by Ian Jarvis
‘Thank you, Watson.’ Quist glared at the obscene figurine with its pointy hat and jutting penis. ‘Yes, don’t forget that thing at a time like this.’
‘Nice place, Guv.’ The youth gazed around at the antiques, bookcases, and paintings. ‘How do you afford all this?’
‘Pour Amy a drink,’ said Quist, watching as the frightened girl sank into a chair, her frame visibly trembling. He headed back to the passage telephone. ‘It’s in the cabinet there.’
Watson found a bottle of Askaig malt and glasses. He handed one to the doctor and half-filled it.
‘Thanks,’ whispered Amy. She gulped the whisky and held the shaking tumbler for a refill.
Quist listened to the answerphone and rang Rex. A digital voice informed him that the mobile was unavailable. Understandable, as it lay scattered across a services car park where it had been thrown in temper.
‘Grant left a message.’ The detective turned up the heating to warm the shivering doctor and joined them in the lounge. ‘He called at the biker party after we left, discovered the bodies and found that girl we met. They left for Manchester and he’s returning before dark. It’s odd that he’s turned off his phone. His sort can’t exist without one.’
Watson woefully fingered the dead mobile in his pocket.
Shrugging off his coat, Quist poured a drink and ran a concerned eye over Amy. She already knew of Gillette’s murder, courtesy of her protection officer, but had only just heard about their horrific encounter with Lisa Mirren. ‘Grant ran into five of the Ubasteri at Clifton,’ he said. ‘He managed to escape. They were probably the same group we heard at the hospital.’
‘Shapeshifters?’ Amy gaped at him. ‘A policeman has just been murdered in front of me and you talk about people changing into panthers?’
‘But you saw one yourself,’ said Watson.
‘I thank God you arrived when you did,’ she stammered. ‘But what I saw... You can’t honestly believe it was some supernatural cat thing?’
Quist nodded. ‘From what you’ve told me, yes.’
‘All I remember seeing in the fog were the huge fangs and the eyes. The eyes seemed to glow.’
‘Yeah,’ said Watson. ‘That sounds like one of our pals.’
‘You saw more, but blocked it,’ said Quist. ‘The human mind has many defence systems.’
‘This is crazy.’ Amy swallowed more whisky, slipping off her raincoat as the room began to warm. ‘I saw something, but all this you told me in the car about feline shapeshifters coexisting alongside humanity? Come on, Bernard. This is the twenty-first century.’
‘Yes,’ said Quist. ‘People invariably view this kind of thing as myth, or if they realise there may be truth in the legends, as something from the murky past. This makes things easy for creatures like the Ubasteri. Centuries ago, everyone believed in ghosts, vampires and shapeshifters. Towns were insular and the population retired at sunset. If someone had strange habits and only appeared by night, people became suspicious. Nowadays no one notices.’
‘The thing I saw had to be some lunatic in a furry mask,’ muttered Amy. ‘I can’t accept this nonsense. You should have taken me to the police.’
‘I saw Lisa change,’ said Watson, ‘and I still find it hard to believe. Cat people living among us doesn’t make sense. Someone would have found out.’
Quist walked to a bookcase and tossed them a volume. ‘Find me a picture of a vampire,’ he challenged, lighting a cigarette.
‘Horror Movies?’ read Amy, her scepticism soaring higher.
Watson handed it back at a photograph. ‘There you go.’
‘How do you know this is a vampire?’
‘He’s got a cloak and pointy teeth. What’s your point?’
‘Hollywood has much to answer for,’ said Quist. ‘Vampires don’t wear cloaks. Nor do they come scratching at windows after the funeral. If they did, even morons would recognize them for what they were. It’s the same with the Ubasteri. Despite certain eccentricities and their reclusive natures, they blend into society perfectly. Some have had centuries of practise.’
‘Come on, Guv.’ Watson laughed. ‘Running around covered in fur...’
‘The creature in the morgue had woken from metamorphosis and was ravenous. You saw an Ubasteri in its predatory form, as did Amy in the fog. They can shapeshift at will and all have green eyes, but most of the time they look perfectly normal. They’re sometimes spotted, of course; have you never wondered about the occasional big cat sightings in Britain?’
‘So where are they all?’ demanded Watson. ‘If all their suppers turn to moggies, how come we aren’t crowded with them?’
‘A few victims will be selected for their society–the Elite, as they call themselves–but the majority will be destroyed. Becca and Diane for example. One burnt and the other mesmerised into decapitating herself.’
‘Oh right.’ Amy shook her head in anger. This twaddle was beyond belief. ‘Of course.’
Watson nodded. ‘They drank most of Diane’s blood, hypnotised her, and sent her to the railway. So that’s what you meant by suicide can be murder.’
‘You actually believe that?’ said Amy. ‘Someone could tell you to commit suicide and you’d do it?’
‘I was paralysed last night,’ said Watson. ‘She stared at me and I couldn’t move.’
‘Lisa stared at you?’ Amy laughed dryly. ‘You really want me to accept that poor dead Lisa turned into a fucking cat and chased you around a morgue? Why wasn’t she destroyed like the other two? Why did they leave her to become a monster?’
‘That’s been puzzling me,’ admitted Quist.
‘I bet it has.’ Amy laughed again. ‘So how do you know so much about this claptrap? This secret Elite society?’
‘I know this is hard for you.’ Quist sat down and drew on his cigarette. ‘I once wrote books on shapeshifter mythology. Certain supernatural mysteries fascinated me. Why, for example, is almost identical folklore common to every civilisation? There had to be something behind the legends. I travelled in remote areas of Europe, compiling research for two years, and found solid evidence of supernatural creatures like the Ubasteri, firstly in Germany, and later in Romania, Hungary...’
‘And now you’re saying they’re in Britain?’ broke in Amy.
‘They’ve always been here. Like I told you, a tiny clandestine society existing alongside ours.’
‘You’ve known this for a while?’ snapped Watson. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?’
‘Who? The authorities and the police? No official body would take me seriously and I’d end up in an asylum. I published my research, but the books were long ago dismissed as rubbish.’
‘Surely you could make someone believe you, Guv.’
Quist shrugged. ‘You two find it hard to accept and you’ve both seen a shapeshifter. Modern man simply doesn’t believe such things, and unless the Ubasteri emerge from their shadowy cat flap and advertise themselves, he never will.’
The irate teenager shook his head. ‘So panthers are out there killing people and you turn a blind eye?’
‘Things are more...’ Quist squirmed uncomfortably, ‘complex than that. I’m not exactly proud of the fact, but you can’t lead much of a crusade from a padded cell.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Amy. ‘So why the change of heart now?’
‘My involvement has been engineered. I now know that the man who approached me to investigate Diane’s death was hypnotised, told what to say and then made to kill himself before I could question him. Later, when I saw the autopsy reports on your colleagues, and read of the big cat hair and the dust in Dreyer’s car, I came to realise that Ubasteri were behind everything. These creatures are normally invisible, but they’re up to something at the moment - something to do with this.’ Quist reached into his coat pocket. ‘S
olstice.’
‘Where did you get that?’ gasped Amy.
Quist tossed the tub of sunscreen to her.
‘Ah!’ She saw the label. ‘This is the one you bought from the chemist. For a moment, I thought it was from our experimental batches. It’s the same four-hundred millilitre white pot.’ She handed it back. ‘Well whether I believe this rubbish or not, something unusual was definitely going on with Will Gillette’s strange work routines and the data he erased. He cleared out his desk too and shredded the papers.’
‘What sort of papers?’ asked Quist.
‘I don’t know. Invoices for chemicals, I think. One was called Merlax.’
‘Merlax?’ Quist frowned. ‘Merlax was used in certain dubious pesticides until it was banned. It’s a rather nasty organic mercury compound.’
‘Why would Will have ordered that?’
The detective smiled grimly. ‘I’ve a damn good idea.’
‘Grandier Laboratories,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t recall the other substance, but the name on the invoice was Grandier.’
‘Really?’ Quist headed for the telephone.
Watson followed him into the passage, listening as he spoke to an operator and jotted down a number. ‘You’ve found the place?’ he asked.
‘It’s in France,’ said Quist, dialling.
‘Do you honestly think they’ll give private client information to anyone who just...’
‘Hello.’ A Parisian accent coloured Quist’s perfect French. ‘This is Ebor Pharmaceuticals in York, England. I need to speak to someone who can locate a missing order.’
The teenager stared in amazement.
‘Delon here,’ said a voice, eventually. ‘Is that Doctor Gillette?’
‘Doctor Soames, his research assistant.’
‘Ah! I’m sorry, but I can only deal with Doctor Gillette. He gave specific instructions.’
‘So Will told me, but he asked me to look into this. Our latest consignment hasn’t arrived.’
‘But according to my secretary, the orders were cancelled on Tuesday.’
‘Cancelled?’ shouted Quist. ‘He told the girl to double them.’
‘But...’
‘What strength will it be?’
‘Strength?’ Delon sounded puzzled. ‘Porphyrene only has one strength.’
‘Yes.’ Quist hung up. ‘I imagine it does.’
‘Well?’ queried Watson.
The detective returned to Amy in the lounge. ‘Does Porphyrene ring any bells?’
‘That was the name on the invoice,’ she said. ‘I remember now you’ve said it.’
‘Experimental retinols indeed. Organic mercury compounds and Porphyrene. Incredible!’
‘You know what Porphyrene is?’ asked Amy.
‘I read about it a few years ago. You’ve heard of the rare metabolic disease Porphyria, where defective haemoglobin absorbs light at a different wavelength to normal? Sunlight is painful and burns. Porphyrene was manufactured by a French company to combat it, but it didn’t work. Grandier was probably the lab in question.’
‘So it’s a photochemical filtering agent?’ said Amy.
‘Yes, but a dangerous prototype. French scientists have been experimenting with it on unusual blood diseases, but only in terminal cases.’
‘Whooo!’ Watson whistled. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’
Quist held up the sunscreen. ‘The last batch of Solstice was sent for testing a week ago?’
Amy nodded. ‘A week ago yesterday. That’s right.’
‘So that’s it!’ Quist nodded. ‘Solstice wasn’t terminated due to lack of results. The results of that last batch must have come back positive. It actually worked. I don’t believe it.’
‘Don’t believe what?’ demanded Amy and Watson in unison.
‘Haven’t you guessed yet?’ The detective smiled grimly. ‘You’ve been producing sunscreen for the Ubasteri.’
Chapter 48
Gary Mitchell switched on a sympathetic smile as the door of the house swung open. ‘Mrs Hepworth?’ He flipped open his police warrant card in the time-honoured way. ‘I’m Detective Constable Mitchell. You rang us concerning your tenant? Nicole Patterson?’
The woman nodded. ‘Actually, I feel a bit silly. I phoned to report a possible missing person and they put me through to your murder incident room.’
‘Understandable under the circumstances.’ Mitchell walked into the hallway. ‘I’d like to see her room, please.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Mrs Hepworth led him up two flights of stairs and unlocked a door with a master key. The bedsit belonged to a girl; Mitchell didn’t need his detective training to tell that. The pink quilt had a feminine look and the tables were littered with cuddly toys.
‘How long has Nicole been lodging here?’ he asked.
‘Just under a year.’
‘And when did you last see her? Yesterday morning?’
‘I haven’t seen her all week. That’s why I rang you.’
‘A week?’ He frowned. ‘When I heard she’d gone missing, I assumed she didn’t arrive home last night. She gave one of her colleagues a lift into town when she left the lab yesterday.’
‘You know her?’ The landlady looked puzzled. ‘Did you say lab?’
‘Ebor Pharmaceuticals.’
‘The place where those murdered girls worked?’
‘Yes. That’s why her disappearance was naturally passed to the murder squad.’
‘What was she doing there?’
‘She was the research director’s secretary.’
‘Are you sure we’re speaking about the same girl? The Nicole who rents my room works for a temping firm called the Mazarin Agency.’
‘That’s right. The director’s secretary had an accident and Nicole is filling in. She’s been working there all week.’
‘She never said.’ Mrs Hepworth shrugged. ‘Oh well, if you saw her yesterday, she’s obviously fine. I wonder where she’s been staying over the past week?’
Mitchell glanced around the bedsit. A photo of two young women stood on a bookshelf, their cheerful faces filling the frame. ‘Who are the girls?’ he queried.
Mrs Hepworth frowned curiously. ‘Nicole and her sister.’
The policeman stiffened. ‘Er... which is Nicole?’
‘The blonde on the right. I thought you knew her?’
‘Yes.’ Mitchell stared at the stranger. ‘Until now I believed I did.’
Chapter 49
Fisher brought the van to a halt on the lane outside Askham Richard village. Quist’s cottage and the surrounding meadows were smothered by the same fluffy shroud that choked York; the kind of fog usually only seen in movies of Dickensian London. If this unusual weather continued, Yorkshire would be guaranteed a white Christmas, albeit not in the accepted sense.
‘This is the other address that Gillette gave you?’ asked Browning.
‘Yes.’ Strand dropped the window and saw the Volkswagen Beetle in the drive.
‘Doesn’t Stapleton drive a Porsche?’ said Hinds. ‘I don’t think that’s a Porsche.’
‘Porsche or not, someone is home.’ Strand turned to Browning and Sangster. ‘Go in there and kill everyone you find.’
‘Go in and kill everyone?’ said Sangster.
‘If I wanted repetition, I’d invest in a parrot. Kill Stapleton. If Stapleton isn’t there, kill everyone that is there. Are we clear?’
Clambering out, the two guards vanished into the fog and made for opposite sides of the cottage. Fisher opened his mouth to speak, and seeing Strand’s expression, closed it. It had finally sunk in, that lapdancers in the Vatican were likelier than Strand explaining his bizarre decisions on this field trip.
***
‘You’re serious?’ said Watson.
‘I can’t accept these creatures exist.’ Amy swallowed uncomfortably. ‘And now you’re saying I’ve been making sunscreen for them?’ Her heart beat faster. ‘Take me to the police station, Bernard.’
‘Think about it,’ snapped Quist. ‘Will Gillette had you producing eye protection and advanced sunscreen with mercury and dangerous experimental substances. He had a compartmentalised work system, where no one was allowed to see the end results, and afterwards he destroyed all the evidence.’
‘I know Will ordered them.’ The doctor laughed, a staccato release of stress. ‘But why on earth would he use Porphyrene and Merlax in the Solstice. The police station, Bernard; I want to go there now. I can’t believe I let you bring me here after that Constable was killed. I was crazy not to go straight there.’
‘Vampire cat sunscreen?’ Watson whistled. ‘We must be talking factor ten-thousand.’
‘For God’s sake, think about what you’re saying,’ snapped Amy. ‘If these cat people are so protective of their secrecy, as you claim, the finished projects would simply have been cancelled. Any suspicions over bizarre ingredients, odd work routines, or anything else would have been forgotten. By murdering the research director and his team, they’ve drawn the police and media to the lab. This is utter nonsense.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Quist softly, ‘but I’m afraid it’s all real.’
‘So where do the bikers and Selden’s fake story fit in?’ quizzed Watson. ‘And that Maserati...’
Two sounds terminated his questions: the lock breaking on the French windows and the kitchen door bursting open. Sangster stepped inside from the garden and Browning appeared at the opposite end of the lounge.
‘Can we help you?’ asked Quist.
Browning’s green eyes glowed and Sangster hissed, his muzzle extending and lips peeling back from elongating fangs.
‘Shapeshifters,’ moaned Amy. ‘They’re fucking cat people.’
‘Well spotted.’ Quist grabbed the girl and tossed her over the couch. ‘Stay behind there.’
Watson leapt beside her as Quist ducked and darted at Sangster. The charge was too swift to dodge and he toppled backwards into the garden as the detective’s head rammed his midriff. Powerful arms locked around Quist from behind and furry lips snuffled at his throat. A lapping tongue might have been pleasant were it Amy, but this feline mouth was seeking an artery. Quist slammed an elbow into Browning’s groin, a squeal verifying the existence of Ubasteri testicles, and he crouched sharply to shoulder-pitch him onto the floor by the open staircase. Hissing and thrashing, pinned down by a foot across the neck, the transforming creature screeched as Quist snapped off a banister spindle and plunged the makeshift stake into its ribcage.
