Joan Doyle screamed just once before she died, subconsciously tried to check that cry of terror in case it brought Keith rushing into the room. She felt her life being squeezed from her, an expulsion of air and vomit. Bursting like a balloon filled with water might have done.
And after it had feasted for the second time that night the African rock python left by the way it had entered, out through the open window, negotiated the drainpipe with ease, and slunk away in the direction of the old graveyard.
Man was easy prey if you were cunning enough to single out an unsuspecting victim. Now it would sleep the daylight hours away in the safety of that underground lair.
Chapter 14
JOHN PRICE was knocking on the door of the Doyles' council house shortly after seven o'clock the next morning, an air of urgency and frustration about him. Where the hell was the guy? His van was not parked in the short drive. Perhaps Keith's mother could give him some information. God, was she bloody well deaf?
In the end he gave up, turned away and headed back towards the police station. Christ alone knew where they were going to search today, there weren't many places left.
He slowed his step, halted. No reason except a kind of premonition, his thoughts going back to the Doyles. Keith was hardly likely to have left for work at this hour of the morning so where had he gone? None of your bloody business, John Price. And his mother? Gone with him probably.
The zoologist stood there, his forehead creased. He felt a nagging concern. In all probability there was a simple, innocuous answer to those questions. At any other time, yes, but with the occupants of Stainforth hiding behind closed doors and windows, nobody went out much at all except for absolute necessities. Mrs Doyle was probably still in bed, and Keith had not actually promised to help him. Hell, he didn't need him. Yes he did, he needed company, somebody to talk to, to pool a few ideas, maybe throw a different angle on the whole thing.
Slowly John began to retrace his steps towards those few council houses, his uneasy feeling growing stronger by the yard. There had been horrific deaths, nobody was safe. You got to believe that almost anything could happen to anybody, including yourself.
He knocked on the door again, louder this time, thumping it so that the woodwork rattled. No answer. He walked round the side of the house; for some reason council-house dwellers seldom opened their front doors, everybody using the rear entrance, a sort of tradition that dated back to wartime days.
He tapped on the glass panel of the back door, did not expect any answer. He could see into the small kitchen, through into the hallway. A light was burning and that was damned odd; he got a peculiar sensation in the pit of his stomach, an apprehension that was manifesting itself. There's something terribly wrong here, John Price.
He tried the door, it was unlocked, swung right back on its hinges. You've no business opening people's doors. Or going inside. But all the same he stepped over the threshold. You could find yourself in an awful lot of trouble, you ought to go and fetch PC Aylott or one of the other policemen.
Mounting the stairs, his feeling that all was not well escalated with each step and then when he was almost at the landing the stench hit him, a vile odour that brought back memories of those hours he had spent in the laboratory at university carrying out experiments on dead creatures, steeling himself to the stink of dissected bodies, intestines, blood. Offal.
God, this place stank. I don't know what the hell's happened, maybe I should go for the police. You might as well check first.
He recoiled in the bedroom doorway, had to lean against the wall for support, heaved and almost threw up, wanted to turn and flee and would probably have done so had his legs not suddenly weakened until they were scarcely able to support the weight of his body.
The crumpled bed sheets were soaked in blood which had saturated the mattress and dripped right through to form a pool on the carpet beneath. The wails were splashed and streaked with crimson, and a vile slimy matter which he recognised instantly as human intestines, adhered to the flowery wallpaper in places, hanging down in strings. A human intestinal explosion had taken place, whoever had been in this room had been crushed with such force that they had burst. And then disappeared, the remnants of the corpse vanished completely.
It was the python, of course. Even in his state of dazed shock John Price read the scene as others might read a book. The constrictor had entered by the open window—had scented a victim inside and scaled the wall by means of a convenient drainpipe; no trouble at all. Then, having devoured its prey, it had returned whence it had come. And that was what was eluding everybody, the whereabouts of the snakes' lair.
He went back downstairs, holding on to the stair-rail the whole way. Shaken, repulsed, he vomited outside on the drive. If Mrs Doyle was the victim then where was her son?
The operational HQ had an atmosphere of confusion about it; groups of police and soldiers clustered outside around the vehicles; a meeting of some kind was being held in the small office. John recognised Burlington, Colonel Marks, Chief Inspector Watts and several others through the open window, caught a buzz oflow voices.
'You can't go in there, sir.' A uniformed sergeant barred his path to the door.
'I ... have to . . .'
'I'm sorry, sir.'
'There's been a ... killing. Another death.'
The officer puffed his cheeks out, closed his eyes, opened them again. 'Who? Where?' His voice was low, tired.
'The council houses .. . the Doyles ... I'm not sure which one, Mrs Doyle probably. It was the python.'
'We'll get somebody up there right away.' The sergeant gave some instructions to another officer in the doorway, turned back to the zoologist. 'There's problems this morning. PC Aylott vanished during the night shift. We don't think it's the snakes, he just appears to have walked out. His nerve might have cracked, we don't know. Anyway, it's not up to me to say.'
'Where are we going to search today?' John was still shaking from his experience; the last thing he wanted was another day in the burning sun bashing out thick undergrowth.
'We'll be told soon,' the policeman replied. 'Until then you'll just have to hang around like everybody else.'
It was another ten minutes before the superintendent emerged from the building, those lines in his features etched even deeper, his voice husky as though he had done a lot of talking and his vocal cords were on the verge of packing up.
'There is the possibility that we have another snake casualty.' He addressed the crowded driveway, commanded an instant silence. The listeners felt the tension, the sudden change in those around them. 'We cannot be sure at the moment but it seems that way. Also we have one of our officers missing but again we do not know if that is directly linked to the current crisis. We must, therefore, for the safety of this community, assume that the snakes have not left the area. We have searched for them diligently, and for that I thank every one of you, but now the time has come when we must change our tactics. We shall not let up on the offensive but priority has to be given to the defence of this village. We must guard every house 24 hours a day, leaving just a small band to continue the search. No more lives must be lost. Let us hope that we can conclude this terrible business in as short a time as possible.'
John Price moved away back out on to the road. They would not be needing him today, maybe not again. The searches over the last few days had yielded nothing, he had not come up with a magical formula for finding the serpents' hidden lair, so he had not been much use after all. They could dispense with him now. The authorities resented civilian help, you could sense it even if they did not put it into words. They used you just so long as you were useful to them.