by Ian Jarvis
‘It was conducted through a signer and no, it wasn’t long. Neither was Ligeia’s. Believe it or not, the interview Ligeia gave before leaving for London lasted just four minutes.’
‘That’s a bit short, isn’t it?’
‘An understatement. The police would never let key witnesses go like that and yet they did. These girls could easily have been involved with either the killing or Rex’s disappearance and apparently they weren’t even checked for trace evidence.’
‘Maybe Ligeia’s in the Freemasons?’
Quist laughed dryly. ‘I can’t understand it. I rang her press office to ask about this, but they were no help.’
‘Wow, you rang Ligeia’s people?’
‘These are normal people and you need to stop with the blind hero worship.’ Quist stood up as their train pulled into the station. ‘This girl is a mediocre singer, not a Goddess.’
‘Mediocre?’ Watson laughed and followed him. ‘You’re amazing, Guv.’
‘What’s happened to him?’ muttered Quist. ‘Where on earth could Rex be?’
Chapter 13
Rex Grant woke with a cotton sheet covering his naked body. His mouth was chalk dry and, groaning, he rubbed his crusty eyes. As far as he remembered, this was how it felt after a night of heavy partying. There were several drawbacks to being a werewolf, but one of the benefits was he never suffered from hangovers. He sat up groggily and looked around, realising he’d been laying on a collapsible camp bed. The small white-painted room had no windows, carpet or furniture. There was a single dim ceiling light and two doors, one of which was metal-lined. The last time he’d woken, it had been in a palatial bedroom with three stunning girls wrapped around him. He knew which scenario he preferred.
What had happened and where was he? Was this the basement of the Balmoral? Why would he be down in the hotel cellar?
Rex frowned, suddenly recalling how Ligeia’s manager had visited him, zapped him with a stun gun and stuck a syringe of something into his neck. It must have been hallucinogenic, as nothing after that made any sense. He’d seen the old movie comedian Oliver Hardy and a pirate. No, wait, the pirate was the singer’s one-eyed manager, but... Rex shook his head to clear it. Had he really seen Oliver Hardy, or did that happen after the injection? The images were too jumbled, but one thing was certain - he was sitting on a camp bed in a windowless storeroom and this wasn’t a dream. Wide awake now, he felt confused and frightened, then realised there was no need for fear. Wherever he was and whatever had happened, he couldn’t be hurt. Not unless there were silver bullets flying around and fortunately that didn’t happen too often.
Why had that bitch with the eye patch drugged him and why was he here?
He climbed unsteadily to his feet and checked the two doors. The sturdy, steel-lined one was locked from the outside; the other opened into a walk-in cupboard with a sink. The bucket with a toilet roll beside it told him this was his en-suite bathroom.
‘Oh, how thoughtful of someone,’ he mumbled, caustically.
The lycanthropy had heightened Rex’s sense of smell, but anyone would have picked up the strong bleach aroma. This was almost certainly a cleaning storeroom. Mops, buckets, floor buffers and suchlike would normally be kept here, but by providing a bed for him, the place had been turned into a makeshift cell. His small suitcase stood against the wall and, opening it, he found someone had considerately packed everything he’d taken to Scotland. Even his Rolex watch and wallet filled with cash were there, but not his mobile phone. Snapping the watch bracelet onto his wrist, he saw it was twelve o’clock, but was that twelve noon or midnight? Without windows, it was impossible to tell.
Rex pulled on a black shirt and jeans, made use of the “en-suite” and washed his face with cold water in the sink, the icy splashes clearing his drug-induced wooziness and bringing back a jumble of memories. Yes, that’s right. Charlotte had walked out of the Balmoral Hotel bathroom. I thought he was alone, someone had said.
‘What the hell...’ muttered Rex, rubbing his eyes and concentrating.
Yes, Charlotte was shocked. She’d started asking angry questions. Did that really happen? The images of Oliver Hardy felt starkly real, but his being there was obviously impossible; the returning memories were insane. A blade shot out from the film star’s sleeve and Charlotte fell. ‘No,’ someone had shouted. ‘You didn’t have to do that, you fool.’ The fat man bent over the naked girl, quickly doing something to her before the knife vanished back into his jacket, the retraction wiping it clean by spraying out a coating of blood. ‘He’s still awake,’ Hardy had said. ‘Look, his eyes are half-open and I think he saw that.’
The stinging needle had jabbed into Rex’s neck again and inky darkness had fallen. Were these actual memories or just madness from a drugged nightmare? If it was a dream, it was weirder than the ones he usually had: the ones where he was back at school, he’d forgotten his trousers and Miss Williams had spotted his wolf tail. Even as a twelve-year-old, he’d fancied his geography teacher Miss Williams. He shook his head irately. Why the fuck was he pondering this rubbish when Charlotte could be injured? When she could even be dead.
The lock clicked and the door opened. Ligeia walked in wearing a thin black sweater, tight jeans and a concerned frown.
‘Here you are,’ she said, running to him and wrapping her arms around his chest. ‘Why are you here?’
Rex stepped back. ‘You’re asking me?’
‘I mean why are you in this room, you big silly?’
‘Er...’ He didn’t know how to answer. ‘Is this part of the Balmoral Hotel?’
‘No, it’s a nice place with a river.’
‘Er, right...’
Rex moved further back and gazed at her. This answer didn’t exactly help. It was the kind of thing he’d have expected from a woman with thirty cats. Ligeia’s childlike persona was no longer sweet and endearing and her sensual accent failed to arouse him. In light of recent events, she just appeared crazy. Dangerously fucking crazy.
‘Rex?’ she giggled. ‘Why are you looking at me like that? Are you alright?’
‘You know what...’ He laughed too, but the noise was manic. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not.’ He circled her slowly, backing away towards the open door. ‘You remember my friend Charlotte? Do you know what happened to her?’
‘Mmmh, Charlotte was nice.’ Ligeia looked over his shoulder. ‘Hello, Irana.’
Rex turned and stiffened to see the singer’s manager standing in the doorway.
‘Ligeia?’ Colonel Adler smiled sweetly. ‘Who unlocked the door and let you in here?’
‘One of your nice friends,’ she said. ‘He’s called Billy.’
‘Billy?’ Adler frowned. ‘Ah, that’ll be William Baxter. He’s one of the house security. He isn’t part of my team.’ She nodded and gestured to the passage outside. ‘My dear, I wonder if you could leave Rex and I alone for a while? We need to chat.’
‘Too fucking right we do.’ Rex visibly shook with anger. He looked the woman over, taking in the black eye patch, the casual suit and expensive shoes. He recalled finding her attractive when she called at his hotel room, but she’d almost certainly ruined her chances of sleeping with him now. ‘What have you done?’
‘Language, please,’ said Adler. ‘There are ladies present. You’re here as our guest.’
‘I’m locked in what amounts to a cell and I’ve just taken a shit in a plastic bucket. Maybe you should think about reviewing your guest policy?’
‘Irana, I don’t want to go.’ Ligeia took the Colonel’s hand and squeezed. ‘I want to be with Rex.’
‘You will be, my dear,’ said Adler, kissing the singer’s forehead. ‘In a very short while, but first I need to speak with him.’
‘Alright.’ Ligeia looked around and pouted. ‘But I don’t like this nasty room. I don’t want
him to be in here.’
‘Guess what?’ snapped Rex. ‘That makes two of us.’
The Colonel laughed. ‘Why don’t you run along to the river and I’ll bring him down there to you?’
‘The river?’ Ligeia’s face brightened. ‘Yes, I’ll see you there, Rex.’
Rex watched her leave and turned back to Adler, trembling with fury. ‘What the fuck did you do to me? Where am I?’
‘Oh, Mister Grant...’ The woman sighed and folded her arms. ‘Why didn’t you just take the money I offered and come with us when I asked? Everything would have been so much simpler. Instead, I had to take alternative measures and do it this way.’
‘You had to?’
‘I never take no for an answer. Not when something important is at stake.’
‘So you kidnapped me.’
‘You’re here as our guest,’ repeated Adler.
‘I know you used a stun gun and a syringe of something, but everything feels weird. My memory is playing tricks...’
‘You were injected with a South American drug. Four doses were administered at intervals to ensure you had a good sleep. I don’t know why it’s banned in the west; it works admirably.’
‘I saw Oliver Hardy and all kinds of weird shit in my hotel room.’ Rex ran a hand through his short black hair. ‘What about Charlotte Michie? What happened to her?’
‘Was that her name? Yes, a young lady did leave your bathroom and storm out.’
‘It looked like she was stabbed...’
‘It sounds to me as if you’re right. Your memory is playing tricks.’
‘So what’s going on? What did you say your name was?’
‘Colonel Irana Adler.’
‘You’re serious? A female Colonel?’ Rex laughed dryly. ‘So Ligeia has a Colonel for a manager, like Elvis Presley?’
‘As far as I recall, Colonel Tom Parker was actually a private, discharged from the army due to mental problems. My military rank is genuine. I served with the German army before moving into the private sector.’
‘Hey, but talk about coincidence? You share similar mental problems.’
‘You’re quite a comedian, aren’t you, Rex? Pirate jokes about my one eye yesterday and now quips about my sanity. Do you really think goading me is wise when I’m currently in charge of your well-being?’
‘Yesterday?’ Rex checked his watch. ‘How long have you had me here?’
‘It’s now Thursday afternoon. Who’s Quist?’
Rex was jolted by the unexpected question. ‘What?’
‘Someone named Bernard Quist rang Ligeia’s press office asking about you.’ Adler took three sheets of paper from her jacket. ‘He also appears to have drawn these pictures on personalised office stationery. His name and the address of his York office are printed as a letterhead at the top. He’s a private investigator.’
‘My yoga exercises?’
‘That’s right. Why would this man be looking for you?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ snarled Rex. ‘I don’t have to answer your questions. I’m leaving.’
A large man in a black uniform appeared in the doorway behind Adler. He’d obviously been waiting in the passage.
‘I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible,’ said the Colonel. ‘I need you here for a little while.’
A surge of rage filled Rex and he fought down the urge to punch the pair unconscious and run. This wasn’t like him and he wondered if the full moon was to blame. Hitting women was generally frowned upon, but did this apply when they’d kidnapped you? Then again, he had no idea where he was or if there were other locked doors out in the passage. No, it was best to discover where he was being held and establish what was going on.
‘Thursday?’ Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself. ‘Unbelievable. This is my birthday.’
‘Well many happy returns.’ Adler held the door wide. ‘Ligeia was right; you shouldn’t be cooped up in here. Come through into the house and we can celebrate.’
Chapter 14
Ligeia’s manager really did need to review her guest policy, decided Rex, seething as he climbed a flight of stone steps behind her. His bedroom, he’d just discovered, had been a basement ablutions store next to a wine cellar. He followed the Colonel along a corridor, past a series of oak-panelled rooms, all brimming with exquisite furnishings and antiques, to arrive in a hall filled with chandeliers and oil paintings. Adler had used the word house, but this was something of an understatement. The British royals often referred to Buckingham Palace as the house, or ice as they inexplicably pronounced it, and this place rivalled any palace for splendour.
‘Thank you, Prescott.’ Adler turned to the large uniformed character who had followed them. ‘You can leave us alone now.’
Still bristling with anger, Rex watched the man disappear.
‘To be honest, I didn’t really need a bodyguard shadowing us,’ said Adler. ‘I have black belts in four separate martial arts. I’d say that was more than enough to handle any house guest.’
Rex gave a derisive smile. She’d need those fucking belts to prevent her intestines falling out if he clawed open her stomach with his lupine strength and talons. Realising Quist might be right and the moon may be affecting him, he shook himself and looked around the hall. These mansions were built in a time when a certain strata of society were wealthy enough to have homes with dozens of enormous rooms: sitting rooms, drawing rooms, and reception rooms, with some devoted to pursuits such as needlework, billiards and reading. Most seemed to have a blue room, which Rex assumed was for when the owners were feeling down.
‘Very nice place,’ he said, sarcastically. ‘So where are we?’
‘Charlington Hall,’ said Adler, leading him into a spacious room with French doors opening onto a terrace. Sunshine lit the cream décor and glinted on gilt fixtures. ‘Lovely, isn’t it? This used to be Lord Cantlemere’s place and we bought it fully furnished six months ago. Welcome to the morning room.’
‘I’m no wiser,’ snapped Rex. ‘Where is this?’
‘Happy birthday.’ Adler opened a cabinet and poured two whiskies, handing one to him. ‘We’re on the Thames near Richmond.’
‘London? But I was in Scotland.’
‘We flew down to the City Airport yesterday and came here by helicopter. I had to buy a leather travelling trunk in Edinburgh to transport you, but don’t worry; I won’t be billing you for the cost.’
‘You packed me in a fucking trunk?’ snarled Rex, knocking back the drink in one gulp. ‘This is getting weirder, if that’s even possible.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be missing these,’ said Adler. Reaching into her jacket, she brought out Rex’s cigarettes and wolf head lighter. I held onto them until I was sure you were fully conscious. I didn’t want you accidentally setting fire to your bed down there.’
‘How considerate.’ Rex snatched them. ‘Where’s my phone?’
‘I appear to have misplaced it. Sorry, but you’ll have to do without it for the time being.’ Adler sipped her drink. ‘Charlington Hall is extremely private and secure and it’s been an ideal base. The grounds cover five acres, so it’s compact enough for my team to protect Ligeia and keep the fans and Paparazzi away. It also has certain unique features which she enjoys. I do everything I can to keep her happy.’
‘Including providing her with boyfriends?’ Rex lit a cigarette and stowed the pack in the rear pocket of his jeans. ‘Surely that can’t be why you abducted me?’
‘It’s one of the reasons.’
‘Are you crazy? Anyway, now that I’m out of the locked room, what’s to stop me leaving?’
‘Why would you want to leave Ligeia and this wonderful place?’
‘Oh, let me think.’ Rex sucked angrily on his cigarette, pondering in mock deliberation. ‘Maybe because I don’t lik
e being a prisoner.’
‘You’re my guest, not a prisoner, but I really would advise against trying to leave.’ Adler gestured through the French doors. ‘Those gentlemen strolling around out there are my team and they’re all armed.’
Rex joined her at the doors and saw four men in black military outfits positioned at strategic points around the grounds. ‘Shit!’ he gasped. ‘Two of them are carrying machine pistols. This place is like one of those drug baron’s mansions in Columbia.’
‘Yes, we sleep quite safely here. Security fences protect the perimeter, secreted radar units and alarm systems warn of intruders in the grounds and scanners detect any wireless signals. Our radio mast jams everything apart from our modified phones and communication sets. Of course, my men wouldn’t need their guns to prevent you leaving. They could easily stop you with their bare hands.’
I wouldn’t bet on that, thought Rex. The lycanthropy made him faster and stronger than humans. Even so, with the fences and other security measures here, the best plan would be to wait until nightfall and then secretly transform to escape. Quist had warned him never to shapeshift during the full moon, but it would only be for a few minutes and it wouldn’t matter. Besides, waiting until dusk would give him time to learn why the hell he’d been abducted.
A wide terrace of gravel and stone urns extended along the front of the building and, beyond this, lawns dotted with fountains led down to the River Thames. Rex couldn’t see the water, as a huge marquee tent had been erected on the lower area of parkland blocking the view.
‘I see the circus is in town,’ he sneered.
‘We’re ready for the garden party tomorrow,’ said Adler. ‘Ligeia is releasing her new album, the Music of Sound, and the newspapers and music press are all attending.’
A large man appeared outside the glass doors and was obviously guarding the front terrace. He wore a black uniform similar to the other guards and Rex recognised him from the Edinburgh nightclub. He’d be difficult to forget. Six feet, five inches in height, his head was shaved and his arm muscles looked as if they belonged on his upper legs.
