In the courts, absenteeism among jurors led to the cancellation of trials; no one wished to be trapped in the largely wooden courtrooms. Clerks were becoming afraid even to open cupboards, or to take down a file from a wooden shelf. Throughout the day, a growing number of office staff abandoned their work and went home by whatever means they could, though London Transport reported near-empty trains on those underground lines which were still running. Word about the Link Lane disaster had spread rapidly.
For those at Worth Road perhaps the most shattering news was that Mary Armstrong was dead. No one was quite sure how it could have happened. Only one room in the borough council’s Shoreham Road building had been infested; in fact, earlier that day the whole place had been thoroughly checked. Somehow beetles had found their way in — perhaps flown in through an open window, it was suggested — with the result that Mary, her assistant and the borough engineer had been killed. Bill Jenkins and two others were in hospital.
Evan took the news badly. He reached for a chair and sat down, his face drained of all colour. The detective-constable who had brought the report immediately offered to fetch him some hot tea, or a stronger drink even, but Evan shook his head.
‘Leave me alone for a minute or two,’ he said, his voice flat and neutral. ‘Let me digest it, will you?’
They went out into the corridor, closing the door behind them. The detective-constable offered Derek Owen the use of a desk in the CID office for the time being, and Guy headed for the payphone in the canteen to ring Dorothea again. When he got there he had to wait until someone else had finished before he could try the number. Still no answer; only that bloody recorded message.
Putting the receiver down, he was about to move away when Evan came through the swing doors.
‘They said you’d be down here, Guy. Can I ask you a small favour? I think I’d better go down to Mary’s place right away and pick up my things, like. Before her family turns up, you know? Be grateful if you’d come with me.’ On their way out, Inspector Ryan waylaid them, a sheaf of papers in his hand. It was going to be a bad night, he informed them gloomily; everything pointed that way. All leave cancelled, of course. Temporary beds were being brought in to allow people to sleep when they could, and that went for Guy and Derek too. Action committee members were to be issued with special identity cards and the superintendent had instructed that Evan should be in uniform whenever he visited the site of any bloodworm incident.
‘You too, Captain Archer, if that’s possible,’ the inspector added. ‘It would help our people to know who you are. What’s happening behind the scenes I can’t be sure, but I believe the Ministry of Defence are aware that you’re working with us now.’
It was not until they were in the car and driving out through the gate that Evan risked making a comment. ‘Macchiavelli again, you see!’ he murmured. ‘I’d not be surprised if one day that man doesn’t become prime minister.’
The traffic on the main road told its own story. Cars were bumper to bumper heading north to the motorway as grim — faced families tried to make their escape, taking with them whatever luggage they could cram in. One small saloon with steam rising from its overheated radiator had been man-handled on to the broad pavement to prevent it holding up the others.
Evan had to use his siren to force a way through to the residential streets on the other side; perhaps a uniform might be helpful after all, he admitted reluctantly. Fiddling with the radio, he picked up a message relayed from a police helicopter. Every major trunk road was similarly choked with streams of vehicles all trying to get out of London in what the voice described as ‘the great exodus’.
‘That’s more than simple panic, boyo,’ he remarked sombrely. ‘It’s a deep-seated instinct, that is. They’re not fighting back, but giving up. Ceding territory.’
‘To beetles,’ Guy added.
it’s what it amounts to.’
Mary’s flat was on the third floor of a modem low-rise block with parking space at the side. Evan fell silent as they walked across to the front door, which he opened with his own key. Immediately inside was a bank of mailboxes. A folded brown envelope protruded from the one bearing her name; he tugged it out, then led the way upstairs.
It was a woman’s flat, Guy noted with interest: pretty curtains, scatter cushions, flowering plants, and three pairs of tights hung to dry from a string over the bath. Not much evidence of Evan living there with her. He caught a glimpse of her dressing table through the open bedroom door: the usual paraphernalia of creams and what-have-you was there, all her stuff.
‘Sit down and watch television or something,’ Evan suggested awkwardly. ‘I shan’t keep you a minute.’
Guy went back into the living room and glanced idly at the block of lined paper on the small table she’d used as a desk. On it she had jotted down some disconnected notes on the Worth Hall bloodworms. Estimated size, segmented skin which seemed sufficiently transparent to appear pink after drinking blood, dark eyes, then— Dislike very bright light. Fear? Alarm? Do they feel threatened by it?
He read this note two or three times, wondering if there was anything in it.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Guy.’ Evan came back into the living room with an open canvas grip, which he put on the table while he checked through the few books on the sideboard. In it Guy saw brown slippers and striped pyjamas; quite domestic. ‘Mary’s family would be upset to find I’d been here with her, you know. Methodist minister, her father is. Old-fashioned.’ i hadn’t realised,’ said Guy.
‘It’s rum the way things go. My wife died ten years ago in a car accident and I’ve been on my own since then, till I met Mary, like.’ He dropped a paperback travel book into the grip and zipped it shut. ‘Not long ago, either. At the old school it was, day after you were attacked there. Now I’ve lost her too. I haven’t quite grasped it yet.’
Out on the landing, he paused to double-lock the door. ‘Guy, I only hope she didn’t suffer too much pain,’ he went on. ‘Or fear. She used to worry about that.’
Wondering about Kath and Dorothea, Guy asked if they might call at his house on their way back to the station. Evan agreed right away and they drove through the maze of back streets, which he seemed to know like the back of his hand. Already it was noticeable how many fewer cars were parked along these roads; as the lamps came on in the semi-darkness they even looked attractive. He found the house dark and deserted. No message from Dorothea; no indication that Kath had even been home. The step-ladder had gone from the front room but the floorboards were untouched and the spraying equipment lay near them. Upstairs, the bed was unmade; from the way her clothes lay scattered about the room it looked as though she’d left in a hurry. Yet her wardrobe was as tightly packed as ever, he noticed, her favourite suitcase was still there, so where had she gone?
Evan waited patiently while Guy found the phone number of Dorothea’s sister in Dorset and tried to call her. He let it go on ringing for a bit, but then gave up.
‘I’ll get a few things, then I’m ready,’ he said. ‘Can you hang on that long?’
Going upstairs again to the spare room, he dug out his battledress uniform and changed into it. What the Army would say about him parading around dressed like this he didn’t care to think about; at least he felt more comfortable in it. When he went down to the hall again, Evan raised an eyebrow and smiled ironically, but said nothing.
That night was all that Inspector Ryan had predicted. It began with the second meeting of the now slimmed-down action committee, this time with the superintendent in the chair. He treated them to a pep talk stressing the need for as full a picture as possible of bloodworm behaviour patterns ‘if we’re ever to defeat these things’.