by Ian Jarvis
‘Dead?’ stammered Rex. ‘You killed her?’
‘Ollie did,’ said Adler. ‘Her body was left in your hotel room and I’m afraid you’re the prime suspect. The police interviewed us and asked if we knew anything of your whereabouts, but we couldn’t help them.’
‘They’re searching for you,’ said Hardy. ‘But you appear to have vanished off the face of the earth.’
‘Oliver Hardy,’ gasped Rex, stunned. He tore his eyes away from the fat man to gape at Lafont. ‘Is this something to do with your voodoo magic, or is it like Jurassic Park? You’re cloning old movie stars?’
The Colonel laughed. ‘I offered you money to be with Ligeia and that offer still stands. I’ll triple the cash if you stay with us and the police will never find you.’
‘I was right; you are insane.’ Rex felt fury building inside and knew the moon was partly to blame, but he was past caring. ‘You killed Charlotte,’ he snarled, glaring at Hardy. ‘You stabbed her, you bastard.’
‘Jurassic Park?’ Hardy fussed with his bow tie and turned to Laurel. ‘Ligeia has a thing about him, Stanley? I take it she must like mental cases.’
‘I guess so, Ollie,’ chuckled Laurel. ‘This one’s an idiot.’
Rex leapt on Hardy, slamming his bulk to the ground and punching him. Gruner rushed at the grappling pair, but Hardy twisted his wrist, snapping out the concealed blade and stabbing it upwards into his assailant’s chest before the Sergeant could wrestle him off.
‘You stabbed him in the heart,’ yelled Gruner. ‘You crazy bastard. What have I told you about using that knife contraption?’
‘It’s an instinctive thing,’ said Hardy. ‘He was the one who attacked...’
‘Instinctive?’ hissed Adler. ‘I went to all the bother of bringing him here for Ligeia and now he’s dead. Thank God she didn’t see this. It would have upset her.’
Upset Ligeia? thought Rex, sinking into blackness. I’m not too happy about this myself.
Chapter 17
Quist and Watson left the Edinburgh train and walked through the entrance hall of York Station. A huge Victorian complex, the platforms and halls were constructed of ornate ironwork and a honey-coloured brick that always left Watson thinking of cinder toffee. The railway buildings provided quite a contrast to the white limestone of the fortified city wall which ran along the grassy embankment opposite.
The detective’s mobile rang. He answered it and looked puzzled.
‘Who was that?’ asked Watson.
‘Probably a wrong number.’ Quist slipped it back into his overcoat pocket and walked past the busy rank of taxis. ‘They heard my voice and rang off. I was hoping it might be Rex calling, or someone to say he’d turned up.’
‘I’ve been telling you to get a mobile phone for months and you’ve finally listened to me. Pretty useful, aren’t they?’
‘I’ve never disputed the advantages of these amazing devices, but to many people they’re like heroin. Look around you at these crowds. Look anywhere, for that matter, even in the passing vehicles. Some live their lives through their phones, permanently glued to them with their mouths hanging slackly open. To some, their phone is their life.’
‘Whatever,’ drawled the teenager, realising this described a good few of his friends. ‘I suppose you prefer to stick your nose in a book.’ He glanced at Quist’s aquiline beak and cleared his throat. He could have chosen his words more prudently.
Lighting a cigarette, the detective headed into the Queen Street car park where his Ford saloon had been left during their overnight trip.
‘You smoke like a fish,’ said Watson.
‘Fortunately cigarettes can’t harm me. Surely the expression is drink like a fish?’
‘You haven’t seen my mum frying them.’
‘Ligeia,’ said Quist. ‘The more thought I give to this singer, the more she intrigues me.’
His assistant grinned. ‘That makes two of us, Guv.’
‘I suspect I find her interesting for quite different reasons. She and her mute friend were the last people to see Rex and the murder victim. It’s very possible they may have seen other things too.’
‘If they did, they didn’t tell the police.’
Quist gave a short laugh. ‘From the length of time they were interviewed, they wouldn’t have been able to say anything. I’m actually starting to wonder if they were involved in some way, so why aren’t the police entertaining the same possibility? Those girls were present in the crime scene with the victim and the prime suspect just before the murder took place. We only have their word that they weren’t there when it happened. They could easily have been complicit and yet the police allowed them to go after a few minutes of rudimentary questioning and without conducting any forensic tests on them for trace evidence. I can’t believe they would act so blasé and unprofessional.’
‘Are you thinking they were bribed or something?’
‘I doubt it, but I want to question the two girls myself. The people in Ligeia’s press office were no help when I rang. They appeared hostile and kept asking why I was so interested in Rex. We need to speak to Ligeia in person. At the very least, Rex may have said something relevant to her and provided clues as to where he might be.’
‘Actually speak with Ligeia.’ Watson grinned excitedly. ‘It’d be amazing if we could. I’ve read she lives in a big mansion somewhere down south, but I can’t remember where.’
‘An internet search will remedy that,’ said Quist. ‘Yes, you keep up with the pop music scene, don’t you? What do you know about Ligeia? Is she British?’
The teenager shrugged. ‘I guess it sounds a bit crap coming from a fan, but I don’t know what she is. Ligeia never gives interviews and the papers never tell you her history, probably because they don’t know. I think she likes to keep an air of mystery.’
‘That’s more likely to be a managerial ploy. It will help the sales.’
‘The sales don’t need much help; she’s the biggest selling artist of all time. The few times I’ve seen her speak on TV, she sounds foreign. Like those gorgeous birds in films about Russian gangsters, only sexier.’
‘Really?’ The detective nodded. ‘So perhaps East European?
‘Who knows? She just appeared out of nowhere last year and took the music world by storm. Her concerts always sell out immediately. I know she’s playing the O2 Arena in London on Friday night and then she’s going to live in America.’
‘In that case, we’d better hurry if we intend to question her.’
‘Speaking of singers and songs, what is it?’ Watson smirked. ‘The shit song that Rex uses to stop him eating Little Red Riding Hood?’
‘I’ve already told you, it’s pointless asking. The melody is personal and confidential and I have no intention of divulging...’
‘Oh. Come on, Guv...’
‘Hello there,’ called out a gruff voice from behind. ‘Bernard Quist?’
The pair turned to see two large men following them across the station car park. Both had short-cropped military hairstyles and pumped-up muscles bulging beneath dark suits and overcoats.
‘Gentlemen.’ Quist nodded politely. ‘You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t believe we’ve met.’
‘We’ve met now.’ The larger of the two grinned. ‘We’d like to talk to you.’
‘Really?’ Quist ran an eye over them. The big man who’d spoken was over six feet in height and his shorter, stockier companion sported a knife scar down his face. From their size and intimidating appearance, they probably weren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses wanting to talk about the Bible. ‘I’m all ears.’
More like all nose, thought Watson, but he decided the atmosphere wasn’t conducive to jokes.
‘Not here.’ The scarred man gestured to the southern side of the car park. ‘We have a vehicle over by
the wall. We’ll talk there.’
‘Talk about what?’ asked Quist.
‘You’ll find out. Move - now.’
‘You know something?’ said the detective, stamping out his cigarette. ‘All things considered, I don’t feel particularly talkative.’
The larger character grabbed Watson’s arm, brought his free hand from his pocket and showed them the small device he held. The teenage gulped uneasily. It resembled an electric shaver, but the blue crackle of electricity dancing between the prongs told him this wouldn’t be much use for a stubbly chin.
‘A stun gun?’ said Quist. ‘Aren’t they illegal in Britain?’
‘If you say so.’ The man laughed. ‘Now do as you’re told and get moving to our van.’
Chapter 18
Spasming violently, Rex awoke on a steel table and sucked in air as his senses returned. A fluorescent strip light glared above, a zoo smell filled his nostrils and a deep rumbling growl sounded to his right.
‘Amazing.’ Colonel Adler leant over him, smiling excitedly. ‘Well, I think it’s safe to say you have remarkable powers of recuperation.’
Sitting up, Rex realised he had to be in the menagerie building. This tiled room was obviously behind the tiger enclosure and the growling was coming from Mister Tigsy. The big cat paced restlessly in its cage and Lafont stood beside the metal table with Laurel and Hardy, the trio curiously watching Rex.
An elderly man stood with Adler and looked decidedly nervous. ‘No, this is impossible,’ he gasped. The stunned voice was a whisper, but Rex still picked up on the American accent. ‘He was dead when I examined him. I honestly can’t believe this.’
‘This is Griffin Roylott,’ said Adler. ‘He’s our resident doctor. We didn’t know how badly wounded you were, so I had him rush down from the house to tend to you.’
‘Impossible,’ repeated Roylott, fingering Rex’s chest. ‘I assure you he wasn’t wounded. He was...’
Rex smacked the old man’s hand away.
‘Griffin had a wasted journey,’ said Adler. ‘Firstly, because my Sergeant was correct; Ollie’s blade pierced your heart and you were indeed dead. Secondly, because your fatal wound healed almost immediately and you began to breathe again.’
Sergeant Gruner stood at the end of the table holding a pistol. ‘Rather than carry you to the house, we brought you in here,’ he said. ‘We didn’t want Ligeia to see your body and become distressed, but we needn’t have bothered. You’re fine.’
‘What are you?’ asked Lafont.
‘Yes, what are you?’ echoed Adler.
Rex felt his chest through the bloody shirt, but Adler was right - there was no sign of a stab wound.
‘Sorry about your shirt,’ said the Colonel. ‘It’s a real mess. I hope you have another in your bag, but if not, I’m sure we can find something that will fit.’
Rex jumped off the table and Gruner gripped the gun tighter.
‘Hardy shouldn’t have stabbed you,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But sometimes he loses it and he’s difficult to control. The same thing happened with your girlfriend in Edinburgh. To be honest, he’s something of a liability.’
‘Hey, you can hurt a person’s feelings,’ laughed Hardy. He turned to Rex. ‘I suppose I should exercise more restraint. I should think before I lash out, but it doesn’t seem to matter this time.’
‘Ollie uses a spring blade in a rather clever concealed device,’ said Adler. ‘It’s usually fixed to his arm, but luckily he didn’t have it with him when he was arrested. We retrieved the weapon from one of his hideouts after I liberated him. He likes to constantly wear it, but as my Sergeant says, it does occasionally cause problems.’
‘Liberated?’ Rex gaped at the woman. ‘From where? Some nuthouse where he believed himself to be Oliver Hardy?’
Stan Laurel chuckled and played with his bow tie.
‘From a police escort,’ said Adler. ‘But he was heading for what the authorities politely refer to as secure mental accommodation.’
‘You set him free?’ shouted Rex. ‘You freed this lunatic and now he’s killing people like Charlotte?’
‘I didn’t kill you, did I?’ said Hardy, defensively. ‘You took my blade through your heart and you lived.’
‘I’ll ask again,’ said Lafont, moving close to Rex. ‘What are you? I knew there was something different about you.’
‘Different?’ laughed the American doctor. ‘You don’t say.’
‘That’s why Ligeia was drawn to you,’ continued Lafont, his voice low and his French accent menacing. ‘She could sense it too. The energy is strong and exceedingly dark.’
‘Our Padre understands this kind of thing,’ said Adler. ‘As I mentioned, he’s an occultist. He’s shown me many strange things, so this biblical resurrection doesn’t faze me. I need to know your secret, Rex.’
‘What are you?’ repeated Lafont. ‘And who is Bernard Quist?’
Rex swallowed uncomfortably and didn’t answer. Turning away to watch the pacing tiger, he hoped his face remained deadpan, but wouldn’t have bet money on it.
‘I asked earlier about this man Quist,’ said the Colonel. ‘The Padre handled those pages of yoga exercises that were in your bag - the ones drawn by Mister Quist.’
‘I picked up vibrations from the paper,’ said Lafont. ‘Vague supernatural vibrations left by the artist; the same dark feelings I get from you. I believe the tiger can sense you too. There are six other people in this room, but his eyes remain permanently fixed upon you and look how alarmed he appears.’
‘Ooh, spooky,’ sneered Rex.
‘The Padre has psychic abilities,’ said Adler. ‘I trust his feelings, so that makes this Bernard Quist very interesting.’
‘Wow, your own American doctor and a personal psychic too?’ Rex laughed dryly. ‘Guess what? I’m clairvoyant myself and I’m picking up a spirit voice; it’s giving me a message for you. I’m making out the words... fuck off.’ He watched as the tiger began to hiss, its nervous eyes still fixed on him. His own eyes suddenly widened in shock. He hadn’t noticed it before, but a blood-drenched human leg lay in the corner of the enclosure. ‘What...’ He pointed shakily. ‘What the fuck is that? Who the fuck is that?’
Adler ignored the babbled question. ‘The yoga instructions are on office paper printed with Quist’s letterhead. The telephone number on the letterhead is in your mobile.’
Rex tore his eyes from the grisly limb. ‘How did you get into my mobile without the password?’
‘Don’t be absurd.’ The Colonel laughed. ‘Passwords are simple enough to overcome. When this man rang our press office asking about you, I had the number identified. I need to know why this detective is interested in your disappearance. More importantly, why is the Padre picking up these psychic sensations from the pictures he drew?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Rex. ‘He’s my yoga instructor and that’s all. As for these sensations, maybe your pal’s voodoo radar is screwed.’
‘Maybe.’ Adler laughed. ‘No matter. I’ve sent someone to interview Mister Quist so everything will be explained soon enough. When the sun goes down, the Padre will also be working on the blood and hair that he took from you. I wonder what he’ll discover?’
‘Yeah, I wonder,’ said Rex, turning to glare angrily at Hardy. ‘You know what, there’s an elephant in the room and I’m not talking about this fat bastard’s size. Who the hell are Laurel and Hardy?’
‘I wondered when you’d ask,’ said Adler. ‘A remarkable likeness, don’t you think?’
‘They look real,’ admitted Rex.
‘These two gentlemen vaguely resembled the old comedians and my doctor here worked his magic on them. Not real magic like the Padre’s, of course, but medical wizardry. They were both eager to disappear and jumped at my offer to join us and live in luxury. This i
s Alistair Ramson and Sebastian Moran.’
‘No, you have to be joking?’ said Rex, astounded. ‘You mean the serial killers? I remember Ramson from the news; they called him the Hounslow Ripper. I read about Moran too. This twat actually eats people.’ He stared closely at the two smirking men. ‘So I assume you used plastic surgery?’
Adler shook her head. ‘My doctor uses something a little more advanced. Ligeia likes the old Laurel and Hardy comedies. We play them for her in the private cinema, but I decided to give her the real thing and she was overjoyed.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Rex rubbed his eyes resignedly. ‘I’ve heard that spoilt pop stars can make ludicrous demands, but this is quite a step up from insisting all the blue sweets are removed from their bowl of Smarties.’
A loud hiss came from the tiger cage. Mister Tigsy was getting more agitated over Rex’s lupine presence.
‘You’re distressing the cat,’ said the Colonel. ‘This place isn’t conducive to chatting, is it? Come along, let’s go back to the house and we’ll see about finding you that shirt.’
‘Yeah, let’s,’ snapped Rex. ‘I’d like something in Kevlar.’
Chapter 19
A large white van stood at the furthest end of the Queen Street car park in York. Adler’s two thugs had parked in the corner, with the rear doors facing the high wall behind. Quist and Watson were marched across the tarmac to it, the larger man gripping the teenager’s arm and virtually dragging him.
‘You say you want to talk to us?’ said Watson, nervously. ‘Er, why can’t we just chat out here in the open?’
‘I don’t think so.’ The big man glanced over his shoulder, checking for witnesses. There were fewer vehicles here, most people having parked closer to the railway station entrance. ‘We’ve picked a nice private spot for this.’
His scar-faced accomplice opened the rear doors of the van and invited Quist to climb into the windowless interior with a jerk of his thumb.
