THE NIGHT OF THE DARKNESS

by Tony Stewart

EPISODE 46

Joseph,”  Mary began at the first chance she got to get a word in between the inane chatter that was occurring between the foursome situated several yards away from the ambulance which was parked in front of the open barn door, “are you feeling alright?   I had no idea the bullet had come so close to you.   It could have been you that was on their way to surgery.   Do you think that it was meant for you.   Oh, god, I hope not.   That would mean that you might still be in danger.   We all could be.   Why would somebody shoot Vittorio?   Surely he’s no threat to anybody in his current condition?”

“Mary.”  The tone in Joseph’s voice was at just the right pitch and volume to calm Mary down without causing offense or over reaction.  “Easy.   Just calm down a little.  It was just a graze.  The fact that it could have done the same damage to me as it did to Vittorio was probably just coincidental.   I was probably in the shooter’s line of fire … and lucky that his aim was true.

“Or very bad.” Mary replied in a softer, more controlled voice.  “Sorry, Joseph, I was just concerned for you.  Whoever it was took a great risk with no care if he didn’t really have a safe shot at Vittorio.   Whoever it was, he is a very dangerous man.”

“Yes, I know.  I appreciate that.”  Joseph’s voice was also soft, and comforting to her ears.  “I don’t know why anybody would want to shoot me anymore than why they wanted to shoot Vittorio.   I suppose we will know more when … ”

But before Joseph could finish his sentence the sound of a fast moving car approaching from the far side of the barn caught their attention, and as they turned to see who the stranger was, Joseph’s words were left hanging in the air … and quickly forgotten by all.

********

One of the paramedics had already attended to Joseph’s superficial wound, and he and his partner were in the final stage of loading Vittorio into the back of the ambulance by the time the police finally arrived at the farm.

“Park here.” The authoritative voice of Inspector O’Reilly commanded when the car rounded the corner of the barn still some distance away from the barn door where the small group and the ambulance awaited him, and the young constable immediately applied the brakes and turned off the engine.

“I want a bit of time to myself before I speak to them.”  The voice continued,  “You go ahead and speak to the paramedics.  You just need to find out the victim’s current condition.   Unless there are things that I need to know immediately; things such as he has already died, let them go.  Don’t hold them up unnecessarily.  I am of the understanding that he is still alive, so they will need to get him to hospital as fast as possible.   We can question him later when he is well enough to hold up to a conversation.  When you finish with the ambulance go into the barn and have a look around and see if you can work out where he was standing when he was shot and wait for me there.”

The young constable stared blankly at him for a second before summing up the courage to question his superior.  “I’m sorry, sir, but how will I know where to look?”

Inspector O’Reilly looked at the young man; at the earnest look on his confused face as he asked a question so absurd.   And then he looked at his face and his youth and remembered himself as a youth in the force on his first murder investigation … on the first day he commenced duty as a police officer.  And he remembered how that fateful day was the beginning of his despising the life of a policeman in the big city, and how wonderful the past ten years had been in this wonderful, safe, country village he had been assigned to guard and protect.   The worst thing that this young man had ever witnessed was the blood that had run freely from the gravel rash cuts to ten year old Jenny Jacobs’ leg when she came of her pushbike in the lane-way next door to the police station trying to avoid the cat who had run out in front of her.  But three plasters and a disposable hand washer put paid to her sobs and the constable’s squeamish stomach.  ‘It is so strange’, he thought, ‘For the first time in ten years I feel like I am back in the big city with all their big city crime … and who are the prime participants?  Why, its the big city crowd, of course.   The victim is an overseas visitor from Rome, the witnesses were from London and quite possibly, no make that probably, so was the assassin.

“I am sorry, Tommy.   I forgot your limited experience for a moment.   You are here to learn, as much as you are to carry out orders.  I assume that the barn is like most barns around here.   There will be a walkway in line with the front door with various pens, stalls, work stations or stored goods on either side.   It is assumed at this stage that the shooter would have fired the weapon from somewhere in line with the entrance so they had a quick getaway should they need it.  So it is most likely he shot straight ahead and the victim was somewhere in the walkway.   There should be fresh blood on the ground.   Do your best, but take your time to do it carefully.   You are more likely to find any mistakes the shooter may have made; things like footprints or dropped cartridges.   Much better if the search is done at a slow, considerate pace, and alone, before we have a pile of traffic running all over the place.

A huge smile of relief appeared on the young constable’s face.   “Thank you, sir.  What happens if he has died, sir?”

“Then … its a murder scene.  I will need their report as soon as possible, and I will need to ask them a few questions seeing as how they have moved the body from the crime scene.  The incoming call said that the shooting took place inside the barn; if its murder then we need confirmation that that was the case and visually sight the spot where he was standing when he was shot.   And we will need to do it in the company of the witnesses and the paramedics.  Now, off you go.

“Right, sir.”

While the inspector pushed back into his seat, momentarily closing his eyes, and doing his best to meditate, the young constable exited the vehicle, carefully placed his cap on his head, and headed off towards the ambulance at a brisk pace.  But realised almost immediately that he may not reach them in time as they had already finished loading the victim and were themselves getting back into the ambulance.  When he heard the vehicle start up he began running towards it, waving his hands in the air as he did so to try and catch their attention.  When the siren began to sound the constable increased his speed to a run that Usain Bolt would be proud of.  He caught the attention of the ambulance driver, the siren was turned off, the constable spoke to the paramedics, asking them the questions that he had been asked to ask … advising them to make haste to save the patient’s life upon their reply, the siren was turned back on, Joseph and his friends plugged their ears with their fingers as the ambulance disappeared around the corner of the barn, and the constable made his way into the barn … all within seventy seconds of his closing the front door of the police car as he set off to follow the inspector’s instructions.

********

Less than one fifteenth of a second prior to the ambulances’ departure from the farm, Inspector O’Reilly shook his head in dismay again as he got out of the car and slowly walked towards the barn door, his mind still shuddering at what might confront him when he got there; his mind locked in a world of savage imagination to the point where the passing siren was an unheard obstacle it easily ignored; ignorant to the point that he was unaware how close he had come to walking into its path.  The inspector was a suspicious man by nature, and the thought of strangers witnessing strangers being shot by other strangers was quickly disrupting the tranquillity that would flood over his mind on a more normal day in Trenthamville; disrupted it even more than the shooting itself.  Admittedly, Professor Tusacani and his brother were not complete strangers to the village, even if they did keep mainly to themselves, but their presence in the village still perplexed him.  The research on them that he had undertaken out of curiosity when he had first heard that they were arriving in the village for an indefinite stay had proved them to be beyond reproach – yet he still wondered why somebody of Professor Tusacani’s prestige wanted to come to such a quiet, out of the way little village for their research.  There were no Egyptian tombs or mummies to be found here in laid back rural Trenthamville.  No other expert in that field resided locally, or so he understood.   So the question ‘why here?” continued to run through his mind.

‘Though,’ he decided eventually, ‘it is rather peaceful out here on the farm and you would rarely get distractions or visitors if you were an outsider … and there is internet in the area, even if mobile drop out is inevitable.   But , of course, he goes to the O’Shaughnessy B’n’B when that happens …  so perhaps it was the right choice.’   He had only met them once, the day the professor and his brother had first arrived in the village, and he had seen nothing in either man that would indicate such violence should be taken against them, but a violent and possibly premeditated attack had taken place by the look of it … as it had against the victim’s brother a week or so earlier.

To Inspector O’Reilly’s way of thinking, Trenthamville had always been a quiet, peaceful village.  He had found it a pleasure working here, far removed from the big cities and their relentless twenty-four seven crime rate.  He had only a couple of years to go before his retirement was due and he was going to retire right here in Trenthamville.   Or at least he had been intending to do so until the weird epidemic of unexplained events had struck the village.   Inwardly, he wondered what was causing the unusual goings on here at Forster Farm, and even the village itself for that matter … and, as he traversed the thirty or forty steps to where the small group awaited him, his mind began to wander once again over the unexpected and unusual events that had been reported both to the station, and unofficially at social events, over the past fortnight.

‘First there was that strange light out here a week or so ago, and those weird embers that the firies couldn’t put out.  Well they must have been right about it; the house hasn’t burnt down.   Then there was the condition of the other resident of this farm that was found wandering around the countryside.  ‘Mind you’, he thought as he began to talk to himself inside his head, ‘the constable that had found Professor Tusacani had thought that he was a drunk, or a drug addict, when he found him.  Even now I am uncertain what to make of the hospital report on the man’s condition.   ‘Drug induced comatose indeed – self-inflicted more than likely’.  Who knows what goes on out here?   Perhaps the two incidents are connected?  Then there was the reported suspicious timing of all the villagers ‘coincidentally’ going missing when a football spectacular was taking place in London … reports of Boogiemen and witches out here doing God knows what, and now this … the first shooting in Trenthamville since the Johnson boy had accidentally pulled the trigger on his father’s air rifle and killed his mother’s favourite rooster a few years ago.  And it just had to be somebody of prominence … and foreign  to boot, that had been shot this time, which will probably mean that the boys from the big city will have to be brought in on the investigation.’  That did not sit well with the Inspector.  He had never had to deal with any but his own constabulary since the day that he had arrived in the village, but now … .   The inspector knew that he would have to accept their intrusion, and hope that they got it over and done with as quickly as possible.

‘As for those missing men and women,’ he decided,’ if they are really missing, as the rumours say they are, well they are good lads at heart, I’m sure.  Not too sure about the ladies, though.  I was much surprised when they were thrown into the mix.  Anyway, they’ll be back on Monday night – all of them – right as rain, if not a bit worse for wear after a top week and a bit away from the farm, just you wait and see.    Still, Mrs. Brown and Mrs Johnson were mighty insistent that their husbands had never gone away before and that they hadn’t gone this year, but they were the only ones that had actually reported them as missing.  Ah well, we will just have to wait and see what happens.  Their in the system now, so one can only hope.   Anyway, the gossips never actually mentioned anyone by name, simply that they had heard someone talking down at the pub, or at the butchers … or somewhere equally vague and nondescript.  By the following day the rumour mill had nearly half the village listed as missing.   But as nobody else had reported them as missing we had no idea who ‘was’ actually missing … if anybody at all.   Ah, it will sort its self out, no doubt.  I’d best concentrate on the matter at hand, and not worry about some middle-aged teenagers wanting to have a bit of time by themselves in the big smoke.’

   Mind you’, he continued to argue within, as he drew ever closer to the small group waiting his arrival, ‘it does seem a bit strange that most of them went off without telling their other half they were going.  Must have been a spur of the moment decision, I imagine they will cop it when they return.’  He laughed aloud when he thought about the roasting most of them would get when they returned, but he was certainly not concerned for their safety.  They would all be fine – he was sure of it, and laughed once more at their forthcoming misfortune.

********

“So what is so funny, Inspector?  Are we missing something?”  The voice seemingly roared through the air it was so close to his ears; its mocking tone bringing Inspector O’Reilly’s thoughts and steps to a sudden, embarrassing, halt.  His current mindset had taken him on a journey far from his present physical location and reason for being here.  As a result it had become unprepared for the presence of company; especially unprepared for the company that represented his reason for being here: witnesses to an attempted murder.   And it was worse than that; they were key witnesses who could easily be swayed by his arrogance and apparent lack of concern for the gravity of the situation.   Now he found himself accidentally, unintentionally, mocking the seriousness of the moment.  He now worried that they may feel that he has no genuine interest in the case, and, therefore, possibly going to have no interest in their account of events.   And, if that was the way they thought, he knew that they may not be willing to share the facts with him in a genuine and freely given way.   A monumental blunder on his behalf that could cause him problems as he attempted to take charge of the investigation – and he knew that he would have to move cautiously to regain the respect his position required for him to carry out his job effectively.

But unfortunately for the inspector, he now found his meandering mind had  positioned him standing so physically close to the small group, an immediate resolution to his embarrassment appeared not to be even a remote possibility;  for everything his eyes took in was but a blur.   For three long, painful seconds, as if in reaction to the panic that was clouding his mind,  his eyes literally jumped from face to face, sex to sex, facial memory to facial memory, searching desperately for a sign of recognition from one of them, or at least a display that one of them at least had a sense of understanding to his mind’s current disposition.   He desperately felt the need to speak to someone, to share the humiliation that was running him ragged.  To explain the truth and facts behind his gaffe; To prove he was not a demonic, uncaring, person, that he did have respect for the victim.  And to make it worse for him, his constant jumping his eyes from one unfamiliar face to another was sending his poor head into an abysmal dizziness to the point where he felt he could take no more;  to the point where he decided that passing out would be a better choice of escaping the incredibly dark hole he found he was burying himself in … when suddenly, unexpectedly, he recognised Harvey, and immediately felt the opportunity to finally loosen his tongue and explain his actions had finally arrived.

“Hello, Harvey.  Sorry, I was lost in thought.”   Inspector O’Reilly apologised as he tried to bluff his way out of his gaffe.  “I was just thinking about a few villagers who have made things a bit hard for their rellies and are in for a big hose down when they get back home.  Who are your friends then?”

“Are you taking about the football binge that some of the villagers supposedly went off on?’

“Yes.”  Normally Inspector O’Reilly would not relay information on police matters to the public in this manner, but at the moment he did not consider there to be any real problem in playing down what he considered to be rumours, and he felt that it would be the perfect opportunity to re-establish his position in the murder attempt investigation.

“Is it true.  Have there been dozens of them like I have been told?  Harvey asked, his face expressing his genuine interest.

“I really don’t know.   There have only been two that were reported missing, and at the moment we have not got much to go on.   Both woman swear that their husbands have no interest whatsoever in football.  The rest of the supposed missing villagers are a mystery.   Nobody seems to know who they are, but they are all willing to swear that they have gone to the games because ‘so and so’ had told them about an unnamed neighbour that lived down the road from them who had ducked off for a week at the footy … and in their minds ‘so and so’ was a reliable source.   But names were never given.  Oh, and there were those that reported there had been some witches abducted by aliens on the night of the light: swore that they had seen the abduction, but they too are uncertain as to who it was that was taken.  ‘The beam from the space ship was too bright to see who it was that was taken up – and besides, they had white hoods over their heads.‘  They swore to a man.

“I have always said that there are a lot of so and sos living in the village.” Harvey said with a huge smile on his face, “Interesting  combination, aliens, witches and missing football fanatics.   Must have been an interesting night down at the station.   Did the Sunday papers turn up?  Anything posted on youtube? Pity I missed it.   Anyway, this is Martin, Joseph and Mary.  Everybody, this is our illustrious chief policeman in Trenthamville, Inspector O’Reilly.

“Taking a step down from the big city lights to flaunt your wealth and wisdom with the local yokels in a country retreat are we then?”  The inspector asked with a sneering smile accompanying the tone of his voice,   “It must have come as a bit of a shock to see similarities to what you left at home taking place down here I should imagine.  Been here twenty four hours and you are already witnessing something that you probably could have seen on the street in front of your own home, or outside your local pub, any night of the week.   You may as well have stayed at home and saved yourself the cost of the hotel and petrol.”  As Inspector O’Reilly spoke, he suddenly realised that he was doing it again, unintentionally perhaps, he thought defensively, but still doing it … and that was not acceptable; he was doing himself and his position in the community  no justice whatsoever.   He wondered what he had done to deserve today; a day when everything seemed to be taking joy in working against him, and that most certainly included his own tongue and his big city prejudices.

Joseph had little difficulty in sensing the hostility in the inspector’s voice, but refrained from retaliating, instead offering his hand and a smile.  The inspector, so surprised by Joseph’s reaction to his misdemeanour, automatically reciprocated the gesture without hesitation.  And a split second later became even more embarrassed by his own lack of graces that his stature and position in the village should have guaranteed in the circumstances, when he found himself again reciprocating to a handshake, this time when Martin immediately followed suit.

“Sounds an interesting proposition.”  Joseph replied with a smile,  “Pity that I don’t have the money or the quick wit to afford a jolly good flaunt, but the answer, unfortunately, is no.  We are just up for the weekend to recover some property from the farm.  However, to our delight, what we have come across serendipitously is a very happy and welcoming village.   Much more relaxing than the frantic life that a big city offers.   It seems very pleasant and friendly here.”

“Oh?”   Inspector O’Reilly had not been expecting this sort of response from the Londoners and found himself momentarily lost for words, which had never been his intention; it had been his intention to dominate the conversation, yet now, once again, he found himself falling back to second place in the status quo.   He decided on the spot that in view of the day, and the way it was working against him, that it would be best for him to walk away and come back tomorrow, but he couldn’t do that.   Then suddenly it hit him; he realised that he could get out of this mess, if he simply tweaked things a bit.   But he would have to be careful to pre-think every syllable he uttered.  His plan would work better if he took a deep breath and offered them sympathy to what they had witnessed, rather than giving them the third degree because he thought that they were somehow involved in what they had witnessed … which, in his gut, he did, and in truth he would have been right.  But he had no proof of anything at this stage … just his instinct, and his confidence was so far down at the moment he was feeling even that was failing him today.   He had not seen the victim, nor where they had been shot, or obtained a statement from anybody including the victim himself.   It would be best, he thought, to ask simple questions from those who were claiming to be innocent witness and advise them that he would get their individual statements later, preferably after he had spoken to the victim.   That would allow him time to get his head around everything, and, more importantly, allow enough time to pass for this totally unwanted day to come to its natural end … and a fresh day to commence,  “What do you have to collect?”   He asked.

“A range of things.   The man that had been renting the farm, Professor Tusacani, is the father of a friend of ours.  She had asked us to come down and help her and identify and remove the things that were important or valuable.   She didn’t think that they would be safe with him in hospital for an indefinite period.”

“And where is this friend?   Why isn’t she here?”

“Unfortunately, she is a little indisposed at the moment, but she asked us to collect the items for her.

“That’s a shame.  I was hoping that she may have been able to shed some light on why her father and his brother have both been attacked within just over a week of each other.  Perhaps she may be less hungover by the time I get back to the village.  You are staying at the Rat and Mouse I believe.   I will try and arrange a visit when I get back to village.   You might like to ask her to not leave the village until I have seen her, if you don’t mind.”

Inspector O’Reilly had somehow managed to resist the urge to belittle the indisposed daughter, but it had been hard to push the opportunity to clear his head of the vile memories that kept arriving in his mind.  He knew that he had to get himself out of this stupid mood his brain had gotten him into for no real reason but the fact that it now acknowledged that the shooting really was an inconvenience that he could well do without.  It was not the fault of these people that he was feeling the discomfort of the situation.   It was possibly the first time since he had arrived in the village that Inspector O’Reilly realised just how much he had settled into the peaceful, quiet, tranquility of this village –  now, as a result of the shooting, everything bad about his past life in the force was about to come crashing down on him, and he had no idea how to handle the situation.  He had been a good copper, he had solved many crimes, and the posting to the village had been as a reward to him for the great work he had done in both the robbery and homicide divisions over the years.   He had worked hard, but after twenty years he had seen more than he could tolerate any longer and rather than lose him to the public world, his bosses had thrown Trenthamville to him as a life-line.   And it had worked.   Everything about the workload he carried in those early years were all but completely forgotten, his mind and life were both peaceful and content.  But now, with every second that passed, more and more more memories were flooding back into his mind.  Memories that were messing with his disposition and sanity.  He really wished he had a bit of Harry Potter’s magic and could wish this entire situation into oblivion.   He was, he admitted to himself, very, very frustrated.  And Joseph was about to make his day even worse.

“No, I don’t think that will be possible” Joseph answered in a quiet, soft voice, “she is currently resting in her bed at the Rat and Mouse in a coma somewhat similar to her father.”

Joseph’s words made Inspector O’Reilly’s mind feel like a ton of bricks had been dropped on it … brick, after brick, after brick.  He now truly regretted not just walking away from the day that was lurching from disaster to disaster with continuous monotony when the idea had first come to him … now he felt that a heart attack or a stroke was the only way out … and he doubted very much that that was even a remote possibility.   “Oh, I am so sorry, I had no idea.   What happened?   Was she attacked by someone like he was.  I was not aware of anything like that being reported.”

Joseph was about to lie to the police officer, or at least tweak facts into a series of events that weren’t quite as they were presented, and somehow managed to continue speaking without having any change to his face take place.  “It wasn’t reported because we are uncertain what really happened.   I had to see her before I went to bed, but when I arrived at her room the door was unlocked, yet all of the lights, bar the one in the bedroom, were turned off.   I entered the room to make certain that everything was alright, and managed to trip over her body in the dark.  When I finally got the lights back on I checked her pulse and she was breathing, but certainly in a deep sleep.   I got her to her bed, then rang William Jones the hotel manager and owner, and he rang the doctor who found the injection marks on her body which is why we assumed that she had been drugged.  There was no sign of the needle to be found in the room, but the balcony door was open so we assumed that somebody had been there, and that, to our way of thinking at the time, confirmed the possibility that she had been drugged, but certainly didn’t prove it.   We won’t know what actually happened until she wakes up.  The doctor thinks that she may recover from it within a day or so.  This was the same doctor who had initially treated her father, and he said she did not seem as deep in sleep as he had been, so he is of the opinion that is either of a lower dosage, or a different drug entirely, but she was most certainly under medical inducement of some kind.  We have arranged for twenty four seven nursing which has already commenced.  There was not much we could do for her back at the hotel so we decided that we would finish off the reason why we came down to the village; to retrieve some of her father’s possessions that she felt would not be safe down here while he was in hospital.   Getting everything sorted out and packed up now would mean that we could get her back to London and have her checked over by Harley Street specialists as soon as she recovered well enough to travel.  And that, hopefully, will be by Tuesday morning.”

“These things that you have to collect – were they things in the barn?”

“Some were…the rest are in the house. We have to do a thorough job of searching the barn.   There are so many farm relics in there it is almost like a museum of farming history.  It will take us quite a while to get through the whole building, so we really do need to get started.”

“It’s just that the barn will be a crime scene for a while.”  Inspector O’Reilly began a little awkwardly,   “Actually, I just remembered, Martin … yes, Martin.  It was you that I spoke to that night, wasn’t it?   The night of the light here at the farm.   You asked something about a large box which we never found, and a statue.   About six feet long, I seem to remember you saying.   We did a reasonably thorough search for it, but we couldn’t find anywhere with enough room to hide something like that.  Is that something that you are still searching for?”

Martin was rather taken back by the question and had to think hard about how to answer it,  “Yes, we will look for it, but we feel now that there is every chance that it has been moved to a new area.   Like you, we would like to speak to Vittorio when he comes to.  We think that he was about to tell us where it had been hidden when he was shot.”

“Oh, I see.   Well, good luck on your search.”

“Does that mean we can continue searching even though it is now a crime scene?  “Joseph asked, slightly surprised by the turnaround to where he thought this conversation to be heading.

“Yes.  Normally the answer would be no.   But under the circumstances, please feel free to take what ever you need to.  I am sure that nothing you are removing had anything to with the attack.   Not that I can imagine anything that either of the brothers would do that would provoke such an attack.  They came across as refined gentlemen when I met them.”

“Well, I thank you on Rosetta’s behalf.”

“You are most welcome.   Please forgive my rudeness.  I am afraid it has been a long time since I had an attempted murder in my jurisdiction … and that was not in a quiet little place like Trenthamville.   I’m sorry, I will let you get back to your business as quickly as I can, but first I must ask a few questions.   Do I take it that you all witnessed the shooting?”

“That we did,” Harvey interjected, “I had come to the farm to collect the eggs as usual, when these three arrived.   I introduced myself and we were having a bit of a chat about the farm when Vittorio, the professor’s brother, and, as it turned out, their friend’s uncle, arrived.   I introduced them because they had not met previously, and we were just talking to Vittorio when suddenly there was a gun shot, and he fell down like a sack of potatoes.”

“You had not met your friend’s uncle before?   Inspector O’Reilly asked, directing the question to Joseph.

“No.   Rosetta and I have only met in more recent times.   Her father and uncle are rarely in Italy where they come from according to what Rosetta had told me.   Coming down here to get her father’s possessions would have given me my first opportunity to meet Vittorio, however he wasn’t contactable.   We had no idea where he was, so we came out to the farm yesterday in the hope that we would catch up on him, but no such luck.   We simply came out here today to collect what we could find and fit in the car.   However, luck was with us this time, or at least it was for a short while; we got the chance to meet Vittorio, but then … .”

“I don’t suppose that any of you saw who did it?” The inspector asked

“No … not exactly.”  Harvey said as he once again took over the inspector’s enquiries.  “It was done by somebody standing just inside the entrance to the barn.   I think we all spun around at the sound of the shot and we caught a glimpse of someone running out of the door.   However, the background light made it impossible for us to see anything clearly.   We tried to give chase, but unfortunately he had too much of a head start on us.  The figure that I did eventually see disappearing over the rise near the end of the barn appeared to be a short, tubby fellow, ran with a slight limp, and was dressed in a business suit, Harrods by the cut of it… had a small scar down the nape of his neck, or perhaps it was a tattoo…..oh, one more thing, he was wearing some expensive looking silver jewellery on his left hand.  I have no idea if he was alone or not; simply couldn’t see much more from here, but by the sound of his car it wasn’t a local.  Sounded big and expensive, definitely eight cylinder, probably a limousine … most likely a Daimler, though it was more than likely a couple of years old and in the need of a service – I could hear a slight pinging in third gear.   But of course, I must emphasise that the person I described might not have been the one we had seen running out of the barn.  There was no way possible that we could describe that person … the sun was far too bright for our eyes to take in.”

Joseph looked inquisitively at Harvey.  ‘So much for the country hick intellect’, he thought to himself.

“Daimler limousine, eh, I’ll have the boys keep a look out for it.  It’s good thing that you were here at the time, Harvey.   Not many would have been that observant.”

The Inspector noticed the incredulous look on the faces of Joseph, Mary and Martin to Harvey’s description of events and felt it necessary to give credence to Harvey’s observations.

“Harvey has a remarkable gift for observation and interpretation of what he sees and hears.  If only most people in the city had his capability, the crime rate would be almost zero and all criminals would be behind bars.  Thank you, Harvey.”

“Quite a neat party trick, Harvey.” Joseph remarked, while his mind raced over the events that had preceded this conversation, and he wondered what would now be brought to the fore considering the questions that had been asked of Harvey by himself and his little group, and the information that Vittorio had provided to them all.   Joseph did not feel the need to involve the police in their search for the missing statue, but he may not have the chance to object.  All that the three of them, he, Martin and Mary, could do was to keep as quiet as they could and play the cards as they were dealt.  It was all up to Harvey now … and perhaps Mary.

“Now this fellow, the one that was shot, Vittorio.  I have been looking for him to ask him a few questions about the strange things that have been happening out here.  Did he say anything?”  Inspector O’Relly asked.

“Vittorio.  Why no,” Harvey replied to Joseph’s great relief,  “He had been mystified about the events himself.   Something had happened to him that night that had caused some memory loss.   He was not a well man and we dared not attempt to force his mind into a complete breakdown.   Perhaps he will be more lucid after a rest in the hospital.   Perhaps he may have the answers you require then, but at the moment I am not sure that he knows which side is up.”

“Yes, you are quite right.  That was my intention, which is why I had my constable despatching the ambulance as soon as he had confirmed that Vittorio was still alive.  If there is nothing more that you can tell me … then you all can go about your business.  I will arrange to have a policeman stay with him at the hospital until he recovers enough for me to interview him.”

The Inspector was pleased at this change of events.   Now he felt confident that he might be able to clear up some of the things that had been bothering him, and with a bit of luck, he felt that he might not have to call in the boys from the city after all.  All he had to do was locate a short, roly-poly man driving a Damlier.   Shouldn’t be hard to track down in this village.   Every second house in the village would have at least one window watcher.   They would have seen it.   And he felt if Harvey’s story was correct, then these people had nothing to answer to: the less that he had to do with city people the better that he liked it.   He started walking back towards his car when he remembered something and turned back; the movement causing the trio’s collective hearts to rise to their mouths.  All for differing reasons, but all frightened that their truths were about to be found out.

“Almost forgot my constable.”  The inspector called out with an embarrassed grin on his face as he continued to walk past them towards the barn door,  “He’s still waiting for me to catch up with him in the barn.”   Then suddenly he stopped and turned back towards them.   “Oh, and that reminds me. I will need to get a statement from you all later.  Will you be in the village for a while?”

Individually, and inwardly, Joseph, Martin and Mary softly breathed a sigh of relief at the insignificance of the question and hoped that their faces did not betray them.  They agreed that they would be and gave him their respective room numbers at the hotel, which he wrote down in a small notebook – then quickly walked into the barn, emerging a minute later with the constable and with a final wave of his hand, got into the police car and departed the farm.

*********

“Well, I am not too sure about our chief of police.”   Harvey spoke softly as Inspector O’Reilly opened the door to the passenger side of the police car and hopped inside.  “I have never seen him act this way before.  He has been known to become a little hot headed when playing bowls on the village green in the weekly comp and having a bad day, but never rude like that as a rule.  It was as if he trying to deliberately goad you three.  I thought you handled him pretty well, though.  You certainly calmed him down some.”

“I am afraid that your inspector has become too settled down in the village way of life.”  Joseph replied.   He has lost contact with real crime and it worries him because that is what he now finds himself facing.   He is also worried that the authorities will send troops down from London and is frightened that it will reduce his standing in the community if somebody else is in charge.   It will certainly disturb the tranquility of the village regardless of who is investigating, but he feels that he can keep panic and suspicion levels down to a tolerable level.  I don’t know if he is going to achieve anything, but he feels that the Daimler and its driver may be the answer to his problem, and he is certain he knows how to track it down; local resources of which he is very familiar.  It will take him some time to get all his detective facilities back into overdrive, but until he finds the Daimler he will be hesitant to report the matter at hand to his superiors.   Once he does begin to retrieve the knowledge he needs to remember, there will be every chance that he will make our life a lot more uncomfortable, so we better get cracking and solve the mystery of the missing statue before he stars cracking the whip in our direction.

All three of his companions looked at Joseph, but it was Mary that spoke.   ‘What do you mean, Joseph? she asked.   “How would you know that?”

Joseph looked at her and grinned.  “I was eavesdropping” was all he said, leaving Mary’s mouth wide open, but speechless, and as the inspector’s car disappeared around the side of  the barn Joseph turned to speak to Harvey. “Well you certainly come with many surprises.  I would have sworn that you would have been dying to tell the inspector about the things that Vittorio had talked about.”

Harvey grinned as he replied.  “Sorry if I bunged on the country thing a bit thick. I am from here.  Born and bred on my father’s farm about a mile from here.  But around ten years ago, after finishing university, I joined the army – Special Intelligence Investigation Section.  Actually, I didn’t apply for the position, I was offered it.  When I started high school they discovered that I had a much higher intelligence level than anybody had previously realised.   I got special treatment, and an early entry into university, courtesy of the army.   As a trade off, I had to spend several years paying back my fees by working for them.

Loved the job … it took me right around the world.  I saw many things that the average person would rarely hear about, far less see.  Had some amazing investigations involving things I may never be able to talk about.  Top secret things.   Sometimes I saw too much, and it turned my stomach, so eventually I retired, and returned back here to where things were a lot more relaxed and saner.  Though, mind you, I am still on call should they need my special services.   Probably forever, I should imagine.”

“Surely you can share a few juicy antidotes with your new friends, Harvey.”  Martin asked with a huge, hopeful, grin on his face,  “Something to whet the appetite.   Think of it like a freedom of information request”

“Sorry.  I would have to shoot you after telling you … and the paperwork involved in that  … well the chooks would have a hell of a lot of eggs lying on the ground by the time I finished it.   It would take me a month to clear everything up.”

“Shame,”   Martin conceded, “but I know the feeling.  Please go on with what you were saying about why you kept quiet.”

“As far as what Vittorio told us, let’s just say that I am curious about what you are involved in, but I don’t think that the inspector would exhibit the same tolerance with talks of demons and witches that I do.  He has heard stories over the years, but he prefers to turn a blind eye to it.  Nobody has ever been hurt by their antics as far as anybody knows and, until they do, he doesn’t want to know anything about it.  I, on the other hand, am quite willing to put my hand up should you require my help.”

“Well, thank you, Harvey.   There may be every chance that we will take you up on your offer.   At the moment, however, what we need to do is begin our search.  What happens in the future will rely on this morning’s effort.   But we will certainly utilise your offer and resources if we are unsuccessful because it will mean making contact with anybody in the village that had a connection with Professor Tusacani.

“And there is nothing that I can be of help with before I leave?”

“I don’t think so.  We are not too sure what we are actually looking for, its almost certain to be disguised, but if it is here, we will find it.”

“If you are sure I can’t help – then I must be on my way.    Give me a yell if you need to know anything else about the village.   I’ll give you my number – in fact I will give you a call now and you can save it on your phone.”

“Good idea, old chap … Thank you.   Martin duly gave Harvey the information he required and seconds later he had Harvey’s number on file and Harvey bid them farewell.    However, as he began to leave, Harvey turned around to face them with a huge grin on his face.   “The wife will give me hell when I get home for being away for so long.  But when I tell her about the shooting she will make me king for the day: Juicy bit of gossip, and she’ll be the first to know,” he winked and headed off down the hill in the opposite direction to the inspector and then, like the inspector, he had only travelled about one hundred yards when he turned around and came back.

   “Forgot my eggs,” he grinned foolishly.  He collected his basket of eggs and as he began to go he stopped for a second and looked at Joseph. “It might not do any harm to talk to your landlord about the witches; they may be more resilient than you would give them credit for.  There is a strong possibility that Vittorio may be correct in his assumption that they will be back … especially if they are under a misguided assumption regarding the power that they are trying to summon.   I think that the drawings on the wall, and the artifacts in the hallway, were put there by two different groups, but they were probably done for much the same reason – to protect the village from the devil that somebody thinks is coming.  However, from what Vittorio said, their protection won’t have any effect; the witches’ interference, however, just might make a difference to the entity’s invasion.   Think about talking to Willie Jones.  He is a good man and may be able to help answer some questions.  Anyway, must fly.  Take care.”

This time Harvey did not come back, but he did turn his head as he was about halfway down the hill to wave back to the small group who were still watching him as he departed.

Martin, Mary and Joseph began to saunter back to the barn feeling slightly run over by the events that had so far been their lot for the morning.

“Well, it has been an invigorating and interesting morning so far.” Martin observed dryly,   “I can’t help but wonder what happens next.”

“As distasteful as it may seem, I think that we will have to recover the knife along with finding the statue.   If Vittorio’s story is true, then there is only one way to retrieve it.”   Joseph stated quietly.

Martin winced, but Mary did not comprehend the reason for his reaction, “From where?” she asked innocently.

Joseph simply looked at her, shrugged, shook his head, and headed straight back towards the farmhouse.

Mary stared after him before turning to Martin, “Where is he going to find the knife?”

Martin shook his head and followed Joseph into the farmhouse.

“Martin!’  Mary momentarily remained outside the house, feeling rather perplexed at where they were going.  Eventually, she walked in to the house and started to search for them.  She found them almost immediately: Mary felt like screaming as she now realized why they had not replied to her question.   Down on their hands and knees, both Martin and Joseph were using broom handles to try and scrape through the remains of what they now believed to be human beings; and she realised that the blade, if it existed, would be found underneath a pile of decarbonised corpses.