The Shift Key (23 page)

‘They stayed inside. The driver too.’

‘But Mr Fidger was with you?’

They looked at one another, and both nodded.

‘That fits,’ said Don with satisfaction. ‘Being inside the coach was enough to protect the tourists. But others were less lucky. Like the Jeggses. I happen to know they were up late. And haven’t they been acting oddly?’

‘So what happened?’ shouted someone from the back. It was Cedric, impatient as ever.

‘Hold your horses,’ Don advised, turning another page of his notebook. ‘I still haven’t quite figured out all the implications … but let’s start with the people up here on the
platform. Doctor!’

Steven started. ‘Yes?’

‘Were you out and about around midnight?’

‘Why – why, yes, I was! And so was Mr Phibson!’ A sudden wave of relief overcame him. ‘We went to see Mrs Lapsey because she thought she was dying …’

I shouldn’t have said that!

But the response from the audience was a laugh! Someone said, quite loudly, ‘Oh, no! Not again!’

He leaned back in his chair, ignoring Nigel, ignoring the archdeacon. Don was in charge now. Let him get on with it. He obviously knew far better how to manipulate an audience than anybody else in the hall –

Including Wallace, who was scribbling frantic notes.

But where was Jenny?

‘What about the other people who were affected?’ Don continued. ‘Were you all out at Wednesday midnight?’

‘I wasn’t!’ Stick objected at once. ‘Nor were Sheila’s kids! We had the effect you’re talking about, but – No, I was indoors, and the kids were both in bed.’

‘Ah!’ Don raised his hand. ‘But I know where you live. Doesn’t your flat overlook the river?’

‘Well, the living-room and the kids’ room do. But … Oh!’

‘Go on!’

‘It could be right,’ Stick admitted. ‘I dozed off in the living-room, and the windows were open.’

‘And
–?’ Don stepped to the front of the dais.

‘And Sheila’s room is the other side of the flat, next to the kitchen and bathroom.’ Stick drew a deep breath. ‘Man, do I ever see what you are driving at! I got the whole load of it and thought Sheila’s kids were boys when in fact they’re girls. The kids sleep in the next room, on the river side, and they –’

There was a wordless cry from Hilary.

Stick said, ‘Sorry, kids. You’ve got to learn this is a cruel world. But I’ll just say they both did silly things at school on
Thursday morning. Though not half as silly as a pair of boys that I could name, much older …’

The Ellerfords flinched and stared around for a way of escape, but there was none. Without words, it had been decided that nobody should leave this hall before the mystery was solved.

Paul hunched forward as though wanting to vanish into thin air. Harold, though, braced himself for the worst.

He said in a clear voice, ‘Paul and I were out late on Wednesday. But what did the mist have to do with it?’

‘The inversion over the valley that brought it on,’ Don said, nodding encouragement, ‘was also what prevented the vapour from dispersing as quickly as usual … I can think of at least one other person who most likely got caught in it. If my explanation is correct, there must have been several more.’

There was a numb silence. But Don seemed to be prepared for that. He fixed the Ellerford boys with a chill gaze.

‘What about your mother, for example? What was she up to on Wednesday night?’

Silence again.

‘What time did you get home? Where had you been?’

‘You haven’t any bloody right to ask!’ Paul shouted, leaping to his feet. ‘You’re starting to sound like her, you are! And we don’t even bloody know you! I never saw you before today!’

‘No. That’s true. But your brother did, though he won’t remember the fact. He was still a baby when I met your parents in Hong Kong.’

The audience drew in collective breath.

‘And I remember how Ursula used to fret about him. One of the reasons I liked her was that she didn’t leave her son all day in the care of a local nanny, the way most Europeans did out there. Even the loss of your father can’t have changed her so much that she wasn’t worried about where you were and
what you were doing!’

It was a master-stroke. All of a sudden he had the whole audience on his side against the boys, and there were cries of confirmation.

‘That’s right! Every time they stay out late she paces up and down – in the garden, on the road – watching for them to come home! And when they do they shout at her for interfering! We’ve seen it! We’ve heard it!’

Those who had called out exchanged nods and glances, their expressions grim, and sat back in their chairs. All bar one. Moira O’Pheale remained on her feet, very pale, hands clenched tight on a black leather purse.

She said, ‘Phyllis was up late on Wednesday, too. I could hear her from my room, calling Rufus. That’s the cat. I don’t know what time she actually turned in – I was asleep by then – but … Oh my God!’

Her face crumpled like tissue paper and she dropped back into her chair, bowing her head.

In Weyharrow people were unaccustomed to displays of naked emotion. They were still shifting and stirring when Judy Jacksett exclaimed, ‘Roy! Wasn’t it on Wednesday that Boyo didn’t come home? That’s our dog,’ she added. ‘He’s still not back and the kids are getting frantic.’

Starting, Roy said, ‘Why! So it was!’

‘So you were out late looking for him. And next day all those orders were filled wrong … That explains it!’

‘And something else as well!’ called another voice. ‘My father was up late on Wednesday night, too! My grandfather heard him walking up and down on the terrace at midnight! The terrace overlooks the river! And – well, I don’t have to remind you what happened to him next morning, do I?’

The speaker was Cedric, hair tousled, clutching the back of the chair in front of him. Furious, Basil turned to glower at him, shaping a retort, but before he could find the right
words Joyce Vikes shouted, ‘My Harry was up late that night too! With a sick calf! I knew he weren’t truly out of his head!’

Someone – a man – said maliciously, ‘No, just full of devils, warn’t he?’

Was that Ken Pecklow? Steven started and glanced in the direction the words had come from, but realized instantly it couldn’t be. Ken was in the wrong part of the room, and what was more he was rising to his feet.

‘I agree with Joyce! Harry and me – well, we’ve been at odds a good long time, but I never thought he were crazy, and I never thought he got the Devil in him, either. What I did think …’ He paused meaningly, glancing from side to side to make sure everyone was paying proper attention.

‘What I did think, and maybe I still do, was this. Did it have to do with one of they chemical sprays he talked about all spring and summer – the very latest, the very newest? Is that what they brew at Trimborne now? Is that what got loose and did the harm?’

Dr Frass jumped up.

‘No, sir! We do not manufacture industrial or agricultural chemicals! We make pharmaceuticals – medicines! And I am bound to warn Mr Prosher that if he continues with his unfounded accusations he will be hearing from our lawyers!’

‘And from me,’ rumbled the man beside Chief Inspector Chade. ‘You said you knew who I am, didn’t you, Prosher? Then I take it you know why I’m here, as well.’

Don was very pale, but stood his ground. He said, ‘Of course I do. To threaten me with the Official Secrets Act, because the stuff that got loose from Helvambrit is being manufactured and tested under government contract –’

‘Stop! Stop at once!’ the man bellowed.

‘I will not!’ Abruptly Don was furious. ‘There’s no way that you can shut me up –
not now I’ve seen what you’ve done to my friend Ursula!’

There was an astonished pause. Then, moving in front of the platform, Stick said loud and clear, ‘Damn right, man!’

And collared the stranger with help from Chris, while Ken and Harry stood over Chade, and Bill Blocket and Phil Flaken closed on Dr Frass, making it wordlessly clear to Joe Book what would happen if he tried to intervene.

Also the villagers sitting nearest to Basil Goodsir invited him, politely, to hold his peace.

‘This is a scandal!’ Helen fumed. This is an outrage!’

‘No it isn’t,’ a voice called behind her, intending to be heard. ‘It’s an inquiry!’

It sounded like her son, but when she glanced back she found no clue to who had spoken.

‘It’s too late anyway, Mr Pipton,’ Don said quietly. ‘This gentleman, friends, is from Military Intelligence. The substance that escaped from Helvambrit’s factory –’

Pipton was struggling madly. Two of Chris’s friends came to add their strength to Stick’s, ignoring his threats about obstructing him in the execution of his duty.

‘The substance,’ Don went on, ‘is probably the one known as Oneirin, from the Greek word for dreams. We’ve been hearing rumours for some while, but this is the first time we ever had solid evidence of its effects. What it seems to do is affect the faculty in the brain that distinguishes between what you’ve dreamed and what you actually remember. In other words, it makes the memory of your dreams more vivid than your memory of the real world.’

He paused, very tense, with sweat pearling on his forehead. At once there was a susurrus of comment, in which Steven wished he could have joined. All those affected were saying, ‘Yes! That’s exactly what it felt like!’

‘Oneirin was originally intended as a battlefield gas,’ Don resumed. ‘Hence its presentation in vapour form. When it proved unsuitable for disorienting enemy soldiers, a new contract was entered into for its development as a means of
interrogating spies and prisoners of war. On the basis of what’s happened here, it seems obvious that Helvambrit has again failed to come up with what was promised. What on earth would be the good of trying to extract information from someone who had lost the ability to distinguish dreams from reality? But Helvambrit doesn’t want to admit defeat – for the good and sufficient reason that the contract is worth more than half a million pounds a year of the taxpayer’s money.
Your
money!’

Basil Goodsir emitted a strangled cry. Helen turned on her chair and slapped his face, her own a mask of rage.

‘Right, now you know,’ Don said, his tenseness fading. ‘And so, tomorrow, will the public. Mr Pipton, I said you were already too late.’ He glanced at the clock on the far wall. ‘I don’t imagine you were able to close clown every public phone in the county, much as you would probably have liked to. By now Miss Severance must have been able to get through to at least some of the numbers I gave her, along with the information I’ve just imparted. Wallace, why don’t you grab your chance of getting out of here, too? My paper has a clear beat on the story, but it’s too damned important to be kept to ourselves, and I shan’t mind in the least if the
Banner
gets it into its late editions. You spell Oneirin
O-N-E-I-R-I-N.’

‘You bastard,’ Wallace said under his breath. ‘You son of a bitch!’

But in response to Lisa’s frantic urging, he left the hall, people making wary way for him. Silence attended his departure, near complete … until abruptly it was broken by the sound of weeping.

It was Moira who began it, fighting to say amid her tears, ‘Poor Phyllis! And it wasn’t my fault after all!’

‘Oh-
Mum!
’

That was from Paul Ellerford, barely audible. He buried his face against his brother’s shoulder, racked with sobs.
Within seconds Harold was crying too.

But from some there was a more violent outburst. It broke all at once from half a dozen places in the hall, as people rounded on Dr Frass, Mr Pipton, and Chief Inspector Chade, the handiest targets. Clearest to be heard was Joyce.

‘I’ll murder them!’ she shrieked. ‘I’ll kill them all for what they done to my Harry!’

Leaping to his feet – Nigel still seemed dazed – Steven shouted, ‘Order! Order!’

After a fashion the archdeacon echoed him.

For a dreadful moment he thought they were too late. The furious villagers were turning on the strangers in their midst as though preparing for a lynching party. But help emerged from a completely unexpected quarter.

‘Shut up, you bloody fools!’ roared a tremendous voice. ‘And bloody
grow
up while you have the chance!’

It was Chris the Pilgrim: his beard and hair in a tangle as ever, wearing stained jeans, scuffed boots and a sweater with one elbow out, but taking charge. He jumped up on the dais without bothering to use the steps, and Don retreated to make way for him.

‘Who is this ruffian?’ Mr Thummage whispered to Steven. ‘One of your local yobbos, I suppose!’

‘Do as he says and shut up,’ Steven muttered wearily. The archdeacon blinked as though not believing anyone could address him in such terms, but after glancing at the councillors ranked at his back he yielded and listened.

‘We’ve been conned!’ Chris blasted. ‘You lot, and us as well!’

For some reason Steven’s gaze had fallen on Cedric, who had looked briefly apprehensive, fidgeting as though he were planning to slip away. He changed his mind and settled back into his chair.

‘You worse than us, maybe, because we don’t earn enough to pay taxes for the government to take away – and
throw
away, like you’ve been told! Mr Reporter, sir, you’re a brave man! You’re going to wind up in court, aren’t you? At any rate if this guy Pipton has a say in it!’

Don shrugged and spread his hands. We have a fighting chance, according to our lawyers. It’s nice of you to call me brave. But I’m not foolhardy. And now the horse is gone they may not want to shut the stable door in case it makes things worse.’

Chris gave a sour grin. ‘That figures … Like I was saying!’ His voice rose to full volume again. ‘We were conned the same as you! And Ella! And Cedric’s dad – what’s your name? Ah, there you are … Basil! Yes!

‘But we weren’t conned the way you were.

‘Oh, sure! We were fooled into piling into our bus in the middle of the night and making for Weyharrow because we were convinced the ancient forces were on the move again. We’ve been hassled by the police and we’ve been insulted by the locals and some people who got wind of what was going on followed us down here and made incredible idiots of themselves by stealing a side of beef from the hotel to make a sacrifice … God
damn!
If there are people who can be that silly anyhow, what’s the point of inventing this stuff Oneirin?’