Slither by John Halkin Page B

before. The atmosphere was hushed, as in some private mortuary. Maybe this was how they disposed of unwanted staff, he speculated gloomily. Discreet, taped organ music, a noiseless exit through sliding doors, a quick moment of intense heat, and all would be over. That split second of fierce desire as the flames licked his body…
    Or as worms cut into it with sharp little teeth – was that to be his destiny?
    He’d be tumbled naked into an oval pit filled with sewer worms while all the Heads of Department looked on from the safety of an observation gallery, jotting down notes for their reports.
Not quite readjusted… hardly up to the requirements of the job… could do better…
    ‘Mr Parker?’ A voice like icicles. ‘You can go in now.’
    The secretary was tall and slim, a fashion-plate. She crossed gracefully to the interconnecting door and held it open for him, smiling as he passed – but with her lips only; her eyes remained indifferent.
    ‘Ah, you’re Matt Parker! I’m so glad to meet you at last. Do come in!’
    The moment he saw him, Matt realized he’d met Aubrey Morgan before. A young director he’d been in those days, straight out of university and sporting patched denim jackets, not the lemon-coloured jet-set sweater he was wearing now. They’d both been starting out at the same time, Matt as a camera assistant, shy and awkward, making more mistakes than most. He wondered whether he should mention it, but decided against.
    ‘I’d hoped we could manage a chat long before this.’ Theexpression on Aubrey’s face changed as he realized Matt’s hand was mutilated; he released it hurriedly. ‘But you’ve been on location and I’ve two jobs these days, my own plus the Managing Director’s. You heard about her little mishap? Oh, do sit down.’
    ‘The worms?’ Matt lowered himself into a mock-leather armchair.
    ‘In a chocolate box!’ Aubrey tutted. ‘Of course, the shop wasn’t responsible. The police checked on that. No one ever discovered who sent them. Now they tell me you want to do a documentary?’
    ‘Yes, I—’
    Aubrey stopped him. ‘You’ve certainly plenty of experience of worms. Even this week, I’m told. In fact, they’ve become quite a hobby with you, haven’t they?’
    Say it, man,
thought Matt.
Say it – obsession
!
    ‘And I know exactly how you feel. Handled them myself, you know, when they attacked Mary. Had to pull them off her, squeeze the life out of them before they’d release her, feel their skulls crack between my fingers…’
    ‘You noticed their eyes?’
    ‘A sobering experience. I began having nightmares about them afterwards. For weeks. You too?’
    Matt nodded.
    ‘Not surprising. Come and look at this.’
    He took Matt across to a map displayed on the far wall of the office. On it were a couple of dozen tiny coloured pins.
    ‘The distribution of the worms, based on reports which have come in to us since you were attacked. Quite a number at first, though they’ve tailed off a bit. Mostly small ones – they’re the blue pins. The larger worms are red.’
    ‘They’re all over the country!’ Matt examined the map eagerly. Seeing the places marked like this really drove it home how widespread they must be. ‘East Anglia has quite a bunch … fewer in Yorkshire … and fewer still in the big towns.’
    ‘Fewer reports,’ Aubrey corrected him. ‘There must be thousands of places where people have either not yet noticed them, or not bothered to write in.’
    ‘Who’s working on it?’ Matt asked, trying not to betray his disappointment.
    ‘Working on—?’
    ‘The documentary.’
    ‘There’s to be no documentary,’ Aubrey told him blandly. ‘Board of directors won’t wear it, not after that affair with Mary. It wouldn’t be in good taste. Drink? Scotch?’
    ‘But you can’t waste all that material!’ Matt burst out. ‘And what about the public? Shouldn’t they be told about all this?’ He waved his hand at the map. ‘Those pins …