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he fridge； a subtle move on her part to keep him in at nights； depriving him of that one half…hour of freedom down at the Rising Sun。 But nobody had bargained for this crisis。 And John Price would stay in Stainforth until every one of those poisonous creatures was accounted for。
He noted that the living…room and kitchen lights were on in the bungalow； experienced a fleeting sense of guilt。 Like the times he used to e and stay when he was a teenager and he'd been to a disco at the hall which did not finish until the early…hours。 And a fatigued Aunt Elsie was waiting up for him。 You know I can't possibly go to sleep until you're safe back； John。 Emotional blackmail。
He pushed open the gate and his booted feet crunched on the gravel。 Next door was in darkness and their car wasn't parked outside where it usually was。 Probably they had done what quite a lot of the residents had done； fled Stainforth until it was all over。 You couldn't blame anybody for that。 John wished there was somewhere his aunt could go in the meantime but he knew only too well that no way would Aunt Elsie be persuaded to vacate her home； not even in the threat of a nuclear war。 'This is the place I'll die in； John；' she had told him some time ago。 'The only time I'll leave here is when they carry me out feet first。'
He slowed his step； saw the light shafting out through the partly open back door。 Now that was naughty of her； hadn't he reminded her before he left that morning to keep all doors and windows shut？
He pushed open the door； saw the empty kitchen； a plate and cup on the draining board。 Silence except for the hum of the fridge。 Even those over…sweet mercial shandies would be wele right now。
'Aunt Elsie；' he called。 'I'm back。'
No answer。 Still； she was being a trifle hard of hearing even if she refused to admit it。 She was probably asleep in the armchair in the other room。 I didn't hear you e in； John。 What time is it？
The clock on the cooker read 10。20。 He strode to the door which led through to the living…room； that was open a few inches too。 He flung it wide and stood aghast； petrified at the scene which greeted him； his brain struggling to accept what his eyes saw。
The old lady was dead； there was no doubt about that。 She lay face downwards on the carpet； her white hair having flipped out of that bun； spraying across her head and shoulders in the manner of a shroud which tried to hide the corpse it covered。 The grandfather clock ticked loudly； steadily。 Mournfully。
Even as his brain registered shock； he saw the snake。 It was on the mat only a few inches from his feet； a long length of serpent that did not move； just saw and was afraid because it had wandered out of its own environment into the domain of Man。
John Price did not hesitate。 He stooped and with one lightning movement he grabbed it just below the head； scooped it up and held it out at arm's length； felt its futile struggles begin； its helpless wriggles。
'You bastard；' he hissed； 'of all the land you've got to roam in peace you have to e in here and kill an old lady。'
Swiftly he carried it across the kitchen to the open back door and with one deft movement he hurled it out into the night； watched the shadows swallow up the four…foot…long thrashing creature； heard it thud softly on to the lawn。
He stood there in the doorway； trembling and feeling slightly sick。 Then he came to a decision and with feet that dragged he began to retrace his steps down the main street and into the village。
They were still drinking in the Rising Sun。 Nobody could blame them for that but when you had a personal tragedy you instinctively resented the way life went on without so much as a hiccup。 Only a few lights showed in the houses now。 Bed was a good place to be and in your own house with the doors locked you felt safe。 You kept your feet under the sheets even on a hot night because that way nothing could e up from under the bed and entwine your ankle； slither up you and bite you。
'You still around！' there was sarcasm and resentment in PC Aylott's voice as John Price entered the office。
The constable was checking out a sheet of 'snake sightings'。 Ten of them； inevitable but all figments of the imagination。 Maybe some of them were hoaxes but they all had to be checked out。 There was a minority of the general public that was a bloody nuisance when any major crisis cropped up。 Sensation seekers； downright bloody liars and a sprinkling of idiots who over…reacted。
'Elsie Harrison's dead。' John thought his voice seemed to e from somewhere a long way away。 A whisper that echoed； mocked。 Dead 。 。 。 dead 。 。 。 dead。
The policeman's expression altered； his pale blue eyes narrowing； thin lips barking one word； a question。 'How？'
'A snake。 'John's ears were roaring； his tongue felt dry and swollen。 'She 。 。 。'
'A snake。' Aylott stiffened and his expression said； 'You better not be lying； laddie； because I've got a whole sheet of reports here that are downright time…wasting fucking lies。'
'It was only a grass snake；' the other's voice was low but he had got it back under control。 'Got lost； or maybe it was just curious； there could be any one of a dozen reasons。 Anyway； it must have wandered into the house and 。。。 and it gave my aunt a heart attack。'
'I see。' Ken Aylott stared at the wall beyond his visitor； tried not to show his disappointment and anger。 This was all he needed； a harmless snake adding to his problems。 The villagers would panic。 He needed to catch some sleep too。
'You killed it？'
'No； I threw it outside。'
'You didn't kill it！'
'There wasn't any point； not even after it had killed my aunt。 How the hell was it supposed to know everybody would be scared of it when in all probability it was terrified itself？' 'I'll e back with you and take a look。' Aylott stood up； sighed。 And kids like this got degrees for studying bloody snakes； he reflected。 So what the hell am I doing working the clock round as a village bobby and can't even get promotion？
Chapter 6
KEITH DOYLE had overe the depression of the unemployed this last six weeks。 No longer did he feel a reject； tossed on to the scrap heap； a leech on society； every week when he collected his benefit。 You could sit around for ever waiting for something to crop up but if you had any bottle you got up off your arse and did what Muhammad was eventually forced to do。
The idea of a gardening round appealed to him。 It was creative and you could see something for your efforts。 With two full…time gardeners already in Stainforth there didn't seem much chance of edging in but Keith had already spotted both their weaknesses。 There was a niche awaiting the right man。
Old Fred Stokes was an experienced gardener but he was a stubborn old bugger。 You took him on for ￡2。50 an hour but he was the boss。 Some folks liked their lawns cut short and kept that way but Fred maintained that you needed a minimum of half an inch of grass growth at all