Bright Air (30 page)

If Luce found the dead phasmid on her final climb, did she keep it in her chalk bag with the note as another kind of veiled message? If so, it, like the poem, could surely only have been directed at Marcus. It upset me to think that her two final messages might have been intended for him. But what did they mean?

I was struggling with this when my phone played a little tune in my pocket. It was Anna, wondering if I’d spoken to Damien yet. I apologised for not getting back to her sooner, and told her about my talk with him.

‘Mm …’ I could imagine her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she thought about it. ‘It does sound right, doesn’t it?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You’re not sure? It’s pretty close to what you thought, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose that’s what bothers me. He already knew all about our trip—Bob had called him.’

‘Oh. But still …’

Then I told her about the poem and the land lobster, and the way they seemed to refer back to Marcus.

‘Damien was particularly keen that we shouldn’t talk to Marcus again. Too upsetting for the poor bloke.’

‘You want to go anyway?’

‘Yes. He also wanted me to get you to back off. You’re too hysterical, apparently.’

‘Hysterical? Me?’

‘Yes. He said you attacked him at the inquest.’

‘Oh, that. It was a bad time for me, Josh. I told you.’

‘Yes. So, you want to go out to Castlecrag tonight? We could grab a bite to eat first.’

I picked her up from her flat that evening at six, and we had a pizza on our way through town. There was a sudden shower and the traffic slowed and became more congested, headlights and wipers on. By the time we reached Castlecrag the light was fading beneath the heavy clouds. I turned off into the winding laneways of the Griffins’ estate, and came to a stop outside the house in The Citadel.

It seemed to be in total darkness and I thought we were wasting our time, but then Anna noticed a glimmer of light from a small side window. I parked on the verge further down the street where it was slightly wider, and we hurried back through the rain towards the rugged stone bunker, brooding beneath its dripping canopy of foliage. I almost slipped in the pitch-dark defile of the entry pathway, treacherous with wet moss, then rapped the knocker on the heavy front door, which swung open of its own accord. A sigh seemed to come out of the house, like a gasp of its own breath, heavy with the odours of damp and mould and sour age, which made the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.

‘Marcus?’ I called out. ‘Dr Fenn?’

There was no reply, and we stepped tentatively over the threshold and I ran my fingers across the cold wall feeling for a switch. I found it finally and switched the light on, a rather dim, low-watt bulb in a heavy shade. Directly beneath it we saw papers scattered across the floor, as if there had been a robbery. We stepped cautiously across them to the sitting room, with its obstacle course of heavy furniture. There didn’t seem to be any obvious signs of disturbance here, but
the building’s breath was more pungent, a cocktail of strange odours—burnt sulphur, ammonia, bad eggs, the vapour of concentrated acid. They were the remembered smells of the school chemistry lab.

There was a glimmer of light ahead, through the doorway to the study. Inside I could see Marcus’s throne, illuminated by the small table lamp.

‘Marcus?’

We moved forward cautiously and more of the room came into view. It looked even more chaotic than before, with papers, books, mugs and plates scattered everywhere. As we stepped in a figure suddenly appeared at a door in the side wall, from an adjoining room I hadn’t seen before. I jumped back, startled by the mask over mouth and nose, the goggles, the white coat and gloves.

‘Hello?’ A man’s voice, muffled by the mask. Then he pulled off the gloves and tossed them aside, peeled off the mask and goggles, and we recognised Marcus, wearing a lab coat blotched with chemical stains and burns.

‘Oh, Marcus. Sorry, we knocked and called out, but the front door was open. We thought there’d been a burglary or something.’

He looked at us in turn, frowning as if still preoccupied with whatever he’d been doing. ‘Um? No. I was just working.’ His voice sounded rough and croaky. ‘Didn’t hear you. What’s up?’

‘We wondered if we could have a word. We could come back if you’re in the middle of something.’

‘No, it’s all right. Clear a pew, will you? Want a drink? There’s some Scotch over there. Make mine a big one. Water?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

He turned back into the side room, obviously the source of the smells, which were very strong here. I found three grubby tumblers, and while I poured we heard the sound of Marcus coughing, clearing his throat and spitting, then the rush of water from a tap. He reappeared with a brimming beaker in his free hand, manoeuvring awkwardly with his stick around the obstacles, and I wondered what kind of safety risk he must be, handling chemicals. I took the beaker and slopped a little water into Anna’s and my drinks. Marcus pivoted himself down into his throne and shook his head at the water, gulping at the Scotch neat. The glow from the lamp at his elbow picked out his Adam’s apple, working like a piston in his corded throat as he swallowed greedily. His eyes seemed enlarged in his skull, the lowered lids more hooded.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s the same thing as we came about last time,’ I said. ‘We’ve been to Lord Howe Island.’

His eyes snapped open. ‘Have you now?’

‘Yes. We know, Marcus.’

‘Know? Know what?’

‘About the eggs …’

He made a baffled face. ‘Eggs?’

I shook my head impatiently. ‘Yes, about you stealing rare eggs from the breeding grounds.’

He just stared at me, impassive, and I thought, well, if we’re going to play poker.

‘And about other things.’

I reached into my jacket pocket and brought out the phasmid, taped to a piece of card, and got up and put it in his lap without a word.

He blinked with shock when he realised what it was.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘It was in Luce’s chalk bag, on Balls Pyramid.’

‘You’ve been on Balls Pyramid?’

‘Yes. And we’ve talked to Bob Kelso and Damien. They’ve told us everything.’

‘Ah, then you do know.’ He stared sadly at the remains of the insect. ‘You do know.’

He sucked in a deep breath and said, ‘You mustn’t blame them. It was all my fault. They only wanted to protect me. If only I’d told my friends that there could be no eggs this time, or else told Luce about it, as I told the others. But I was ashamed, you see. Shame.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘It was the very first thing Adam and Eve experienced after the Fall, remember? After they’d tasted of the fruit of knowledge. The original human emotion. I could tell the others about the eggs, and persuade them it was all right—I could even persuade myself—but I couldn’t tell Luce. She was like my original self, long ago, before the compromises. Her faith in me was quite terrifying, you see. So she didn’t understand, and that was how the tragedy happened.’

‘Didn’t understand what? That you were a crook?’

‘Oh, Josh, really. The eggs were nothing. Those grey ternlets and Kermadec petrels are probably doomed anyway. They started their decline when we showed up on the scene, two hundred years ago. Don’t you get it yet? Didn’t Luce teach you anything? We are a curse, a plague upon the earth; we’re too many, too greedy and too smart. And we don’t want to die. We just don’t want to die. Which was why Luce had to. That’s what this was all about.’

Now he’d lost me. He saw the puzzlement on our faces and said, ‘The phasmids.’

I shook my head, and he said, ‘Didn’t Damien tell you about the phasmids?’

‘You wanted to sell them too,’ I guessed.

He smiled. ‘Well, they certainly were a very desirable commodity—the rarest insect, the rarest invertebrate indeed, on the planet. Worth a great deal of money. My friend on the yacht was beside himself when he heard about it. The irony is that it was Luce who told him. She was chatting to him at the party, thinking he was just a pleasant, ignorant American visitor, interested in our native wildlife, and she mentioned the phasmid, and how there was a chance it still survived on Balls Pyramid. He tackled me about it soon after, insistent,
very
insistent, that we check it out, and I let slip that we were doing just that. I’m afraid I didn’t realise quite how ruthless a businessman he was. I had to do a lot of hard thinking, and was up half the night making preparations. And to make matters worse, Luce must have overheard something that evening, because she spoke to Damien later, and he was convinced she suspected that the rest of us were involved in something she didn’t know about. Didn’t he tell you all this?’

‘Yes, yes,’ I lied. ‘But I want to hear it from you, Marcus. I think Damien spared us some of the philosophy. We want to hear it all.’

‘Well, you’ll have to fill up my glass.’

I got up to do that for him and he continued with a sigh.

‘That first day on the Pyramid we were disappointed, but towards the end they did find insect droppings up among the melaleuca bushes on Gannet Green that seemed promising. The insects were nocturnal, so we decided to leave Curtis and Owen up there overnight to see if they could spot them with torches.

‘The next morning Damien, Luce and I were having an early breakfast together when Curtis came on the radio to tell me that they had been successful—they’d found and
photographed half a dozen live specimens. Damien started talking about coming back later with a properly approved project to remove some of them for a breeding program at the university, and reintroduce them to Lord Howe when the rats were eradicated. But I noticed that Luce didn’t say much, watching my reaction carefully. I was sure that Damien had been right about her having suspicions, and I was in quite a bind. As soon as she left to get ready, I spoke to Damien and radioed Curtis to tell them what they had to do. They were very surprised, of course, but I insisted, and they had to agree.

‘Bob took us back out to the Pyramid, and Luce and Damien went ashore and climbed up to Gannet Green with food and hot drinks for the other two. Something about the way they were behaving made Luce suspicious, and she noticed Damien passing Curtis a pack I’d given him. When Curtis said that she and Damien should return to the boat while they cleared up their things, she sensed that something was wrong. She asked them what was going on, and said she wanted to look in the pack. They refused, but she grabbed it. They tried to stop her opening it, but she was too quick for them and pulled out the container inside. Curtis grabbed it and in the confusion it fell to the ground and burst open.’ He shrugged, took a sip of his drink and shuddered.

‘What was in it?’

‘Black rats,’ he said softly. ‘A large breeding pair. Harry Kelso had caught them in the traps he has set, and I persuaded him to let me have them. They jumped out and scuttled off into the rocks.’

We both stared at him, stunned, imagining the scene.

‘But …
why
?’ Anna finally managed to gasp.

But I thought I knew. ‘Supply and demand,’ I suggested.

He smiled, as at a satisfactory student. ‘The merchant banker is correct. My dealer friend didn’t just want
some
phasmids, he wanted
all
of the phasmids, the only ones. That was his demand, the last living phasmids on the planet. He wanted to corner the market. He didn’t want someone coming back later and finding more. He made it plain that life would be very uncomfortable for me if I didn’t oblige him. I really hadn’t seen that side of him before.’

I tried to imagine Luce’s reaction as she watched those rats scuttling off among the rocks, trying to come to terms with the extent of the others’ treachery, Marcus’s most of all.

‘She wasn’t running away from the others,’ Anna said. ‘She was trying to catch the rats.’

‘Exactly. I was worried she’d have an accident, and I told them over the radio to try to reason with her, tell her the truth. But it was too late for that. Far too late.’

I felt sick, still finding it hard to absorb the extent of Marcus’s fall from grace. ‘So there’s a breeding stock of phasmids somewhere in the States, is there?’

‘No, no. I’d already told Curtis and Owen to kill the ones they’d captured. I told my friend that we’d had no success, that it was plain that there were no phasmids left alive. Which was now in fact true.’

Now we just gawped at him. The man was unbelievable. ‘You killed them all? You exterminated a whole species? In God’s name, why?’

‘So you didn’t really know the story. Well, no matter. I’ll tell you, then you can judge.’

The rain was picking up again outside, pattering against the glass of the French windows.

‘The Lord Howe phasmid was a very special creature. I’d been studying it for years.’

‘How could you study it, if it was supposed to be extinct?’ I objected.

‘There were a number of records from the time when they were plentiful on the island, up until the arrival of the rats. People were clearly fascinated by them. They believed that the females could reproduce by parthenogenesis, cloning themselves without the aid of males. And they wrote of their longevity, how a favourite phasmid living tamely in a family garden, almost as a pet, would survive from generation to generation.

‘I also got hold of phasmid remains. Harry had found some on his treks across the island and made them available to me. I carried out tests to establish their age, and found they were extraordinarily old. I could see a good evolutionary reason for this. Imagine you are a very well-adapted creature, living on a tiny island, remote from the rest of the world and with no predators. How should you reproduce? If you do it the normal way, frantically breeding every spring, you risk overpopulating and upsetting the balance of your habitat. One response would then be to evolve a shorter and shorter life cycle, so as to restrict your numbers by speeding up the natural process of death. Or you could go the other way—you could restrict your breeding to cover the minimal replacement of accidental deaths, and extend each individual’s life span almost indefinitely. That’s what the phasmids had done. Over the millennia, they had evolved their own immortality gene. As long as their habitat remained unchanged, they could live pretty well forever, but as soon as the black rats arrived, they were doomed. They simply couldn’t breed their way out of extinction.’