Necroscope - The Lost Years, Vol II Part 9

'No, nor even a budgie! But what are you thinking? Please believe me that-'

'-I'm trying to believe you, B.J. But no more red herrings, accidental or otherwise, OK?'

'No, of course not. But about last night... was I really followed? By you?'

'By ... s omeone.' he to ld her. 'But it just happened that I was following him. It was quite accidental, I a.s.sure you. No one is investigating you. Well, not the police, anyway.'

'Who, then?' she said. 'I mean, if you were following him ... does that mean you know him?'

'No,' he lied (for old McGowan's sake. He'd known him for years and had to give him the benefit of the doubt... for now, anyway). 'But you might be able to help me. I have a picture of our suspect If you can identify him as your watcher, I'm sure I can trace him again, maybe even tie him to the murder at Sma'

Auchterbecky.' Then, too, it would be up to McGowan to explain what he was doing watching B.J., her place, and her girls. And doing it since a time before the attack on Margaret Macdowell.

On her end of the line, B J. saw it as another chance to throw a spanner in this Ferenczy sc.u.m's works, get him off her back. 'A picture?' she said. 'A photograph?

Any time you like, Inspector. Ill be only too pleased to identify him, if I can.'

'Good!' lanson told her. 'Lef s do it now, then. I can be there in half an hour.'

'Very well, 111 be expecting you.'

'And BJ.?'

'Yes?'

'Don't worry. You can be pretty sure that this isn't someone acting on behalf of your Harry's wife.'

No, indeed...

Three of B J.'s girls were there. Along with Bonnie Jean herself, they corroborated what lanson had hoped not to discover, that McGowan - or someone who looked just like him - was the watcher who had been plaguing their lives. And he'd been doing it for a very long time, yes. Now lanson must hope it was simply a case of mistaken ident.i.ty, that the old vet had a double. But quite apart from that, there was this other thing that was weird beyond explanation.

Old Angus's book: the photograph on the dust-jacket. But once again, until all the facts are known, nothing is known...

The publisher was a one-man Edinburgh-based outfit, small potatoes in the vast world of books, that specialized in safaris and travel in remote regions, zoological and ecological topics in general Its offices were in a quiet tree-lined cul-de-sac just outside the city proper towards linlithgow. It had turned out to be o ne of those rare bright and invigorating winter mornings when lanson parked his car outside Greentree Publishing Limited, and was seen into the main office - indeed the only office - by the head of the firm himself, Jeoffrey Greentree. The Inspector had thought that perhaps the firm had been named for its subjects, and had opened by saying as much. And in fact 'Oh, it has, it has!' Mr Greentree told him, beaming. 'It was sheer good fortune that my name fits the subjects too.

Conservation , Inspector. The creatures of the wilds and the woods, and the trees themselves, of course. Green trees, Mother Earth, Gaia! We only use recycled papers, you know? The pages may tend to brown, but the forests stay green. That should be our motto! What can I do for you, sir?'

Beanpole meets bean! lanson thought, but not unkindly. The odd couple!

Jeoffrey Greentree was small and in his sixties, slightly hunched and round-shouldered, soft-voiced and twinkle-eyed. His chin sat forward almost on his chest A bean of a man, yes. But for all that he'd worked with fine print all his life, his eyes were still alert if a little wate ry. His hair was very thin on top, but his mobile, bushy eyebrow s somehow made up for it And Greentree's office was... something else.

lanson had been in solicitors' offices that were far less cluttered. One entire wall looked like a vertical maze of allegedly 'alphabetically arranged' pigeon-hole shelving. Spilling out of the various compartments were dusty packages of letters, old ma.n.u.scripts, contracts, proofs... and photographs. lanson was prompted to refer immediately to the reason for his visit "You can perhaps help me with this,' he said, placing McGowan's94.

95.book on a typically cluttered and dusty desk, and opening it to the back flap that showed old Angus's picture.

'Or if not you yourself, then whoever edited this book for the author, or anyone else who might know something about it It's quite an old book, I know, and it's been in print - and probably out of print - for years, but..."

'Sit down, Inspector, please sit," Greentree waved him to a chair (dusty, and covered with page proofs, of course), took up McGowan's book and sat down behind his desk. 'And what have we here? Ah, yes! It's been some time since I happened upon a first edition - other than my own copy, that is.'

'Definitely a first edition? The whole thing, wrapper and all?'

'Hmm?' Greentree blinked at him questioningly. 'Oh, very definitely, yes. And rare, too! But as I said, I do have my own copy. I keep at least one copy of everything I do. It should be on the shelves there, er, somewhere.1" He waved a hand, and returned to studying the book.

The shelves he referred to covered the wall opposite the maze of doc.u.ments. lanson stood up, went to them, and tried in vain to locate Angus McGowan's name on the spine of any one of nine hundred to a thousand tides. But 'You might have a little difficulty,' Greentree told him. 'People refer to a book, and eventually return it to the shelves... but rarely in the right place. I gave up long ago. Ah, but that doesn't mean I don't know where they are!'

He joined lanson at the bookshelves. 'But you haven't yet told me, Inspector. Just what is it that interests you in Wild Dogs, Big Cats, anyway?' And with a marksman's aim, almost casually, he reached up a surprisingly long arm, and took a duplicate copy from one of the higher shelves. Blowing dust off it he offered it to lanson.

'Oh, the author's a friend of mine,' the Inspector answered absent-mindedly. 'Angus McGowan, I mean.' He returned to the desk and compared this pristine copy with Strachan's. Condition apart they were identical.

'Indeed? Well, I've only met the man twice myself, though I did speak to him on the phone more frequently.

But that was a long time ago. An odd sort of man. I do remember thinking of him, er, that he held his years very well...'

Just why that last statement should hit lanson the way it did wasn't hard to say: it was the very reason he was here. At the same time, however, Mr Greentree might well hav e produced the answer - the very or dinary, commonplace answer - that the Inspector had been seeking to what had become an extraordinary question, if only in his own mind. No mystery here at all, but simply the feet that McGowan 'held his years very well.'

Oh, really? Then why were alarm bells clamouring even now in the back of lanson's mind? "When did you last see him?'

'Why, it must be twenty years ago,' Greentree replied. "We were reprinting his book - this book, yes, which was ten years out of date - and Mr McGowan came in with a new chapter and a handful of revisions. And a request'

'A request?'

Greentree nodded. 'He wanted us to replace his picture on the back flap of the jacket with some extra copy he'd prep ared. That picture, yes.' He pointed to the photographs that the Inspector was comparing. 'It seems he wasn't very enamoured of his features. That's when I noticed that in ten years his looks had scarcely changed at all!

So I suppose he's a lucky fellow - or maybe not. I mean, it probably isn't for me to say, but Mr McGowan isn't a particularly handsome man. But at least he seemed to recognize that fact.'

Old Angus's looks hadn't changed in ten years? lanson felt a shudder run up his spine. Well try the next twenty, my friend, try the next twenty!

And that would make thirty in all!

But Greentree was right for a fact and now that fact came back to t he Inspector more forcefully than ever. He'd known McGowan for three decades - and never seen a change in him! What? (lans on asked himself). Am I blind or something? Or had he, too, been telling himself all along that McGowan 'seemed to hold his years very well?' Familiarity, was that it? The fact that scarcely a week pa.s.sed that they didn't meet for a game of chess or a drink or whatever?

But I have changed, lanson thought I have grown old, and plenty of my colleagues with me. Yet 'old'Angus was old when first we met! Jesus G.o.d in heaven - what's going on here!?

'Something wrong?' Mr Greentree was looking concerned.

'Yes,' said lanson, numbly. 'No... I don't know. But you can be sure I'm going to find out!'

Grimly determined now, he sat down with Greentree at his desk and took up one of the books. And for the sake of clarity - and probably for sanity's sake, too - he said: 'Now I want to be one hundred per cent sure about this. You're certain that this is a first edition?'

'But of course!' Greentree looked mystified. 'I mean, I am the publisher, afte r all! The date is clearly shown on the data page: 1952. Seven years since the war but I was still using the same low-grade paper to satisfy government restrictions. And as I told you, I've been using it ever since.'

'And you published a new edition some ten years later?'

'Exactly ten years later. Would you like to see if % 'Please.' lanson sat and waited while Greentree went back to the bookshelves and returned with much the same book but in the more recent edition that the Inspector remembered seeing at McGowan's pla ce that time. And: This is the edition that doesn't carry his picture, right?'

'Just as I told you,' the other nodded. 'But why not open it and see for yourself?'

lanson did so and checked; there was more copy on the back flap but no picture - 'Because he wanted more s.p.a.ce for copy on the jacket?'

'And because he'd decided that the picture wasn't entirely flattering, as I told you, yes.'

Or maybe (the Inspector told himself, getting to his feet) because he didn't look any older? And he didn't want the - the what? - anomaly, mistake, repeated down the years in case someone should eventually notice? This was cr azy!

'Oh, and one other thing,' Greentree frowned. 'All of this was some time ago, as you'll appreciate - but now it comes back to me.

'What does?'

'Well, the fact tha t Mr McGowan is something of a perfectionist'

'Go on.'

'I do beli eve that he so disliked the earlier book that he bought up a good many copies and destroyed them. Though not for the photograph, I'm sure. No, it could only be that he was dissatisfied with earlier work that he considered incomplete. It's no rare thing; I've heard of several authors doing it. Professional pride or some such...'

That would explain why you haven't seen a copy for such a long time -1 mean, apart from the one o n your shelves?'

'Exactly.' Gr eentree saw the Inspector to die door.

'Mr Greentree,' lanson shook his hand, 'it was very good of you to give of your time like diis-'

'Not at all.'

'-But now I'd like another favour.'

"Well, fire away.'

'Don't mention this to anyone. If things work out, I promise Ffl get back to you. But in the meantime... not a word.'

'Well, it's all very mysterious, but very well. After all, you are a custodian of die law.'

'Indeed,' said lanson, smiling. But his smile was forced. And in die back of his mind he was thinking: A custodian of the law? Yes, and far the last thirty years, of G.o.d only knows what else!

... Or, it had to be a mistake. There had to be an explanation. But with this case - this murder case, lanson must keep reminding 97.Necroscope: The Lost Yean - Vol. II himself- absolutely nothing seemed to be making any sort of sense.

But tonight it would, or it would start to, at least And it would start with Angus McGowan ...

The Inspector had work to do at Police HQ. Nothing connected with this thing, but work nonetheless. It kept him busy until mid-afternoon, when he drove home. Then he called McGowan and waited while the telephone rang and rang. It had always been the same: the little man invariably took his time answering the phone. But eventually: 'Aye?' came his rasping voice.

'Angus, it's George,' lanson told him, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. 'We've a game of chess to finish, as you'll recall. It's half-played out on the board, just waiting for us to pick it up where we left off.

Your move, I think. So, I was wondering: how are you fixed for tonight? Oh, and of course you'll want to bring me up to date on your zoo-quest - that business at Sma' Auchterbecky?'

For a few seconds there was silence, then: 'And Ah expec' yell be wantin' tae fill me in on yere own progress.

Am Ah no right?'

The Inspector tried to imagine himself talking to McGowan face to face, and thus keep the conversation natural. But there was a certain something in the other's voice, a very wary something, that told him it wouldn't be that easy. Perhaps honesty would be the best policy after all. "Well it's true th ere have been one or two interesting developments-' he began.

But when he heard old Angus's dry, rasping chuckle in response -why, he could almost see the little vet grinning like a Cheshire cat' And that familiar chuckle of his, it was so rea.s.suring that lanson found himself wondering where all his doubts had sprung from. 'Developments, is it?' the little vet queried. 'Aye, and much the same at mah end, too. In fact Ah fancy Ah'tn ahead o' the game, George.'

That stopped lanson dead. d.a.m.n the man! He had been investigating on his own, against all the rules, and obviously knew a lot more than he was saying. With which, all of the Inspector's remaining doubts flew right out the window. For this was sly old Angus as usual, playing his word-games and hugging his knowledge tight to his chest like a miser with his h.o.a.rd. This oh-so-clever, irritating little m an, this friend of George lanson's for so long that the acc.u.mulated years couldn't possibly be brushed aside on a mere whim or set of weird circ.u.mstances. But aggravating? Absolutely!

'So, ahead of the game, are you?' he said. "Well you were last night, anyway - or behind it, certainly. And I was right behind you!' It was the Inspector's way : a shock statement like that right out of the blue. But if he had hoped to surprise the other, no such luck.

98.

'Aye, so ye were,' old Angus chuckled again. 'Ah suspected it was yeresel' - even in that nonedescrip' heap o'

old junk ye call a car! But are ye no ashamed o' yeresel'.George? Hidin' in the bushes an a', as if yere old pal was up tae no good!' Then, for good measure, he made tsk, tsk noises so that lanson could picture him shaking his head disapprovingly.

He had to smile. And it was good to smile, for he'd been down in the dumps for some time. But now, almost audibly sighing his relief, he said: "Well, just what were you up to, Angus? If I hadn't recognized your Beetle, I might even have suspected I was following the murderer!'

There came another, longer pause, then McGowan's rasping voice again, its tone more serious than lanson could ever remember hea ring it before. 'Ah, but ye were followin' just such a murderer, George. Ye were!"

'What!'

'Not me - and AMI never forgive ye if that's what ye've been thinkin', even though ye may have had cause! - but the no so wee bonnie la.s.sie hersel'. Aye, Bonnie Jean Mirlu - and her pack!'

lanson's brain whirled. 'An gus, what in the-?'

'Big dogs, George! D'ye no remember?'

'Well of course I remember, but...'

'And what about big b.i.t.c.hes, eh?'

lanson shook his head, for all the world as if he thou ght McGowan could see him. 'b.i.t.c.hes? I'm not with you.' But at the same time he recognized a not so vague connection with ex-constable Strachan's story. And more, he remembered one of McGowan's comments at Sma' Auchterbecky, at the murder scene: about a dog or a b.i.t.c.h of a different colour.

'Not wi1 me, George?' old Angus repeated. 'Are ye no? But ye'd be a d.a.m.n clever policeman if ye were! Or maybe a madman, eh? There's weird here, mah friend, and that's puttin" it mildly. Ah've been gatherin' it for years, and now Ah have it a'! But there's a h.e.l.l o' a lot o' it, and it's no the sort o' stuff a man shid talk about on the telephone.'

'A lot of what, for G.o.d's sake?'

'Evidence, man, hard evidence!'

'Angus, now listen-'

But he wasn't listening. "Will ye come?'

To your place, now?'

'Aye, the nicht. The sooner the better. The noo!"

The Inspector made up his mind. Old Angus was eager; whatever he had, he seemed ready to spill it all and delight in his cleverness. Which would be his right if he really had stumbled onto something, and if it was as big as he appeared to think it was. But 'Bonnie Jean 99 Mirlu?' McGowan's accusation had finally sunk in. 'Are you telling me that-'

'Ah've said a' Ah'm sayin' on the phone, George. So?'

'... Ill come as soon as I've eaten,' lanson told him. 'As ye will, but don't keep me waitin', George. Ah mean, the game's afoot - and it's big game this time!'