by Ian Jarvis
‘Which one?’
He thought for a moment, then cradled the left, wincing in mock agony.
Gregson grabbed his lapels. ‘Listen, you little shit, if you don’t start answering...’
‘Whoa!’ The signer leapt up. ‘The conversation’s being recorded.’
‘What conversation? Me talking to myself and this twat jerking me around? Well if he thinks...’
‘Put him down.’ Raines patted his shoulder. ‘I think it’ll be best.’
Gregson dumped the youth in the chair.
‘Things are getting fraught.’ The signer coughed uneasily. ‘Why don’t we all have a nice cup of tea?’
Watson twirled his wrist and held up two fingers.
‘I see,’ said Raines. ‘Two sugars for you?’
‘So you do know some sign language?’ snarled Gregson.
***
‘What do you think?’ Aslam followed the Inspector back to the incident room. ‘Do you reckon they know anything?’
‘They certainly know something,’ sighed Katie, ‘but they won’t talk.’
‘The kid definitely won’t,’ said the Sergeant. ‘What do you want to do with them?’
‘We can only hold them overnight, so get both sets of prints checked against the ones found in the Range Rover. Check if either has a connection to menageries or anywhere big cat hairs might be found.’
‘I can’t help wondering about what the Super’ said earlier about murderers taking things from their victims.’
‘Mmmh, the bag, binoculars and bracelet.’
Something else is missing in all three: their blood. How’s the killer draining it and what’s he doing with it?’
‘I don’t know, Tariq. The Pathologist is looking into that.’
Aslam let out a nervous laugh. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say we were dealing with a vampire.’
‘Then don’t.’ Katie smiled tautly. ‘Don’t say it.’
Chapter 42
The Ferrari sped through Pickering and onto the dark North York Moors. Rex didn’t finish shaking until he reached the gatehouse of Sedgefield Grange. He also finished his story - Raoul’s insistence that he investigate Lisa’s murder, Quist and Watson, the chat with Amy and the badges that led to Creeper’s house. Fran huddled in the passenger seat, listening and chewing nervously at her knuckles.
‘That’s about it,’ he said. ‘I found the dead bikers and you appeared. I still can’t believe it.’ He drove through the parkland as the gates opened, peering over his shades into the blackness on either side of the car. This morning he’d firmly believed the supernatural to be nonsense, but anything could be lurking out there. ‘Any idea how your friend’s badges came to be on the railway and at Lisa’s murder scene?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran’s eyes widened as the F50 cleared a wood and the manor appeared. ‘This is your uncle’s? Just how rich is your family?’
Rex realised this would be a good time to defuse the tension and take her mind off the horror. ‘Pretty rich. All the cash comes from Grant Homes, along with stock investments and...’
‘Grant’s? Your family owns the huge housing company?’ Fran’s amazement turned back to tears. ‘How can we talk about houses after what happened? After what we saw?’
Rex shuddered. ‘Yeah, it can’t be much fun having your friends decapitated and disembowelled.’ Empathic counselling had never been his greatest skill. ‘Try not to think about the way they were clawed open and slaughtered. Come on. Falling apart won’t help. You’re going to be okay; I’ll see to that.’
‘Thanks, Rex.’ Fran wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t believe it. You don’t even know me and yet you’re helping like this.’
‘I’m a pretty amazing guy, aren’t I?’ Rex sped around the house and found lines of parked cars. Mercedes, Jaguar and BMW were the most numerous badges on show, with Porsche, Aston Martin and Bentley not far behind. There wouldn’t be any point searching for second-hand Fords here. ‘Damn, I forgot. Rupert’s holding a hunt ball tonight. We could have done without this.’
Fran caught her breath as he braked hard and twisted the wheel, bringing the Ferrari to a sideways skidding halt. Stopping like this usually impressed female passengers, but Rex didn’t realise it only worked if their IQ was as tiny as their skirt. Grabbing Fran’s wrist as she climbed from the car, he glanced back at the dark parkland and hurried her up the steps to where Barrymore the butler held open the door. The sooner they were inside a bright house with other people, the better.
‘Good evening.’ Barrymore closed the door behind them. ‘Merry Christmas, Miss.’
Rex peered over his sunglasses as a Dalek trundled out of the banquet room. ‘What the hell...’
He led Fran towards the music. Napoleon stood near the door with his arm around Queen Victoria. Rex watched him groping her royal posterior and turned to see Elvis chatting to Nero, Mister Spock, and a debatable-looking vestal virgin. Hiawatha and the Frankenstein monster were eating at the buffet, and Gandhi gyrated with a nun on the dance floor to Wham’s Last Christmas.
‘I didn’t know it was a costume ball.’ Rex moved aside as Darth Vader and a guilty-faced Bo Peep brushed past on their way to a bedroom. ‘Oh well! Come on.’
‘We’re going in?’ said Fran. ‘No, I can’t face this.’
‘After what happened, I don’t fancy it either, but I need to see my aunt. I have to talk to someone about this to satisfy myself that I’m not crazy. Marika is open-minded and...’
‘She’d better be incredibly open-minded if you’re going to mention people changing into black panthers.’
‘I know what you mean, but she comes from Transylvania. I’ve heard her talk about vampire mythology, so she may be able to help.’
‘I feel so out-of-place.’ Fran smiled feebly at his black clothing and shades. ‘You can say you’re a hit-man or something, but what about me?’
Rex grinned. ‘Let’s say you’ve come as the most beautiful girl in the world.’ Fran was mid-thirties, and like geriatric rock stars, he made a point of not touching any girl over twenty-nine. With this older woman he’d certainly make an exception. He led her through a group of Jack Sparrows at the buffet and poured two scotches. ‘Here, drink this. It’ll make us both feel better.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked around timidly. ‘It’s an amazing place.’
‘Rupert believes if you’ve got it, rub their working-class noses in it.’ He gulped the much-needed whisky and nodded to where his uncle stood with Calamity Jane, his spacehopper paunch shoehorned into a Santa outfit. ‘That’s him. I ought to warn you, he’s a bit eccentric.’
‘Eccentric?’ Fran watched him scratching an arse that could be rented as advertising space. ‘In what way?’
‘He looks upon the common folk as if they were pubic hair in marmalade. His views on foxes and ethnic people are a little harsh too, but apart from that, he’s not too bad. I’ll introduce you.’ Rex strolled across and clasped a hand on Rupert’s shoulder. ‘Evening Uncle.’
‘You made it,’ boomed Rupert. ‘Good show!’
‘Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like you to meet Fran.’
‘Mmh! Nicely built.’ Looking the girl over, Rupert drunkenly felt her muscle tone. ‘A damn fine woman with firm rump and flanks. Is this the filly you mentioned this morning? The rambler?’
‘Er, no. This is...’
‘I see.’ Winking, he brought his mouth to Rex’s ear, his loud, boozy chuckle supposedly conspiratorial. ‘Another of your empty-headed bed-warmers, eh? I expect the wife will want to look at her.’ Rupert gave Fran’s bottom a slap. ‘She’s over there chatting to Graham and Tania. Go on. I know you women like to chinwag about babies and cushion covers.’
‘Er, right.’ Rex jerked Fran away, his face crimson. ‘Good idea.’
; ‘Please tell me the wife’s nothing like that,’ whispered Fran.
Marika wore a Marvel Comics costume–the skin-tight lycra suit of the Black Widow–and stood by the piano talking to Hitler and Eva Braun. Rex had seen Eva, or rather Tania Smythe, at Rupert’s previous parties, a flamboyant woman, who constantly brushed back her hair and waved menthol cigarettes as if conducting an orchestra.
‘It was hilarious,’ said Tania. ‘Andromeda and Kyle made the servants run around the courtyard whilst they threw stones at them. You should have seen their faces.’
‘A picture,’ laughed her husband, his Nazi moustache falling off. ‘But they were whinging about bruises and sore feet.’
‘It ruined the children’s game,’ said Tania. ‘Until I pointed out that people get very sore feet in those unemployment queues.’
The pair collapsed into laughter, the sort heard from government benches when the raising of state pensions is suggested.
Rex leant close to Marika. ‘We have to speak,’ he whispered.
‘Okay.’ His aunt glanced at Fran. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Not here.’
‘The blue room,’ murmured Marika. ‘I shan’t be long.’
Nodding, Rex led Fran past Jesus at the buffet, opened the hall door, and almost fainted. A tall man in a cloak raised his arms and blocked the way, baring fangs and hissing theatrically.
‘Look out!’ Rex yanked the girl back and slammed a fist into the white face. ‘He’s changing into a cat.’
The man fell backwards and rolled under the hall Christmas tree. Whipping out the Walther PPK, Rex raced forward, trained the gun on his head, and then froze as plastic fangs were spat out.
‘Ah.’ Rex spirited away the pistol. ‘You’re Dracula, right?
‘You bwoke my fuggin’ nose,’ spluttered the Count. ‘You doopid fuggin’ badard.’
‘Er, sorry about that. I thought...’ He dragged Fran quickly past. ‘Hey, super costume, Count. Merry Christmas.’
Reaching the blue room and flopping gratefully onto one of the blue couches inside, Rex pulled out his cigarettes. He flexed his knuckles and gave an embarrassed cough.
‘That Hitler and his wife - ugh!’ Fran knelt by the fire to warm herself. ‘Talk about obnoxious.’
‘Yeah.’ Rex wiped his fist clean of blood, watching as the girl held outstretched palms to the flames. ‘You look a lot better, Fran. How are you feeling now?’
‘A hell of a lot safer and yes, a little better.’ She gave a hesitant smile. ‘This is a wonderful house, Rex. When we drove around the woodland and it came into view, I felt like the young wife in the film who saw Manderley for the first time.’
‘Mandalay? In Burma? Well, maybe in a certain light...’ He heard Fran laugh for the first time.
‘Manderley. The house in the Hitchcock movie, Rebecca.’
‘Never argue with a movie expert.’ Rex drew on his cigarette. ‘Rebecca lives on Sunnybrook Farm.’
‘A movie expert?’ She attempted a lisp. ‘Here’s looking at you kid.’
‘Sorry? Oh, I see. That’s a line from a film, is it?’
Marika rushed in. ‘It’s hard to get away from Tania,’ she said. ‘And now some idiot has punched the village doctor out there. I’m glad to escape for a while.’ She took a decanter of Glen Mhor from a cabinet and smiled at Fran. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Marika. Would you both like a drink?’
‘Please,’ said Rex. He waited until the malt was poured. ‘This is Fran and we have a problem. This is crazy and I don’t know how to begin.’
‘Don’t worry. You won’t shock me.’ Marika ran an eye over the girl. ‘Does it involve violent pimps, drugs, pregnancy...’
‘Panthers, said Rex. ‘We’ve just been attacked by men who turned into panthers.’
Chapter 43
The Mercedes van pulled up by the roadside and Sangster climbed out with the other three guards. ‘Gillette gave you two addresses, Sir,’ he said. ‘One in Clifton and...’
‘One in the village of Askham Richard,’ confirmed Strand, taking out his phone. ‘The forecast predicts fog again tomorrow, so we’ll go there then. Wait with the others while I make this private call.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Sangster shook his head. ‘Sir, nothing has gone right so far. We were too late at the mortuary. We let the hospital porter ring the police. We let them escape from the Clifton house. We really ought to...’
‘Get out,’ shouted Strand. He waited until the door closed before ringing Lucius Silva.
‘Thursday,’ said the Committee President in his exotic accent. ‘You will have news.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘Yes, you were correct.’ Strand lit a cigarette. ‘The Mirren girl did die the way you assumed and Stapleton has vanished.’
‘Thank you for the bad news,’ said Silva. ‘I trust you are following it with good?’
‘Indeed. I visited the morgue and that problem is resolved. The evidence was still dormant and has been destroyed.’
‘No one is aware of what Stapleton created?’
‘No one. Our anonymity hasn’t been jeopardised.’
‘I understand there has been a third murder? Another doctor from the York laboratory?’
‘Yes, but her remains were burnt. All we need do now is locate Stapleton. Gillette is no use and there are no clues at the house, but I know Stapleton well. There are still a few places we haven’t tried.’
‘Don’t disappoint me, Matthew,’ said Silva. ‘I want this over with as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I won’t disappoint you, Lucius.’ Strand thumbed off the phone, extended his feline talons and inspected them. ‘And trust me, all of this will be over very soon.’
***
‘You believe us?’ said Rex. ‘You’re not surprised?’
Marika shook her head. ‘I’m very surprised, but yes I believe you. From your descriptions of the way their faces changed and how the bullets had no effect, I’d say they were definitely supernatural creatures.’
‘Horrible!’ Fran sipped her drink and huddled deep into the leather armchair. ‘It was really horrible.’
‘Supernatural?’ Rex shivered. ‘They could change into cats. Speaking in this normal setting, it seems crazy. Absolutely insane. If anyone had told me this yesterday, I’d have phoned a nuthouse.’
‘I’m Transylvanian.’ Marika shrugged. ‘In my land, supernatural beings are an unpleasant fact. What exactly do you know about these things? Probably nothing?’
‘Er...’ Until today, his mother’s copper rheumatism bracelet was the closest Rex had been to the occult. ‘I once watched Rosemary’s Baby.’
‘Well, that’s a work of fiction,’ said Marika. ‘It deals with Satanism, but it still illustrates how...’
‘Hang on! It might have been Ryan’s Daughter.’
‘Transylvania?’ said Fran, gulping her whisky. ‘Did you ever meet anything supernatural there?’
‘I knew someone who was killed by a vampire. I went to her funeral, where the village priest decapitated her.’
‘Ugh!’ Fran quaked.
‘These cat creatures you describe,’ said Marika, ‘I’ve heard stories of an ancient cult who are able to shape shift. They’re similar to vampires in that they live on human blood and can’t tolerate daylight. I have many books on mythology in the library and I’ll read up on them.’
‘They drink our blood?’ mumbled Fran. ‘So you’re sure? Those - men we met tonight were...’
‘Supernatural?’ Marika nodded. ‘Yes, unfortunately I’m sure, but this is bizarre. Even in the wilds of Eastern Europe, such creatures are unbelievably secretive.’
‘Why would they kill my friends?’ asked Fran.
‘The question is why would they leave clawed bodies with heads twisted arou
nd and limbs torn off? I’ve no doubt blood will be missing too. They’d never expose themselves by leaving corpses like that for the authorities. In civilised countries, their victims are never found. Why would they do this?’
‘And why return?’ demanded Rex. ‘They didn’t know Fran or I would be there.’
‘Perhaps to dispose of the corpses; I really don’t know. What on earth have you become mixed up in?’ Marika pondered. ‘Have you rung this private detective you met?’
‘I’ve tried,’ said Rex, ‘but there’s no reply. When I get through, I doubt he’ll believe me. To be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to speak to you. I had to talk to someone.’
‘I suppose you’ve thought about the police, but...’
Rex laughed. ‘You can imagine how they’d see it. A dozen people murdered and the only witnesses are ranting about monsters and firing a handgun.’ He neglected to mention illegal handgun.
‘Surely they’d believe the SAS?’ said Fran.
‘Huh?’ Marika looked puzzled.
‘That’s enough for tonight,’ said Rex, quickly. ‘We both need rest, especially you, Fran. We’ll sort this out tomorrow. Problems never seem so bad in the morning light.’
She smiled nervously. ‘Even problems like this?’
‘You did right to bring her here for safety,’ said Marika. ‘Do you have anywhere you can go, Fran? Friends or relatives?’
‘Not around here. I have a brother in Manchester. I suppose I’d be okay there.’
‘I’ll take you in the morning,’ said Rex. ‘I assume it’s alright for her to stay tonight?’
Marika smiled warmly. ‘Lots of the party guests are staying, but there’s a spare room between yours and Tania’s.’
‘Next door to me?’ Rex sighed. ‘Oh, well, if there’s nowhere else...’
***
Rex woke with a jolt and checked his Rolex. He always wore the luminous watch and black silk shorts in bed, but Marika’s crucifix and the garland of garlic flowers from the kitchen were new. These cat people weren’t vampires, but apparently they drank blood and he wasn’t taking any chances. He snatched the cross. Something had roused him, but what? The Grange floodlights were switched off, leaving the room virtually black, but he made out a figure wrapped in white satin at the foot of the four-poster.
