in that way, because Kyle was no more while he, Harry Keogh ... was.
'So currently you're worried I might think that this job of yours, whatever it is, is beneath me, too mundane,' he said. 'You think I might reckon it's just a red herring to divert my mind from other, more personal problems - and that's probably exactly what it is!
But you and I are on the same side in more ways than you think, Darcy. The fact is, I need this job, whatever it turns out to be.
That's why I got myself involved down in Oxford Street today - yes, I know, against your best advice - because it was a diversion .
. . Well, and maybe for a couple of other reasons, too. Okay, so this other job you're talking about is no big deal. At least it will keep me busy. That's my reasoning, anyway. And it's yours, too, I fancy. So why don't we just get on with it?'
Darcy nodded, seemed relieved. 'Okay. But it isn't just a coincidence that I mentioned the police. This time they've actually asked us for our help. Oh, we get requests from them . . . fine! Like today, when they know we have someone who can help. I'm talking about Jordan, whom they've used frequently enough in the past. But even to the top brass in the police he's just someone with a weird knack, a lucky guesser. That's how they view us: as a pack of fortune-tellers, literally "psychics" in the popular or worst possible meaning of the word. As if they see us sitting around a table holding seances or something - which isn't too far from the truth, I suppose! Anyway, we're always their last resort.'
'But not this time,' Harry nodded. 'Because this time ... is it something that involves the police directly?'
Darcy looked him straight in the eye. 'Right. It's because they're getting murdered, Harry. By a madman. And I mean literally, a genuine dyed-in-the-wool lunatic! A serial killer with a grudge against policemen.'
The Necroscope thought about it, and finally said: There must be a lot of people holding grudges against the police.'
'Just about every criminal in the book,' Darcy answered. That's what makes it so hard to catch the bastard! The files are crammed with people this could be. Suspects? Everyone who ever committed a violent crime! And thirteen thousand reported in the last twelve months! So you see, this could be the break we've been looking for with the police. We already have a good record of co-operation with Special Branch and the other secret services, but we were never on a sure-footing with the common-or-garden "Bobby" on the beat. If we can show them that we've really got something here, not just an old lady called Madame Zaza with a crystal ball in a Gypsy caravan ... I mean, there could be all sorts of weird stuff the police bump into and we never get to hear about it. This could be a breakthrough.'
'Weird stuff? I thought you said this was mundane.'
'No, you did. If you want to call grotesque, bloody murder mundane, then yes, it is. Except... it just could be something else. If I sound hesitant, it's because we're not quite ready to believe that this is ... what it's made out to be.'
Harry frowned. Then you'd better tell me what it's made out to be. Why are you holding back?'
Darcy answered frown for frown, finally glanced away. 'Oh, I don't know,' he answered at last, but his voice was much quieter now, darker, even a little shaky. 'But maybe - just maybe, you understand -this really is your sort of thing, after all...'
DEAD RECKONING
III
DEAD RECKONING
'It always happens at the full moon,' Darcy said.
'What does?' And now Harry was quiet, too.
The murders,' said Darcy. They happen at the full moon. And after each murder a bout of howling, and the bodies of the victims are found ... torn.'
Torn?'
Darcy nodded. 'As by an animal. A big dog, or maybe a - '
' - A wolf?' The Necroscope finished it for him, yet could never have said what had prompted him to cut in. Just that Darcy's mention of howling, and a big dog, had seemed to set something in motion. It could be something he'd dreamed. But if so it was gone now, and only its echo left to trouble him. Taking a deep breath, he tut-tutted; perhaps significantly, he didn't grin. 'What are we talking about here, Darcy?