Death Day Page 10

  Again the thoughts came back. Alien thoughts with no answer.

  Mackenzie's sensitivity to light. His eyes (if that was the word). The frenzy which overcame him during night-time. The mutilation of the three victims. Why had the eyes been torn out?

  'Oh Christ.'

  He said it out loud this time, cursing himself as he heard Debbie moan in her sleep. He watched her sleeping form for a moment, worried that he had woken her. When she didn't move he returned to his previous position. Head bowed on his upraised knees.

  'What's wrong, Tom?'

  Her voice startled him and he turned to see her looking up at him.

  'I'm sorry I woke you,' he said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

  'What is it?' she asked, her voice gentle.

  He sighed, 'I can't sleep.'

  She snuggled closer to him and he felt the warmth of her body, naked beneath the sheets. 'What were you thinking about?' she wanted to know.

  'This and that,' he said, smiling wanly.

  'Don't give me that crap,' she said, forcefully, squeezing his hand until he made a cry of mock pain. 'It's this business with Mackenzie isn't it?'

  'Debbie, I've never seen anything like it. He's like a wild animal. But it only seems to be at night. Jesus, I don't know what the hell is going on.'

  'You know that medallion? I was thinking, why don't you take it to an antique dealer? Old Mr Trefoile in the town would be able to date it for you; he might even be able to decipher the inscriptions.'

  Lambert nodded. He was silent for a while, rubbing his eyes. He felt a hand trace its way from the top of his knee to his thigh. Debbie pressed herself closer to him, her hand finally brushing through his pubic hair and closing around his flaccid penis. She looked up at him, surprised.

  'You really are worried,' she said.

  He grinned and she tried to pull her hand away but he held it there, feeling the warmth of her fingers as they stroked, coaxing him to hardness. When he was fully erect, she ran her index finger from the tip of his penis to the testicles, now drawn up tightly with excitement. She cupped them briefly before returning to his swollen shaft. He moaned softly as she closed her hand around him and began rubbing gently. As her movements became more insistent he lay back, thrusting his hips towards the stroking hand. At the same time, he sought the wetness between her legs, his fingers teasing her clitoris before plunging deeper into the oozing cleft of her vagina. She drove herself hard against him, finally pulling him onto her, his hard organ sliding easily into her.

  A moment later they climaxed savagely and clung to one another long after the sensations had died away. He rolled off and lay on his back, both of them panting. She leant across and kissed him, eventually falling asleep with her head on his chest. He stroked her hair with his hand, feeling its soft silkiness beneath his fingers.

  He returned to staring at the ceiling, wishing that sleep would come, but the hands of the clock pointed to four-fifteen before he finally drifted off into peaceful oblivion.

  * * *

  Kirby stood up as Lambert entered the room. He had been sitting on a chair next to the cell bed on which Mackenzie lay. Mackenzie was still, his eyes closed, arms by his sides. Sunlight streamed in through the small window in the wall of the cell. Constable Ferman was also in the room, standing at the far end of the bed and looking down at the body of Mackenzie, who was now securely tied down with thick bands of hemp.

  'Morning, Tom,' said Kirby.

  The inspector nodded a greeting and looked down at the immobile figure of Mackenzie.

  'What happened?' he asked in awe.

  Kirby motioned to Ferman and the constable coughed, clearing his throat as if he were about to make a public address.

  'Well sir,' he began, 'I was sitting out there this morning, listening to all the din going on in here and, well, about five o'clock everything went quiet. I looked through the viewing slot and Mackenzie was lying on the floor.'

  'Dawn was at five o'clock,' Kirby clarified.

  'I waited for about fifteen minutes,' continued Ferman. 'He didn't move, so I came in, put him on the bed and tied him down again.'

  'The light,' said Lambert.

  Kirby nodded. 'The darkness triggers him off, the light shuts him down. This man is like a light sensitive machine, only, if you'll forgive the flippancy, his mechanism is working in reverse. He comes alive during the darkness and…' he shrugged, 'switches off during the daylight.' Lambert looked down at Mackenzie's body, his mouth almost dropping open in awe.

  'His vital signs are practically nil,' said Kirby. 'The heart has slowed to less than forty beats a minute, the pulse and blood pressure are so faint I could hardly get readings. He's in a torpor.'

  'What the hell is that?' snapped Lambert.

  'Coma if you like.'

  'What do we do?'

  'I wish I knew.'

  'You're a doctor for Christ's sake, John; you must have some ideas.'

  'Look. During the night, he's fine.'

  Lambert cut him short. 'Fine? He's a psycho during the bloody night.'

  Kirby waved away the policeman's protests.

  'What I meant was, his life signs are all in order. There's nothing wrong with him bodily.'

  'Apart from the fact that he's a maniac with the strength of ten men,' said Lambert, his voice heavy with scorn.

  There was an awkward silence then Kirby spoke again.

  'I think the problem is in his brain, not his body. It's psychosis of some sort, but we don't know why it's triggered by darkness.'

  'This is getting us nowhere,' said Lambert impatiently. 'I want to know what we have to do. This is going to happen again tonight, right? I want an answer quick, John. I'm asking you for a medical answer to this problem. And keep it simple.'

  'You've got a number of alternatives, Tom. I either pump him full of Thorazine now and we wait and see if it keeps him out during the night, we keep him locked in here until someone qualified can look at him, or…' He hesitated.

  'Or what?' Lambert demanded.

  'We give him an E.E.G.'

  Lambert looked puzzled.

  'It's an Electroencephalogram. It tests brain waves.'

  'I know what it does,' snapped Lambert, 'I don't see how it would help.'

  'It might tell us why the darkness triggers off this savagery at night, why he's terrified of light. That's my last theory.'

  The policeman nodded. 'Where would it be done?'

  'There's a unit in the hospital in Wellham, about twenty miles from here. I know the specialist in charge of it. If I get in touch with him now, we could have this done before nightfall.'

  'Do it,' said Lambert and Kirby scuttled out of the room.

  The Inspector looked down at the body of Mackenzie and then at the wrecked cell.

  Ferman coughed. 'What if it doesn't work, sir?' he asked tentatively.

  Lambert looked at him for a moment, searching for an answer, then turned and walked out.

  * * *

  Lambert felt the need to shield his eyes, even though he stood behind a screen of tinted glass. The light inside the examination room was blinding, pouring down from four huge fluorescent banks.

  Mackenzie was strapped to a trolley in the centre of the room and, as the policeman watched, two men dressed in white overalls undid the straps and lifted him onto a table. They hurriedly secured him again and one of them, a tall man with blond hair, pulled each of them to ensure they were tight enough. The man turned towards the glass partition behind which stood Lambert, Kirby and Dr Stephen Morgan. The man raised a thumb and Morgan nodded.

  He was in his forties. What people like to refer to as 'well-preserved,' for he looked barely older than thirty. He had a carefully groomed moustache which seemed as though it had lost its growing strength when it reached the corners of his mouth and drooped downwards. His blue eyes were obscured somewhat by thin tinted glasses which he removed and began polishing with a handy tissue.

  Lambert looked back into the exa
mination room. Mackenzie was now lying, apparently unconscious, on a hinged couch which could be adjusted by a large screw on the side and, as he watched, the intern with the blond hair twisted it so that Mackenzie was propped up slightly. His mouth opened briefly, as if he were going to protest, then it closed tightly. A tiny dribble of yellowish saliva escaped and ran down his chin.

  A nurse dressed in a white smock entered from a door which led off to the right. She paused beside the couch, looking briefly at Mackenzie, then she looked at Morgan. He jabbed a finger towards a trolley which stood beside the couch. The nurse reached for a swab and dipped it into a kidney dish full of clear liquid. She dabbed it carefully onto five places on the top of Mackenzie's head.

  'What's that?' asked Lambert, fascinated by the ritual which was taking place before him.

  'Conductant,' explained Morgan.

  The Inspector nodded abstractedly and continued to watch the preparations. Next, the nurse attached five electrodes to the places where she had applied the swab. She looked at Morgan who swiftly checked his readout. The machine which he stood beside looked, to Lambert, rather like a computer. It had a long length of thin paper running through it and, across this, lay a metal arm which would translate into visual terms, by means of lines, the brain waves received from Mackenzie. Lambert almost laughed. It reminded him of a he detector he had once seen on an American crime film.

  Morgan flicked a switch and a red light came on, signalling that the machine was ready for operation. He raised his hand and the nurse and both interns retreated from the room. A second later they joined Lambert and the others in the observation area.

  Morgan flicked another switch.

  'We'll test the motor impulses first,' he said.

  'I thought the machine usually recorded all the waves at once,' said Kirby.

  'Most of them do,' Morgan told him. 'This modification, testing each centre of the brain individually, makes it easier to pin down the trouble and it makes things a damn sight easier for me.'

  He pressed the green button and the machine whirred into life.

  'Here goes,' muttered Morgan.

  Lambert didn't know where to look. His eyes flitted back and forth, from Mackenzie to the machine, from machine to Mackenzie. Morgan stood over the readout, a deep furrow creasing his brow. He readjusted his glasses, as if that act would somehow rectify what he was seeing.

  'There's no movement at all,' he said, softly. The arm on the paper was immobile, the tiny piece of graphite it held was stationary. Just one continual black line drawn on the paper, unbroken and unwavering. No loops, no zigzags. Nothing.

  'There's no brain impulses at all,' said Morgan, scarcely believing what he saw.

  'Perhaps the machine is acting up,' said Lambert hopefully.

  Morgan shook his head. He turned to the blond intern, Peter Brooks. 'Turn off the lights.' Brooks slapped a switch and, immediately, the examination room was plunged into darkness. Two huge shutters had been put up at the vast plate glass windows which looked into the room and not a single chink of light infiltrated the blackness.

  'Christ,' whispered Morgan, watching as the needle swung back and forth with a ferocity which threatened to tear it loose. It drew parabolas, pyramids, all with vast savage strokes.

  'Lights,' snapped Morgan and, once more, the examination room was filled with blinding white light.

  The needle on the readout stopped swinging and settled back into its unerring parallel course, never deviating from the straight line it drew.

  'That's incredible,' muttered Morgan.

  'You see what we mean about the light?' said Kirby. 'In bright light he's dormant, but in darkness he goes crazy.'

  Morgan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He looked down at the readout and then across at the still form of Mackenzie. He'd never seen anything like this before and the discovery sent a thrill of excitement through him. He told Brooks to turn off the lights once more.

  It happened again. The needle swung crazily back and forth across the readout sheet, never settling into a pattern, just looping and tearing up and down.

  Lambert looked worriedly at Kirby. He had noticed that Mackenzie had moved his right hand, was flexing the fingers.

  'Put the lights back on,' he snapped.

  Brooks hesitated.

  'No, wait,' said Morgan, fascinated by the course the needle was taking. So intent on watching it was he, that he didn't notice Mackenzie raise his head and look up.

  The nurse stifled a scream as she saw the twin red orbs which had once been eyes, staring at her through the darkness.

  Lambert now crossed to the light switch, seeing that Mackenzie was straining against the straps. With a loud crack, one of them securing his arms broke and he began tearing at the broad one which covered his chest and pinned him to the couch.

  Morgan looked into the examination room, horrified as he watched Mackenzie breaking free.

  Lambert pressed the light switch.

  Nothing happened.

  Frantic, he pressed it again. Jesus Christ, he thought, what's happened to the fucking lights?

  Mackenzie was sitting up now, tearing at the strap which was fastened across his thighs. Another few moments and he would be free.

  Lambert slapped the switch frenziedly. For a brief second he thought they were going to work. All four powerful banks flashed with brilliant white light and Mackenzie screamed as the brightness scorched his blazing red eyes. But then, one by one, the tubes blew, exploding in a shower of hot glass, their ends glowing red as they died. Smoke rose from them in silvery wisps.

  The darkness was total.

  With a last desperate surge of strength, Mackenzie tore free of the final strap and swung himself off the couch. The nurse screamed.

  Brooks reached for the door which connected the examination room with the observation booth.

  'Get some light in there,' screamed Lambert, following him.

  The Inspector stood no more than three feet from Mackenzie, staring into those bottomless red eyes, riveted by the obscene thing before him. Then Mackenzie leapt.

  Lambert, with a speed born of fear, threw himself to one side and avoided the rush. Mackenzie crashed into a surgical trolley but was up in an instant and grabbing for the policeman once more.

  'The shutters,' screamed Lambert, 'open the shutters!'

  Mackenzie was upon him, powerful hands grasping for his throat, forcing him back over the couch. Lambert smelt the fetid breath in his face, disgusted as the yellow spittle dripped onto him. He struck out, his fist slamming into Mackenzie's forehead. The grip slackened momentarily and Lambert brought his knee up into the man's stomach.

  Brooks, meantime, was struggling to tear down the shutters. A chink of light lanced through the blackness and he almost laughed. Another second and the room would be flooded with light. The intern tore at the catches, pulling one of the shutters wide.

  Sunlight flooded the room and Lambert suddenly felt the grip on his throat removed as Mackenzie screamed and raised both hands to shield his eyes. The Inspector rolled clear, searching for something to fight back with. It was scarcely necessary. Mackenzie turned towards the window, his red eyes narrowed against the light but fixed on Brooks who was in the process of tearing down the second shutter.

  With a roar, Mackenzie ran at Brooks, launching himself at the intern.

  He crashed into his prey with the force of a steam train, hurling him backward.

  The nurse screamed as both men hit the window.

  The glass exploded outward, huge shards flying into the air as Mackenzie and Brooks crashed through the window. They seemed to hang in the air for a second before plummeting the twelve storeys to the ground below.

  Lambert scrambled to his feet, hearing the sickening thump as both men hit the ground. Cool air blew in through the broken window and, being careful to avoid the pieces of shattered glass, the Inspector leaned over the sill.

  A hundred feet below him, still locked together, lay the bodies of Mackenzie
and Brooks. Around them, a spreading pool of blood was mingling with fragments of smashed glass.

  'Oh God,' groaned Lambert, bowing his head.

  The second intern comforted the nurse who was sobbing uncontrollably.

  Kirby and Morgan walked slowly across to the window and also peered down at the smashed bodies.

  No one spoke. What was there to say? Lambert ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply, suddenly aware of the pain in his neck where Mackenzie had attacked him. He touched a fingertip to it and saw a smear of blood when he withdrew it.

  Kirby tilted the policeman's head back and looked at the cut.

  'Just a graze, Tom,' he said.

  Lambert nodded.

  'I don't know what to say,' murmured Morgan. 'I've never seen anything like it. No brainwaves.'

  Lambert stood up. 'Is that all that bothers you? Two men have just died, for Christ's sake.' He sighed and sat down on the edge of the couch.

  'It would appear our problems are over, Tom,' said Kirby, trying to sound cheerful.

  Lambert regarded him balefully for a second and thought about saying something, but held it back. Kirby was right. He had to admit that. Now the only problem he had was finding Gordon Reece. It seemed petty in comparison to the problems he'd had these last few days. The nurse had stopped crying and the second intern was helping her out of the room. Morgan watched them go.

  The Inspector got to his feet and headed for the door.

  'Where are you going, Tom?' asked Kirby.

  'Back to work,' snapped Lambert and walked out.

  * * *

  Lambert drove back to Medworth alone. He felt as if he needed his own company. He didn't want to talk about what he'd just seen and he drove with both windows open as if the fresh air blowing into the car would cleanse his mind. The smell of damp earth and grass was strong, a welcome contrast to the antiseptic smell of the hospital he had just left. He hated hospitals, always had, ever since he was a child, and what he had just seen had done nothing to change his mind.

  The countryside rushed past him as he drove, perhaps a little faster than he needed. He inhaled, held the breath and then let it out slowly, trying to calm himself down. His foot eased off the accelerator and he glanced at the falling needle of the speedometer. Finally, he slowed to about twenty, swung the car into a layby and shut off the engine.