The Hand of the Devil Read Free

Gina Newport, the magazine’s star photographer. At twenty-two she was nearly a full year older than me and I’d liked her, a lot, from the moment I laid eyes on her. But somehow I could never find the opportunity or guts to do anything about the way I felt. Such is life.
    Last Monday, a day that now seems lost in the mists of time, was the day the letter from Reginald Mather arrived. It was a glorious early autumn day, so I decided to run to work, taking my favourite route along the canal. After I’d reached the office, I showered, dressed and went next door to the newsagent’s to buy a carton of orange juice. Sitting behind my computer, I opened the juice and began sorting through the small pile of mail the office junior had brought me. Mather’s letter was at the bottom, and was the only one that didn’t end up being filed in the bin.
    The letter was brief, something that caught my attention straight away. Usually the lunatics who write to me waste page after page of paper trying to convince me that they have an amazing story for the magazine. Mather’s letter was businesslike, concise and therefore more credible.
    Dear Mr Reeves,
    I have in my possession a specimen known as the ‘Ganges Red’, a unique strain of the Aedes aegypti mosquito family and the only one of its kind. If you were to ask an expert about it, they would no doubt tell you that it does not exist.
    I have enclosed a map that will help you find your way to Aries Island, located in the middle of Lake Languor. I own the only house on the island, so you should have no trouble finding me. A boat can be chartered from Tryst harbour. I know the harbour master to be a very helpful fellow, and can assure you that his rates are most reasonable.
    It would be splendid if you could come right away, though of course I understand that a journalist’s schedule must be fairly tight. I regret that I have no telephone, so shall expect you at any time, or otherwise a letter to say that you cannot come.
    I must ask for your discretion in this matter. I am keen to share my discovery with the world, but being a private man I need to keep certain details to myself. Therefore I ask, if it is possible, that you should not divulge the specifics of this letter to a third party.
    I have the honour to be, sir,
    your obedient servant,
    Reginald C. Mather
     
    I read it through a second time. Unlike most of the letters I received, it was intriguing. I had a hunch that Mather’s claim was genuine, and that there could be an exciting story lurking behind it. At the very least it could mean a day out of the office. I read it again, then made up my mind to talk to Derek. I was about to go and see him when a scrunched-up ball of paper hit the back of my neck.
    ‘Ow!’
    ‘Hey, Ash.’ It was Gina. ‘What’s happening?’
    ‘Oh, I was just going to have a word with Derek about whether to follow this up or not.’ I held up the letter.
    ‘Anything good?’ She sat on the corner of my desk, her close proximity already making me nervous, and took the letter. While she read it I tried not to stare up at her face. Sometimes I thought she liked me too, but it was never clear if she liked me enough.
    ‘Sounds good,’ she said, handing back the letter. ‘You should go.’
    ‘Yes. There’s a chance he could be another crackpot though.’
    ‘That’s what makes it so interesting.’ She grinned.
    ‘I don’t know. Some of these people are dangerous.’
    ‘Don’t be so paranoid. Besides, you should jump at the chance of a nice day out.’
    ‘I know. I just—’
    ‘Where does this guy live anyway?’
    ‘It’s, er . . .’ I picked up the envelope and read out the address written on the back.
    ‘The Lake District?’ Gina’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh come on, how can you not go? If you don’t then I will.’
    I nodded. She had a point. I’d never been to the Lake District, but I’d always planned to visit.
    ‘I suppose I should check out train times.’
    ‘You do that,’