“He’s right, son.”
I took a deep breath and looked at the people. I wasn’t about to stand idly by and let another poor soul be food for something else. The eeriest thought was that one of these people might actually be the person we were looking for. “Then let’s get started.”
Chapter Five
The three of us walked past a pub on our way toward the murder scene. My father’s eyes looked at its door longingly for several moments. He swallowed hard, and already his internal struggle for sobriety challenged him, trying to overpower his will. Sweat beaded his brow. He paused in step to wipe his brow with his handkerchief, even though the morning air was quite cool.
“Fancy a drink?” Jacques asked.
Father shook his head and turned his gaze from the door. “No. I’d rather find a place where we can get some breakfast.”
Jacques flicked his gaze toward me.
I smiled and gave a slight nod.
“Good,” Jacques said. “But if we’re going to find something more suitable and filling, we need to head out of this area nearer to the heart of London. By the time we find a place to eat, it will probably be closer to lunch. Once we’ve eaten we can come back and look for evidence.”
“Where might a vampire hide during the day in Whitechapel?” I asked.
“That’s what I hope to find out. My guess is that the small gangs of boys would have a better idea of the Underground. Their curiosity stems greater than the adults. They’re more apt to explore and find places to hide during the day.”
“Especially the thieving little brats,” Father said.
I frowned.
“What?” he asked, gruffly. “You’ve not seen them pickpocketing?”
I chuckled. “I have, but I didn’t expect that you would have noticed.”
“And why wouldn’t I? I’m about my full senses this morning, regardless of my intense headache and uncontrollable shakes.”
Jacques squeezed Father’s shoulder. “It gets easier, John.”
Father rowed his shoulder to shake loose Jacques’ hold.
We walked to Whitechapel Road where the social class was better off than those in the back alley slum districts and found a nice little dining club. We entered, and even though most were better dressed than ourselves, we weren’t shunned or shown the door. Most seemed leery of me, but since the outside of my Hunter box was adorned with polished silver, most assumed us far wealthier than we actually were. With our few vampire kills along our journey up the Danube River, we had earned an adequate amount of money to eat and sleep at the fancier establishments. However, due to the bloody nature of our slayings, Father and I never invested a lot in new clothes. Jacques, on the other hand, had exquisite taste and dressed in finer suits. When the three of us were together, he was like a peacock traveling with two pigeons.
We were seated at a round table that was covered with a white tablecloth embroidered with rose patterns. Two lit candles burned softly. The place settings were dainty and more like art than something food should be served upon. Before our order was taken, we were served black coffee. The aroma was far more appealing than the sharp bitter taste.
While we ate, Jacques kept his attention focused on the table where Constable Shields sat alone, drinking his coffee. A copy of the East London newspaper lay on the table beside his saucer. Shields frowned, deep in thought it seemed, but his attention never turned toward us. At least not immediately. He was troubled and his mind held him elsewhere. He cocked a brow and tilted his head to the side while rubbing his chin. A few moments passed before a server walked by and interrupted his gaze. He shook his head, blinked, and suddenly regarded us. His brow rose and he offered a polite smile and nod. Jacques motioned him to sit at the empty chair at our table.
Shields grinned, rose from his seat, tucked the paper beneath his arm, and brought his teacup and saucer with him. He promptly sat and set his cup and saucer on the table. Without a lessening of his smile he glanced to each of us and placed the paper on the table. “I’ve been thinking about you chaps.”
“Oh?” Jacques said.
Shields nodded. “What brings the three of you to London from Romania? That’s quite a long journey.”
Jacques sipped his coffee and set his cup down. “We love to travel, see new places, but I’m interested in sailing for New York. From what I’ve heard, London often hires crew to work in exchange for the fare.”
“Some do. That’s true. New York? Ah, ever been before?” Shields asked.
“No.”
“I visited once last year. Lovely city. Almost any nationality resides there. It’s like a great set of cities within one city. London seems to be that way here of late.”
I crossed my massive arms, cleared my throat, and eyed the newspaper. “Constable Shields, have you learned anything more about the murder last night other than what the post reported?”
Shields nodded. “Ah, yes. She was known as Polly. Poor woman. Went from workhouse to workhouse for the past several years. Also, she worked as a prostitute, which might have played a part in her death last night.”
“You think so?” I asked.
“At this point we can only assume,” Shields replied.
Jacques shook his head. “I don’t think it mattered.”
“How’s that?” Shields said with a frown. His glasses slid a bit on his nose. He took his teacup by the handle and sipped more tea. His eyes never shifted from Jacques.
“My guess is she was a convenience, an opportunity.”
“Like being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Exactly,” Jacques replied. “You see, constable, this man was dressed in fine clothes unlike the poorer population that dwells in that area of Whitechapel.”
“Sort of like yourself?” Shields asked with a shrewd stare.
Jacques’ eyes narrowed. “We’re only here trying to help.”
“I’m not accusing, but . . . Yes. About that, you wanting to help . . . Why does this poor woman’s murder interest a trio from Bucharest? She’s a commoner that had nothing overly special to offer society. In a week few will even remember her. You’re not officers in your own country, are you?”
“No, we’re not,” I said. “We investigate—”
“Forrest, no,” Jacques said in a low voice. “We’re not constables, but we have been paid to track murderers though.”
“Bounty Hunters?” Shields asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jacques said, nodding. “We are.”
“I see. And is that what you’re hoping from this situation? That we’ll offer a reward?”
Jacques replied with an even smile. “Someone will, especially if this man kills again.”
Shields studied Jacques for several long moments. “You think this person might kill someone else? Why?”
“From what you told me about how he killed this woman, he did so with incredible violence.”
“He did,” Shields agreed.
Jacques nodded. “He’s unleashed his need to shed blood. It will be much easier for him to kill again.”
“So, you’ve seen similar cases?”
“Constable Shields, we’re from a war-torn country undergoing reconstruction and recovery. The hostilities of war spill over into some men’s personal lives after peace has come. If ever there’s a time when people are granted proper permission to kill other people, ever how viciously, it is during mandated war. Murder twists the mind, and once that lever has been flipped, some cannot turn off the need.”
Shields took a deep breath and held it. The information Jacques had given alarmed the constable. He sighed. “Are you suggesting this man might have been a soldier?”
Jacques shrugged. “It’s possible.”
The waiter returned and filled our cups.
Shields nodded his thanks. He glanced toward Jacques. “I would’ve never considered such.”
“You’ve not been exposed to as much death as we have, constable,” Jacques replied.
“No, I suppose
not.”
I said, “Do you think there’s a connection with last night’s killing and that of the other two women killed some time back?”
“The modus operandi of those murders isn’t the same. How would you even know about those two? You haven’t been in London that long. Those murders happened nearly six months ago.”
“A woman mentioned them last night.”
Shields folded his hands atop the table. His face became solemn. “You need to understand about the various newspapers. They tend to go overboard in delivering every sordid detail of these brutal murders. Like you, Jacques, they were ready to pin last night’s murder on you without any facts at all.”
“They tried,” I said.
Anger hardened Shields’ face. He tapped his index finger on the newspaper while he spoke. “The reporters would do better to write mystery novels with all the exaggerated details they add to sell the news.”
“That’s probably true,” Jacques said. “But we still offer our help in any way possible.”
“We have hundreds of constables,” Shields replied. “Do you honestly think the three of you can do a better job?”
I smiled. “In some ways we can.”
“How’s that?”
“We keep being called Gypsies, so in appearance we blend in with the lower class. We don’t wear uniforms that announce who we are. I believe most of them will better trust us than you. What do you think?”
Shields grinned. “I never thought of it like that, but you’re probably correct. But tell me about the types of cases you’ve worked on?”
“One case in particular,” Jacques said, “was the most unexpected discovery in what we were hired to do.”
“Being what exactly?”
“The serial murderer was a baron. A man of high prominence in Bucharest.”
Shields was intrigued. “Really?”
We all nodded.
“More than that, we cannot tell you,” Jacques said.
“But you stopped him?”
“We did.”
Shields leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How long will you three remain in London?”
Jacques looked at me. I shrugged. “Until we find this murderer.”
“Even though no guarantee of a reward is being offered?”
“It’s not about the money,” Jacques replied.
“I won’t dissuade you, but I will caution you. I’m not empowering any authority to you. None. Is that understood?” Shields asked.
We nodded.
He sighed. “And, that means you can’t take suspects into custody. I do insist that you keep me informed of whatever clues you might discover along the way though.”
“Not a problem,” Jacques said. “We’re simply the eyes and ears that your uniformed constables won’t have.”
Shields stood, took his paper, and regarded each of us. He placed enough money on the table to pay for our coffee and meals as well as his own. “Most importantly, don’t get yourselves killed.”
“That’s not part of our plan,” Jacques said.
Shields offered a curt smile. “I’m sure it wasn’t Polly’s either. Be safe, gentlemen.”
Chapter Six
After we finished eating at the dining club, we journeyed into the depressed heart of the slums. A young lad with crooked yellow teeth attempted to yank my Hunter box from my grip, so I let it loose. The box was too heavy for him to carry, and he dropped to the cobblestone beside it. His panicked eyes gazed upward into mine. I offered a sinister grin with a harsh frown. He crawled and scurried on all fours until he was able to stand. He darted through the crowded streets, still looking at me over his shoulder.
I hefted my box and shook my head. The boy was small like Bodi, immediately reminding me of him. I couldn’t help but think about my school friend with a tinge of remorse and regret; even though there hadn’t been anything I could have done to prevent him from being turned into a vampire at such a tender age.
The would-be thief slowed at the corner of a vendor’s table and stopped to observe us. Another larger boy slugged his arm and yelled at him. I assumed his abuse came because the boy had failed to steal my box. While the boy rubbed his arm, three more grimy, soot-coated lads joined them. All of them fastened their gazes toward my Hunter box, which was still on the cobblestone. I leaned lower, grabbed the box’s handle, and stared at them in a daring manner. The greed in their eyes didn’t have the bravery to back a second theft attempt.
“I never imagined a gang of thugs being so young,” I said, nodding in their direction.
Jacques studied them for a few moments. “Let’s see where they lead us.”
Jacques and I turned, walking in their direction. All of the lads bolted. “Wait here, Father.”
I didn’t expect him to argue, and he didn’t. Running was the last thing I’d ever ask of him.
Jacques and I ran after the kids. They ran much faster than I ever could for my clumsy height and large feet, but Jacques was swifter. We didn’t need to actually catch them. We only needed to see if they knew a way to get beneath the city streets.
In most of the larger major cities, underground tunnels and passageways exist that often mirror the streets overhead and most people never even know they exist. For the few who do, they have an advantage over the surface-dwellers because they can seemingly vanish whenever they’re pursued. Since these lads were frightened, they’d seek the quickest escape route.
As Jacques sprinted ahead of me down the next side street, the boys zigzagged through the congested street, causing folks to sidestep and some nearly tripped, trying to allow the boys through without getting knocked flat. Even though the boys were short and difficult to see in the crowd, they were easily followed by how the pedestrians reacted to their erratic running patterns.
Jacques cut across the street where one boy yanked a chain to raise a metal door outside an old leather shop. The boys hurried down the metal rungs with the last one pulling the door flush with the walkway. From what I could tell, once I got closer, the door appeared to lead into an underground storage room for the leather shop, but after Jacques and I followed, we discovered something more.
Because of Jacques’ unique night vision, he found an unlit oil lantern hanging on a long rusted nail. He struck a match and lit the wick. The glowing light revealed a hole in the wall that led into a deep dark tunnel, which was manmade and possibly destined to be expanded. The thieving boys had apparently entered through here many times before.
Jacques and I peered through the hole. A lit lantern swayed side to side as the boys ran along the cleared narrow path. I thought it odd for any youth at their ages to have the gall to venture through a tunnel that would make the bravest adult hesitate. After all, the worst, most evil things in this world hid in the darkness, waiting for the opportunity of a misfortunate passerby to enter into their territory. Crafty predators used numerous traps to snare their prey. Spiders were the most tactful masters in trapping their victims, but so were vampires, demons, and unidentified monsters. A dark tunnel such as this one held endless possibilities for what lurked in the shadows, waiting to feed or to transform.
A set of rails split the path’s center. An old rusted hand-operated rail car was positioned on the track. In the distance a rumbling rocked the ground and shook the walls as a train engine roared.
“An underground railway?” I asked.
Jacques nodded. “Yes, but nothing runs along this tunnel except these small supply carts for the shop owners. This one doesn’t seem to have been used for some time though.”
“How far do you think these tunnels go?”
“We’d have to ask.” Jacques climbed through the hole with the lantern.
I didn’t even attempt to squeeze through. My shoulders were too broad. I pushed at a couple of the rocks. Loose mortar spilled like draining sands in an hourglass. After a couple of minutes of rocking the stone back and forth, it dislodged and fell from its place. I repeated the procedure with se
veral more stones until I opened the hole wide enough to crawl through.
“It wouldn’t need to be far though. Just a quick way underground.”
Jacques shrugged. “For a quick escape, that would only be a luxury. But if this killer has a hiding place down here, and the tunnels are long intersecting mazes, we could spend weeks hunting and never find him.”
“That’s true.”
“We don’t have that kind of time.”
The lads with the lantern disappeared around a turn in the tunnel. We pursued, only to discover where they were going. Since they had not actually stolen anything from us, sending a sliver of fright into them might discourage them from attempting theft from me again. They seemed to know the tunnel system quite well, so they held the greater chance of losing us than our continued tracking of their position. Depending upon how long the tunnels were, there might be hundreds of places for them to return to the surface while losing us in the process. But with last night’s murderer, we needed to become familiar with these tunnels. If he killed again, he’d most likely resort to fleeing here to lose the constables and us, which he might have done to escape the previous night.
Several bats chirped and flitted from the crevices near where the boys had turned. Jacques slowed at the corner of the tunnel, allowing me to catch up.
High-pitched squeaks echoed from behind us and around the corner, reminding me of how Baron Randolph had first appeared as a cloud of swirling bats and assembling into human form before me. We had seen a few bats flee the tunnel as the boys entered, but these squeaking sounds were eerily different than those bats made. The nerve-grating shrills increased from every tunnel opening and crevice in the crude tunnel walls.
With only one lantern in the impenetrable darkness, our vision was greatly limited. We were outnumbered. By what exactly? I wasn’t certain.
A bad feeling set upon me. Inside my mind came a stern warning, a premonition, perhaps from my maturing intuition gifted to me as one of the Chosen Vampire Hunters. My knowledge and perception continued expounding after each vampire I had slain, but it had limitations. Even if I killed a thousand master vampires I’d never become omniscient and omnipotent. I was still a mortal and mortals, even the Chosen Hunters, could be killed. What I gained was knowledge and sensitivity, what most people called ‘gut feelings,’ but mine were much stronger. Most vampires possessed a survival insight warning them of approaching enemies, allowing them to prepare themselves for such encounters or giving them adequate time to escape. I possessed this, too, but stronger than ordinary mortals.
Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book 2]: Blood Mists of London Page 4
