Minotaur

By Darren G. Burton

Minotaur is the story of private investigator, Jerry King, thrust into a world of horror he never dreamed could really exist.

The Minotaur - half man, half bull - is a beast of the creation of ex-medical scientist and biochemist, Edgar Wallace. Banned from the profession when his inhumane experiments were discovered, Wallace retreats to a secluded farm in south-east Queensland. There he continues his experiments until he's successful in creating the Minotaur; a product of genetic mutation. Using a human female egg and the sperm from a bull, Wallace forms a test-tube embryo which he implants into a cow. The Minotaur is born, and grows rapidly with the introduction of high doses of steroids.

Wallace's intention was never to set it loose on mankind, but merely to show it off as an example of what he was capable of. But the Minotaur, with the intelligence of a man, the cunning of a beast, and the insatiable appetite of an animal, escapes in search of prey.

Edgar Wallace, having lost his specimen, produces another, more advanced beast. He trains this one to speak and reason, teaches it all that he knows. This beast, with a taste for what power over life can be like, wants to reproduce itself and take control of mankind.

Jerry King, teamed up with reporter and lover, Charmaine Brooks, investigates a series of deaths just west of the Gold Coast region. What they uncover is far more sinister, far more terrifying than anyone could ever have imagined.

After the first beast is killed they have more of an idea of what they are up against: A mythical beast that is no longer a myth, but a reality. Investigations lead them into the world of medical science, where they learn of the unorthodox practices of Edgar Wallace and the conspiracy that surrounds him. They must uncover his secrets and discover the location of his latest experiments in order to put a stop to the carnage which is fast getting out of hand as more and more of the beasts emerge.

In the end they must confront Taurus, leader of the Minotaurs. Only then can they put an end to the nightmare.

BUY NOW!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darren G. Burton
• Release date: Jul 27, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452316482

Darren G. Burton

I have been a writer for over 30 years. I've written numerous full length works of fiction and non-fiction, as well as many short stories and [e-mail]

Book preview

Prologue

The beast howled in agony.

Edgar Wallace, his bald head shining in the illumination of a fluorescent light, quickly downed a slug of whisky. He moved across the floor to the whining cow and reassuringly rubbed her ears to calm her.

The animal was in labour, about to give birth to his latest attempt at genetic mutation. His previous attempts had failed miserably, but this time he was hopeful he'd got it right; more confident of success.

The labouring cow howled in pain again as it tried to give birth to a creature that was foreign to it.

Wallace was worried.

He moved away from the beast and poured himself another shot of whisky to settle the squirm in his stomach. He hoped nothing was wrong. The animal seemed to be in too much pain.

There was a splattering sound and another cry from the beast. The bald man turned and saw a bloody mass lying on the floor between the cow's hind legs.

He dropped his glass to the tiles where it shattered into a thousand fragments, and scurried over to the stricken mother. As he knelt to the floor to examine his latest work, the afterbirth came and washed over him like a wave.

Fuck! Wallace spat, glaring at the beast's behind with contempt as he wiped blood and membrane from his face.

The surge of fluid didn't stop there, though. Blood gushed from the cow in a torrent until the animal was too weak to stand. It crumpled to the floor with a life-ebbing sigh and lay still.

Wallace slipped his hands into the bloody mass on the ground and retrieved the product of his creation. He couldn't see it clearly as it was so covered in gore, but could see it well enough to know it wasn't moving.

Quickly he took it over to a basin and washed it clean in cold running water.

As soon as the blood was swept away he knew it was dead. The thing was totally malformed, unrecognisable. One long horn and one short horn stuck out from a round hairy mass that was supposed to be its head. The rest of the body was a twisted heap of deformed limbs with patches of smooth skin appearing amidst the fur.

Wallace gritted his teeth as rage seized him.

Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! he fumed.

Clutching the dead creature by its demented head, he stormed over to the lifeless cow and kicked it hard in the guts. You fucking hopeless bitch! he screamed and headed for the door.

Outside a fire was burning on the parched earth. Wallace dumped the newborn into the flames where it hissed and spluttered and burned with the smell of roasting beef. There he stood and silently watched it burn as he calmed down. More months of hard work come to nothing. Damn it to hell!

I'll try again, he whispered into the night, and vowed he would continue until he succeeded.

Chapter 1

Twelve Months Later:

The small fire crackled and gave off warmth to the two boys that huddled around it. They were brothers; Jason, seventeen and Scott, fifteen.

I can't wait to get my driver's licence, said Scott, reclining back on his sleeping bag and gazing up at the stars. He couldn't believe how bright they were out here. Much clearer than back in town.

Yeah, it's great, Jason assured him. Gives you so much freedom, like being able to drive out here and go camping.

I'm surprised Dad let us use the car, seen as though you've only had your licence three weeks.

His brother smiled, his face cast in shadowy hues of red and orange by the firelight. Yeah. He's a great old man.

He'd love to hear you call him an 'old man', Scott chuckled. You may be old enough to drive, but he'd still kick your arse.

If you think he'd kick my arse over that comment, then he'd certainly kick it over this. Jason produced something wrapped in foil from the pocket of his jacket and placed it on his sleeping bag. He then removed some cigarette papers and a plastic lighter from another pocket.

His brother's eyes almost popped out as if they were spring-loaded. Where'd you score the dope?

The older boy grinned. I have my contacts. He commenced rolling a joint. You want some?

You kidding? Of course I do! Jason gave him the first joint and Scott hurriedly lit it. He inhaled deeply on the pungent smoke, felt it burn a path down into his lungs and almost immediately detected a change in his sense of well-being. The stars above grew a little hazy after several more puffs on the joint. His head feeling sluggish, he looked across at his brother, who was also now lying back with a joint on his sleeping bag, staring up at the cloudless night sky.

The fire's heat seemed to grow with each inhalation of the smouldering weed. Scott was comfortably warm, felt almost cocooned as the blanket of warmth swept around him. For the moment he didn't have a care in the world.

Jason heard it first. He hadn't smoked as much of his joint as his brother and was therefore more alert. He sat up, looked at Scott.

Scott's head turned lazily towards him. What's wrong? he asked nonchalantly.

The older boy shrugged, then shook his head. I'm not sure. He strained to listen. I thought I heard something.

Scott propped himself up on an elbow, the joint dangling wetly from his mouth. Like what?

Like something crashing through the bushes.

So? Probably just a rabbit. Besides, I didn't hear anything.

That's because you're off your face.

They both heard it this time; the crunch of snapping twigs, followed by what sounded like a snort.

Scott was alert now and moved over to his brother's side. Doesn't sound like a rabbit, he conceded.

More twigs snapped. Another snort.

Sounds much bigger than that, Jason whispered. The two boys scanned the foliage to the right, the direction of the sounds. Neither of them could see anything in the darkness beyond the campfire.

Scott rummaged in his backpack for a torch. He found it, switched it on to test it, saw that the light was bright, then flicked it off again.

Should we go take a look? he asked.

The older boy shrugged. I don't know. Maybe? He drew a little nervously on his joint one last time then tossed it into the fire. Here. Give me the torch. Scott handed it to him. Jason got onto his haunches and shined the beam over the bushes.

Nothing moved.

Maybe it's gone, the younger boy said. Whatever it is.

They heard a sharp snap behind them. Jason swung round quickly with the light and shone it into the trees.

What the hell is it? he whispered.

Sounds like somebody's stalking us.

Somebody or something.

Heavy footsteps thudded over the ground, heading to the right. Jason followed the sound with the light, but still saw nothing. The bush land was too dense.

Whatever it is, it sure sounds big, Scott said, a quaver in his voice.

Probably just a wild pig, decided Jason. There're heaps of them around here.

That doesn't exactly make me feel any better. They're ferocious things.

Don't be such a whimp. A pig's nothin' to be afraid of.

All right then, Scott challenged. If you're so brave, go out there and take a look. Find out what it is.

Jason, never one to shy away from a challenge by his younger brother, got to his feet and, torch out in front of him, cautiously walked towards the trees. Just as he reached the edge of the clearing he stopped and turned. You comin' with me?

Uh, uh, Scott shook his head. You're the gutsy one. Remember?

Right, he agreed, though inside he didn't feel too courageous at the moment. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the bushes.

Scott watched his brother disappear and drew the last puff from his smoke. He could see the light bobbing around through gaps in the trees, and heard Jason's footsteps receding as he ventured further away from the clearing.

He heard more footsteps, these louder but no closer than Jason's; just louder because they were much, much heavier.

The younger boy got to his feet and circumnavigated the edge of the clearing with his eyes. He could no longer see Jason's light and suddenly felt very alone. Nervously he moved closer to the fire where he squatted and warmed his hands over the dying flames.

In the distance he heard what sounded like hooves galloping towards the clearing, though it wasn't really a gallop; sounded more like somebody running.

He leaped to his feet, stared in the direction of the sound. He couldn't see his brother's light, and knew the footsteps were too heavy to be Jason's.

Shit! What the hell is that? he wondered, his heart slamming hard against his rib cage.

He didn't have to wait long to find out.

Something big came crashing through the trees into the clearing and stopped, letting out a tremendous roar. It was no pig, Scott saw. He didn't know what the hell it was, hadn't seen anything like it in his life. For a moment things seemed to move in slow motion as he stared mesmerised at the beast not twenty feet away.

It stood upright like a man, only much taller; maybe seven or eight feet. It's legs were covered in dark hair and had hooves for feet. A long tail flicked from side to side as it stood there. Its powerful upper body was that of a man's, with bulging muscular arms and chest, its shoulders broad. Scott couldn't see its head clearly though, as something limp and lifeless hung in front of its face. The limp figure was that of his brother, impaled through the mid-section on two long, curved and very sharp-looking horns.

The beast suddenly moved, flicked its head to the side and sent Jason's body flying across the clearing.

Holy shit, Scott whispered to himself, feeling too terrified to move with the beast's eyes riveted upon him.

The thing's head looked familiar, like that of a bull, though the horns and face were much more menacing. The beast snorted and scraped a hoof along the dirt in the action of a bull about to charge.

Coming to his senses, Scott turned and ran towards the bushes. He could hear the creature coming up fast behind him and knew he couldn't outrun it. Frantically he tried to scale a tree but could find no purchase on its smooth trunk. He ran on. Branches snapped and dirt churned as the powerful animal, or whatever the hell it was, continued in pursuit. Scott chanced a look around, saw it only five metres behind him. That look proved a fatal mistake.

Not watching where he was going, he slammed hard into the trunk of a gum tree. The impact knocked the wind out of him and shook him senseless. The next thing he felt was a searing pain in his back as a horn penetrated his ribs and nailed him to the tree trunk. His mouth spewed forth blood and he mercifully passed out.

The beast heaved backwards with its powerful legs and dislodged its horn from the tree. With Scott's lifeless body still impaled on its horn, the creature made its way back to the clearing. creature coming up fast behind him and knew he couldn't outrun it. Frantically he tried to scale a tree but could find no purchase on its smooth trunk. He ran on. Branches snapped and dirt churned as the powerful animal, or whatever the hell it was, continued in pursuit. Scott chanced a look around, saw it only five metres behind him. That look proved a fatal mistake.

Not watching where he was going, he slammed hard into the trunk of a gum tree. The impact knocked the wind out of him and shook him senseless. The next thing he felt was a searing pain in his back as a horn penetrated his ribs and nailed him to the tree trunk. His mouth spewed forth blood and he mercifully passed out.

The beast heaved backwards with its powerful legs and dislodged its horn from the tree. With Scott's lifeless body still impaled on its horn, the creature made its way back to the clearing.

Chapter 2

Charmaine Brooks overheard the call on her radio scanner. She'd been sitting in her Gold Coast office, drinking coffee and leafing through notes with the scanner on in the background. Finally a police broadcast had caught her interest. It was the chance of a story. She was sick of reporting on Tropicarnival Festivals and art shows. She wanted a real story, one with some guts, and this could be it.

She grabbed a notepad and pen, her camera, handbag, and was out the door in a flash. Outside the Daily Herald building in Broadbeach, the morning was warm and still, the sky light-blue and cloudless.

Charmaine disabled the alarm on her red Toyota. She climbed inside. It was only eight o'clock, but with summer on the way the interior was already stifling. She fired up the engine and flicked on the air-conditioning.

Pulling out of the car park she drove south along the Gold Coast Highway, turned right at a set of traffic lights and headed west towards Nerang. On the left was Pacific Fair Shopping Centre, and to the right, Jupiter's Casino. Traffic was heavy, everyone on their way to work or dropping off kids at school. Charmaine blared her horn at a car that cut her off. Sighting a gap, she indicated into the left-hand lane and put her foot down.

Stopping at a red light she lit a cigarette, a habit that she hadn't yet attempted to kick. Even though the air-conditioning was on, she wound down her window halfway, not wanting to fill the car with the stench. The light changed to green and she accelerated quickly up to eighty, ignoring, like most people did, the sixty kilometre per hour speed limit.

Her cigarette had burnt down to the butt by the time she reached Nerang. She flicked it out the window and drove across the Pacific Highway that linked the Gold Coast to Brisbane. Passing through Nerang's main business district she continued heading west until she'd virtually left civilisation behind. The road cut a path through dense bush land, apart from the occasional farm breaking up the landscape.

The turn-off to Canungra came up on her right. She barely slowed down as she slewed the car around the corner. The location description over the scanner had been very detailed and she realised the area was somewhere she'd once camped. Or thereabouts.

She was looking for a dirt road on her left and she slowed, not wanting to pass it. Spying the opening in the trees up ahead, she hit the brakes and eased her immaculate car along the rutted track. The dirt road ended at a wide clearing. Five police cars and two ambulances were parked there. Two Brisbane news crews were already on the scene, as, too, was the local Gold Coast station's crew, GCTV News.

A black four-wheel drive, only a few models old and covered in light dust, was nestled amidst the trees ahead of the police cars. Possibly the victims' vehicle, she decided.

Looking about the clearing, she saw there was no one around. She couldn't be at the actual scene of death.

She climbed out of the car, armed with her notepad and camera. The air was dead still and quiet, a strange and eerie calm permeating the place like an invisible cloud of unease. Charmaine weaved between the array of emergency vehicles and hesitated at the four-wheel drive. She tried the passenger door. Locked. She tried the other doors. All locked. Peering through the windows was difficult. They were tinted a dark grey. Before giving up on the vehicle, always conscious of her looks, she checked her appearance in the reflection given off by the tinted glass. She teased up her fringe by working the roots with her fingers, saw her make-up was still intact, then moved on, following a track through the bush land.

Charmaine glanced up at the trees as she walked, many of the branches bare of leaves and forking down like giant hands about to pounce on the unwary.

Voices drifted to her from up ahead and she knew she was heading in the right direction. As she got closer to the sounds, something on the ground told her she was definitely in the right area. Large patches of dark-red lay dry and covered in flies at the base of a gum tree. She looked at the tree, saw more smears of gore running down its smooth white trunk.

Jesus, she said softly with a shudder, and took several photos of the tree trunk.

She decided it was time for another cigarette and quickly lit one. Sighting masses of blood wasn't the most favourite part of her career as a journalist, but carnage and misfortune never failed to sell newspapers. She walked on, following the trail of blood but avoiding stepping on it. The voices gradually grew louder until she broke free of the bush and entered another clearing. Here the air was rank with the coppery odour of blood.

A young, squat man with dark hair, matching goatee and an ill-fitting suit saw her arrive and smiled.

You're late, Miss Brooks, he said lightly.

He was Ian Matthews, roving reporter for GCTV News, and he was there with his cameraman counterpart. Matthews, along with the two Brisbane news crews, were standing behind the blue and white tape that had been strung around the clearing from tree to tree to cordon off the crime scene. The respective cameramen were busy fighting to get a clear shot at the scene through the myriad of police and other emergency personnel.

Got here as fast as I could, Charmaine told him and drew deeply on her smoke. She drew again as she took in the picture.

Police were everywhere, examining things on the ground, talking to each other, chatting on walkie-talkies. Four ambulance men stood idly to the right, waiting patiently, their expressions that of professional detachment. Through a small gap in the forces, Charmaine saw a policewoman interviewing an old man across the other side. He was dressed in khaki overalls and a straw hat. Looked every bit like a farmer.

Matthews noticed her line of vision. He found them, the newsman informed.

At that moment a police helicopter zoomed overhead, chattering like a huge dragonfly. A shadow briefly consumed the clearing as the chopper eclipsed the rising sun. It then flew off further inland, searching for something.

Charmaine averted her attention towards the ground, saw the remnants of a campfire that still smouldered. As a policeman moved conveniently out of the way, she saw more dark patches of blood painting the dirt just beyond the fire, and behind a policeman taking photographs was a body. From what she could see it was a male and covered in dried blood. To the right of it lay a second victim, in much the same state as the first. She'd no sooner gotten a glimpse of this second victim when a group of police surrounded the body like ants swarming to feast on a dead bug.

What the hell happened here? she asked, more to herself than anything.

Ian Matthews acknowledged her question with an answer. Two boys camping, mid-to-late teens. He stepped into her field of view and looked into her eyes. Presumably ravaged by an outraged bull.

A bull? Charmaine tossed her cigarette into the dirt and stamped it out with a low-heeled shoe.

Yeah, Matthews reiterated. A bull. And a hell of a mean one by the looks of it. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the corpses.

Charmaine summoned up her courage, steeled herself, then boldly slipped under the restricting tape and moved in for a closer look at the carnage. She had her camera ready and quickly snapped off two photos of the nearest corpse before anyone had a chance to realise she was there.

In a quick glimpse with her trained eyes she saw the first boy was torn apart. His shirt had been ripped open to reveal a gaping, tattered hole where his stomach and chest had been. A glance into the wound told her most of the contents were gone. She gagged and had to force a wave of nausea under control. She never got used to scenes like this, just more controlled. Just above the gaping wound was a much smaller hole in the upper chest. More of a penetration wound. Probably from one of the bull's horns. She began scribbling down notes of what she saw, and any useful snippets of conversation that her ears could pick up on.

Please step back outside the barrier, Miss Brooks, a familiar voice said from behind her, a voice filled with impatience and stress. You will all be given a statement shortly.

Charmaine turned and came face to face with Detective Steven Richardson. Not quite face to face. He had at least six inches on her five-seven frame. Detective Richardson was a hard-looking man with steel grey eyes and a chiseled jaw line. His body was lean and neatly attired in a new linen suit.

So it was a bull, she stated.

You'll be given a full statement of what we know shortly, he repeated, a touch of menace entering his voice.

She persisted. Why would a bull kill them, just like that?

He shrugged in supplication and waved at a swarm of blowflies that buzzed about his face. Who knows? Maybe they antagonised the thing? Probably they got what they deserved. Now, will you keep out of the way so we can finish our job. Richardson pushed past her and moved over to the second corpse. It, too, was ravaged like the first.

Charmaine snapped off some quick photos of the bloody scene before being rather roughly escorted back outside the barrier by a uniformed policeman. She straightened her ruffled clothes and moved over beside Ian Matthews to await the promised statement.

It came two hours later, once forensic had finished gathering evidence and the coroner had removed the corpses.

She scribbled furiously as Detective Richardson spoke. When he'd finished, she figured she had enough for a good story. As callous as it sounded, she had got what she was hoping for: A story with some guts.

Chapter 3

The divorce papers stared him in the face. He tried to avoid looking at them, but couldn't.

Jerry King reluctantly picked up the legal documents with a sigh and began reading.

He sipped from a mug of coffee on his desk, almost gagging when he found it had grown cold.

So Amanda was finally doing it, he thought. His wife of eight years - separated for two - had finally filed for divorce. It wasn't the absolute separation that troubled him. Their relationship was long finished. Both of them had since moved on. What really bothered him was that he couldn't afford to lose a large percentage of what little money and possessions he now had. Sure, he wanted to look after his daughter. Michelle, at age four, was growing more and more into a beautiful young girl every time he saw her. What he didn't want to do was pay out to Amanda to support herself. She had a new man to do that now.

So much for my life-long plan to become rich, Jerry grumbled with discontent. Instead of making money, he was growing poorer by the day. And the clients hadn't exactly been queuing up outside his door, either, wanting to hire his services.

He tossed the divorce papers into the too hard basket for the time being and flicked on his computer. It beeped into life and came up to a menu. With nothing else to do at the moment, he figured he might as well continue working on something that could make him a lot of money. When he'd entered his programming package, Jerry got up to make himself a fresh cup of coffee - a hot one.

It was as he sat down at his desk again, determined to get into a hard day's work on the program he was designing, that the knock on the door came. The program wasn't far from being finished, just needed some fine-tuning. But that would have to wait.

He looked up as the door slowly swung open. A man's head poked round the corner and looked in uncertainly. He pushed the door wider. The man was tall, maybe six, three, with a crewcut of black hair atop a rectangular face. He was dressed smart-casual in white trousers and a blue button-up shirt. He looked fit and well-built beneath his clothes. Under his right arm he carried a newspaper.

The man pointed to a gold plaque tacked to the door. J.F.K. Detective Agency, he said with a strained smile. Catchy name.

Jerry stood up and approached the man. Jeremiah Frederick King, at your service.

They shook hands.

Gregory Knox, the stranger offered. The surname rang a bell.

Jerry went back to his seat and sat down, waving Knox into a chair on the opposite side of the desk. Jerry sipped from his mug, looked at Knox and asked, Coffee?

Knox shook his head. No. Thank you.

The detective leaned forward on the desktop and tented his hands. So, what can I help you with?

The man placed the newspaper in front of him and pointed to a front page story. Have you heard about this?

Jerry King glanced at the headline: TWO BOYS SLAIN BY RAMPANT BULL! The by-line caught his attention - Charmaine Brooks.

Hard not to. The story's been television headline news for the past two days. Why do you ask? What's your particular interest in the tragedy?

They were my sons, Knox said bluntly.

Oh. Jerry took a deep breath, almost choking on the foot he found stuck in his mouth. He couldn't think of anything else to say for the moment so he offered the usual words of condolence. I'm sorry.

Not as sorry as I am, Knox assured him, his eyes watery and darkening.

The man looked angry now. Jerry knew he wasn't angry with him, but with grief and confusion; and probably most of all, with frustration. Why tragedy had to strike his family? Things like this always happened to somebody else, he'd probably be thinking.

Jerry, feeling awkward, drained his mug and stood up to get another. You sure I can't get you one?

No. I just want to get this over with. Get things underway.

The way Knox said it made Jerry decide his coffee could wait. He sat back down.

What exactly is it you need me for? What do you want me to do?

Knox raised his eyebrows and let out a long sigh. I want you to find out exactly who or what it was that killed my boys.

The detective frowned. It was a bull...At least that's what the police are saying it was.

I'm not convinced. I think the police aren't disclosing all the facts. I sense they're covering something up. It's highly unlikely to be attacked by a bull where they were. They weren't on somebody's property, no farms were close by, and bulls don't usually attack without provocation.

It may be an unfortunate and unlikely sequence of events, but not impossible. At least in this case that seems to be what's happened.

Have you ever heard of a bull eating someone before?

Jerry was stunned. Why do you ask that?

Well, have you? the man insisted.

No, Jerry slowly admitted. They're not carnivorous animals.

Exactly my point. Knox took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes. They looked dark and puffy. The guy obviously and understandably hadn't had much sleep.

Jerry spoke carefully. Are you saying the bull, or whatever it was...ate your boys?

Gregory Knox' head was slumped as he nodded. Something did. Not entirely, but...parts of their bodies had been consumed. That's unofficial, mind you. No official statement has been made to that effect, it's just something I overheard one of the officers saying down at the station. When I asked them about it, everyone clammed up.

My God! Jerry thought. It could have been another animal that did that, after the bull had attacked them? he surmised.

Knox shrugged. It might have been. But that's what I want you to find out. He stood up and paced the floor. This whole thing's just bugging the hell out of me. Not just because my boys are dead, but because something doesn't sit right. He stopped and stared hard at Jerry King. I need your help. Until I know exactly what took place out there, I don't think I can really let go and grieve properly.

I understand how you feel. At least to some degree. And he did. He hardly saw his little girl any more. Sure, she was still alive, but he missed her terribly. You must understand, though, that hiring me to find out what happened - and possibly find out nothing at all other than what you already know - won't be cheap.

Knox waved him away rather irritably as if that wasn't an issue. Money's no problem. Just tell me what your price is and we can get started.

Standard fee. Five hundred a day, plus expenses. You'll be given copies of receipts for costs incurred. And I take no less than a thousand up front.

You're very clinical when it comes to money, Mr. King, the man quipped, though he looked a little brighter since Jerry had decided to take the job.

As much as I sympathise with you, Mr. Knox, this is a business and all clients are treated exactly the same way where payment is concerned. I'm not emotionally involved and I have to keep it that way.

Fair enough.

A cheque book was produced from a shirt pocket. Knox scribbled some figures in it with a gold pen and handed Jerry his advance.

I know I said money isn't a problem, but, he stared hard into Jerry's eyes again, I don't want you digging around in the dirt for days on end. If you can't readily find out anything, let me know and I'll get somebody else onto the job.

Sure. No problem.

Gregory Knox headed for the door.

I'm not finished with you yet, the detective told him. I still need to ask you a few questions, and get some details on your boys.

He decided it was time to make that cup of coffee. And this time when he offered Knox one, the man accepted.

They resumed their positions at the desk. Jerry got a notepad and pen ready and asked his first question. How old were your boys?

Seventeen and fifteen.

Their names?

Jason. He was the oldest. And Scott.

So they were camping out there. Any reason why that spot in particular?

Knox shrugged. None that I know of.

Did they have any valuables on them? Were any of their possessions missing from the campsite that you know of?

Nothing was missing. They still had their money, and the only real thing of value they had with them was my four-wheel drive. That was untouched. The keys were still there. He drank his coffee. Why? What's that got to do with anything if they were, like you think, attacked by a bull?

You obviously think something's amiss, so I've gotta cover all angles. Including murder. Jerry sipped his own coffee. Did anyone else go with them?

The father shook his head.

If there was a bull around, would your boys be the type to try and provoke it?

I'd say not, but who knows with teenage boys? He raised his hands helplessly.

Jerry hesitated, then spoke again. Now, this next question's going to sound a bit grim, but I have to ask it. You said something had been eating at them. Do you know exactly what it ate? He cringed a little as he said it, but knew the question was necessary.

Surprisingly, it didn't appear to phase the man that much. He took it in his stride, all business now, and answered candidly. Parts of the stomach mostly, was what I overheard. I don't know exactly what. All I know is both their stomachs and chests were ripped open. I haven't heard of a bull doing that either.

No, Jerry admitted. "I can find out more on that from a friend