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Rupe retired to the rear of the shocked； sensation…seeking crowd which gathered within seconds。 He'd enjoyed that。 He felt great。 It had been so subtle。 A touch of perfection。 And the blood。 He liked the colour； so richly delicious； and the odour； too。 He'd never noticed the smell before。 Such a delightful； tangy aroma。 Nobody even glanced at him as he slunk away。 And the voice； those same mellow tones…seeming further away this time…said 'Well done； my son'。
It was on one of his dustbin crawls on the edge of the old town that Rupe met the girl。 He was on his own that night； as was usually the case…Loup having gone off on a foray to the deserted open…air market。 The moon was full； and the young vagrant took extra care that he was not spotted by a patrolling panda car。 As he turned into a side street； near the cinema； he saw the girl standing in the shadows of the munity Centre。 He hadn't bothered with women before； classing both sexes of mankind as his natural enemies； but somehow he felt different at this moment。 Perhaps it was the way she looked at him； the smiling； smirking invitation on her face caused a tightening of his muscles。 The fact that her hair was straggly； her short topcoat creased and stained； and there were holes in her tights； was of no consequence to him。 He just stood and stared。
'Ow about it then； lover boy？' she croaked。 'It don't matter if you ain't got no money。 Elsie won't charge you ~ this time！'
For a few seconds they stood looking at each other in silence； Rupe anticipating a thrill he'd never experienced before； and Elsie contemplating the enrolment of yet another regular client。 Then； he allowed her to take him by the hand； and lead him towards the cinema car…park。
And he heard that voice again； very faintly： 'Go with her； my son。 Enjoy yourself。 。 。 and then kill！'
It was snug behind the deserted attendant's hut； and soon Rupe forgot everything else； until finally she pushed him off her partially clothed body。
'Christ！' she croaked。 'Yer don't 'arf stink。 A bath wouldn't do yer no 'arm…nor a shave； for that matter。 Yer like a bloody 'edge 'og！'
Rupe's fingers touched the face。 Funny； he thought； I never noticed that before。 He hadn't expected a beard to start for another year at least。 But now； suddenly； he felt a roughness on his face； as though his skin was corrugated。 But it was not hair。 It was something else entirely…something which burned him as though he had passed through boiling steam。
'Yer'll learn in time；' Elsie was sneering now； adjusting her coat。 'Only next time it'll cost yer a couple o' quid。 Worth a fiver to put up with that stink！'
Suddenly； his hands were around her throat； but not the small slender hands of youth。 They were massive； strong 。 。 。 and they had choked the life out of the street…walker before she had time to scream。 Then； with terrible ferocity； he began to mutilate the dead body lying beneath him； punching and tearing at the face with his bare hands…finally kicking and stamping on the now unrecognisable form with his heavy boots。 At last he stood still； smiling into the darkness…waiting to hear those words of praise： 'Well done； my son。'
It was some hours later when Rupe returned to the den he shared with Loup。 All that sudden strength seemed to have ebbed from him； and it required a supreme physical effort to peel the filthy rags from his grimy body。 He dropped them on the floor； and then； with a groan； he flung himself on the stiff tarpaulin。 He did not sleep； but just lay there； watching the sky grow lighter every minute through the hole in the wall。 Something was dreadfully wrong； and he could not understand what。
Loup had been asleep when he entered…but now he opened his eyes and regarded his panion。 Rupe looked back at him； then he glanced down at his own body； the dirt clinging to his flesh like scales。 He stared at the marks that now covered him like a series of red rashes…millions of tiny pimples that oozed yellowish pus and burned with a scalding sensation。 He felt weak； faint； and frightened。 He tried to stand； but fell…his whole body stinging yet more painfully。 He knew he needed help urgently。 Despite his hatred of his fellow men； he would have to seek their aid。 No longer were those mystic words of encouragement to be heard。
He began to crawl； slowly； painfully； dragging along on his stomach； instinctively heading towards the new suburbs。 The burning now seemed to be growing inside him as well； as though his intestines were on fire。
He had covered almost two hundred yards； and it was full daylight now。 The first rays of the rising sun lay on the rooftops。 Soon the new town would be ing to life； people scurrying to and fro。 Then someone would find him。 He tried to shout for help； but the sound was scarcely a whisper…a hoarse croak that went unanswered。
That damned dog had deserted him in his hour of need。
He could hear footsteps。 No。 It was the thudding of his own heart； pumping frantically； faster than ever before。
Sheer terror gripped him。 The burning。 He was like a human inferno； except there were no flames。 Never in his life had he known a day's illness； and now； so suddenly 。 。 。
He covered another ten yards； and felt the flagstones of a pavement beneath him。 And as he lay there he heard laughter； mocking tones inside his head； a familiar voice。 'All must die； Rupe。 You are the first of many。 This is the curse of Balzur。'
Then he died。
Chapter 7
'Two bloody murders within twenty…four hours； and one dead vagrant；' Chief Superintendent Rollason addressed Inspector McLane and Sergeant Conniston from behind his cigarette； its half inch or so of ash liable to fall at any second。
'And the vagrant kid could probably have done both；' McLane replied。 'What'd he die of； anyway？ Looked like the bloody plague to me。'
'We'll have to wait for the autopsy'…Rollason's ash finally fell into his lap…'but in the meantime we've got to find this Coyle kid。 Personally； I don't think the murders are related； but we've got to solve 'em 。 。 。 even if the victims were only a couple of slags。 It's getting like bloody Jack the Ripper round here。'
'Well； all the road…blocks are set up。' There was a note of pride in McLane's voice。 'Shouldn't be too difficult。'
'Except that he's got eighteen hours or so start on us；' Rollason muttered。 'But we'll pick him up； all right。 He's no hardened criminal on the run。 Just one scared yobbo。'
They were interrupted by a knock on the door。 A young uniformed constable entered； a manila envelope clutched in his hand。
'The post…mortem； sir。'
'Thank you； Watkins。 That will be all。'
The constable withdrew； and Roltason's podgy fingers tore at the envelope； like a pools winner eager to see the cheque； wondering whether or not his expectations will be realised。
Three separate sheets of paper…typewritten。 Lakin first： fractured skull； multiple injuries。 Regan； the whore： strangulation； also a cracked skull。 Rupert Copeland 。 。 。
The Superintendent's hand shook。 The papers fell on to the desk amidst another shower of cigarette ash。 His face was white。 The other two had never seen him react in that way before。 Death was death to him。 Only the means； the motives mattered。 Personalities never entered into it。
'Is 。。。 is there something wrong； sir？' McLane stepped forward； but he would not risk the chances of promotion by reaching across for the reports without permission。 It all had to e from the Super himself。
'Wrong？' Rollason's cigarette bobbed up and down。 'That is something of an understatement； Inspector。 The youth died from radioactive poisoning。 Oxide； it would appear。'
He reached for the telephone and asked for a number。 Clicking his tongue； he fidgeted with impatience till he got through to the reprocessing plant。 'Hold； please。' He swore under his breath。 Minutes passed。
'Mr Dyne is in conference； sir。 Would you care to speak to 。 。 。 '
'No； I would not；' he barked。 'This is Chief Superintendent Rollason speaking。 Will you fetch Mr Dyne out of the conference at once； please。 I wish to speak with him concerning a matter of the utmost gravity。'
Three minutes later he was talking to Winston Dyne。
The pain was being worse every second。 Richard Coyle slowed his machine to a mere 20 m。p。h。 God； he wished that he'd risked the motorway； but the police would have picked him up there for sure。
The old winding road through the Lakes。 The full moon and clear skies helped。 He was totally blind in one eye now。 The agony in his genitals was so great that he was forced to half stand for long periods。 That made his course even more erratic； and when the muscles in his legs could no longer stand the strain； he relapsed back into the saddle。 It was almost as though his machine had a will of its own； deliberately singling out every pothole and bump in the narrow twisting road； an instrument of sadistic torture。
His stomach burned