Cabal. Clive Barker

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      Boone’s body had disappeared.

      At first nobody would tell her why the identification process was being delayed; she was fobbed off with excuses that didn’t quite ring true. Finally, however, they had no option but to tell her the truth. The corpse, which had been left in the police mortuary overnight, had simply vanished. Nobody knew how it had been stolen – the mortuary had been locked up, and there was no sign of forced entry – or indeed why. A search was under way but to judge by the harassed faces that delivered this news there didn’t seem to be much hope held out of finding the body snatchers. The inquest on Aaron Boone would have to proceed without a corpse.

      2

      That he might never now be laid to rest tormented her. The thought of his body as some pervert’s plaything, or worse some terrible icon, haunted her night and day. She shocked herself with her power to imagine what uses his poor flesh might be put to, her mind set on a downward spiral of morbidity which made her fearful – for the first time in her life – of her own mental processes.

      Boone had been a mystery in life, his affection a miracle which gave her a sense of herself she’d never had. Now, in death, that mystery deepened. It seemed she’d not known him at all, even in those moments of traumatic lucidity between them, when he’d been ready to break his skull open till she coaxed the distress from him; even then he’d been hiding a secret life of murder from her.

      It scarcely seemed possible. When she pictured him now, making idiot faces at her, or weeping in her lap, the thought that she’d never known him properly was like a physical hurt. Somehow, she had to heal that hurt, or be prepared to bear the wound of his betrayal for ever. She had to know why his other life had taken him off to the back of beyond. Maybe the best solution was to go looking where he’d been found: in Midian. Perhaps there she’d find the mystery answered.

      The police had instructed her not to leave Calgary until after the inquest, but she was a creature of impulse like her mother. She’d woken at three in the morning with the idea of going to Midian. She was packing by five, and was heading north on Highway 2 an hour after dawn.

      3

      Things went well at first. It was good to be away from the office – where she’d be missed, but what the hell? – and the apartment, with all its reminders of her time with Boone. She wasn’t quite driving blind, but as near as damn it; no map she’d been able to lay hands on marked any town called Midian. She’d heard mention of other towns, however, in exchanges between the police. Shere Neck was one, she remembered – and that was marked on the maps. She made that her target.

      She knew little or nothing about the landscape she was crossing. Her family had come from Toronto – the civilized east as her mother had called it to the day she died, resenting her husband for the move that had taken them into the hinterland. The prejudice had rubbed off. The sight of wheat fields stretching as far as the eye could see had never done much for Lori’s imagination and nothing she saw as she drove changed her mind. The grain was being left to grow, its planters and reapers about other business. The sheer monotony of it wearied her more than she’d anticipated. She broke her journey at McLennan, an hour’s drive short of Peace River, and slept a full night undisturbed on a motel bed, to be up good and early the next morning, and off again. She’d make Shere Neck by noon, she estimated.

      Things didn’t quite work out that way, however. Somewhere east of Peace River she lost her bearings, and had to drive forty miles in what she suspected was the wrong direction till she found a gas station, and someone to help her on her way.

      There were twin boys playing with plastic armies in the dirt of the station office step. Their father, whose blond hair they shared, ground a cigarette out amongst the battalions and crossed to the car.

      ‘What can I get you?’

      ‘Gas, please. And some information?’

      ‘It’ll cost you,’ he said, not smiling.

      ‘I’m looking for a town called Shere Neck. Do you know it?’

      The war games had escalated behind him. He turned on the children.

      ‘Will you shut up?’ he said.

      The boys threw each other sideways glances, and fell silent, until he turned back to Lori. Too many years of working outdoors in the summer sun had aged him prematurely.

      ‘What do you want Shere Neck for?’ he said.

      ‘I’m trying … to track somebody.’

      ‘That so?’ he replied, plainly intrigued. He offered her a grin designed for better teeth. ‘Anyone I know?’ he said. ‘We don’t get too many strangers through here.’

      There was no harm in asking, she supposed. She reached back into the car and fetched a photograph from her bag.

      ‘You didn’t ever see this man I suppose?’

      Armageddon was looming at the step. Before looking at Boone’s photograph he turned on the children.

      ‘I told you to shut the fuck up!’ he said, then turned back to study the picture. His response was immediate. ‘You know who this guy is?’

      Lori hesitated. The raw face before her was scowling. It was too late to claim ignorance, however.

      ‘Yes,’ she said, trying not to sound offensive. ‘I know who it is.’

      ‘And you know what he did?’ The man’s lip curled as he spoke. ‘There were pictures of him. I saw them.’ Again, he turned on the children. ‘Will you shut up?’

      ‘It wasn’t me,’ one of the pair protested.

      ‘I don’t give a fuck who it was!’ came the reply.

      He moved towards them, arm raised. They were out from his shadow in seconds, forsaking the armies in fear of him. His rage at the children and his disgust at the picture were welded into one revulsion now.

      ‘A fucking animal,’ he said, turning to Lori. ‘That’s what he was. A fucking animal.’

      He thrust the tainted photograph back at her.

      ‘Damn good thing they took him out. What you wanna do, go bless the spot?’

      She claimed the photograph from his oily fingers without replying, but he read her expression well enough. Unbowed he continued his tirade.

      ‘Man like that should be put down like a dog, lady. Like a fucking dog.’

      She retreated before his vehemence, her hands trembling so much she could barely open the car door.

      ‘Don’t you want no gas?’ he suddenly said.

      ‘Go to hell,’ she replied.

      He looked bewildered.

      ‘What’s your problem?’ he spat back.

      She turned the ignition, muttering a prayer that the car would not play dead. She was СКАЧАТЬ