Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman)

by Martin, Wilkie

  It was obvious where the dagger was hidden, so Tony dug it up – on the very night we happened to be in the same graveyard.'

  'That was a lucky break,' I said.

  'Lucky?' He winked and his smile broadened. 'Yes, it could have been luck.'

  The cloud passing, a haze of gnats took the opportunity to dance in the sun's spotlight and, for some obscure doggy reason, Dregs began digging a patch of garden, a cone of mud balanced on his nose. Mrs Goodfellow called us for lunch and, since she regarded Hobbes as an invalid, fed us the world's tastiest, creamiest, chicken soup. Speaking was out of the question, for it demanded total dedication. Dregs was far too muddy to be allowed inside and his dismal howls were the only sounds, apart from those of eating. He howled even more when Mrs Goodfellow pounced, hauling him upstairs for a bath. By then, he'd learned the futility of trying to escape.

  On ending our meal, we adjourned to the sofa, where Hobbes continued his summing up.

  'We come now,' he said, 'to the museum break-in.'

  'It still seems ludicrous,' I said, 'to go to all that trouble for one bracelet.'

  'But not to Mrs Witcherley who had lost all sense of proportion. In fact, it was only after learning about the Order of the Dragon that I began to get an inkling of what was really going on and felt old Romanian superstitions might be at the bottom of it.'

  'Why did Biggs tell us the bracelet was from the Order of St George? Didn't he know?'

  'Of course he knew. He was trying to mislead me. He'd learned of Mrs Witcherley's obsession from Mr Roman, acquired the bracelet with museum funds and was attempting to sell it to her. He was too greedy, so she stole it, which explains why he knew only one particular article out of all the thousands in the boxes had been stolen. Knowing he'd lose his position and reputation if the truth came out, he tried to throw me off the scent.'

  'Where is he now?'

  'Lying low and hoping everything will blow over. He'll have some awkward questions to answer when he returns.'

  Mrs Goodfellow brought us tea. Hobbes's injuries had scared her and she was still subdued, which, at least, meant she didn't keep materialising by my ear with a shrill, 'Hello, dear.' I was grateful.

  Hobbes, thanking her, took a huge swig and sighed. 'The lass makes superb tea. I really missed it when I was down the hole.'

  I nodded and took a sip. 'What about the Roman cup?'

  'That puzzled me,' he said, 'until Augustus explained its origins. I came across an old tale about Vlad Tepes ordering a gold cup to be left next to a fountain in his kingdom. Anyone was free to use it, but anyone foolish enough to steal it would be impaled, which must have been an excellent deterrent. In addition, there were rumours that Vlad drank the blood of his enemies to keep young. The cup vanished after his death and Mrs Witcherley got it into her head that the Roman cup and Vlad's cup were one and the same. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Mr Roman had led her to the conclusion.

  Next came the attack on Mr Barrington-Oddy and the theft of the dragon ring, which was when I began to pick up the chain that led, link by link, to Mrs Witcherley.'

  'And Phil?'

  'Well, Andy,' he said with a ferocious frown, 'if you hadn't been stealing his business cards to further your nefarious schemes, you might have seen his note on the computer, suggesting he was investigating Mrs Witcherley.'

  I hung my head. 'I'm really sorry.'

  Laughing, he patted me on the back. I could tell he was still weak because I stayed on the sofa. 'Only joking. No harm came of it and you learned something about yourself. No one's perfect, we're all a mess of contradictions and impulses and yet we can train ourselves to rise above them. At least, for most of the time.

  Mr Waring, who was trying to work out precisely what Mrs Witcherley was up to, unfortunately, trusted Tony, who was apparently a valuable source of information, for the right price. Tony played along, taking his money, remaining loyal to Mrs Witcherley. He doped Mr Waring, and the rest you know.'

  I nodded. 'Tony claimed he wasn't doing it for the money and thought she loved him. I think he changed his mind when she started shooting.'

  Hobbes chuckled. 'Well, perhaps he does have a better side. Let's hope he chooses his next lady more wisely.'

  'Where is he now?'

  'Gone,' said Hobbes. 'The superintendent said he'd packed his bags and fled. He'll be back. He always comes back.'

  'What'll happen to Narcisa? Will she go to prison?'

  He shrugged. 'Maybe, though she'll have good lawyers and the most likely verdict is 'not guilty by reason of insanity', or whatever they say these days. That's assuming she's in a fit condition to stand trial.'

  'There's one other thing,' I said. 'Would the blood ritual have actually achieved anything?'

  'Yes, it would have killed Mr Waring.'

  'No, what I mean is, if she had drunk his blood would it have given her youth back?'

  'I doubt it. Leastways, I've never known that sort of thing to work. Drinking a goblet of warm blood is enough to make most people sick, which is why they normally swap it for red wine, though Ribena will do at a pinch.'

  'Oh. Umm … there's one more other thing.'

  'Make it the last then,' he said, 'I'm going for a lie-down.'

  'OK. What was she going to do with you?'

  'I don't know.' He yawned. 'Happily, thanks to you, I never found out.'

  'It was nothing,' I said. 'And I'd have been killed if it hadn't have been for Mrs Goodfellow. She deserves the credit.'

  He stood up. 'What you did was a great deal more than nothing. The lass did well, but Philip Waring and I would have been dead without you. I told him what you'd done.'

  He turned away, walking slowly upstairs, leaving me in silence, partly basking in the praise, partly embarrassed, finding it hard to cope with praise after a lifetime of criticism. I was overwhelmed by a strange emotion that felt like happiness and lasted far longer than on the previous occasion.

  Next morning when I went down, Hobbes was dressed in his work clothes, as if nothing had happened. Mrs Goodfellow, materialising under my ear with a joyful, 'Good morning, dear,' cackled at my jump.

  I enjoyed breakfast, though not as much as Hobbes, who wolfed down three full plates of bacon and eggs and several mugs of scalding tea. Afterwards, I walked with him into town and, though icy rain was blowing into my face, I was smiling, feeling like a hero.

  We stopped off at the Bugle, where I congratulated Ingrid. She smiled, blushing, and it hurt, though I was, genuinely, happy for her and only a little jealous of the lucky Scottish guy. She told us Rex wasn't in because he was looking after Narcisa, who'd had a breakdown. Phil caught my eye and grinned. I grinned back, happy to see him alive and well, wondering what I'd ever had against him.

  As we were leaving, Ingrid stopped me. 'Andy,' she said, 'I'm sorry I got so upset with you the last time. Phil told me that you helped rescue him and Mr Hobbes. Thank you.' She kissed me on the cheek.

  I walked away in a daze. I wished her well, I really did, yet there was an aching emptiness inside where something was missing. For the first time I could see her for what she was: small, dumpy and worth a million times more than my idealised portrait.

  'Never mind,' said Hobbes as we stepped out into the street, 'tis better to have loved and lost than to have been shot by a crazy woman.'

  Though I smiled, my mind turned back to dark places. 'Umm … there's a question I must ask. It's really been bugging me.'

  'Fire away.'

  'Could you tell me what's behind the door in the cellar?'

  'Of course I could.'

  We walked in silence for a few moments.

  'Umm … will you tell me?'

  'I will … probably.'

  In the distance, somebody shouted and glass shattered.

  'When?'

  'At the appropriate time. However, right now there's constabulary duty to be done.' As he loped away, he was grinning.

  COMING SOON...

  Inspector Hobbes and the
Curse

  unhuman II

  Wilkie Martin

  Again set in the Cotswolds, this is the next instalment in the adventures of Inspector Hobbes, Mrs Goodfellow and Dregs, as narrated by the still disaster-prone Andy Caplet. It is a rip roaring, funny and moving tale of Andy's infatuation with a dangerously beautiful woman, starting off during investigations into sheep deaths and the mysterious disappearance of pheasants. These incidents appear to be connected to a rash of big cat sightings, and something horrible seems to be lurking in the woods.

  Is Andy cursed to be always unsuccessful in love, or is the curse something much darker, something that will arouse his primeval terrors?

  The Witcherley Book Company

  ISBN 9780957635128 (paperback)

  ISBN 9780957635135 (ebook)

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the past and present members of Catchword for their support, guidance, and encouragement: Geoffrey Adams, Gill Boyd, Liz Carew, Jean Dickenson, Rachel Fixsen, Susan Gibbs, Richard Hensley, Rhiannon Hopkins, Nick John, Sarah King, Dr Anne Lauppe-Dunbar, Dr Rona Laycock, Peter Maguire and Jan Petrie.

  I would like to thank Jan Henley for reviewing an early manuscript, Natasha Wagner for proofreading, and Cathy Helms for the cover. Thanks go to all at Impress Prize for New Writers for shortlisting this novel – a very welcome vote of confidence.

  Writers in the Brewery and the members of Gloucestershire Writers Network have also provided much appreciated support.

  Finally, a huge thank you to my family, to Julia, and to The Witcherley Book Company.

  WILKIE MARTIN

  Wilkie Martin's novel Inspector Hobbes and the Blood, was shortlisted for the Impress Prize for New Writers in 2012 under its original title: Inspector Hobbes. As well as novels, Wilkie writes short stories and silly poems, some of which are on YouTube. Like his characters, he relishes a good curry, which he enjoys cooking. In his spare time, he is a qualified scuba-diving instructor, and a guitar twanger who should be stopped.

  Born in Nottingham, he went to school in Sutton Coldfield, studied at the University of Leeds, worked in Cheltenham for 25 years, and now lives in the Cotswolds with Julia, his partner of 30 years.

  Contact Wilkie Martin

  Visit Wilkie's website www.wilkiemartin.com

  Follow @wilkiewrites on twitter

  Like Wilkie's author page on facebook

  Subscribe to wilkiewrites on youtube

  See Wilkie's author page on amazon.co.uk or on amazon.com

  Published in United Kingdom

  by The Witcherley Book Company

  Copyright © 2013 Martin J Wilkinson and Julia How.

  The right of Martin J Wilkinson (Wilkie Martin) to be

  identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in

  accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright owner, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Names, characters, places and events in this book are fictitious, and except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to any actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9780957635104 (paperback)

  ISBN 9780957635111 (ebook)

  Font: Minion Pro 11 point (paperback)

  Cover design copyright © 2013 Cathy Helms

  LIC Library Subject Headings: Character., Cotswold Hills (England)--Fiction., Cotswold Hills (England)--Humor., Crime fiction, Crime and the press—Fiction., Crime--Great Britain--Fiction., Detective and mystery fiction., Detective and mystery stories, English--Fiction., Dracula, Count (Fictitious character)--Fiction., England--Fiction., English wit and humor--21st century., English wit and humor--England--West Country., English wit and humor--Great Britain., Fantastic fiction., Fantasy fiction, English., FICTION / Crime., FICTION / Humorous., FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General., Humorous fiction., Humorous stories., Humorous stories, English., Journalists--England--Fiction., Mystery and detective stories--Fiction., Police--England--Cotswold Hills--Fiction., Police--England--Gloucestershire--Fiction., Transylvania (Romania)—Fiction

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