Vampire Unseen (Vampire Untitled Trilogy Book 2)

by Lee McGeorge

She was finished.

  He dropped her on the mattress and for the first time looked at her in the light. She was still the same Indian beauty that he remembered. Still the same dusky skin and thin brown hair, but the beauty was disfigured by lesions and blisters around her mouth. He reached down to examine her lips and noticed he was still wearing the rubber gloves. He touched her mouth with them, rolling her lips back to see how extensive the blistering was. Her teeth were perfect. A Hollywood smile of pearly whites.

  He knelt beside her for a few minutes resisting the temptation to use his knives on her whilst she slept. It was an interesting fantasy to scar and disfigure her whilst she was still anaesthetised. She could wake up with a scarred face and spend the rest of her life not knowing how it had happened; but that negated his thirst for vengeance. He wanted her to look at him and recognise him and to tremble in terror, knowing that she was going to suffer the consequence for what she had done.

  He undressed her. It was awkward, laborious. There was nothing sexual to her nudity until he wrapped a length of heavy security chain around her waist and padlocked it; only then did he pay attention to her as an object of lust. He had her, he really had her. The chain was attached to a heavy eye-bolt, an O shaped ring that was fastened to the wall with security anchors; heavy duty masonry bolts used for fixing safes to brick walls. Once they were screwed in, they couldn’t be unscrewed without bringing the wall down. The eye-bolt was rated to a metric ton in weight as were the chains. He’d left her enough slack to make it to the toilet.

  The chain was heavy around her tiny waist. She looked delicate and fragile. He caressed her flank, feeling her ribs through her skin and ran his fingers across her breasts. He pushed her legs slightly apart to examine how she shaved her pussy into a thin landing strip and felt the stubble where it had began to grow back.

  Do it... cut her.

  Her skin was dusky, beautiful.

  She fucking deserved this.

  Paul took a second length of thinner, but no less sturdy chain and padlocked it around her neck; this long chain went through a second eye-bolt in the ceiling and fixed to the wall anchor. It was thinking ahead. Whenever he came down here he could pull on this second chain and hoist her onto her feet without ever going near her. He couldn’t imagine her fighting back against him, but it was a safety precaution. He couldn’t be here all the time and Nisha would be left alone with nothing better to do than plan her escape, or find someway to signal for help. Despite sitting here for hours and trying to plan how he would escape in the same situation, he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d thought of everything. Was there a weapon she could find or fashion here in the basement?

  He dropped the blankets by her feet, not caring enough to cover her. He unplugged the table lamp and replaced it with a child’s night light, casting her in a soft peach glow. He watched her for a few minutes. Then he closed the door at the bottom of the cellar and padlocked it from the outside. Nisha wouldn’t be able to reach the door, but if she did the lock was solid. But just in case she did make it this far and get the door open he’d prepared a warning system. Fixed to the bottom of the door was a neodymium magnet touching a reed switch that in turn connected to the hacked cell-phone. If the door was opened the magnet would pull away and the cell-phone would send a text message to his matching pre-paid phone, all that had to happen was the magnet be pulled off the switch. It was a great system and although he’d built it perfectly from the plans on the internet, and although he’d tested it at least fifty times, it gave him more anxiety than anything else. He wasn’t familiar enough with electronics to be confident it would work one hundred percent. If one thing was to fail he was sure this would be it.

  At the top of the stairs he closed the second door and padlocked it also. In the event that Nisha somehow got through the lower door, she still had to get through this upper door and this one had the strongest locks and hinges he could find.

  There was a part of the preparation that hadn’t worked. He’d prepared a live webcam to be able to check up on Nisha at any point but the pub wi-fi didn’t have the bandwidth to carry it. He liked the idea of being able to open his laptop and view Nisha suffering in the basement from afar, but it hadn’t happened.

  With his prize locked away and nothing to do until she woke he spent time examining her clothes and handbag. He found her purse, a bright red leather clutch with a gold clasp. Inside he found cash, almost a hundred pounds which he put into his own pocket. There was a travel card and various credit cards, a lipstick, some keys and a few receipts. He took the cap off the lipstick and screwed the base to see the colour and was shocked that it started buzzing and was made of plastic. The filthy girl had a concealed vibrator in her purse. He looked to the cellar door thinking about her using this thing, self pleasuring whilst out and about. Without even thinking he licked his lips and put it in his mouth to taste then dropped it back in the purse and put it aside.

  He searched her clothes carefully, feeling the fabric, smelling her on the linen. He folded the clothes neatly and placed them on the draining board. He searched the pockets of her coat and discovered her cell-phone.

  Fuck.

  He pulled off the back and removed the battery to shut it off. Mobile phones show their position, anti-theft phones can activate the camera and microphone as well as reveal their location. He would take it with him when he left. He would take the phone to King’s Cross station and dump it. Better still, he would turn it on and leave it on a bus or something, get rid of it in a way that it went for a journey. His bedsit wasn’t far away. He would dispose of it creatively on his way home.

  He folded her coat and placed it neatly with the other clothes, then placed her beret on top. Somehow it felt important to do this neatly. It was part of ensuring things were done right. There were so many things that could go wrong with this. He could have been seen, the car could be tracked across the city by the cameras that make sure motorists have paid to drive into central London. Nisha may find that one overlooked detail and escape, she might make an escape tool from a spring in the mattress or some other ingenious thing.

  The right thing to do was to kill her now and get it over with. He’d already crossed the point of no return. Nisha could not survive this. But before she died he needed to tell her why she was there. He would wait until tomorrow, then when she was fully awake and terrified and begging for her life, then he would have his confrontation.

  ----- X -----

  The bottle of bourbon was beside the laptop. The glass was next to the bottle. The computer was waiting to receive the video call from Noica.

  The police meeting was the typical touching point; Europol wasn’t an organisation as much as it was a structure for sharing intelligence. In Britain, Latis had no greater police powers than a tourist but what he did have was access to information that would otherwise be confidential. They had shown him the electronic trail on McGovern, his use of banks to obtain loans and his use of credit cards as he went to cash before dropping off the grid.

  There were a few angles of approach the British police would look at. The most promising was a search to identify the MAC address of his laptop. The MAC was a unique identifier assigned to every network adapter in every electronic device that can connect to the internet. Whether a mobile phone, a computer, a tablet or e-reader, if it connected to the internet it had a unique electronic signature. If they could find the MAC for his laptop, then all internet providers in the UK could be put on alert to look for it. If McGovern’s laptop connected to the internet, the internet company could give a real-time alert on where he was connecting from. The downside to this plan was some internet providers only recorded the MAC of the modem and ignored the MAC addresses behind them. It would also take time to figure out what his MAC address was. Less hopeful still was McGovern may have discarded the device and no longer be using it. The police already had access to his emails but there was little of use and, wisely, McGovern hadn’t logged on to check his mail. Since going on the run
all of his usual connections had gone dark. McGovern wasn’t a fan of online social networking. He had accounts and a handful of friends but a cursory glance at his friendships revealed a tiny network of no more than a dozen people; at least this made locating and interviewing people easy. There were a few messages of congratulations and well wishes for his trip to Romania. ‘Good luck with the writing’ and ‘have a blast in Romania’. Those people were priorities as they knew what McGovern’s plans had been.

  The computer played chimes. Incoming call.

  Latis clicked to open the conversation and felt his eyes drift to the alcohol.

  “Cornel.” Noica sat in an executive chair with bookcases and wood panels on the wall behind him. He looked perfectly lit and photographed as though his video calls were made from a TV studio.

  “Hello,” Latis replied.

  “Did you meet with Europol today? How are things?”

  “I met with them. The British are disturbed that it has taken so long to let them know how dangerous McGovern is, but now they know they’ve got some momentum.”

  “That’s good, but... you didn’t... how did you explain what he can do?”

  “I showed the photographs from Noua.”

  “Pictures speak louder than words, I imagine.”

  “They did.”

  “So what is your plan of action?”

  Latis paused for a moment and felt his eyes drift to the bourbon. “I’m probably going to Oxford tomorrow. McGovern has a small network of friends and acquaintances, some in London, most in Oxford or with Oxford connections. He went to university there.”

  “He went to Oxford?” Noica’s eyebrows raised as he spoke.

  “Does that mean something?”

  “It means he’s gifted, academically speaking, if he went to Oxford he’s amongst the best and brightest. I thought he was a clever man but I didn’t realise how clever. Can you try and find out about his time there, his grades. I would be very interested to know how gifted he is.”

  Latis nodded. “To be honest Lucian, I don’t have anything to tell you today that you didn’t know yesterday. I will be keeping in touch with Scotland Yard through Europol and they’ll keep me updated on their investigations. Like I told you before, I can’t really investigate here, at least not in any official capacity.”

  “That’s fine, Cornel. I told you, this isn’t for a prosecution, but it’s vital we know who he is, that we know his mindset, his temperament, his character and abilities. Knowing he is academically gifted is a good discovery and we need as much detail like that as possible.”

  ----- X -----

  Latis stepped from the train into cold sunshine and wet pavements. Oxford looked nice. Pretty old buildings and a sleepy, leafy sort of town he could imagine being pleasant to wander on a summer’s evening.

  The university was split amongst campuses and it took time and a few taxi rides to figure out what Paul McGovern had done and how to find his old professors. The subject was English Literature, department of English at the St. Cross building, but getting that out of administrative clerks hidden behind data protection laws had been like pulling teeth.

  “Of course I remember Paul,” the old professor said. The man was what Latis expected. Professor Eugene DeMarquis. A tweed jacket, a bald head, a musty old smell, a silly name and a demeanour somewhere between dithering idiot and eccentric genius.

  “Has Paul been in touch with you recently?” Cornel asked as they took seats in a faculty room.

  “No, not since he graduated. I had recommended Paul for a Master’s degree. He has time.”

  Latis took out a notebook. “Professor DeMarquis, like I say, I’m a policeman from Romania so I’m not here in a law enforcement capacity, but we’re quite eager to trace Mr. McGovern and we don’t know where to start.”

  “Oh, I see. Nothing too serious I hope. Is he alright?”

  “We don’t know. Like I say we can’t find him.”

  “What’s this about, Mr. Latis?”

  Latis thought for a few seconds on how to broach the subject. “Well... Mr. McGovern was in Romania and he was seen with some men. Later these men were found... they had been murdered.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” DeMarquis brought a hand over his mouth. “Is Paul alright, he isn’t injured or anything that you know?”

  “He’s missing. Obviously, we want to find him to ask if he has any knowledge, or did he witness anything... but we’re also concerned for his well being. We hope he’s alright, but we can’t find him and that’s why I’m here to ask for your help.”

  “Yes, of course... but, murdered you say? That is troubling. Were they friends of Paul?”

  “No, not friends... If I’m honest Professor, he is a suspect, but only so far as we need to eliminate him from the enquiry.”

  “Oh, rubbish! You obviously haven’t met Paul. He’s a charming, uncertain and agreeable fellow who wouldn’t hurt a fly. You should be worried he’s not hurt rather than consider him a suspect.”

  “Like I say. We need to find him so we can eliminate him from the enquiry. Do you know Paul well?”

  “Yes, quite well. I was his personal tutor in his first year and he had a torrid time because his father died. We spoke often over that.”

  “His father died?”

  “Yes. His father had suffered ill health for many years down to alcohol problems. This all goes back some way. Now if I remember rightly, Paul was born in, I believe it was Seattle, in America. His father, I believe was called Jeremy, he was working in America on an exchange, he met Paul’s mother and she fell pregnant and Paul was born in America. His mother was a teacher too. If I remember correctly, Paul’s mother died from natural causes, illness, I believe it was breast cancer... anyway, she died whilst he was still a young boy and when this happened his father returned with him to Britain.”

  “He lost his mother at an early age? How old was he?”

  “I’m sorry. If we did ever discuss it this old memory of mine hasn’t remembered the details.”

  “So his father brought Paul back to Britain,” Cornel encouraged him to pick up the story.

  “That’s right. It sounded like the poor fellow never quite got over the death because he started having problems with the old alcohol. Drinking too much, you understand, the ruin of a man.”

  Latis made a guilty smile.

  “You know I think you can read that in Paul. He’s a quiet and independent sort of young man but there’s capability and resilience in him. Whilst he was sharing the story of his parents, I got to see where this strength came from. He’s bookish and quiet, but he was forced to stand on his own two feet. When his father passed away, Paul said it was a long time coming but expected and whilst it was upsetting to see someone finding themselves orphaned and alone, I somehow knew that he was made of sturdier stuff than most people.”

  “In what way? How did you see it, what did he do?”

  DeMarquis rubbed his chin for a moment. “Well, for example, he suddenly finds himself in a situation that would break most people. There were problems with the funeral and with debts of the estate and, of course, emotionally he was dealing with his own grief. As his tutor I have to take this sort of thing into account if a student has problems that can affect their work.”

  “Did it affect his work?” Latis asked.

  “Not in the slightest. His work was always top notch and always on time. He did fade away personally somewhat and seemed to prefer the quiet, but his written work was bold and courageous. He has a powerhouse intellect, Mr. Latis, and he’s someone who can get it down onto paper. When I talked to him his answers to questions were short and mumbled, but when you read him, you could sense that you were privy to the talents of a superior mind.”

  “Interesting. So on the inside he’s clever and thoughtful, and on the outside...”

  “...On the outside he’s a very quiet, very reserved and shy young man. Certainly not the sort of person to be involved in a police investigation.”

&n
bsp; “You don’t think it’s possible he could have a hidden side to him?”

  “Ha! Not a bit of it,” DeMarquis scoffed. “He’s a shrinking violet. If you ever meet him, Mr. Latis, you will probably spend most of your time asking him to speak up.”

  ----- X -----

  This place was uncomfortable to work. From floor to ceiling there were fish tanks, eighteen inches deep, locked into racks in row after row after row. The research was fascinating but the job was boring. He’d spent many hours researching fish care to prepare for the interview. Now he was here all he had to do was periodic water samples and make sure the filters were maintained. It had taken less than an hour to train him in how to do the job.

  Nisha was in the basement.

  There had been the temptation to call in sick, but Joseph Frady had only been in the job for a week and if Paul was going to build a convincing fake identity, he had to keep his nose clean, not draw any attention to himself and fade into the background.

  Nisha was in the basement. Chains around her neck and waist. Had she cried out for help yet, had she dared? Perhaps she’d died already.

  It was hard to concentrate. He hadn’t slept at all. He’d begun suffering a problem of overheating that had first occurred in Romania and had suddenly flared up again. There were times when he felt he was burning up and wanted to strip naked to let the heat out, yet when he’d measured his temperature he was stone cold.

  Last night had been terrible for overheating. He’d laid naked on the bed covers with the window open, listening to rainfall, feeling dampness in the air and imagining steam rise from his skin with the heat.

  Nisha was in the basement of the squat.

  That was all he could think about. She’d been there for almost twenty four hours.

  He’d checked the telephone countless times to see if the alarm had activated. It hadn’t. He had her; he’d really done it, something so daring and outrageous he could scarcely believe he had the courage. The old Paul McGovern could do nothing, but Joseph Frady was amazing.