‘But you say that the earthwork is being destroyed by the sea?’
‘A large chunk of it went tonight. I watched it fall on to the beach.’
The man shook his head sadly. ‘I believed if I could safeguard the mausoleum building everything would be well. But you’ve told me it is only the central component of a larger mechanism. Now I know that parts of the mechanism, namely the earthwork and the spirit roads, have been damaged it explains everything.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Because part of it has been lost that means my ancestor, the despised and hateful Justice Murrain, is starting to break free.’
‘If what you say is correct then we’re in trouble.’ Kerry knew this was the time to make that leap of faith and to believe. ‘The power that traps the spirits of Justice Murrain and his gang must be at its weakest during the hours of darkness. When part of Temple Central collapses into the ocean it allows them to escape for a while. But, so far, it’s only temporary.’ She spoke with utter certainty now. ‘The mechanism has been able to heal itself. When it does, it draws those entities back into the earth. Once they’re back evil is contained. They can do nothing to harm the outside world.’
‘How long the mechanism continues to self-repair is the important consideration now. There may be a tipping point; a point of no return. If any more of the site is lost, then my ancestor might escape the mosaic, even though it’s still intact. Should that happen, he will exact his vengeance on the surviving Murrains. He reviles his own bloodline. And he will inflict brutal suffering on the town. He will bathe in its blood. Who will be able to stop him? How will they stop him?’
‘Mr Murrain, we are allies now,’ she said firmly. ‘We must stop the coastal erosion once and for all.’
‘How?’
‘My team uncovered a skeleton yesterday, possibly between four and six thousand years old. We suspect it might be one of your ancestors. If we can prove the skeleton’s link with living descendents today, namely yourself and your grandson, then we should be able to persuade the government to protect the site.’
‘You do realize you might already be too late?’
‘We’ve got to try, Mr Murrain. For all our sakes – even if it’s the last thing we do.’
A sea breeze hissed through the gravestones. It could have been the sound of an entire army of ghosts whispering momentous news: that the eve of a great battle was drawing near.
4
PEL MINTON ARRIVED at the dig site later than everyone else that morning. She’d been instructed to remain at the house to wait for a courier to collect the DNA sample she’d taken from Jack Murrain. A leather-clad woman had arrived on a Harley at 9.30. Pel quickly signed forms on the courier’s clipboard, then she’d watched the woman stow the container that held the precious swab into a foam-lined pannier. A moment later, the Harley had roared away, bound for a university lab where the DNA would be extracted.
When Pel did reach the site the sense of urgency she found there was palpable. Straightaway, she could tell coastal erosion had taken another bite out of the cliff. Nat stood up to his neck in a pit where he extracted pieces of cremation urn together with burned bones.
‘Roman! Third century!’ he shouted, with a distinct note of desperation. The cliff-edge was only ten feet from the pit he stood in. Elsewhere, diggers attacked the earth with feverish intensity. Yet more people sieved for finds. Archeologists clustered around tables set out amid gravestones; they were recording the latest artefacts, either photographing, labelling, note-taking; all had worried expressions.
The ocean’s getting closer, she told herself. Soon the Murrain site will be under it. All would be lost here, unless the government designated the historical site with a special protection notice. Of course, then would come the hard labour of contractors installing a barrier at the base of the cliffs to save them from the surf’s pounding.
Kerry Herne fought to apply clamps to the edge of her finds table to prevent the sterile sheets from being carried away by the wind. When Kerry saw Pel she beckoned her frantically.
‘Pell? The DNA sample?’
‘As of thirty minutes ago on its way to the lab.’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ said the chief archeologist with feeling.
‘I’ll say.’
Then both women eyed each other. Pel noticed the scratches on Kerry’s throat. Two of her fingers were bandaged as well. Meanwhile, Kerry must have seen Pel’s swollen upper-lip.
Both women exclaimed in unison, ‘What happened to you?’
Kerry gave a grim smile as she fastened a G-clamp to the table. ‘You first.’
‘I met Jack Murrain last night. He took me out to dinner.’
‘Oh.’
‘Then he went nuts. He all but shoved some guy’s face through a wall, then he got passionate.’
Kerry turned a laptop, so the screen faced Pel. A wireless link piped in a local TV channel. ‘I’ve been watching the local news feed. Last night a good portion of the town went nuts. There’ve been outbreaks of violence, vandalism, assaults – often committed by people who are usually perfectly law-abiding. See for yourself.’
Pel watched an anchor man reading the news on a split screen. The other screen showed footage of a familiar row of homes. Police cars stood outside a house where a pair of empty chairs sat side by side.
‘Many townspeople will be familiar with Horace Neville, known as the Gentle Giant by neighbours. Last night, Horace’s mother, Lucy Neville, 63, was brutally killed in her own home. Screams alerted neighbours who called the police. All the police spokesman will say, at the moment, is that a man, who resides at the Neville address, is in custody.’
‘I was in that road last night,’ Pel exclaimed. ‘I saw the police cars.’ Then she added with some force, ‘And that’s where Jack attacked me.’
‘Jack Murrain might not have been himself.’
‘In all honesty he scared the hell out of me.’ Pel frowned. ‘What do you mean not himself?’
‘I mean literally not himself. I spoke to his grandfather last night. We’re agreed there’s a problem here.’
‘A problem that’s bigger than the site falling into the sea? Something to do with what happened to Jack last night?’
‘And other townspeople acting out of character.’ As she spoke, Kerry set out fragments of pottery – new finds from the excavation. ‘It’s too dangerous to remain in Crowdale at night. I’m arranging accommodation for our team in Calder-Brigg.’
‘But that’s an hour’s commute away. We’ll lose valuable time working on site.’
‘Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Our team’s safety is paramount. Will you photograph the fragments of the funerary bowl? I need to collect the rest from Nat.’
‘Kerry, you’ve got to tell me what’s happening. This involves me, too.’
‘There isn’t time now. Sorry.’
‘Kerry?’
Kerry, however, hurried through the graveyard to where Nat worked in the pit. The brief conversation with Kerry left Pel with a burning curiosity. How could coastal erosion be connected with Jack Murrain’s bizarre behavioural switch last night? Just why would it be dangerous to stay in Crowdale overnight?
The Murrains are at the centre of this. Pel Minton decided there and then she’d get to the bottom of the mystery.
5
THEY’D TAKEN HIS clothes away. For examination, they said. A policeman had given him a white paper coverall with a dinky elasticated hood. Then he’d been locked in the police cell. Horace Neville didn’t know why he was there. Something to do with his mother? That’s what he’d been able to infer from conversations that he’d overheard between police officers and the ambulance driver. But events of the last few hours confused him.
Yes, he remembered sitting on his chair in the street, alongside the little fellow. The one everyone else insisted they could not see. Some were even cruel enough to say Bobby didn’t exist. That upset Horace. Worse, it made the little fellow very sad. Then Horace remembered that just before m
idnight a procession had marched up the street. Shadowy men and women. They weren’t confined to walking at ground level. Some scurried across the rooftops, weaving round chimney pots, or hopping over TV aerials. Others appeared to swim under the tarmac of the road before popping out again. That would have amused Horace, as a rule, only last night it had scared him. Even scarier was the crow-black man who led the procession. He was tall, very thin, had lots of black hair. And he looked a lot like Jacob Murrain. Only it wasn’t him. Horace was certain of it. The grey eyes were terrible to look at. They made Horace’s heart clamour painfully in his chest.
Then it all went dark. When he knew where he was again he was sitting in the back of a police car. He’d blood on his clothes, though he hadn’t hurt himself. So if it wasn’t his blood, where had it come from?
Mystery, mystery, mystery. Horace didn’t like it.
He turned to his imaginary friend, who sat on the cell bunk beside him, ‘What happened to us? Why have the police put us in here?’
Too frightened to reply, Bobby remained silent.
‘Will they let us go soon, Bobby? They won’t hurt us, will they? ’Cos I won’t let ’em hurt you. You’re my friend. I’ll keep you safe.’
Bobby smiled.
Horace continued in that same reassuring tone, ‘’Cos if they try and hurt us we’ll run away. I’m good at running. I run right fast. I’ll pick you up and – whoosh! – dash to a place they’ll never find us.’
The giant of a man went to the cell window. Chimes from the town-hall clock told him it was four o’clock. Already the sun hung just above the rooftops. Dark soon. Horace Neville felt a shiver of excitement. He didn’t know why. Only he sensed something special would happen with the arrival of night.
6
ON THE DOT of four the diggers started to pack their tools and the day’s archeological finds into the vans. Most were unhappy about the hour’s drive to Calder-Brigg. Plenty asked the same question: what’s wrong with the house in Crowdale?
Pel noticed that Kerry simply evaded the question by saying that she was too busy to discuss it, but it was all down to budget over-spend (a semi-plausible catchall explanation, Pel reasoned).
A determination to keep digging ensured that Nat remained in the pit near the cliff-edge. He’d uncovered more Roman cremation urns. Come hell or high water, he was determined to remove them before the day’s work was finished; he doubted if that plot of land would still be here in the morning. All day they’d heard the thump of rocks falling from the cliff.
Pel had been carrying one of the trestle tables to a van when a voice startled her.
‘Here, let me help you with that.’
‘Jack?’ She held the four-by-four foot table top in front of her, as if it were a shield.
‘Pel, I’m not here to cause trouble.’
‘Damn straight you aren’t. Go away.’
‘I attacked you last night, didn’t I?’ His large grey eyes locked on to hers. ‘If I hit you I didn’t mean it. You’ve got to believe me, Pel.’
The breeze ran ice fingers through her hair. ‘Are you honestly saying that you can’t remember how you attacked me?’
‘I must know what I did. It’s eating me up. All last night I was wondering if I’d …’ He gave a painful shrug. ‘If it was bad … you know, criminal … tell me, and I’ll turn myself in.’
‘Surely, you remember what happened?’ Her arms ached from carrying the table, so she set it down. ‘We’d been for a meal to the Greek restaurant.’
‘I remember that. But later everything became sort of … it’s hard to describe. Indistinct. Blurred, as if I stopped seeing clearly.’
‘You don’t remember roughing up the guy who threatened you?’
He shook his head.
Pel continued, ‘Or grabbing hold of me after that?’
He winced at the accusation. Such a forlorn expression impressed itself on his face that her heart went out to him.
‘It’s all a blank. Tell me how I hurt you.’
‘You idiot. You kissed me!’
‘How?’
‘How do you think? Do you want me to sketch a picture?’
‘My grandfather said you were intelligent, Pel. He told me you’ve got brains.’
‘As compliments go it’s second-hand. I hope you’d have the balls, Jack, to judge some of my qualities for yourself.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Now that you’re here you can carry this table to the van.’
Jack appeared confused and relieved by turns. ‘I kissed you. That’s all?’
‘No other parts of your anatomy were involved. Though you managed to kiss me so hard you made my lip bleed.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t remember kissing you. And all I’d had to drink was Coke. I can’t even blame alcohol.’
Pel regarded him. ‘Kerry said you weren’t yourself last night.’
‘How can she know? I didn’t … uhm … approach her, did I?’
‘Approach? I’m taking that as your euphemism for passionately pouncing on females.’
‘My grandfather said you were smart.’ He reached the stage now where his relief allowed him to smile. ‘I don’t make a habit of pouncing on a first date.’
‘I didn’t know it was a date. All I wanted was a smear of your body fluid.’
‘The sample’s safe, then?’
‘It’s already at the lab. Some white-coated scientist will be dissecting your DNA even as we speak.’ Her tone hardened. ‘Do you think the lab will find a DNA marker for pouncing on American girls?’
The comment made him uncomfortable. ‘My grandfather seemed to know what happened to me, but he’s not telling.’
Pel opened the van door. ‘Same goes for my boss, Kerry Herne. She appears to know something, too. She was talking to your grandfather last night. So why are they shy about sharing their secrets?’
‘Especially when it involves us.’
She found herself eyeing Jack’s face. His concern touched her. What’s more, the events of the last twenty-four hours had forged a bond between them. ‘We should confront them. They should tell us what they know.’
‘Why don’t we meet up again tonight? Then we can develop our strategy.’ He grinned. ‘Also, I can buy you a drink by way of apology for … pouncing.’
‘According to Kerry, your behaviour had become abnormal. She seems to think that others from Crowdale have been acting out of character, too.’
‘I could pick you up from the house at seven?’
She shook her head.
‘OK, eight?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ He’d interpreted her refusal as a rebuff.
She reached out to touch his forearm. ‘Jack, I’d love to. It’s just that we’re being bussed back to Calder-Brigg.’
‘Surely you’ve not finished work here, yet?’
‘No … there’s a problem. Kerry’s concerned we might be at risk, somehow, if we stay in Crowdale.’
‘Risk of boredom, maybe. Listen, I’ll talk to my grandfather tonight then see you here tomorrow morning. I might have found something out by then. After all, I’m entitled to know why I went crazy last night.’
On impulse, she tested him with a challenge. ‘Or you could drive over to Calder-Brigg tonight and buy me that drink? But if you’re too busy …’
His grin was a boyish one. ‘I’d like nothing more. Give me the address.’
‘They haven’t told me where we’ll be staying yet. If you give me your number I’ll text it to you later.’ She handed him paper and a pen. ‘Of course, if you find yourself daunted by a feisty American girl, you could always stay here in Crowdale – and wait and see if everyone goes nuts again.’ She grinned back at him. ‘It might be the safer option. Old boyfriends say that I’m a bit of a handful.’
He jotted down the number then handed it to Pel.
‘I’ll be there no later than eight,’ he told her.
‘In the meantime, if you go nuts, be sure to call ahead
and warn me.’ She touched her lip. ‘There’s only so much bruising a girl can take, you know?’
Anxious, fretful, nerves jangling, Kerry Herne shepherded stragglers to the waiting vans. They’d cleared the site of equipment. Only Nat remained in his pit, determined to extract the last cremation urn from the earth. This was a rare find, he’d insisted. From inscriptions scratched on potsherds he’d gleaned that there’d been some kind of mutiny in the army here seventeen centuries ago. Many Roman soldiers had been killed in a night of orgiastic violence. If he teased as many artefacts from the tomb as he could, then he might be able to piece together the full story.
Kerry stood at the graveyard gate. Everyone else waited in the convoy of vans and cars. Nat’s head appeared from time to time above the soil mound. Beyond him, the sea turned dull as iron as daylight faded.
‘Nat. We’ve got to go.’
He held up his hand.
Five more minutes? Damn. I want out before sunset. It’s not safe here at night. Kerry shuddered; she recalled how some brutish intelligence had invaded her mind last night. Without a doubt, there’d be trouble if they stayed.
Taking a deep breath, she murmured, ‘Calm yourself. It won’t be properly dark for almost an hour yet. We’ve plenty of time to get away. They can’t touch us by day. As long as there’s light we’re safe.’ At that moment, she had a sudden urge to find an excuse never to return but, call it professional pride, call it hubris, she knew to the roots of her bones that she wouldn’t stay away from the graveyard. Not only must they finish the archeological investigation, they must also find a way to preserve the mosaic. ‘It’s that or die trying,’ she murmured, with such dark humour she shuddered,