'Why did Maurice come to you, Barry?'
'Alien infiltration, Jack. Plain and simple. Maurice was a Government employee. He knew he was a target. He was frightened, Jack, very frightened, and he came to me looking for any information that might protect him. `They walk among us,' he said. I remember it well. He was sitting just where you are, with his little briefcase. He'd got classified information in it, but he wasn't ready to show me just then. It was a matter of building trust, but they got to him before he could divulge what he knew.'
'Who got to him?'
'The aliens! In the future, Maurice will be seen as a hero. He was a whistleblower, ready to open up the whole can of worms about the Government selling us down the line for alien experiments.'
Church stared out of the window at the sinking afternoon sun, wishing he had opted for the vicar. 'And he told you this? That aliens were after him?'
Riggs paused. 'Not in so many words. But he wanted to know everything about my investigations. We ran through the dates and times of sightings, witness reports, everything. He was particularly interested in the descriptions of different races, the Greys and the Nordics and all that. And alien abduction scenarios. What the abductees experienced in real detail. What they heard, lights in the sky. I tell you, Jack, he was here for hours.'
Church stood up quickly before he was overpowered by Riggs' body odour. 'Thank you, Barry. You've been very helpful.'
Riggs grinned. 'You know, that's just what Maurice said. `People need to know what's out there, Barry. They're sleepwalking into a disaster.''
'So here are the options. Maurice was crazy. Maurice was overworked and suffering from stress-induced psychosis. Or Maurice was crazy. Either way, it's a good explanation for why he was wandering along by the river at the crack of dawn.' Church sprawled on the sofa in Ruth's lounge, looking out at the city lights against the early evening sky.
'Do you think you could possibly be a little more glib?' Ruth said ironically.
Over a take-out curry and a bottle of Chilean red, they had spent half an hour trading information and finding there was no common ground whatsoever.
'You were the sceptical one,' Church replied. 'This was supposed to be taking us away from the Devil living under Albert Bridge. Now we have one man thinking Gibbons is being hunted by aliens, another convinced our man is being haunted by ghosts and demons.'
'You're still skating on the surface, Church. Dig a little deeper.'
'Do you think you can patronise me a little more? I haven't had my fill yet.'
She laughed and topped up his glass. 'The important fact is that Maurice Gibbons was a frightened man. Something was disturbing him enough to seek out the vicar and your UFO loon for information. He knew something.'
'Or he was crazy.'
'He was a civil servant, down-to-earth. If he was frightened, why was he keeping it to himself? There must have been hundreds of people he could have discussed it with, not least his wife.'
'Perhaps he was waiting until he was sure.' Church took a deep swig of his wine and then said out of the blue, 'Do you believe in ghosts?'
Ruth looked at him in surprise. 'Why do you ask?'
'It doesn't matter. So where do we go from here? I can't think of any other lines of enquiry … hang on a minute.' He suddenly stared into the middle distance, ordering his thoughts, then he snapped his fingers. 'There's something we've missed.'
Susan Gibbons welcomed them in forty-five minutes later after Church's phone call had convinced her their visit would only take a few minutes. In Maurice's room, he went straight to the desk and pulled out the pile of taxi receipts, riffling through them quickly. They were all for a Monday evening and for the same amount.
'So where was he going on a regular basis?' Church asked pointedly. Mrs. Gibbons had no idea. 'I think the police looked into this, but didn't get anywhere,' she said. Church wasn't deterred. He called the minicab firm. The receptionist asked around in the office and a few minutes later came back with an address.
The house was a small semi in High Barnet; half-rendered, with more UPVC windows and a paved-over front garden where a few yellow weeds forced their way among the cracks. The light that glared through the glass of the front door seemed unpleasantly bright. They rang the bell and it was answered immediately by a woman with dyed black hair and sallow skin. She dragged on a cigarette, eyeing them suspiciously while Ruth ran through her patter. She reluctantly allowed them into the hall, which smelled of cigarettes and bacon fat.
'He came round to see my uncle every week,' she said, glancing at a photo of Gibbons which his wife had lent them. 'Queer duck, but he used to perk the old man up. He's not well, you know. Hasn't left his bed in weeks. I got lumbered looking after him.' She wrinkled her nose in what could have been disgust or irritation.
'Can we see him?' Church asked.
The woman nodded, then added combatively, 'I'm going out soon.'
'Don't worry, we can let ourselves out,' Ruth said disarmingly. 'What's your uncle's name?'
'Kraicow,' the woman snapped as if that was all she knew.
She led the way up the stairs and swung open a bedroom door on to a painfully thin old man, his limbs just bone draped in skin. He lay on the top of his bed in striped pyjamas with one arm thrown across his eyes. His hair was merely tufts of silver on his pillow.
'Is it okay if we talk to him?' Church said.
'Just one of you,' the woman said. 'He gets very confused if there's more than one person speaking.' She added obliquely, 'He's an artist, you know. Used to be quite well known.'
The woman left them alone, and Church went to sit by the bed while Ruth watched from the door. Church remained quiet as Kraicow twitched and moaned beneath his arm, but eventually the old man removed it from his face and looked at Church with clear grey eyes, as if he had known he had a visitor all along.
'Hello, I'm Jack Churchill,' Church said quietly. 'I hope you don't mind me coming to see you.'
Kraicow looked away and mumbled something; Church wondered if he'd be able to get any sense out of him at all. But when Kraicow looked back he spoke in a clear, deep voice. 'I'm pleased to see any human face after looking at that miserable bitch all day long. She never leaves me alone.'
'You don't know me,' Church continued, 'but I wanted to talk to you about Maurice Gibbons.'
Church wondered how he would be able to discuss the matter without upsetting Kraicow about Gibbons' death, but the old man said simply, 'He's dead, isn't he?'
Church nodded.
'I warned him.'
A hush seemed to descend on the house. 'Warned him about what?'
Kraicow levered himself up on his elbows so he could look Church in the face. For a moment the old man's eyes ranged across Church's features as if he was searching for something he could trust, before slowly lowering himself down with a wheeze. 'Maurice saw my breakdown … what the bastards at the health centre call my breakdown,' he began in a voice so low Church had to bend forward to hear him. 'It was in the street, in Clerkenwell-where I work. I was making too much noise. Ranting, I suppose. Not surprising under the circumstances. Maurice overheard some of the things I said, and he knew straight away I was telling the truth because he'd seen the same thing too.'
'What had you seen?' Church whispered.
Kraicow licked his dry lips. 'You know much about the old myths and legends?'
'It depends which ones.'
'The final battle between Good and Evil. The end of this cycle and the start of something new.' The front door slammed loudly; Kraicow's niece had gone. 'The legend is the same all over the world. The End-Time.' Kraicow grabbed Church's wrist with fingers which seemed too strong for his feeble state. 'They're coming back.'
'Who are?' Church's mood dampened; more craziness. 'Aliens? Demons?'
'No!' Kraicow said emphatically. 'I told you, the old myths. Not fairytales, no, no, not folklore!' His eyes rolled back until all Church could see were the whites. 'The legends are true.'
'Are you okay?'
Kraicow threw his arm across his face again. 'The legends said they'd be back for the final battle and they
