by Ian Jarvis
‘Only five days.’ Fran sat on the desk. ‘I spotted the bikes at Lamberley after I killed Lisa. Certain people would soon be searching for me and a biker chapter was the ideal hiding place; much better than the hotel I’d picked. I left my stolen car and thumbed a lift when they left the village. Attractive women are always welcome and they never ask questions. I called in the village pub first and spoke with the landlord. As far as he’s now concerned, I was there with them all the time.’
‘Hypnotism?’ whispered Rex. ‘Did you kill them? Did you kill ten bikers?’
‘Was it ten?’ She giggled. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t count.’
‘But the place was a slaughterhouse and you were clean.’
‘I usually feed naked. I’d just showered when you arrived.’
‘I thought at the time your hair felt damp.’ Rex was jolted by an uneasy memory. ‘Your hair felt damp last night too.’
‘Yes, I had to shower before coming to you. Tania’s husband searched everywhere for her after the party, but he never tried their bedroom blanket box.’
‘Oh shit!’ groaned Rex. ‘But this is crazy. You can walk about in sunlight.’
Fran nodded to his personal effects on the desk. ‘Why don’t you light two cigarettes and I’ll explain?’
He lit one and grudgingly passed it with a shaking hand.
‘Sunlight is lethal to the Elite.’ Fran drew on the smoke. ‘Being wealthy, we can explain our daytime absence as an eccentricity, but even eccentric recluses need to be seen occasionally.’
‘True,’ said Zucco. ‘We emerge briefly on dull days with specialised optics, but prolonged exposure is fatal. The rainy northern climates are best. There are over eighty Elite in the north of Britain.’
‘Yeah, Florida would be shit,’ said Rex sarcastically. He lit another cigarette and pocketed the pack and lighter. ‘And I know how much cats love to lie around in the sun. You bloodsuckers certainly have your problems.’
‘Sunlight is no longer a problem,’ said Fran. ‘My laboratory has been working on two special projects. We started with an eye solution, to filter daylight and free us from wearing protective shades, but I realised it was possible to use a similar process and create a barrier cream for our skin.’
Rex recalled his talk with Amy. ‘Solstice?’
‘The research team were only allowed to work on single parts of the formula, but the ingredients were rather bizarre. The director told them it was an advanced version of Solstice, specialised and different to combat the failing ozone, but it certainly shouldn’t have been that different.’
Rex sucked on his cigarette. ‘So you murdered them to prevent them talking?’
Fran shook her head. ‘Actually, they knew very little.’
The more she spoke, the worse he felt. Rex had seen enough movies to know that explanations like this were only given to captives prior to killing them. The captives, however, always escaped with clever trickery to foil the villains and save the day. Unfortunately this wasn’t a movie.
‘These are the last guinea pigs.’ Fran gestured to the cells. ‘Expendable patients with no relatives and all traces of their existence wiped from the records.’
‘You mean...’
‘Jordan transformed them into Ubasteri and used the sunscreen and eye droplets.’ She pointed to the shackles under the cellar delivery hatch. ‘The sun rises over there.’
‘They were all fried,’ broke in Zucco. ‘Until two weeks ago, when these four only experienced burns and slight blinding. Francesca modified the next batches and you witnessed the results.’
‘The Chinese girl.’ Fran smiled. ‘Jordan tested the final batch on her. I kept a tub from each test shipment, and when he rang with our success last Friday, I used the cream and droplets myself. I’ve been exposed to daylight all week. We perfected the Solstice, Rex, and I’m the final proof.’
Rex laughed harshly. ‘So you can take holidays in the sun at last. They think the British and German tourists behave badly. Fuck me! Wait until they meet you lot.’ He looked from Fran to Zucco. ‘The Elite? That was the least egotistical name you could come up with, was it?’
She laughed with him. ‘One obstacle remains, however, and it’s a major one.’
‘Oh, how I wish I could help you.’
‘That’s exactly why you’re here.’ Fran kissed his white cheek. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’
Chapter 55
Quist brought the car to a halt fifty yards from the moorland psychiatric hospital and looked around the dark cul-de-sac. Ivy-covered walls loomed on either side of the lane and an owl called in the skeletal branches overhead.
‘Sunnyvale,’ said Watson, closing the road atlas. ‘Yeah, nice and isolated. No neighbours to complain about cats crapping in their garden flower borders. Now we know where it is, let’s grab a hotel and come back in the morning.’
‘Morning will probably be too late.’ Quist pointed through the wrought iron gates. Freezing ground fog had rolled in from the Pennine Moors to gather knee-deep in the gardens and drift around a black Ferrari by the porch. ‘Rex is in there. I had a feeling that Sunnyvale would turn out to be the home of Stapleton’s brother.’
Watson nodded. ‘Yeah, but I’ve watched enough horror films to know that you never piss around with monsters until daylight.’
‘Don’t worry. You two are waiting in the car.’
‘You mean you’re going in?’ Amy glanced apprehensively at Watson as the howl of a distant village dog caused several others to strike up in a mournful choir. ‘Why, for God’s sake? I know Rex is in there, but...’
‘I don’t want to sound negative, Guv,’ said Watson, ‘but by now, the poor bastard probably looks like a butcher’s dustbin.’
‘I’m going in.’ Quist executed a three-point turn. ‘There. In case you need to make a quick getaway, you’re facing the right way out of this cul-de-sac. You’d better jump in the driving seat, Amy.’
‘I’m your assistant.’ Watson looked hurt. ‘What about letting me drive?’
‘Amy has a license.’ Quist passed the youth a card. ‘This is my friend Larry’s new Oxford address. If anything happens to me, I’d like you to contact him.’
‘Hey, Guv, don’t talk like that.’
The detective turned to Amy. ‘You have your phone and there’s a Manchester street map in the atlas. The city is around ten miles to the west. If we’re separated, go there and get a hotel. Don’t try following me in there, okay?’
Amy shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s probably a trap, but you’re still going in? You don’t even seem scared.’
‘I hide it well,’ said Quist. ‘Yes, I’m going in.’
‘Good luck, Bernard. Be careful.’
‘He’ll need more than luck,’ said Watson. ‘Remember that howling we just heard, Guv. Watch out for guard dogs.’
‘Cats with guard dogs? Are you being serious?’ Quist shook his head. ‘No, dogs would die of terror. They’re dim-witted, but susceptible to supernatural vibrations.’ He shot Watson a lopsided grin. ‘Still, you fit the bill, but you seem unaffected.’
‘Yeah, yeah, it’s been fun working with you.’
Amy kissed his cheek. ‘Be careful,’ she repeated.
‘Keep the doors locked and stay alert.’ Quist climbed quietly out. ‘You’ll be safe enough.’
‘Wow!’ Amy watched him melt into the shadows. ‘That’s what I call brave.’
Watson punched down the door locks. ‘That’s what I call insanity.’
The walls flanking the moorland lane ended before the gates and a path ran alongside the hospital perimeter railings. Quist headed left to the corner of the grounds where the track led off into a misty wood. Bending two railings, he squeezed through and crouched behind a shrub, looking up at the small oblong shapes in the tre
es. CCTV units were positioned at intervals covering the grounds, although none appeared to be focused on the bushy corner where he’d entered.
Tasting tobacco on the night air, he crouched lower, studying the wood beyond the railings. Seconds ticked by before he pinned down the scent, spotted a cigarette glow in the trees, and the two figures watching him. He stared at the secretive pair. No, not watching him. Like the detective, they were watching the hospital. Whoever they were, it wasn’t a problem, and neither were the cameras provided he stayed below the mist. Quist turned away, dropped into a press-up position and disappeared beneath the layer of ground fog.
The detective crawled to the building, following the wall to the first window where an evergreen shrub supplied cover. He climbed to his feet behind the foliage, dusted off dead leaves, and peered through the security bars into the dark lounge. Luck definitely favoured him tonight. The bottom sash was open, and bending the bars, he clambered in and gazed around in the blackness.
On a couch to his right lay a shoulder bag. There was enough light from the window to find a purse and see that the credit cards belonged to Francesca Stapleton. Digging deeper into the bag, he smiled grimly to find a tub of Solstice cream and the laboratory label confirmed his suspicions–the prototype sunblock had been perfected. This Solstice had obviously been used when Stapleton murdered Lisa Mirren in daylight.
Hearing movement outside the lounge door, he ducked behind the couch as the click of the light switch suggested his luck had ended. The click of the gun being cocked confirmed it.
‘I assume the traffic was bad,’ said Doctor Zucco, chuckling. ‘We expected you earlier.’
‘Heavens, a trap,’ said Quist, standing up. ‘Well what a surprise!’
***
The car temperature had plummeted and Watson’s breath clouded as it escaped chattering teeth. Blowing heat into his hands, he eyed the building behind the Beetle in the same way a perceptive duck might eye a pan of orange sauce. What was Cyrano thinking of going in there? Did he really imagine he had any chance of rescuing someone from a high security hospital run by giant cat monsters?
Watson was no expert, but he’d gleaned plenty of supernatural knowledge from television. He knew not to mess with monkey paws and Chinese puzzle boxes. He knew, when you saw hooded arseholes chanting in the woods, you didn’t hang about to watch. He knew not to read from Egyptian scrolls when mummies were within earshot, and he knew never to upset brats with 666 on their scalps. Above all, though, he knew that entering a place like this after sunset was as sensible as getting the daughter of a Mafia boss pregnant and ditching her.
‘What do you call a cat with no legs?’ he murmured.
Amy turned to him. ‘What?’
‘I’ve thought of a joke. What do you call a cat with no legs?’
The girl’s stare was colder than the car.
Watson sighed. ‘Just trying to relieve the tension.’
The minutes passed like a tortoise crossing wet cement. Watson glanced up as a white speck landed on the screen.
‘Ooh, look,’ he whispered. ‘It’s snowing.’
‘Never mind snow,’ snapped Amy, checking her watch. ‘Where’s Bernard? I’m starting to get scared.’
‘Starting? I’ve been scared shitless for the past two days.’
‘It’s about time he...’ Bright headlights turned into the lane. ‘Hey, watch out!’
They ducked as a vehicle approached. Watson peeped through the side window as the engine grew louder and a Mercedes van cruised past.
‘Look,’ he hissed. ‘It’s going to the nuthouse.’
‘Yes.’ Amy tilted the mirror to watch. The van waited for the gates to part and continued to the porch, where a bearded man climbed out and let himself in. ‘I wonder who that was?’
‘Maybe a doctor.’ Watson giggled nervously. ‘I don’t reckon it was an inmate; he wasn’t in a straitjacket.’
‘They’d have to get up pretty early to catch you out, wouldn’t they? No wonder Bernard has you working for him.’
‘Yeah. After kicking around with Cyrano, I’m getting good at this deduction lark and...’ He turned from the hospital and noticed a saloon parked twenty yards away. ‘Hang about...’
Amy turned and stiffened. ‘Where did that car come from? It wasn’t there when we ducked down.’
‘It must’ve arrived with the van. Oh Jesus, it’s a white BMW too.’
‘You think...’
‘I fuckin’ well do think. It’s got to be the one that’s been following us.’
‘Why is it parked there?’ Amy fumbled for the ignition, her heart pounding. ‘Is the driver still inside?’
‘I can’t tell.’ Dread flooded Watson’s stomach. ‘The windows are too dark.’
Ivy rustled on the high wall by the Beetle. He looked up and choked back a terrified squeal to see a figure moving stealthily along the stonework.
‘Drive!’ he shrieked in the girl’s ear. ‘Now!’
The pair screamed as someone landed on the bonnet and tore off the canvas roof.
Chapter 56
Quist emerged from behind the couch. ‘Doctor Stapleton, I presume?’
‘Full marks,’ said Fran, grinning. Zucco stood beside her, his Uzi pistol pointing at the detective. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘I understand your biker party went downhill dramatically after I left.’
Fran moved behind him, searching from neck to ankles, as a bearded man entered: a good-looking character in a blue suit.
‘Matthew Strand.’ He held out a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Bernard.’
‘I almost met you in the mortuary.’ Quist stared at the hand as if it were anthrax. ‘I heard your voice when you found Lisa Mirren.’
‘Yes. Nice work with that broken pole.’
Quist glared at Fran. ‘I take it you were the one who made her Ubasteri?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘It was necessary.’
‘Was it really?’ He turned back to Strand. ‘You’ll be the driver of a certain white BMW, I imagine?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘Your deductive powers have failed you for once. Why don’t you sit and I’ll pour us both a drink? I know you enjoy Hebridean malts.’
Quist settled himself on the couch and watched him at the drinks cabinet. Zucco and Fran sat in armchairs opposite, their guns still pointing.
‘Crawling under the ground mist was smart,’ said Fran. ‘Unfortunately, some of the CCTV cameras are infra-red.’
‘Ah, Bowmore from Jura,’ said Quist, taking Strand’s offered glass and sipping the whisky. ‘One of my favourites, along with Askaig.’
Strand held out a cedar box. ‘And these are your favourite Cuban cigars.’
‘So you’re all Ubasteri?’ Quist waved the Cohibas away and stared at Strand. ‘I take it you’re the brains behind this strangely convoluted scheme to get me here?’
Fran giggled. ‘I noticed you didn’t seem surprised to find Jordan and I waiting.’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Quist. ‘The clues you left were as subtle as an old Carry On movie.’
‘You knew?’ Strand shook his head. ‘You knew we were Elite, you realised this was a trap, and you walked into it? Why?’
‘The question I was about to ask. Why did you want me here, and why go to all this trouble?’
‘The original plan,’ said Strand, ‘was to have the terrified Doctor Stapleton come to your office seeking help. Her research staff were being murdered, she was hiding at a hotel, and she’d made a dreadful discovery: Gillette was using her lab to produce sunscreen for monsters. After you’d seen Lisa Mirren and realised Fran was telling the truth, she’d get you to bring her here to her brother’s for protection.’
‘Then I saw the bikers in Lamberley,’ said Fran. ‘My idea was
more, as you put it, convoluted. Rather than seek you out, I let you involve yourself. I sent the mesmerised Kevin Selden to you. Then I left the badges to have your inquisitiveness bring you to me at Creeper’s house. I decided to use your insatiable curiosity.’
‘So I’ll ask again,’ said Quist, quietly. ‘Why?’
‘We need your help, Bernard.’ Strand sipped his whisky. ‘Help with a rather tricky problem.’
‘I am a consultant detective. What sort of help? Maybe help in finding a lost bag of cat litter?’
Strand chuckled. ‘We both know you’re more than a detective. Those window bars you bent are slender, but they’re steel. You also killed two of my people today. You’re very powerful, aren’t you?’
‘I take lots of exercise, and much as I hate to upset your schemes, I don’t help murderers.’
‘Oh, you will,’ said Fran. ‘You’ll do whatever we ask.’
‘How to persuade you?’ said Strand. ‘That was our problem. You’re such a loner with no friends or loved ones. We couldn’t mesmerise you, could we? Dreyer soon found that out.’
Quist nodded. ‘Brightshield Glazing must have a successful sales record. I realised later that he’d been trying to hypnotically force me to buy. Why did you kill him?’
‘He was following you,’ said Strand. ‘When the mesmerism had no effect, Dryer’s superior would have ordered him to discover why, but I couldn’t have him spoiling things.’ He knocked back his drink. ‘You called Fran’s scheme convoluted. As she says, it was supposed to be; it was meant to intrigue you. Not only did it draw you to us, but along the way you made acquaintances. People whom I imagine you’ve grown to care about.’
‘Well you seem to know quite a bit about me,’ hissed the detective. ‘You certainly appear to have done your homework.’
Strand shrugged. ‘I was never a lover of homework, Bernard. Acquaintance is a nice word, but I prefer the term, hostage. We have Grant in the cellar and if you’d like more persuasion...’ He turned to the door as Amy and Watson were pushed in. ‘How about this?’
