by Helen Cox
His complexion was not the only striking thing about him. Even in the dimness of candlelight his green eyes seemed iridescent. Almost to the point that Kitt wondered if he was wearing contact lenses. With his tight black trousers and his ruffled white shirt, which hung loose and revealed more of his chest than Kitt would have preferred to see, it seemed he was of the Anne Rice school of blood-suckers. Quite appropriate, perhaps, given that this was almost literally an interview with a vampire.
‘Are you going somewhere, Kitt?’ he asked. Kitt presumed the smug look on his face and his sultry swagger was a result of Bramley overestimating his own attractiveness. Certainly he seemed to be enjoying some joke that she wasn’t a part of and this attitude, along with the lack of coms, made her muscles tense.
Perhaps he was used to admiration. Perhaps most of the people who visited this place were groupies who found the notion of a real-life vampire alluring. If that was the case, she may have been wrong about the Stephenie Meyer reference at the door. Instead of a good name being tainted by pop culture, it could be a knowing, tongue-in-cheek reference meant to entice people who found vampires enthralling.
Luckily for Kitt, the idea of having her blood sucked by a demonic fiend did not send her pulse racing. Which meant that Bramley was vastly miscalculating his power in this situation, and the power he had over her. ‘No, no,’ Kitt said, steadying her breathing. ‘I thought I heard a noise at the door and came to see what it was. It must just have been you approaching.’ She made sure to keep her tone ultra-casual. Her explanation for why she’d been at the door only seemed to amuse Bramley all the more.
He breezed by her, passing closer than she’d like as he did so. Another cheap trick to assert dominance. Well, it wasn’t going to work.
Steeling herself, Kitt followed him back into the room. When she spoke, she made sure her tone was as business-like as possible to avoid any misunderstanding.
‘Mr Bramley, thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I won’t take much of your time.’
‘You can call me Stoke,’ he almost purred whilst uncorking a bottle of red wine that had been standing on a table in the corner. He poured a glass. ‘Won’t you join me for a drink, Kitt?’ he added, his green eyes gleaming.
‘No thank you, I don’t drink when I’m on duty,’ Kitt replied, eyeing the glass dubiously. Was that one hundred per cent red wine or was there some truth to those disgusting rumours about animal blood? Halloran had said Bramley had denied any such accusations but of course he wasn’t going to admit something like that to a police officer hunting for a killer who drained the blood of his victims.
Bramley took a big gulp of his drink and swallowed it, hungrily. ‘Let me guess, you’re here to find out if I am the Vampire Killer?’
‘As you’re not in custody it would seem the police have already ascertained that you are not. I’d imagine yours would be one of the first doors they’d knock on when trying to solve a case like this,’ said Kitt.
‘You assume right in both instances. They knocked and found nothing. And yet here we are, me the leader of a vampire collective and you a civilian investigator. You must think that there’s more to the story than I told the police. You don’t seem like the kind of woman who wastes her time. And we all know the killer’s next intended victim has but days left to live – five, by my count – unless the killer is stopped.’
‘I don’t know that there’s any more to the story than you told the police but I think that sometimes when people are talking to someone who has the power to arrest them, they are more concerned with making sure it is understood that they’re innocent than they are in conveying all the facts that might be relevant,’ said Kitt. ‘So I’d like to start by asking about what it is you really do here. As far as you’re willing to tell me.’
‘I have nothing to hide, Kitt,’ Bramley said, taking a step closer to her. ‘We are, as I said, a vampire collective. But it’s not about drinking animal blood as some gossips would have you believe. It’s about embracing the darkness.’
‘Physically? Is that why you don’t go out until sunset?’
‘That’s not a strict rule,’ said Bramley. ‘Our members have to function in society, when all’s said and done. But a physical embracing of the darkness, spending more time with the night and other nocturnal creatures can help us contemplate the inner darkness that so many others fear or try to pretend isn’t there. We all have a dark side, Kitt. Don’t you?’
There was no way on earth Kitt was answering that question. Instead she moved the conversation on. ‘And what does that achieve? Self-development or enrichment?’
Bramley smirked at Kitt, dodging the question, but he didn’t seem surprised by it. ‘Yes, I believe it does help with those things. Exploring our dark side, and the dark side of the world, can support us in living more enlightened lives. It also prevents us from fearing our own mortality; like most spiritual collectives we believe in life eternal, mirroring the life of a vampire.’
‘So, you all sit around and discuss the ills of the world and how to make peace with them? Or something like that?’
‘Something like that. But it’s more ritualistic to give it significance. For example, we might ask members to write about a time in which they experienced trauma and burn it on a fire to free themselves. There are many things that we do here but none of them are nearly so terrifying as some would have you believe.’
‘And there’s no alarming initiation ritual you’re not telling me about?’
‘Define alarming,’ Bramley said, his smile broadening further.
‘Well, I’m not really well-versed in these things but off the top of my head I’d have to say anything that involves ritualistic slaughter, violence, coercion or abuse.’
‘None of those things sound particularly legal,’ said Bramley. ‘And I don’t engage in illegal activity.’
‘What about the members of your group?’
‘They know that if they are caught in an illegal act they will be expelled. The list of our terms and conditions for membership is considerable. Given how many people would love to see us shut down altogether we can’t take risks and recruit bad apples. Most of our members went through a lot to become a part of the collective so they know better than to flout the rules.’
‘Went through a lot? So the initiation is intense then?’
‘The initiation is centred around a person proving they are truly willing to embrace their own darkness and whether they’re willing to fully trust. A vampire has no physical reflection, so we ask participants to hold a mirror up to their own soul. To admit the things they’ve got wrong and accept responsibility for the life they lead. So many hold back and cannot be accepted into the group. They want to blame others for the ills that have befallen them rather than accept their own part in them or learn how to harness them for a greater good. We are none of us perfect and a vampire cannot be in denial of the darkness, that is where he truly comes alive.’
‘Well that all sounds . . .’ Kitt frowned, ‘rather fascinating, actually. But you mentioned trust plays a part too. What’s the trust part of the initiation?’
Gently, Bramley took Kitt’s hand in his. ‘Initiates agree to let me bite them, just here.’ He drew a line with his finger across the skin just above her wrist.
‘What?’ Kitt said, pulling her hand from his. Everything up until then had seemed so immersed in philosophy she somehow hadn’t expected that.
Bramley laughed. ‘I suppose we just found out where you are on the trust spectrum.’
‘I don’t need to let a stranger bite me to prove I’m trusting, thank you.’
‘I do not draw blood,’ said Bramley. ‘That’s the trust part. The initiate has to trust that I would never do anything to harm them, which I wouldn’t. If they can’t trust me, then they have no place in this collective. Anyone I bite, and it is a mere playful nip, has consented for me to do so. A
nd whenever I do, the response is always laughter, never torturous pain or trauma. In that moment the initiates see that placing a little trust in another needn’t be such a big deal. And they laugh at how foolish they were to worry or build up the moment at all.’
‘Seems like there are easier ways of establishing trust than that,’ said Kitt, still put out by Bramley’s comments about her trust issues. She had come a long way with trusting others since Mal had come into her life but being a private investigator and thinking the best of others didn’t particularly go hand in hand.
‘Easy isn’t what makes us grow,’ said Bramley, and grudgingly Kitt privately admitted she agreed with that.
‘So,’ Bramley continued, ‘having heard what we do here, what do you think? Am I the Vampire Killer?’
‘Right now I don’t have any evidence that you are,’ said Kitt. ‘Other than the link between your vampire activities and the marks left on the victims’ necks. But honestly, I think the link is too obvious. This killer has been meticulous in all of his dealings. It doesn’t seem likely that he would so readily point to his true identity.’
‘I agree it would be an act of astounding arrogance,’ Bramley said.
Kitt suppressed a sigh. Arrogance seemed to be at the core of who Bramley was. And the fact that a link between the deaths and his organization was too ‘obvious’ may just be the perfect grounds for dismissing any allegations against them. They could argue with ease that they would never be so stupid as to commit violent acts that so readily pointed at them, when really they were simply relying on that line of argument to cover the fact they were the ones acting out these atrocities.
‘What I was more interested in was finding out if there was anyone who wished your collective harm,’ said Kitt, deciding not to challenge Bramley about the fact he seemed arrogant enough to believe he could get away with anything. It wasn’t as though he was going to admit anything to her directly and the officers at Middlesbrough had already established that Bramley and his current membership all had alibis for the murders.
Bramley laughed a long and somewhat sardonic laugh. ‘As the head of a vampire collective, one that most people have labelled a cult, I’m afraid that list is not a short one. It’s strange really. We are very open about who we are and the fact we find creatures of the night so intriguing that we wish to emulate them. And we are labelled monsters for it. But true monsters do not reveal how sharp their teeth are until it is far too late. And something tells me you know that, Kitt.’
Try as she might, Kitt could not disagree with Bramley’s hypothesis. It seemed, in so many cases, that the culprit had veiled their truly evil act behind a polite and manipulative mask.
‘I’m not talking about idle gossip,’ Kitt clarified. ‘I am talking about threats, written threats perhaps, that you have received. Either through the post or through social media. Anyone who has made it clear that it is their intention to harm or even destroy you.’
‘We have had such threats, but not for several months now. They come in periodically and we save them in case anything untoward happens but nothing ever has.’
‘Until now,’ said Kitt. ‘It is quite possible that this whole situation revolves around implicating you.’
‘I’ve considered that,’ Bramley said, taking another step closer to Kitt. ‘But I think if that was the case the killer would have drawn a clearer line between us and the victims. I handed over all of our records to the police – all the applications we received from people wanting to join us – but not one of the victims is part of what we do here, we have no link with them. If this was about us the killer would surely have targeted people who’d applied to become one of us, or had at least even visited us, to make sure the finger was firmly pointed in our direction.’
‘Possibly,’ Kitt conceded. ‘But if it’s all the same I would like to see those threats that you received anyway. If you show them to me and let me work on them I might be able to find out who the killer is and simultaneously remove all suspicion levelled at your organization.’
For the first time since the start of the interview, Bramley’s face seemed to be smirk-free. By now he was only a pace away from where Kitt was standing. ‘You may have the files if you think it will help. I’ll do anything I can to put an end to these killings. Despite the suspicions against me and mine, I have no wish to see people killed in this way. My desires may be dark but they’re not murderous.’
‘I beg to differ on that point,’ said a deep, familiar voice.
Kitt turned to see that Mal was standing in the doorway, his expression grave, his fists clenched. Grace was with him and Kitt could tell by the startled look on her face something was deeply wrong.
‘Kitt, step away from him,’ Halloran said. ‘He is the person we’ve been looking for. He’s our killer.’
Fifteen
As instructed, Kitt took a step back from Bramley and looked back at Halloran.
‘Who are you? How did you get in here?’ Bramley said, an annoyance Kitt wouldn’t have expected from him ringing out in his tone. Up until now, it seemed nothing could ruffle him.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Malcolm Halloran,’ Mal said, holding up his badge. ‘And I’d advise you not to take that tone with me. I have a warrant to search this property. More officers are on their way to ensure no stone is left unturned.’
The tightness in Bramley’s face seemed to relax; he looked almost amused by the idea of Twilight Manor being searched. ‘I’m assuming, since you’ve gone to the lengths of securing a search warrant, that you suddenly think that I’m involved with the killings?’
‘I have reason to believe you’re either responsible or working with one of our other suspects, yes.’
‘What could possibly make you think that?’
‘It has to do with an online alias of yours, SimonB666.’
‘You’re SimonB666?’ Kitt said, her eyes widening as she took yet another step away from Bramley. If that was the case, he must be in some way connected with the Children of Silvanus and was either targeting Ayleen, or working with her.
For his part, Bramley frowned. ‘I don’t understand why that would be incriminating. I haven’t used that handle in a very long time. Since before I changed my name and formed the Creed of Count Dracula.’
‘You were Simon Baker back then,’ said Halloran.
Bramley shrugged. ‘Yes, that’s a matter of public record. It’s not something I’ve ever tried to hide. I ask my members to believe a lot of outlandish things, but even I have to admit that asking them to believe I was born with the name Stoke Bramley would be a bit of a stretch. I still don’t understand what all the fuss is about. It’s not illegal to change your name, or use an online handle. At least, not to my knowledge.’
‘It’s not illegal, but when we find evidence that you used that alias to reach out to a collective, as you would call them, involved in the case of the Vampire Killer, well, let’s just say that’s enough for reasonable suspicion against you.’
‘I didn’t know there were any other groups mixed up in this. What collective are you referring to?’ Bramley said with a frown.
‘The Children of Silvanus,’ Halloran replied. Kitt noted that as Mal said this his eyes were fixed on Bramley, carefully gauging his response.
All previous amusement and good humour disappeared from Bramley’s face at once and his lips hitched in a snarl as he spoke. ‘Why is that important? What have the Children of Silvanus got to do with any of this?’
Halloran’s glare deepened. ‘You tell me. You’re the one with ties to the . . . group.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Bramley snapped, and, out of nowhere, raised his voice. ‘I wasn’t part of their cult. I would never have anything to do with a group like that. They were the closest thing to the devil this side of Scotland when they were in operation.’
In an instant, Bramley’s whole demeanour had changed
. He was panting after his outburst and if it were possible he looked even paler than he had before.
‘If you feel that strongly, then why were you online asking questions about them?’ Grace countered. ‘From the message I read it looked like you were trying to connect with members of the group. If I felt that way about a group of people, I wouldn’t go looking for them. I’d put as much distance between them and me as I could.’
At Grace’s question, Bramley sighed and slumped into the nearest chair. His former bravado had all but evaporated. His voice was flat and full of defeat. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with them. But my sister, Penelope, she was a member of their group.’
‘How did that happen?’ asked Kitt, while noticing that Halloran had reached for his pocket book.
‘We were foster kids. Pen never got on with our foster parents. She was a couple of years older than me so she had more happy memories of our birth parents than I did. I think on some level that made her less willing to accept our new reality. No matter what our foster parents did, as far as she was concerned they were always the villains.’
Foster kids? Just like Ayleen. Sounds as though the Children of Silvanus had a pattern when it came to who they groomed. Kitt tried not dwell too long on that point. Few things made her blood boil more than people exploiting the vulnerable but she had to stay focused on the matter in hand.
‘So, somehow she became involved in the Children of Silvanus?’ said Halloran, jotting down a few notes on what Bramley had said so far.
‘One day, out of nowhere, she told me she had been chatting to these people online. She didn’t say who they were in the beginning but I later learned they were the Children of Silvanus when they tried to recruit me too. They had invited Pen to become part of their community. She was almost eighteen. She knew I wouldn’t let on to our foster parents where she’d gone and probably thought by the time they caught up with her she’d be an adult and there would be nothing they could do about it, even if they wanted to.’
