Doctor Who - [New Adventure 29] - [Vampire Trilogy 2] - Blood Harvest

by Terrance Dicks

  "Why don't we all go?" suggested Yarven.

  "Please don't trouble yourselves," said Romana firmly. "I'm sure you don't really want to leave the wine and the fire."

  "We'd best wait here for Lord Veran," said Varis. "I'm sure he'll be coming down soon." With his head tucked underneath his arm, thought Bernice, and realized she was getting hysterical.

  "I don't advise you to wander too far afield, not after dark," said Varis. "I'll detail some of my men to escort you."

  "No need for that," said Bernice hastily. "We're just going to take a quick stroll around the inn. We'll be back with you in no time."

  Yarven made a great business of helping Romana into her hooded cloak, settling it attentively around her shoulders. Romana and Bernice went out into the darkness.

  "I thought we'd never get out of there," said Bernice. "Come on, let's get going!"

  "Going where?"

  "No idea, I thought you'd know that. Away from here, that's all."

  Romana stopped moving. "I'm not so sure I want to go anywhere," she said with exasperating calm.

  "Even though you're a murder suspect?"

  "Nonsense! They'll all think Tarak's guilty."

  "You really are just like the Doctor, aren't you?"

  "Am I?"

  "You both think you can talk your way out of anything. Well, you can't. They'll think we're all guilty. You most of all, you were seen by Varis coming out of Veran's room."

  "The murder could have happened after that."

  Bernice felt like shaking her. "Oh, don't be so daft! With a brutal murder like this everyone's going to be too angry to pay any attention to logic. You're involved, and you'll be suspected. So will I, just by being there. Pretty soon someone's going to find Veran's body. If it's not found by accident, the murderer will find it on purpose. After that it'll simply be a case of round up the usual suspects."

  Romana still didn't look convinced. Bernice added the clincher. "Do you really want to be interrogated by Yarven? I'm sure he'd enjoy it, but I doubt if you would."

  "Perhaps you're right."

  The decision taken, Romana became her old bossy self. "I must find Ivo and warn him. Then we'd better join Tarak at his HQ. We'll be as safe there as anywhere until things cool down a bit. My horse is in the stables and most of my things are still in the saddlebags. Can you ride?"

  "After a fashion - if I had a horse."

  "We'll have to borrow one for you. Wait here!" Romana disappeared through the back door of the inn.

  Bernice waited nervously, shivering in the night air. After what seemed like far too long a time, Romana reappeared.

  "I've warned Ivo, he's going to join us when he can. Come on, let's not hang about chattering."

  Romana strode off towards the stables. Bernice followed, muttering curses under her breath. There was no one about at the stables, and Romana led out her grey mare. It nuzzled her affectionately.

  "Pick a nice quiet one for yourself," she ordered.

  Defiantly Bernice picked Varis's black stallion.

  Romana finished saddling her mare, strapped on the saddlebag and came to help Bernice finish saddling the stallion. It whickered and stamped its feet.

  Romana swung lightly into the saddle. "Are you sure you can manage that beast?"

  In a dignified silence, Bernice scrambled onto the stallion. It reared and threw her off into a pile of straw.

  Romana sighed and slid down from the saddle. She caught the stallion, soothed it, patted its nose and breathed into its nostrils. The stallion calmed down, and stood meekly waiting. Bernice picked herself up and Romana handed back the reins.

  "He'll be all right now. Come on!"

  A guard came around the corner of the stables and stopped short in amazement.

  "It's all right," said Romana brightly. "We're just going for a little ride."

  "After dark? And that's the captain's horse."

  "So it is," said Bernice and handed him the reins. As he stood holding them, she slipped round behind him, took her blaster from her pocket and slugged him hard behind the ear. Grabbing back the reins as he fell, Bernice climbed back on the black stallion.

  Romana was already in the saddle. They galloped away towards the darkened woods.

  Back at the inn time dragged past slowly. Yarven and Varis had long ago run out of polite conversation. The two women didn't come back from their walk, and Lord Veran didn't come down from his room. Lord Veran's cook said if the dinner was delayed much longer it would be a disaster. At last Varis said, "Perhaps I'd better go up. Lord Veran may be more ill than we think."

  "He may indeed," said Yarven.

  Varis picked up a lamp and made his way upstairs. Yarven stood staring into the fire, sipping his wine and waiting. He heard a terrible choked cry, raced upstairs and found Varis, white-faced and horror-struck, holding up the lamp in the doorway of Veran's room.

  Yarven turned and ran to Tarak's room, glanced inside and returned to Varis. "Tarak has gone. He did this! Come on, man!"

  He led the way downstairs. As they reached the bottom of the stairs a bruised guard staggered into the room. "The women have gone, Captain. One of them took your horse."

  "They've all gone," said Yarven savagely. "Tarak, the women, the two others - a clean sweep." He grabbed Varis by the shoulder. "Don't you see, Captain, this whole conference was a trap, a trick to destroy us. We're lucky we're still alive. We must find them before they kill more of us."

  "These peasant scum have a headquarters in the wastelands," said Varis hoarsely. "It was secret once, but everyone knows where it is now. That's where they'll be. We must find them and burn them out."

  "How many men have you, Captain?"

  "A full company."

  "It will have to do. If we strike quickly..." Yarven looked round. "Where's that damned landlord? He must be in this too." But Ivo was nowhere to be found.

  To her surprise, Bernice found herself enjoying the mad gallop through the night. There was something exhilarating about it in a loony kind of way.

  They rode through the dark woods, crouched low in the saddle to avoid lashing branches, and across the rough broken ground of the wasteland. It was a difficult and dangerous ride, and Bernice had to fight to stay in the saddle. Ahead of her, Romana's grey mare flitted sure-footedly through the darkness.

  At last they cantered up to the mound that concealed what had once been the headquarters of the peasant resistance movement. The usually hidden doors stood open and light flooded out from the tunnel entrance.

  Romana reined in the mare and jumped down. A little more slowly, Bernice did the same. Letting the reins dangle, they left the horses and moved slowly down the brightly lit tunnel.

  "I can't understand it being left open," said Romana. "It's not particularly secret these days, more of a museum, but Kalmar is always so careful with his precious machinery."

  At the end of the tunnel Bernice found the circular chamber to which she'd first been brought as a captive. It looked very different now.

  The place was ruined, wrecked, ravaged, as if a hurricane had been raging inside the underground chamber. The whole room was littered with scattered clothes and papers, shattered furniture, smashed and twisted fragments of machinery. It seemed as if nothing had been left whole or in its proper place.

  They picked their way across the room, looking round them. "Kalmar!" called Romana. There was no reply. "His room's over here; she said, and led the way to the sectioned-off part of the dome. Kalmar was there, staring up at the ceiling. His old body had been hacked and stabbed and sliced with maniacal frenzy, until his once-white robe was soaked with red. In a final savage gesture a sword had been thrust through his heart, pinning him to the floor. It was a long sword with an ornately jewelled handle. The kind of a sword worn only by Lords.

  They heard movement behind them and saw Tarak running across the ruined room. He came up to the alcove and stared down at Kalmar's body.

  "No," he whispered. "No..."

&n
bsp; For a few minutes Tarak knelt beside the old man's body, struggling to control his feelings. Then he pulled aside Kalmar's bed to reveal a concealed hatchway.

  "At least they didn't find this ... You'll be avenged, old friend." He lifted the hatch to reveal a power switch. He threw the switch, a light flashed, and a low, regular electronic tone pulsed through the room like a drumbeat.

  "What is that thing?" asked Bernice. Tarak looked at her with unnaturally bright eyes. "It's an alarm-signal - a war drum. There's one like it in every resistance HQ for miles around. Everyone who hears it will arm himself and come here. When they arrive we'll march on the village and kill every Lord and every soldier we can find!"

  It was quite clear that it was no use talking to Tarak.

  Bernice took Romana's arm and drew her aside. "Does it strike you there's something familiar about all this?"

  "Is there?" said Romana impassively.

  "It's a replay of the earlier murder, only in reverse. First a much loved Lord is slaughtered with a weapon that shouts peasant. Now an equally loved peasant leader, butchered with a sword used only by Lords."

  "Go on."

  "We're pretty sure the peasants didn't kill Veran. I don't think the Lords killed Kalmar either."

  "Then who did?"

  "I think the same person is behind both deaths. Someone who wants to set the two sides at each other's throats."

  "I think you're right - in fact I know you're right. The Doctor knows it too. That's why we're both here."

  Deep in the forest a tall cloaked figure stood with arms outstretched, savouring and increasing the waves of hate and anger and blood-lust that swirled around it.

  At the inn angry soldiers prepared to set off. Yarven had paraded them before Veran's body and they were filled with the lust to kill.

  At the rebel HQ silent angry men were gathering, hiding weapons beneath their cloaks. One by one Tarak took them to see Kalmar's broken, blood-soaked body, and the fire for revenge burned in every man's heart.

  Not far away, dark creatures were stirring. Wars and policies meant nothing to them. They were simply eager to slake the blood-lust that was their own.

  The cloaked being stood for a long time, savouring the feast that was to come. But it was not quite ready. And in another time and another place, there were other matters to be attended to. Slowly the tall figure faded away, becoming one with the darkness.

  18 PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS

  "Three crimes, three private eyes," said the Doctor. "If Mr. Dekker will grant us honorary status, that is?"

  "Be my guest, Doc," said Dekker, through a mouthful of English muffin. They were having a breakfast conference at Doc's Place, and the Doctor was laying out plans for the day.

  Ace was sipping her third cup of coffee and watching the Doctor suspiciously, in case he tried to keep her out of the action. "Okay Doctor, so who goes where?"

  "I want Mr. Dekker to concentrate on the McSwiggin murder. Most of the witnesses seem to be mobsters, and he knows how to talk to those kind of people."

  Dekker tapped the bulge of the .45 automatic under his armpit. "I'll have "em singing like birds, Doc."

  "Try not to kill anyone," said the Doctor dryly. "I'm trying to cut down the death rate, not boost it. That applies to you as well, Ace - in fact, especially to you."

  Dekker grinned. "You know what Al Capone always says, Doc? You get further with a kind word and a gun than just a kind word alone."

  "What about me?" asked Ace. "What do I do, apart from not kill people?"

  "I want you to go over to Schofield's flower shop on 738 North State Street. Hymie Weiss got killed outside -"

  "Yeah, and Deany O'Bannion got killed inside a while back," interrupted Dekker. "That place is owned by the North-side mob, Doc. She starts nosing around there, you'll end up buying flowers for her."

  "I can look after myself, Dekker. If anyone needs flowers it'll be you, not me."

  "It's an interesting point, that," said the Doctor, ignoring the squabbling. "The site of the murder, I mean. Most people think Capone had O'Bannion killed. Isn't that right, Mr. Dekker?"

  "Sure. It was probably Anselmi and Scalise, those two guys in the corner at the meeting last night. There was a third guy too. Some people say it was Al in person. Anselmi and Scalise were actually arrested and tried for it. They got off - not enough evidence."

  "A Capone murder, at any rate. Now Mr. Weiss, one of Mr. O'Bannion's leading successors, gets killed almost in the same spot. Why there, of all places?"

  "Because if Al's telling the truth and he didn't have Hymie Weiss knocked off..." said Dekker slowly.

  "Someone wants very much to make it look as if he did," concluded Ace.

  The Doctor regarded his two assistants with benign approval. "Exactly. I want you to keep an eye out for that kind of misdirection. I think it could be a feature of all three cases. Oh, Ace, try the boarding-house next door to the flower shop as well, the place the shots were fired from." He paused for a moment. "One final thing. I don't want you trying to bring anyone in, officially or unofficially. This is just a reconnaissance. I want you to help me to find the common denominator behind these three murders. It could be the killer, or perhaps just the organizer. If you come across any suitable candidates, all I want is a description and, if possible, a place where they can be found."

  The Doctor got up, smoothed the lapels of his black and white striped suit and took a trenchcoat and a snapbrim fedora from a nearby hatstand.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Ace.

  The Doctor shrugged into his trenchcoat. "Whereas your two affairs are low, sordid mob murders, the Jake Lingle murder is a highly political case involving some of the highest in Chicago. Naturally I shall attend to it myself. I'm afraid I'll require Happy and the limousine, Ace. Got to keep up my image."

  "I'd give you a ride but I'm heading the other way," said Dekker.

  "Great. So how do I get to this flower shop?"

  "It's a nice morning," said the Doctor. "You could always walk."

  "Me, walk?" said Ace. "Not bloody likely. I shall go in a taxi!"

  A little later that same morning, Al Capone was giving a press conference at the Lexington Hotel.

  Before Al's time most gang-leaders scuttled past the press with collars turned up and hat-brims pulled low. Intrusive photographers got their cameras - and often their heads - smashed. But Al Capone loved publicity. He was the first of the mobsters to realize that he was a public figure, and that it was just as easy to make the press his friends.

  The suite was crowded with journalists, knocking back the free booze, filling their pockets with the free cigars and taking down Al's every word.

  "I ain't no squawker," he said. "But I'll tell you all I know about these murders - which is nothing. Billy McSwiggin was a friend of mine. He was having a drink with me and some friends right here, just a few days ago. We could've killed him then - if we'd wanted to - and no one would ever have known."

  One of the bolder reporters said, "There's a story you were sore at him for prosecuting your friends Anselmi and Scalise for the O'Bannion murder."

  "Why should I be sore? He was just doing his job. Besides, they were acquitted, weren't they? You guys won't print this because your bosses won't let you - but I paid McSwiggin and I got what I paid for."

  As everyone in the room knew, McSwiggin's less than enthusiastic prosecution had had a lot to do with getting the two killers released.

  "What about Hymie Weiss?"

  "Me and Hymie had some problems, sure, but that was all in the past. We made an agreement, I kept it and so did he. I didn't have any beef with Hymie." Capone held up his hand. "And before you ask, I didn't have anything to do with the Jake Lingle killing either. Come on, fellers, me kill a reporter? You guys are sacred to me - like priests!"

  There was some laughter and Capone went on, "The police want to shove these murders onto me because they can't find the men who did the jobs and I look like an easy goat. If they've
got anything on me except hot air, let them use it. I'll answer anything they ask me about these murders. Okay, that's it. Enjoy your drinks."

  Flanked by his bodyguards, Capone left the room. As the ever-thirsty reporters refilled their glasses, one of them said wonderingly, "I've got a weird feeling the sonovabitch was actually telling the truth!"

  An enterprising reporter telephoned Mayor Thompson for a comment on Al Capone's press conference. The Mayor fired off an inspiring speech hinting that dramatic developments were about to break very soon. "I've created a special police squad to deal with these murders," he announced. "Captain Dennis Reilly will be in charge. No efforts will be spared ..."

  The interview over, Thompson slammed down the phone. "Dammit, Reilly, I want Capone arrested. He's a suspect in three murders and he's holding press conferences, saying all we've got is hot air. He's making fools of us - of me!"

  The good Lord himself did that long ago, thought Captain Dennis Reilly, but he had too much sense to say so. Instead he said soothingly, "If your honour wants Capone arrested, then arrested he'll be. I'll take a squad down to the Lexington and bring him in meself. But you know what'll happen. A gang of expensive lawyers will turn up waving writs, and he'll be out in a matter of hours, giving more press conferences about his wrongful arrest."

  "Surely you must have something to hold him on?"

  "Between ourselves, the feller's right. We've got nothing at all but hot air. The Hymie Weiss business looked promising, what with all the bad feeling between Hymie and Al. Unfortunately, all the witnesses have come down with a bad case of Chicago amnesia."

  "With what?"

  "Tis a common ailment in mob murder cases," said Reilly solemnly. "No one saw anything, no one recognized nobody - or if they did they've had a sudden lapse of memory."

  "But there must be something. What about the McSwiggin case?"

  "The more I probe into the McSwiggin case, Mr. Mayor, the more people start asking me what was your District Attorney doing out on the razzle with a group of known gangsters?"