was looking on the floor around him as if expecting to see the lost knife. 'Who?'

I turned the desk lamp so its light struck him. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. And as the light spilled into the corners behind him, I saw a naked shape half-hidden behind a wall.

My breath caught in my throat.

'Don't,' Mason said, squinting against the light.

I ran at him then. I raised the spanner, aiming to swing it into that docile face with all my strength, and as I did my arm snagged the animals hanging from the low ceiling. I was engulfed in a reeking avalanche of fur and feathers. Choking, I swept them aside in time to see Mason lunging at me. I tried to duck, but he was grabbing for the spanner. I still had the torch in my other hand. I swung it at him, catching him a glancing blow on his head. He yelled and lashed out, and I tumbled backwards, the spanner and torch flying from my hands to clatter to the floor. I fell against the workbench, and a spasm of fire shot through my back as it struck the corner of a vice.

The breath exploded from me as Mason's shoulder rammed into my stomach. I felt myself being bent backwards, the vice still digging into my spine. I looked into his face, and saw his placid blue eyes still untroubled as he eased his forearm up to my throat and began to push. I managed to wrench free one of my hands, tried to pull his forearm off my throat. He shifted slightly, leaning more of his weight on it, and reached for something on the workbench. I heard metal scrape on wood as he tried to take a chisel from a wooden block. I grabbed hold of his arm, but that left my throat unprotected. He gazed down at me as he increased the pressure, still groping for the chisel. Sparks of light were appearing in my vision. He glanced towards the chisel, and as he did I saw movement beyond him.