On the other hand if anything did happen I’d be just as culpable, and equally liable to prosecution. I shook my head, turned, and started back for the farm. For the sake of appearances I would at least go on the hunt in the morning. It would give me much needed time to think.

  Chapter 18

  Darnell Brown drove as far as the edge of Dunster, and pulled into the car park that served the castle. During the daytime, from spring to autumn, it would be crammed with family sedans, and bus-loads of tourists. Now it was dark and deserted.

  He killed the engine, and took several slow, deep breaths. His pulse wouldn’t settle. With hands that shook slightly he popped the lid of the central console, grabbed a joint, and lit it. He inhaled deeply, holding the smoke inside until the marijuana began to calm him.

  He needed to make a phone call but he needed to be careful what he said, and how he said it. They definitely had one dead. Likely two. Maybe the pig as well. Big E wouldn’t be too bothered about the local youths, there was no way to tie them back to the main man. A dead copper though. That would definitely bring the shit down. The boss would be well pissed. He’d go fucking ballistic. The only thing that would save Brown’s arse was that he’d got the cocaine out of there. Even if the cops went crawling all over the place, and found traces, they would have no idea what was really going down.

  Brown would definitely not be mentioning the body flying through the air. What the fuck even was that? Did they have a fucking catapult back there or something? It was fucking crazy, but if he couldn’t get it straight in his own damn head he sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that particular detail to Big E.

  He finished the joint, and flicked the butt out the window. His hands were steady now. His pulse slow and regular. He took out his phone, and made the call.

  It went about how he expected. A screaming, expletive-laden rant with a lot of stuff being thrown around and broken. Brown did learn that whoever was hitting them it wasn’t another Bristol gang. The man knew that for sure. So it must be the fucking Welsh. There would be a reckoning. Et cetera. Brown tuned out until the man calmed down, and finally gave him orders about what to do with the drug shipment.

  Big E almost invariably made sure that no two people ever had all the information about anything. It was his way of protecting himself. It seemed to Brown that it was often inefficient. Tonight he learned that the scheming bastard already had a location for crack production just down the road. Literally a dozen miles away. Why hadn’t the coke gone straight there? Why all that fucking around with the bunker?

  Whatever. Not his problem. Big E messaged him a map pin, and told him to get there now. So that’s what he did.

  Brown had never driven out across Exmoor. Why would he? Nobody out there but sheep-shaggers. He wasn’t accustomed to the dramatically twisting lanes. At one point he’d been startled by a pair of burning red eyes in the road. It made him stamp on the brakes, and swerve dramatically as the anti-lock cut in. Turned out it was just a badger. Another reason to hate the fucking moor.

  Despite the short distance, it took him nearly a half hour to reach his destination. He pulled into the graveled courtyard, and stopped behind Rico Hooper’s low-slung Brabus Mercedes. Great, he thought, that was all he needed. Rico could definitely be an obstacle to his ambitions, and so far he was like Teflon. None of the shit stuck to him when things went wrong. Brown also noted a Transit Minibus, presumably for the workers.

  A couple of arab women in long robes, and head coverings were smoking by the big front door. These were the illegals that would be used to process the drugs. They looked down nervously as he strode past. He went inside to find Rico, and get the coke unloaded.

  He had no idea he was being watched. A huge shape pulled back from the dividing wall between the Manor, and the stable block. In daylight it would have been unmissable, shocking even, but it was accustomed to using the cover of darkness. It moved in a low crouch until it was away from the view from the buildings, then long strides took it quickly across the moor.

  Chapter 19

  I didn’t sleep well. Buzzy brain. So I got up early, had coffee, breakfast, and made my way to the end of the road. A guy called Trevor who I’d seen around but never spoken with picked me up in a ratty old green Land Rover with seats pads that were split, and had the foam poking out. It looked like they were oozing yellow custard.

  About two dozen guns eventually gathered, with beaters in the distance. It was their job to move forward making lots of noise thus spooking the prey, and driving it towards us. We repeated the process several times in different areas with nothing to show for it but cold hands and feet, and a few frightened pheasants. Joe Buckley suggested gathering at the pub for a restorative brandy. The Royal Oak wasn’t usually open at that time of day, but Terry was laying on bacon butties.

  I was tempted but made my excuses, and got dropped off back near the farm. I needed to report in to Mary Cavendish. I’d been rehearsing the lie since about three am, so I pretty much had it down pat.

  It was still only eight-thirty, but there was a rumor the Assistant Director slept at the office, hanging bat-like from a beam in the cellar. Humor aside, she was often in early so I placed a video call on the laptop. Sure enough it was answered on the third ring. I was probably looking a bit ragged around the edges. Ms. Cavendish was pristine, but didn’t look happy.

  “Good morning, Hollis,” she said seriously. “What do you have for me?”

  “I suspect the alleged Beast incidents may actually be gang-related. We don’t have any bodies, just a few bone fragments. There may be animal tooth marks on them, but they might also have come from some kind of tool. The locals are organizing shooting parties over the moor, but I think that’s a waste of time. There’s no actual proof of a creature being involved, whereas there are strong indications of drug activity. Gang rivalry seems a more likely explanation, even if we don’t have cause of death on the more recent victims.”

  “You may be right in your assumption,” Cavendish said. That took me by surprise. I had expected a bit of a question and answer session. Nothing of the sort. It could only mean there was more going on than I knew about. I was about to find out what that was.

  “I had an early call,” she said. “At seven this morning a Minehead policeman went to relieve the officer on night duty. He was accompanied by army liaison with the intention of gaining access to the bunker. Outside they discovered three bodies. Two were identified as small-time street dealers from the town, the other was the aforementioned officer, one Ollie Forster. Preliminary cause of death seems consistent with the other deaths at that location. The doors to the facility were secured, but the padlocks were not like the military use. Further investigation found traces of white powder inside. A quick test with the policeman’s in-car kit suggests cocaine. A lab test will be carried out to confirm.

  “Things seem to be escalating,” I said.

  “Indeed. I understand you’ve spoken to Jenny Mallory at the NCA. I’ve messaged her to bring her up to speed, and I expect she’ll be in touch with you shortly. While gang activity is outside of our purview, the unexplained manner of the killings gives us reason for involvement. If it’s gang war, we’ll leave it to the NCA. If there’s an as-yet unexplained threat to the general public, I need to know.”

  Cavendish ended the call. Recent events meant I had dodged the hyena problem, at least for the time being. I knew the recent killings weren’t really related but it didn’t alter the fact that something very strange was going on so I would pursue enquiries until we knew more. Right now I needed to talk to the medical examiner again, then see what Mallory wanted to do next.

  I could have phoned, but I needed some supplies and Minhead had the nearest supermarket. I stocked up then drove around to the morgue.

  Doctor Kingsholme confirmed that the cause of death in each case was a similarly savage beating but he could offer no further insight into how it might have been done. He did have something interesting though.

  “They found a few spots of blood,” he said. “It’s not from any of the dead men though. In fact I’m not sure it’s entirely human.”

  “Animal blood?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. You’ll have to excuse me. As a scientist I hate to be vague but from what I can tell in my meager lab here it’s like human blood, but it’s not exactly human blood.”

  “Could the sample have been contaminated?”

  “It’s possible. I’m going to send it to Bristol for more detailed analysis.” There didn’t seem to be any more to say so I thanked him, and was about to leave.

  “Oh,” he added. “While we’re on the subject of test I got the results on those bone fragments back from London.”

  I’d been worried about them. If the tooth marks were identified as hyena I was going to have a problem.

  “And?” I asked.

  “Inconclusive,” he said. “Not enough to identify a particular animal species. In fact they wouldn’t confirm they were bite marks at all. Very disappointing.”

  Disappointing for you I thought, but so far I was having a hell of a good day on that front.

  On my way back to the van I bumped into two people. The first I’d been trying to avoid, the second I hadn't expected to see at all.

  Superintendent Quentin Samuels was walking in through the main doors as I went out. Needless to say after our previous encounter we weren’t on the best of terms.

  “Hollis,” he said, his voice a gruff rumble.

  “Samuels,” I said, keeping mine flat.

  “Got a moment?”

  “OK.”

  “I don’t know what your part is in this investigation. I don’t care. But I’ll save you some time with Officer Ollie Forster. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. He may even have been on the involved with some of the local criminal element. Nevertheless, he was a policeman. He had a wife, and two little girls. I will do everything in my power to find out who killed him, and bring them to justice. I hope we are of a similar mind in that regard.”

  “We are,” I agreed. That was it. He nodded, and continued inside.

  I went out to the Tioga. Beside it I found a woman in Romany clothing sitting on the front steps of a brightly-painted horse-drawn caravan. A big gray mare waited patiently between the harnesses.

  “Hello,” I said. “You’re a long way from Barnstaple.”

  “They call us travelers for a reason you know,” she said with a smile. I smiled back.

  “And you just happened to be traveling past the entrance to the mortuary, which is around the back of the hospital, on the way to nowhere.”

  “You must be a detective.”

  “Kind of.”

  “Would you give me your hand?” She asked.

  “Should I cross your palm with silver?” I asked. I knew it was expected when having your fortune told. I’m not a believer but I was happy to humor her.

  “You’re in credit.” she said with a wink, presumably referring to the incident in Barnstaple with the two youths.

  I reached out my right hand, palm up. She took it with fingers that were slender, though the grip was firm. Her eyes seemed to loose focus, as if her thoughts were far away.

  “You’ve been searching,” she said. “What you found was not what you expected.” She was right but she was also vague. It’s a common trick with those that claim to have second sight. She’d seen me coming out of a place where they keep dead people. She may have seen me talking to the superintendent. It’s therefore possible that whatever I was involved in was unresolved. Added to that I just told her I was a detective of sorts. I was not getting suckered in, even if the foretelling was free.

  “The Beasts will give you no more trouble,” she said. Beasts plural. Now she had my attention. She inhale sharply, and her grip tightened. “But the violence has not passed. Friends are there to help, but if you stand in their way you may be in danger.” She let go my hand, and looked at me with eyes that were clear and intense. Her voice was quiet and serious.

  “You should go and see William Morrow,” she said. “If anyone knows what goes on around Exmoor he does. He’ll be in the Dunster Arms about now.”

  “Who’s William Morrow?” I asked.

  “He’s the king of the giants.”

  Chapter 20

  “The king of the giants,” I said.

  “Yes.” She said it with a nod but no trace of humor. “But don’t be fooled by his size.” She stood, climbed the steps of the caravan, and closed the door behind her. End of conversation.

  I’ve seen, and heard a lot of strange things while working for the Department. After all, our job is to look into the weird stuff that people can’t explain. Most of it comes to nothing. Strange lights in the sky are often created by the tiny water droplets in clouds that then cause odd reflections. Ghosts and weird beasties are mostly the product of fertile imaginations. There is almost always a mundane explanation.

  In a decade of investigating these phenomenon I have never seen an actual alien, or anything supernatural. The king of the giants thing piqued my curiosity, and was worth pursuing because it might be relevant to current inquiries but I wasn’t expecting to come across anyone fifteen feet tall. Also, the Dunster Arms was only a ten minute drive from the mortuary. If I was being sidetracked, it wouldn’t be for long.

  The village of Dunster is at the top of a steep hill that overlooks Minehead and the Bristol Channel. The castle at the top has dominated since the thirteenth century, and most days you can easily see across the fifteen or so miles to Wales.

  The roads around the village are narrow, and I soon gave up trying to park the big Tioga. I ended up where most of the tourists do, in the Castle car park halfway back down the hill. The morning had turned out sunny, and surprisingly warm, so by the time I walked back up to the top again I was ready for a beer.

  The Dunster Arms is built from big chunks of red and gray stone. It looks like it’s been there for centuries. It probably has. There’s a hotel, restaurant, and a bar with a courtyard garden. It’s a little slice of old England that has yet to be modernized, and I hoped it would long remain so.

  I figured the bar would be the best place to find William Morrow. Or if it wasn’t I could satisfy my thirst before looking elsewhere. I followed the sign under a big archway, and through a glazed door into a room that could have been a Victorian gentleman’s study. All dark oak paneling, tall bookcases, and low lighting. There were maybe a dozen people sat around but none of them struck me as the king of the giants. I was about to order myself a drink when I spotted someone sat apart from the rest.

  Over in the far corner of the bar on a slightly raised dias was a heavy, square-framed chair with a high back, and red leather pads on the arms. It could almost be a throne. The man who occupied it wore a tweed jacket, brown trousers, and brown brogues. White hair sprouted at random from beneath a flat cap. What I could see of his face was creased by age, and weathered by time outdoors though most of it was hidden beneath a full mustache and beard the same color as his hair. It was difficult to guess his height with him being seated, but he was definitely no giant. He did have a certain presence though. I walked over.

  “William Morrow?” I asked. He looked at me. His expression was one of disinterest. I was about to tell him who sent me when it occurred to me that I had know idea what the Romany woman was called.

  “Name’s Hollis, I said. “A Romany woman suggested I talk to you.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Told me you might know something about the recent deaths of several suspected drug dealers, and a local police officer.” I thought I might as well be direct. I wasn’t telling him anything that wouldn’t soon be public knowledge.

  “She called,” he said, tapping a thick index finger on the pocket of his jacket. I guessed he must have a phone in there.

  “Better get me a pint then,” he added. He passed me an empty glass from the table beside him. “We’ll go out to the garden. Quieter.”

  He stood. He was maybe five feet eight. I was no expert but I figured that was under-sized for a giant.

  The barman offered Otter Ale or Marston’s Pedigree. I like them both but the Otter was more local so I took two pints of that. Morrow had already gone out through a glazed door into the garden. I followed him into a modest courtyard area with flagstone paving, and narrow planting borders. I imagined that in the spring the borders would be full of flowers, but this time of year they were bare.

  Morrow was the only person out there. He’d found himself a seat at one of a half dozen rustic, cast iron tables. I handed him his pint, and took the chair opposite.

  “So,” I said. “King of the giants. What’s that about?”

  “I’m just small is all,” he said. “Never grew like the rest of the family. You have a problem with that?”

  A short giant? Right. Yet he’d said it not like it was a joke, but as if he was affronted. Like I’d made some kind of rude comment. Very strange. I took a sip of my beer, as did he. He stared hard at me over the rim of his glass.

  “You done Mags a good turn, and she thinks you’re alright,” he said. I assumed referring to the Romany woman. “So I’ll tell you how it is.

  “The Morrows have live on Exmoor for centuries. We’ve always been a lot bigger than other people so some called us giants. My pa was the King. His before him. Don’t know how that got started but I’m the oldest now so I get the title.”

  He leaned forward. His voice dropped, and took on a dark tone.

  “We protect the people of the moor. You won’t never see my brothers and sisters around the place ‘cause we’re good at staying hid. But we’re always here.

  “Lately some people have been coming in from outside who aren’t welcome. Bringing poison. We are going to stop that.” He leaned back, raised his glass, and took a long pull from his beer.

  Vigilantes then. That was unexpected but it made a sense. Local knowledge can be a powerful thing. The bunker was part of a complex tunnel system. It was unlikely it had only one entrance. The Morrows could have snuck in, and ambushed the drug dealers. For a moment the idea of giants sneaking amused me, but I kept my face straight.

 

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