Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Murmuring,
he
crept
forward.
It
was
too
obvious
a
trick.
Yet
Murray
waited
inertly,
his
hands
by
his
sides,
his
body
slack.
He
was
barely
conscious
of
the
words
or
what
they
meant
.
..
at first you could hear men all round you hidden among the trees and then there was on
l
y your own breath and the sounds your feet made on the iron floor of the forest.
..
In the morning
,
a father and his sons came with blood on their boots and hands. Merchant's nightmare and his own fused. A murderous peasant who would kill him.
He
was
saved
by
the
sweet
smell
of
human
dirt
tickling
the
nostrils
like
sickness
as
Kujavia
took
the
last
step.
It
released
the
animal
in
the
body.
He
knocked
away
Kujavia's
fist
with
its
deadly
armour
of
rings
striking
for
his
throat.
It
was
a
forearm
block
and
done
with
such
force
it
took
them
off
their
feet
and
crashing
to
the
floor
with
Murray
underneath.
As
the
terrible
little
man
hooked
for
the
eyes
with
his
thumbs,
Murray
caught
him
by
both
wrists.
Like
that,
locked
in
an
effort
so
great
that
they
were
held
in
a
matched
stillness,
Murray
understood
that
he
was
going
to
beat
Kujavia.
He
was
younger.
He
was
stronger.
All
the
frustration
and
doubt
were
burned
away;
the
confusion
was
burned
away
in
violence.
The
fear
of
death
that
the
eating
pain
in
his
skull
had
taught
was
gone.
Everything
was
simple.
Steadily,
remorselessly,
he
forced
up
his
right
hand
to
turn
the
other
man.
Kujavia
panted,
began
to
slobber
with
the
effort,
but
little
by
little
was
being
twisted.
Each
of
them
knew
how
it
was
going
to
end.
They
saw
in
one
another's
eyes
the
same
knowledge.
Kujavia
swooped
his
neck
and
open-jawed
went
for
Murray's nose
with
his
teeth.
He
was
quick
but
Murray's
response
was
faster.
The
hard
crest
of
his
forehead
smashed
into
Kujavia's
face
as
it
came
down.
He
felt
the
cheekbone
splinter
and
sink.
In
the
shock
of
pain,
Kujavia
reared
up
and
Murray
saw
above
them
Irene
holding
a
knife.
The
handle
of
the
knife
was
brown
.
In
the
kitchen
a
set
of
them were
laid
out
in
the
compartments
of
a
drawer.
Each
had
a
brown
handle
and
its
blade
sheathed
in
a
plastic
cover.
He
had
passed them
over
as
ordinary
kitchen
knives,
but
now,
recognising
one,
he
identified
all
of
them
.
They
were
butcher's
knives
for
severing,
boning,
chining.
Honed,
such
a
knife
was
sharp
enough
to
slice
meat
without
pressure:
flesh
melted
under
it.
Holding
one
of
them,
a
woman
was
a
match
for
any
man.
Like
a
silver
club,
the
knife
shone
on
the
arc
of
her
arm
.
Murray
heaved
up
in
an
effort
to
escape
and
in
the
same
instant
Kujavia
writhed
in
the
air
like
a
blind
worm.
The
trap
shut.
With
a
mortal
scream
of
anger,
Kujavia
collapsed
along
the
length
of
Murray's
body,
who
bore
his
weight,
felt
him
shudder
and
sigh
until
with
a
final
threshing
of
the
legs
he
groaned
and
lay
still.
He
had
bitten
off
his
tongue
and
blood
flowed
from
his
mouth
on
to
Murray's
face.
In
a
convulsion
of
terror,
Murray
threw
off
the
body.
He
jerked
it
away
at
Irene
forcing
her
back
and
off
balance
.
In
the
same
movement,
picked
up
by
fear's
hand,
he
was
on
his
feet
and
had
caught
her
by
the
forearm
with
both
his
hands.
As
he
squeezed,
she
released
her
grip
and
the
knife
fell
to
the
floor.
Struggling
for
breath,
they
leaned
together.
There
was
no
way
now
of
telling
if
his
life
had
been
at
stake.
31 The Last Victim
TUESDAY,
OCTOBER
16
TH
1988
'Tommy
Beltane?'
Murray
asked.
It
was
a
bad
omen
.
'There's
Eddy,'
Billy
Shanks,
distracted,
was
watching
a
group
of
men
coming
out
of
the
building
and
starting
across
the
yard.
'If
I
could
get
him
on
his
own,
I
might
learn
some
of
the
details.'
'What
did
he
phone
you
about?'
'Who?'
His
attention
elsewhere,
Shanks
was
puzzled.
'Oh,
Tommy
–
phoned
this
morning
–
I
don't
know
–
Hell!
There's
Peerse
come
out
as
well.
I
wonder
if
Eddy
will
be
going
with
him'
He
gave
a
little
muffled
snort
of
laughter.
'Would
you
know
he
was
disappointed?
Peerse
doesn't
bend
–
but
he's
had
the
leaves
blown
off.
He
had
an
idea
Jill
was
his
big
chance –
now
it's
over
and –'
'Have
they
arrested
her?'
'You're
hurting
me.'
Murray
had
to
force
his
fist
to
unclench
off
Shanks'
arm.
'They're
looking
over.
You'll
get
us
arrested,
Murray.
It
was
all
nod
and
a
wink
stuff
from
McKellar
in
there,
but
they're
looking
pleased
with
themselves.
All
except
Peerse
–
I
think
he's
coming
over.'
The
tall
figure,
followed
by
Eddy
Stewart,
detached
itself
from
the
group.
As
he
watched
their
approach,
Murray
put
his
hands
in
his
pockets
to
hide
their
trembling.
He
had
not
seen
Irene
since
he
had
lifted
the
awkward
weight
of
Kujavia's
body
out
of
the
car.
When
he
came
back,
groping
down
the
unlighted
stair,
she
had
driven
away,
either
frightened
off
or
abandoning
him
according
to
some
plan
of
her
own.
'What's
he
been
doing?
Crying
on
your
shoulder?'
Eddy
Stewart
jerked
a
thumb
contemptuously
at
Murray.
At
the
harshness
of
that
tone,
Billy
Shanks'
arms
flew
up
from
his
sides
as
if
he
would
pull
his
two
friends
together.
'On
my
shoulder
for
what?'
Billy
cried
in
distress.
From
his
great
height,
Peerse's
gaze
drifted
over
them,
chilly and
remote.
'Billy's
the
one
who's
been
doing
the
talking,'
Murray
said.
'He
tells
me
I'm
innocent.'
'Were
you
accused
of
something?'
Peerse
wondered
mildly.
'You
were
asked
questions.
If
you're
found
wandering
about
Moirhill
at
one
in
the
morning,
you
must
expect
to
be
asked
questions.'
'Have
you
been
held
all
night?'
Shanks
asked,
suddenly understanding
.
'We
just
met,'
he
explained
impulsively,
'when
I
came
out
from
the
briefing.
He
was
here
and
he
asked
me
for
a
lift –'
He
broke
off
and
cleared
his
throat
nervously
.
'It's
all
right,
Billy,'
Murray
said.
'You're
innocent
too.'
'What
did
they
hold
you
for?
Just
for
walking
about
the
street?'
'He
had
blood
on
his
clothes,'
Eddy
Stewart
said.
The
words
created
an
odd
lengthening
silence.
The
other
men had
left
the
yard
and
they
had
it
to
themselves.
Although
the
sun
had
come
out,
it
was
cold
in
the
long
morning
shadow
of
the
building.
A
police
car
slid
across
the
gate
entrance
and
stopped.
When
Peerse
looked
towards
it
and
then
at
him,
Murray
understood
and
fell
into
step
at
his
side,
walking
towards
the
gate.
Something
unspoken
was
communicated
between
them
.
'If
I'd
been
there,'
Peerse
said,
nodding
back
in
the
direction
of
the
building
they
had
left,
'during
the
night,
I'd
have
asked
you
different
questions.'
'Yes.'
Murray
made
the
simple
acknowledgement;
it
was
a
fact
they
recognised
.
'Would
I
have
got
different
answers?'
'Maybe,
then.'
As
he
spoke,
Murray
was
conscious
of
Peerse's gaze
turning
down
to
him.
'Not
now.'
They
crossed
the
line
of
the
shadow
of
sunlight.
'As
a
matter
of
fact,
there
weren't
all
that
many
questions.
I
spent
most
of
the
night
in
a
room,
waiting.
Sometime
after
it
got
light
outside,
they
started
.
But
pretty
soon,
this
guy
came
in
and
whispered
something
-
and
they
went
and
left
me.
That
was
it.
I
think
they
forgot
about
me,
until
just
now
when
they
let
me
go.'
As
they
came
near
the
car,
the
driver
started
to
get
out,
but,
at
a gesture
from
Peerse,
scrambled
back,
closing
the
door
again.