The Fog - James Herbert [36]
‘But I was inside it. Inside the eruption where the gas was!’
‘Yes, we heard about a man and a child being rescued. The kid’s dead, we’ll take your word for it that you were the man. But there’s been no mention of anybody else being down there.’
‘They weren’t down there.’ Holman was beginning to lose his temper, but fought hard to control it knowing no good would come from a shouting match. ‘This was later, at different times.’
‘All right, Sergeant, get him out of here, we’ve got plenty of time for questions.’
‘Wait a minute, there’s something else!’ Holman resisted the strong arms of the policeman holding him. ‘The school! Listen to me. There was a busload of kids caught in the fog. I can’t remember the name of the school, but it was in Andover. You’ve got to find it and quickly. God knows what’s happened there by now!’
Holman impatiently drummed his fingers on the hard top of the bare table in one of New Scotland Yard’s many ‘interview’ rooms. The stonefaced policeman who stood by the door watching him said nothing, bored by his duty, but ready to spring into action at the least sign of aggressiveness from his charge.
‘What have they done with the girl?’ Holman asked him for the third time. As before, there was no reply. ‘You could at least tell me that!’ Holman slumped back in his seat, knowing it was useless to argue with this zombie. He’d been kept at the police headquarters for well over three hours now, wearily answering the same questions over and over again. Their disbelief was evident and when he’d been left alone with his guard and given time to reflect, he realized he could not blame them. He had been the only other person in the office when Spiers had jumped and they had been heard arguing beforehand; the police had discovered him with a bound and beaten girl in his flat; he’d only just been released from hospital after suffering a mental breakdown. The facts spoke for themselves and his anger at their repeated questions had not improved their opinion of his sanity. The girl was in a state of shock it seemed, unable to tell them of her ordeal, but they were sure she would be able to answer their questions later. They had finally agreed to check on the schools in Andover; if there was some abnormality with the pupils then maybe his story could begin to take on some credence.
He looked up sharply as the door suddenly opened and two men walked briskly into the room. One was the young detective who had brought him in. He stood back, icily regarding Holman, as the other, an older, more genial-looking man, sat in the chair facing him on the other side of the table. Chief Superintendent Wreford had skilfully interrogated Holman, allowing his younger colleague to be antagonistic while he played the more sympathetic role. Holman had soon realized this was an act and that the mild-mannered, soft-spoken policeman was in fact a shrewd and perceptive interrogator. Wreford had tried to determine whether Holman was a dangerous lunatic or a clever liar with some obscure but sinister motive. So far, he wasn’t sure.
‘We’ve been checking on the schools in Andover . . .’ he paused to study Holman’s reaction.
‘Yes!’ said Holman leaning forward.
‘. . . and found nothing.’
Holman’s look of frustration was too natural to be forced.
‘However,’ the Chief Superintendent went on, ‘we’ve had a report of a serious fire in a school just on the outskirts of the town.’
‘That must be it! It has to be!’
‘Well, there’s no way of knowing yet. Apparently the fire was in a gymnasium adjoining the school and they believe there could have been thirty-or-so boys trapped inside. The survivors are in a state of shock, and can’t be questioned just yet. We haven’t got all the facts, but at least we know the name of the school.’ His gaze became imperceptibly more intense. ‘It was Crayton’s.’
Holman looked down at the table and frowned as he tried to remember. ‘No, no, I don’t think that was it. The teacher told me the name, but I just can’t remember it. I do remember the teacher only had one arm, but that’s