by Helen Cox
‘I know, lass, I don’t want you to worry either. I know you’ll do your best to catch the killer but if you don’t, I don’t want you to blame yourself for whatever happens to me. I’m not afraid of dying.’
At Ruby’s words Kitt suddenly felt very close to tears. ‘You may not be afraid of dying but I’m not about to just stand aside and let that happen.’
‘I know, love, but there are some things that are just beyond our control. When it’s our time, it’s our time. Look, I’ll be in touch again if I have any more insights. If they won’t let me phone, I’ll use telepathy.’
‘Or you could just ask Redmond to pass a message on through Mal.’
‘Telepathy is my preferred method but admittedly the message doesn’t always get through.’
Kitt, at last losing patience with Ruby’s shtick and getting concerned that she might miss her bus to Whitby, reassured the old woman as best she could and ended the call. As she did so her black cat Iago leapt onto the bed, sat facing Halloran and fixed his yellow-eyed stare on him.
‘You will remember to feed Iago while I’m gone, won’t you?’ she said. Iago and Halloran had never really warmed to each other. Both believed they should take prized place in Kitt’s heart. For a long time Iago hadn’t had any rivals for Kitt’s affections and when she took up with Halloran he didn’t take well to the possibility of being usurped.
Halloran looked at the cat but managed to keep his expression just about on the right side of disdain. ‘I’ll feed him. If things busy up at this end or for any reason I have to come out and join you in Whitby, I’ll ask next door to make sure he’s fed.’
‘You know,’ Kitt said, thinking, ‘I don’t like to encourage Ruby so I didn’t say anything on the phone but it’s funny she should bring up the subject of tattoos. Becca said that the holes in the victims’ neck could have been caused by a needle and tattooists use needles.’
‘That’s an avenue we’ve been exploring too,’ said Halloran. ‘We’ve been canvassing at tattoo parlours and acupuncture clinics in all the locations there have been murders. So far we’ve turned up nothing. But we’ll keep looking. Something is leaving those marks on the victims’ necks and we intend to find out what.’
‘I think that’s where I’ll start when we get to Whitby,’ said Kitt. ‘Any tattoo parlours or acupuncture clinics.’
‘Not the Whitby Bookshop?’
‘Sadly, due to how little time there is left between now and when the murder is due to take place, all shopping will have to be saved until after I’ve brought the killer to justice. Although . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘I was reading online about an occult bookshop in Whitby that might be worth stopping off at first.’
‘Why am I not surprised that you managed to find a bookshop that links with the case?’
‘It’s not a pleasure trip, thank you very much. I may find some volumes that serve as useful research, and who knows? Maybe the owner has the inside track on the Creed of Count Dracula?’
‘A pretty flimsy excuse for prioritizing a bookshop visit but I’d expect nothing less,’ Halloran teased, but Kitt wasn’t laughing. Instead, she nudged Iago out of his spot – and received a startled hiss in reply – so she could sit next to Halloran on the bed.
‘What Ruby said, about not being afraid to die. Are you able to say the same?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Halloran. ‘I think it’s closer to say that, because of the job I do, I accept the fact that I might die at some unexpected point, sooner than expected, but I don’t see a great deal of point on dwelling on it. It’s going to happen to all of us and we don’t really get a say in when that is.’
‘Very philosophical,’ Kitt said with an admiring note in her voice. ‘I don’t think I’m there yet. To accept the truth that there’ll be a time when me and all the people I love just aren’t here any more. You’d think by my age I’d have processed that. Especially given how many times I’ve worked on murder cases. But then again, maybe that’s part of why I fight so hard to find the truth about those who we have lost too soon.’
‘I think it’s a difficult thing for anyone to process,’ said Halloran.
‘Even though we all have our time to go, nobody should have to go at the hands of cruelty. Like Ruby will if we don’t find a way forward. We need to solve this one, Mal,’ she said. ‘Ruby’s a lot to handle sometimes but when it comes down to it, she spends so much time seeking me out because she hasn’t really got anyone else. We’re the only ones she can turn to right now.’
‘We’ll solve this, we will,’ he replied, wrapping his arms around her.
She smiled at his reassurance but deep down the feeling of dread that had been making her stomach churn for the last four days seemed to grow stronger.
When it came to investigations, Kitt knew what she was doing, to a certain extent. She’d worked several murder cases now and had always been more help than hindrance, just about. But there was something about the meticulous planning of these murders that made her wonder if she really had what it took to catch the killer out before the eleven days were up. It was a doubt planted by a little voice that she didn’t much want to listen to. A voice that was telling her that she was in way over her head.
Eight
Broomsticks, Black Cats and Books was possibly the quirkiest little bookshop Kitt had ever seen, and she’d been in her fair share over the years. Its signage boasted swirling typography in dark purple. The window was packed with boxes of tarot cards and thick hardback books on every esoteric subject Kitt could think of. Even the shop’s geographic position had dramatic flair. It stood at the base of the 199 steps which led to the East Cliff in Whitby. Hundreds of tourists climbed up there every day to visit St Mary’s church and the windswept ruins of the abbey. From there, they could look over this idyllic harbour town that graced the front of many a postcard. Kitt looked up the winding stone steps for a moment, towards the brooding sky. The weather had turned gusty and cloudy since she and Grace had arrived at the coast the previous afternoon which made it a bit easier to turn down sightseeing opportunities in favour of official case business.
Yesterday afternoon had, for the most part, been taken up with the bus ride between York and Whitby. Grace, who didn’t travel so well up and down dale, had spent the vast majority of the journey pushing her head up to the narrow bus windows trying to get some fresh air into her lungs in much the same way a dog might hang its head out of a car window. What little remained of the day after they had arrived was spent settling into the Elysium Guest House over on the West Cliff and doing as much online research as they could about the Creed of Count Dracula. The leader of the cult, Stoke Bramley, seemed to have said enough to appease the police. Moreover, Halloran had confirmed that all thirty of the current members had alibis for a significant number of the murders, and the days on which the marks were painted on the victims’ doors. Still, Kitt couldn’t shake the feeling – given the nature of the murders – that the killer had some connection to their ‘organization’. Alongside Tremble, Bramley and his followers remained on the suspect list at least until Kitt had had a chance to speak to the cult leader for herself.
‘Wouldn’t it be better if we spoke to the people who have access to long, sharp objects first?’ said Grace. ‘The acupuncture clinic is just down the road.’
‘Before we do any specific digging it’s going to be useful to get some background information,’ said Kitt. ‘And in my experience bookshop owners are extremely knowledgeable people. The killer is targeting people associated with the occult, this bookshop specializes in the occult. The investigation starts here.’
Grace sighed as Kitt pushed open the door of the bookshop. Clearly she wasn’t any more convinced by her rationale than Halloran was. And, admittedly, Kitt did have her eye on one of the small, black cat toys that adorned the window dressing and looked the spit of Iago – even though th
e ruthless beast would no doubt tear the thing to pieces within seconds of her getting it home – but other than that this was to be strictly business. With only six days left before the killer was due to strike again there was no time to lose.
As soon as she was over the threshold, Kitt began admiring the bookshop. It was small but the owner had made the most of the space with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two of the walls and a central aisle packed with all kinds of occult paraphernalia. A couple of people were browsing the shelves but as it was still early on a Monday morning, the shop assistant behind the desk was the only other person in there.
Kitt meant to go straight up to the assistant and start firing questions, truly she did. But even between the door and the desk she spotted several volumes she wouldn’t mind having on her bookshelf back at home. She resolved to come back after the case was over for a thorough inspection, but for now she picked up a biography of Bram Stoker and one of the plush black cats she’d seen in the window. The Stoker biography might be of help as they took their investigation into the Creed of Count Dracula further, Kitt told herself. As for the cat toy, well, that couldn’t exactly be explained away as an investigative essential, but the shop assistant was surely more likely to offer up information if Kitt and Grace ingratiated themselves by making a considerable purchase.
As they approached the counter, Kitt studied the man sitting behind it. He was huddled up in a thick navy cardigan and had shortly trimmed grey hair that covered only the sides of his head. A pair of delicate spectacles rested on his nose and he raised a warm smile as Kitt and Grace drew near.
‘Just these for you, lass?’ he asked.
‘For now,’ said Kitt with sincere regret. ‘We’re on a bit of a time limit today but I will be back for a proper browse at a later date.’
‘You’ll be very welcome when you return,’ said the man, before accepting Kitt’s money, counting back her change and wrapping the book and cat toy in a black paper bag.
‘Are you the owner of this wonderful bookshop?’ Kitt asked.
‘Arnold Sykes,’ he said with a nod. ‘But everyone calls me Arnie, and you can too.’
‘I’m Kitt Hartley,’ said Kitt. ‘And this is my associate Grace Edwards.’
‘Pleasure to meet you. ’Ere, you’re not wanting to buy the place, are you? People are always asking but I’m not looking to sell, I’m afraid. I know it’s a prime location but I love this place far too much to let her go.’
‘Oh no, it’s nothing like that,’ said Kitt, choosing her words carefully. She had already discussed with Grace that they couldn’t let on to anybody they interviewed that they were connected to Ruby. If the killer did live in Whitby, their interviewees might know him. In some cases, they might be acquainted with the murderer and not even realize it. If they told such a person that there were people in town who had direct access to their next victim, who knew what that could mean for Ruby? Let alone Kitt and Grace themselves. ‘Actually, we’re conducting a civilian investigation into the Vampire Killer murders,’ said Kitt. ‘We heard that a new victim had been targeted and although the police are doing a very good job, I’m sure, bringing such an individual to justice is no small task. We run our own private investigation agency so decided to have a go at solving it ourselves. See if we can save a life or two.’
‘It’s good of you to step forward and help like that,’ Arnie said with a frown. ‘It’s a terrible business. I daren’t turn on’t news a lot of the time. I’m scared stiff he’s coming for me next. Our shop is quite high profile within the occult community, you know? Most of the time that’s a blessing. A bookshop can never have too many loyal customers. But right now, I must admit, I wish we flew a bit more under the radar. It just seems so random. I’m praying the police catch him so I can rest a bit easier, and of course so he doesn’t get his hands on his latest target.’
‘We’re going to see what we can do about that,’ said Kitt. ‘We thought, given its status in the occult community, your shop might be a good place start asking some background questions.’
‘I’d happily be of help but I’m not sure how much use I’d be to you.’
‘Maybe more than you realize. We believe that the killer might be operating out of the Whitby area,’ said Grace.
Arnie’s face turned white in an instant. ‘W-what makes you think that? Oh, God, you don’t think he’s one of me customers, do you? That hadn’t even crossed my mind. Folk round ’ere are so friendly, you know?’
‘Given the nature of the crimes, there is a chance that you could have served him in this shop if he was doing research into the occult and is based in the area,’ said Kitt. ‘But that’s just a theory, of course, supposition, and you shouldn’t let it worry you too much. As far as we know there haven’t been any related opportunistic killings. There’s always an eleven-day warning.’
‘If I saw the killer’s mark on the front door of the shop, the bloke probably wouldn’t have to come and kill me ’imself. I’m fairly sure that just seeing that symbol would be enough to stop my heart on the spot.’
‘You and me both,’ said Grace.
‘Hopefully we’ll catch him before it comes to that,’ said Kitt. ‘To that end, I wondered if you’d had any dealings with the Creed of Count Dracula?’
‘Oh, you don’t think they’re involved, do you?’
‘We don’t have any evidence that they are,’ said Kitt. ‘We’re really just making enquiries because of their link with vampire culture. Do you know any of the members?’
‘From what I understand there are a few core members who live at their Whitby address beyond the west side of town. The rest just visit as and when they have residential events. One or two of their members come in here on a regular basis. Mostly on winter evenings when it’s dark before the shop closes. You don’t see them around much during the day but you can spot them because they wear a silver pin somewhere on their clothing. It’s shaped into a letter D in old-style script,’ said Arnie.
‘Hm,’ said Grace. ‘A letter to signify membership. Just like the letter V to mark out the victims.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Arnie. ‘Although, to be fair, we don’t know that symbol is a letter V. I was thinking, like, it could be a Roman numeral.’
‘Oh,’ said Kitt. ‘Yes, it could. I’m usually quite good at spotting alternative interpretations but you beat me to that one, Arnie.’
Arnie’s cheeks rouged at Kitt’s praise. ‘I could be wrong, it just struck me t’other week that it’s not something anyone’s mentioned in any of the coverage. We’ve assumed V for vampire because of the marks on the victims’ necks. But perhaps there’s another explanation. Or maybe the numeral is a clue to finding the killer.’
‘I’m going to make a note of that, thank you,’ said Kitt.
‘Have you ever had any trouble with members of the Creed of Count Dracula?’ said Grace. ‘Or do you know if they’ve got into trouble in the local community?’
‘As far as I know, they keep themselves to themselves. You see them out and about during the goth weekends, of course, but I must admit I haven’t heard any complaints directly. They all seem quite mellow folk. Although . . .’
‘What?’ said Kitt.
‘I don’t think there’s particularly owt untoward about the core members of the group but they do attract a lot of wannabes to the area. They’re quite an exclusive club, not everyone can pay the entry fee, if you know what I mean. Maybe someone out there is trying to emulate their behaviour but they’ve taken it to a dark place.’
‘Is there someone in particular that you’re thinking of?’ said Grace.
‘No,’ said Arnie, ‘I can’t say that there is but there are quite a few exclusive covens and groups within the occult community and to me, though the people who set them up seem to always have the best of intentions, any group with a set of criteria to join it spells trouble. Some peopl
e don’t take rejection well and I know Stoke Bramley has turned a lot of people away. If you ask me, it was only a matter of time before there’d be consequences to that.’
Nine
Kitt paused for a moment, considering Arnie’s line of reasoning. Mal had said the group had been in operation for five years, and in that time they had acquired just thirty members from across the UK. She didn’t know how many people might apply to be part of an organization like the Creed of Count Dracula on an annual basis but she imagined it to be a lot more than six. Besides anything else, groups like those tended to thrive on their exclusivity. The way human psychology worked, only accepting a handful of people every year was bound to make those places more desirable. Kitt would be interested to know more about what criteria the collective used to select their members and what might make them turn somebody away. As Arnie suggested, exclusion from a group like that would likely cut deep with those who didn’t make it through the selection process, but would someone really start a killing spree over something like that? Might they not simply spread some vicious rumours or in extremis commit arson on their premises? At this stage, Kitt couldn’t quite convince herself that this alone would be motive for the kind of murders that were playing out.
‘What about anyone else in the local community?’ said Grace. ‘Has there been any unusual behaviour from any of your customers, or have you heard any rumours from visitors to the shop?’
‘Good grief,’ Arnie said with a light chuckle, ‘you’ve got to remember, this is Yorkshire. Unusual behaviour sort of comes with the territory.’
Grace started to laugh and Kitt joined in, knowing exactly what Arnie meant. When Kitt described the behaviour of most of her acquaintances to people outside the region, they so often wouldn’t believe what went on.
Arnie eyed the other customers who were still browsing the shelves and then lowered his voice. ‘Truth be told, there are a couple of people that you might want to have a word with. I don’t for a second think they’ve got owt to do with this, mind, but they are people who you would definitely describe as odd. If you’re looking for folk exhibiting what you might call strange behaviour, then you probably want to speak to them.’
