Slugs Page 8

  ‘What’s it doing?’ asked Kim, shuddering.

  ‘Well, with ordinary slugs, the secretion of bodily mucus is used as a defence mechanism as well as a means of locomotion,’ Foley explained. ‘If a bird tried to eat it, for instance, the slug would secrete more slime which would cause the bird to drop it. The mucus contains an irritant.’ He paused. ‘That’s what happens with ordinary slugs, I’m just assuming that the same rules apply to these things.’ He peered closer, still keeping a firm grip on the black creature. ‘You see, when a slug moves it isn’t actually in contact with the surface it’s on. I know that sounds illogical but what I mean is, it lays down the mucus as a kind of "carpet" if you like, between it and whatever it’s travelling on. It’s the same with snails. Someone did an experiment with one once, they let it crawl across the edge of a razor blade but it wasn’t harmed because the slime acted as a cushion.’

  ‘How do they feed?’ asked Brady.

  ‘The mouth is on the bottom,’ Foley told him. ‘There’s three or four rows of teeth which it uses to grind up its food.’

  ‘Which is?’ the Health Inspector asked, apprehensively.

  Foley shrugged. ‘Green-stuff mainly. Lettuces, cabbages. Anything they can find in a garden. They’re pests, any gardener will tell you that.’

  There was a long pause, the silence finally broken by Brady.

  ‘Do any of them eat meat?’ he said, quietly.

  Foley laughed, softly. ‘Not that I know of. There are one or two species that eat earthworms and other insects but…’ He let the sentence trail off, his tone darkening. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Brady swallowed hard. ‘Look, I know this is going to sound crazy but could these slugs,’ he motioned to the large creatures in the jar, ‘kill a man?’

  Both Foley and Kim looked at him, aghast.

  The young curator smiled. ‘That’s hardly likely, Mr Brady’.

  The Health Inspector’s tone hardened. ‘One of them nearly took a chunk out of my bloody finger. Now that’s pretty unusual wouldn’t you say?’

  Foley nodded.

  Brady continued.

  ‘So there might be other unusual characteristics about them too.’

  ‘Like being able to kill a man?’ There was the tiniest trace of cynicism in the curator’s voice.

  ‘Is it possible?’ the Health Inspector persisted.

  ‘Even if it were, there would have to be hundreds of them.’ The young curator quickly qualified his words. ‘All the same I’d say it was,’ he paused, struggling to find the word, ‘unthinkable.’

  Kim looked at her husband as if he were a stranger. ‘Why do you need to know that, Mike?’ she asked.

  The Health Inspector was looking at the slug in the tray, still pinned beneath Foley’s tweezers.

  ‘A man was found dead two days ago,’ he said, softly. ‘Ron Bell. He lived in that big house near the new estate.’

  Foley nodded.

  Brady continued. ‘His body looked as though it had decomposed it was…well it looked as though it had rotted. There was no flesh left on him but there was lots of blood in the room where we found him. Now, for a corpse to be in the state he was in, it would have taken months before that amount of tissue deterioration took place and besides that, there wouldn’t have been so much blood.’

  Kim paled. Foley wrinkled his brow as he listened.

  ‘But, the thing is, all over the remains and all over the room was that slime.’ He pointed to the thick, transparent mucus which the slug was exuding. ‘And I’ve seen it again since then. When I was inspecting some new houses I found slime trails on the floor and walls.’ He told them about Mrs Fortune’s drains. ‘I saw slime trails in the sewer too.’

  Foley nodded. ‘That makes sense. Slugs prefer a damp environment.’

  Brady nodded, distractedly and the curator looked at him, not quite sure how he should react to what he’d just heard.

  ‘What are you trying to say, Mr Brady?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m trying to say, I’m just telling you what I’ve seen.’ He sucked in a worried breath. ‘And now, on top of that, I find dozens of slugs, bigger than anyone has ever seen before, in my garden. When I pick one up, it tries to bite me.’

  Foley stroked his chin thoughtfully and watched the slug in the tray, slithering about in its own slime.

  ‘So you think that old man was eaten by these slugs?’ he said.

  ‘I think it’s a distinct possibility. I want to know what you think,’ Brady insisted.

  The younger man didn’t speak.

  ‘Could these slugs kill a man?’ asked the Health Inspector again.

  Foley inhaled slowly. ‘Like I said, there would have to be hundreds of them.’

  Brady pressed him, the vision of Ron Bell’s remains burning brightly in his mind’s eye. ‘I’m asking you for the last time.’ His voice had taken on a sharp edge. ‘Could they have killed Ron Bell?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Foley, flatly, his attention now riveted to the slug. He finally turned to face the couple. ‘Look, I’ll take a look at these slugs, examine them, run some tests on them, do a bit of research. I’ll find out all I can about them.’ His tone had darkened. ‘Give me a day or two.’

  Brady nodded.

  ‘Where can I reach you?’ the curator wanted to know.

  The Health Inspector pulled a nearby pad towards him and scribbled down their address and phone number, then beneath that he wrote down his office number. Foley scanned it once and nodded.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

  Brady extended his right hand and the young curator shook it.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Brady and they turned to leave. Foley watched them, listening as their footsteps receded away down the stairs. He sat there for long moments then turned his attention back to the slug in the tray. It was still slithering about in its own slime and had crawled as far as the lip. The curator knocked it back into the tray but, instead of withdrawing its eye stalks like any other slug or snail, it immediately began its journey to the side of the tray again. Foley glanced across at the jar beside him and saw that the other two slugs were clinging stubbornly to the top of it. It was as if the trio of black creatures were anxious to be together again. He pushed the jar closer to the plastic tray and watched, mesmerised, as the freed slug slithered over the lip and onto the glass of the jar. It crawled up the smooth side until it was level with its companions. The curator shook his head, then, taking his tweezers, he plucked the beast from the side of the jar and dropped it into a beaker. Over this he placed a piece of asbestos, normally used in conjunction with a bunsen burner. Then, he got to his feet and passed through a door on his right.

  It led into a part of the museum which boasted ‘live exhibits’. He flicked the light switches and the powerful banks of fluorescents burst into life. The naturalist walked swiftly towards the thing he wanted, passing half a dozen fish tanks and a vivarium which contained a grass snake. There was also a large tank housing three or four frogs. But it was the tank at the end of the gallery to which Foley was heading. He paused before it, running a swift eye over the inhabitants.

  Pond snails.

  A number were feeding on the many plants in the aquarium but a large number were clinging to the glass. Foley looked at them, selecting the largest specimens, one of which was the size of a child’s fist. Then carefully, he reached into the murky water and plucked the largest animal from its position on the side of the tank. The creature immediately retracted into its shell as Foley tugged it free but, ignoring the water which ran over his hand, dripping on the polished floor, he turned and made his way back to the laboratory. For some reason, as he deposited the pond snail in the tray vacated by the slug, he felt a thin film of perspiration cover his forehead and he was surprised to find that his hand was shaking when he lifted the lid from the beaker.

  He seized the slug in his tweezers and held it for a moment, gripping it at the head end just in case it decided to have a go at him as it
had at Brady.

  The pond snail had emerged from its shell by now and was slithering slowly about in the bottom of the tray.

  Foley gently lowered the slug in beside it. He pulled up a stool and seated himself beside the work top, a pencil gripped in one hand, poised over the pad before him. Quite what he expected to happen he wasn’t sure but what did happen both shocked and revolted him.

  With almost unnatural speed, the large slug slid across to the pond snail and fastened its jaws firmly into the gastropod’s head. The slug held firm, its large central tooth anchoring it to its unfortunate victim. The snail tried to withdraw into its shell but was pinned down by the weight and grip of the slug which set to work on it with the numerous rows of radular teeth. Then with one powerful movement, it tore the snail in half, wrenching its soft body from the confines of the shell.

  ‘My God,’ gasped Foley, softly, hastily scribbling notes. He watched in awed revulsion as the slug proceeded to devour the remains of the pond snail.

  In fact, so intent was he on watching the scene of slaughter before him, he forgot all about the other two slugs in the jar, one of which had succeeded in slithering over the lip and was in the process of heaving its form over the glass of the exterior.

  Foley had forgotten to screw the lid on.

  He watched the slug in the tray finish off the snail, shaking his head as he scribbled more notes.

  The second black creature was half way down the jar by now, its posterior tentacles waving silently.

  The slug in the tray now turned towards the curator and he reached for his tweezers once more, ready to drop it back into the beaker.

  The second slug was actually on the implement when he picked it up.

  With a shout of fear and surprise, Foley dropped the tweezers, the slug falling to the floor with them. He stepped away from the creature as if it were going to leap at him. A quick glance at the one in the tray told him he was going to be forced to act fast. The first slug was slithering over the lip of the tray, leaving its thick trail behind as it gained a grip on the work top. The second was moving towards him. Foley couldn’t believe what was happening.

  The slug was actually coming after him.

  He knelt, retrieved the tweezers and seized the second slug in a powerful grip. With disgust, he hurled it back into the jar with its companion then he turned to deal with the first of the black monstrosities. This time his lunge with the tweezers was clumsy and he snipped off one of the eye stalks.

  The creature immediately contracted, slime oozing from its thick body, dark blood running from the severed tentacle. It remained still for a second then, to Foley’s horror, it turned towards the metal implement which hovered over its head. The second eye stalk waved around accusingly until Foley, in a fit of anger, snipped that off too. This time the slug did stop, trying to curl up into a ball to protect itself. The naturalist picked it up in the tweezers and dropped it into the beaker, replacing the asbestos mat in position on top of it. Then, he reached into a nearby drawer and took out some adhesive tape which he used to fasten the mat in place. Satisfied that it was secure he sat back on his stool.

  The beaker was small, the air supply limited and Foley estimated that it would take less than an hour before the creature suffocated. He screwed the top securely onto the jar which held the two other slugs then he pulled off his rubber gloves and tossed them onto the work top. He crossed to one of the sinks and washed his hands. He was still shaking slightly and, as he dried his hands, he watched the black creatures sliding about inside their glass prisons. He would wait until the one in the beaker was dead and then run some tests on it, perhaps open it up and see exactly what he was dealing with. He decided to go and check the library, to see what he could find out about slugs in general. He folded the towel and draped it over the rail then he headed for the door but, as he reached it he paused and Brady’s words came drifting back to him through a haze of uncertainty.

  ‘Could these slugs kill a man?’

  Foley closed the lab door and, after a moment’s hesitation, he locked it behind him.

  Brady and Kim drove from the museum in silence, Kim in particular was disturbed by what she’d heard. She studied her husband’s profile for a moment longer then said, tentatively:

  ‘Mike.’

  He glanced at her.

  ‘What you said about Ron Bell being killed by slugs. Do you really believe that’s what happened?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to believe.’

  ‘What did the police report say?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘There’s been no police report. They’re still waiting for the coroner’s verdict.’

  She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. ‘But slugs don’t attack people.’

  ‘That one had a pretty good go at my finger,’ he snapped.

  He swung the car off the side-road, guiding it towards the town centre and Kim asked him what he was doing.

  ‘There’s something I’ve got to get, he told her, his tone softening slightly as he felt her hand on his thigh. He looked across and managed a thin smile and she realized just how worried he really was. He guided the Vauxhall through the heavy traffic in the centre of town and was lucky to find a parking space in the main street. He switched off the engine and took out the keys.

  ‘Fancy a walk?’ he asked her and she nodded, clambering out. The inside of Haworth’s Garden Suppliers was hot and sticky and Kim found it difficult to breathe. It was a small shop but its shelves were crammed with every kind of gardening aid and the floor was littered with lawn-mowers, rakes, hoes and all manner of other equipment. Their shoes beat out a hollow tattoo on the wooden floor as they walked in and a high pitched buzzing broke the silence as Brady opened the door. Immediately a little man with greying hair and a thin moustache appeared from behind the counter. He was wearing a grey overall and had a pipe protruding from one corner of his mouth. It had long since gone out but he either hadn’t noticed or just hadn’t bothered to relight it. He spoke without removing it, the bowl bouncing up and down like a rampant metronome.

  ‘Ted Haworth,’ he announced, grinning broadly. ‘Welcome to my little emporium, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Slugs,’ said Brady. ‘I want something to kill them.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think you wanted something to feed them with,’ said Haworth, grinning at his own quip. He looked at his two customers waiting for them to smile which they did out of politeness. Kim raised an eyebrow and Brady nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Haworth scuttled round to their side of the counter, crossing to the shelves which held all manner of bottles and jars.

  ‘Having trouble with the little buggers are you?’ he said, gaily.

  ‘You could say that,’ said Brady. ‘What’s the strongest repellent you’ve got?’

  ‘Now,’ said the little man, pausing momentarily. ‘Do you want something to kill them or something to just shift them to some other poor devil’s garden?’ He laughed again.

  ‘I want something to kill them,’ Brady told him.

  Haworth nodded and reached for a bottle of brown liquid. He plonked it on the counter. Brady read the label. ‘Slug-it’. He nodded. ‘Anything else?’

  The shop owner produced a green can which had ‘Slug Pellets’ written on it. He crossed back to his own side of the counter.

  ‘I’ll take them both,’ said Brady, fumbling in his pocket for some money.

  ‘You really have got problems with them, haven’t you?’ said Haworth, smiling. He dropped the two items into a bag and handed them to Brady along with his change.

  ‘There’s full instructions on each container,’ he added. ‘I had trouble with the little devils one year. They ate me out of house and home. Ruined my crop of vegetables.’ He smiled at Kim who tried to look interested.

  Brady turned and headed for the door. ‘Thanks for your help,’ he said, opening it for Kim to pass through.

  ‘They’ll get rid of the little sods,’ said Haworth, grinning.r />
  Brady nodded. ‘I hope so,’ he said, cryptically.

  It was late afternoon when they finally got home and clouds of tiny flies hovered around Brady as he scattered slug pellets and poison over the ground. Even as he did so he could see a number of the larger slugs slithering about on the dark earth, apparently oblivious to his efforts but he felt a strange kind of pleasure knowing he was sowing the seeds of death for these black monsters. The slug pellets, according to the instructions on the tin, were consumed by the animals and worked almost immediately. There was something in them which attracted the slugs to them. The poison was intended to kill on contact.

  Kim watched him from the back door, the clouds of midges swirling around in the afternoon air like flies round a rotted carcass.

  When his task was completed, Brady stood back.

  ‘Right you bastards,’ he said. ‘Come and get it’. He turned and headed back to the house, telling Kim that he’d check on the results next morning.

  As the Health Inspector trudged back up the garden a huge black slug, fully eight inches long, slithered up onto a piece of rock. Its eye stalks moved slowly back and forth, almost mockingly.

  As if it were watching Brady.

  Thirteen

  Kath Green picked up the small watering can and poured some of the clear liquid into the pot where the spider plant was growing. The plant was increasing at a tremendous rate and its leaves draped over the side of the pot like some kind of frozen green overflow. Kath smiled to herself and passed to the next pot where she was nurturing a bizzie-lizzie. It had just started to flower, as had a number of the other plants and a heady aroma filled the air of the outhouse.

  Playing contentedly on the tiled floor of the conservatory was Kath’s two-year-old daughter, Amanda, who was having difficulty dressing one of her dolls. Finally, when she couldn’t get its coat on by conventional means, she pulled the arm off in order to ensure an adequate fit. Satisfied with her efforts, she smiled happily to herself and sat the doll down beside a couple of teddy bears and a bendy model of Kermit the frog. Amanda wiped her hands on her dungarees and clambered to her feet, wandering across towards her mother who was busy watering another of her plants. She tugged on Kath’s skirt and the woman looked down.