A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

his encyclopaedic knowledge of animals (and of drugs) but then the group decided that vets, though infinitely preferable to doctors, were not entirely blameless in regard to the animal kingdom. Didn’t vets attend horse races and support hunting? Well, they do round here at any rate. No one is quite sure how they came up with the priesthood instead, but it’s undoubtedly true that the name suits Terry who, in his pressed jeans and neat vnecked jumper, could be a trendy vicar on his day off. He even has little round glasses which he now takes off to rub his eyes.
    ‘It’s beautiful,’ says Romilly, looking at the snake in Terry’s gloved hands.
    ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘
Vipera berus
. Note the distinctive diamond patterning.’
    ‘And it’s properly poisonous?’
    ‘It’s not aggressive,’ says Terry, ‘but it’s poisonous all right. Could give someone a pretty nasty bite.’
    Gently, Terry takes a padded envelope and places the snake inside. The parcel bugles obscenely.
    ‘That won’t hurt it,’ asks Romilly, ‘being wrapped up like that?’
    Terry shakes his head. ‘They can survive for up to three days without food.’
    ‘Whose name is on the envelope?’
    ‘Michael Malone. He’s a lab technician. I got him from the website.’
    The name means nothing to Romilly. She nods approvingly. A properly addressed parcel is more likely to reach its target. The plan is to drop the parcel through the door of the science block at midnight. They’ll be seen on CCTV but so much the better. They’ll be wearing masks and ski-jackets with ‘Animal Action’ written on the back. Romilly designed them herself.
    ‘My husband was terrified of snakes,’ she says now.
    ‘Lots of people are,’ says Terry, carefully sealing the envelope.
    ‘Could it kill someone?’ she asks.
    Terry looks at her. ‘Are you hoping someone will die?’
    ‘Of course not! We just want to make our point.’
    ‘Yes,’ says Terry. ‘It could kill someone.’
    Ruth feels Cathbad’s pulse. It’s very slow. Should she call a doctor? What about Cameron next door? Surely he and his public school chums know a few things about drugs. Ruth goes to the window. In the back garden the fire is still smouldering, an eerie orange glow in the darkness. She looks again, pressing her face against the glass. Someone is standing in her garden, looking down at the embers. A tall figure wearing a cloak and carrying a long staff. The figure moves and seems almostto vanish into the blackness, cloak swirling in the wind, covering its face. Ruth’s blood runs cold. It’s Bob Woonunga.
    Judy and Clough run wildly, falling over branches, slipping on wet leaves. Judy has no idea where they are heading. She fixes her eyes on Clough’s black jacket with its reassuring reflective stripe. She falls and twists her ankle but Clough doesn’t look round. ‘Come on!’ he shouts. She hobbles after him. How big can the grounds be? Surely they should have reached a road or a track by now? Somewhere nearby there is a splintering crack like a tree falling. It’s crazy to be in the woods in the middle of the storm. But then the whole thing’s crazy, and somewhere, not far away, there’s a man with a gun. She stumbles on, a stitch burning in her side. She’s not sure if she can go on much longer.
    Then, suddenly, the black jacket disappears. Where the hell is Clough? She stops, hearing her gasping breath even above the noise of the wind. She takes a few steps forward and then she’s falling, going head-over-heels in a chaos of loose stones and broken branches.
    ‘Come on Johnson,’ yells a familiar voice. ‘Get up.’ Judy lies on the ground, panting. She knows Clough saved her life and she’ll be forever grateful but, right now, she almost hates him. ‘Where are we?’ she says.
    ‘I think we’re on the racing track,’ says Clough. Judy realises that she’s lying on something soft. The all-weather track. And, very far off, she can see some lights.
    ‘Come on,’ says Clough again and, like two exhaustedhorses, they set off along the all-weather track. Behind them, the wind roars through the trees.
    ‘Where are we going?’ asks Nelson again.
    ‘I don’t know,’ says Cathbad again. He hums quietly to himself. Everything remains the same: sky, sea, beach. Is this a dream? wonders Nelson. But he can feel the stones beneath his feet, smell the sea, even the faint herbal scent emanating from Cathbad.
    ‘The flow,’ Cathbad is saying. ‘You have