“Please no, sir.”
“I mean to say,
Henry continued looking away.
“But then here,” Kingsley said, “it has become weak and isn’t pumping so hard anymore.” He pointed to a different spot, lower on the dress. “If we are to assume that the person wearing this dress was present as the wounds happened upon the other body, then we can see that the heart pumping this initial spurt was not so large as all that, was it?”
Henry shook his head. He looked a bit green, and Kingsley set down his lens. He patted Henry on the back in a reassuring way.
“So,” Kingsley said, “a smallish creature of some sort was repeatedly injured. Blood exited its body and landed on this dress through, I would imagine, more than three apertures in the flesh of the injured body. There are droplets here, and here, indicating that either this dress or the injured body was moved as it bled out. Perhaps turned as the extent of injuries was fully realized by the person inflicting them. Or possibly to get a better angle, if someone was working to bleed out a lamb or small pig.”
“I like bacon.”
“Of course you do. So do I.”
“I don’t like it when people’s hurt, though.”
“People or pigs, we all hurt.”
“But we don’t eat people, sir.”
“Well.” Kingsley frowned at the dress. “Most of us don’t.”
35
Day and Campbell spent a few frenzied minutes plucking leeches from Dr Denby’s torso and throwing them at the icy dirt. When they had finished, the doctor’s pale flesh was dotted everywhere with angry red rings. Day buttoned Denby’s shirt while Campbell rose and began grinding the squirming leeches under his heels. Blood oozed out into the patches of snow, white laced with pink, the forest floor like marble.
Denby stirred and his eyes half opened. “Brothwood,” he said. “Needs me.” He struggled to rise, but sank back against Day. “More will die, Inspector.”
“What do you mean, more?” Day said. “Is the Price family dead?”
But Denby had lapsed back into unconsciousness. Day looked up at Campbell, who towered above him, staring off in the direction of the village.
“Who’s dead?” Day said. “Do you know?”
Campbell shook his head. “He’s a doctor, not a murderer. He’s talking about the sickness, I’m sure. It’s spreading through the village more quickly every day.”
“Has he smothered everyone in these blasted creatures, then?” Day gestured at the leeches all round him. Campbell had destroyed most of them, but those that remained had stopped moving, frozen or hibernating.
“I don’t know,” Campbell said.
“It’s entirely possible our missing family is in someone’s house, isn’t it? They could have gone visiting and collapsed.”
“No.”
“It’s possible.”
“I’ve checked every house.”
“You’ve visited everyone?”
“I’m a bird-watcher, remember? I can travel about the village with field glasses and nobody thinks anything of it.”
“You’ve been peering through windows?”
“I have.”
“For the sport of it?”
“For the boy.”
“Why do you want so badly to find that boy?”
“Why do you?”
“It’s my job.”
“Is that all? It’s only your job?”
“Of course not. But I know why I’m here. I don’t know why
“I thought you did know that. You have a telegram, don’t you?”
Day laid Denby’s head gently on the ground and stood so that he could face Campbell. “I know that you spent time in prison for killing a man in West Bromwich,” he said.
“I did, yes.”
“And now you are here in Blackhampton, and I want to know why.”
“I have to be somewhere.”
“You were released?”
“I was a prisoner for ten years. I’ve paid the price for my crime and I’m a free man.”
“What’s your connection to the missing boy?”
“We should get back to the village.”
“You’re not telling me anything, and I’ve let you go on keeping secrets long enough. You’ve been out in these woods, you found this pig or you killed it yourself, you know things about these people, and yet you’re a stranger here.”
Campbell drew in a sharp breath, and his gaze focused on Day. He hesitated for a long moment, as if weighing the words he wanted to use. Finally, he spoke. “I have no secrets,” he said. “But it would be easier for me to show you than to tell you.”
“Show me what? You’ve shown me your dead pig. Is there more?”
“I think there is. It’s hard for me to know.”
“Then show me.”
Campbell nodded. He stooped and lifted Dr Denby as if he weighed nothing and led the way back to the path out of the woods. Neither of them spoke as they walked under the trees and through the brush. To Day, the path seemed shorter going back than it had been on the way to see the dead pig. The densest part of the woods fell behind them quickly, and the brush thinned out as the high grey walls of the church came into view. They had never gone very far from the village. Day was a reasonably fit man, but he struggled to keep up with Campbell, who was far older. Before long, the trees gave way to a narrow dirt path that widened out and led directly to the back of the church. Campbell led the way around the side of the massive building and up the wide stone steps to the entrance. He stopped there and turned, the limp Dr Denby draped over his forearms like an old bathrobe.
“Whatever you see,” Campbell said, “whatever you think, you must continue the search for Oliver Price. That must remain your only goal here.”
“What do you mean?” Day said. He was slightly out of breath and he could feel a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cold wind.
“You’ll know in a minute,” Campbell said, “but first promise me that you’ll keep looking for the boy.”
“Of course I will.”
“Good.” Campbell turned and shouldered the tall oak doors open and was swallowed by the solid shadows of the parish church. His voice came again from somewhere nearby, but completely disconnected from the world of white snow and bright grey daylight: “Come.”
Day found his flask and took a long swallow, then put it away in his pocket and followed the bird-watcher into the darkness. His eyes gradually adjusted to the gloom of the foyer, but he could hear voices from deeper in the building, a burbling river of human noise, moaning and singing and occasional cries of pain. Campbell waited
