"What on earth do you mean? We've apparently been waiting two thousand years for his return. Surely something as important as that would be on the news?"
"Ah, but now He come 'like a T'ief in the Night'. Now he come to us after dark has fallen… wit’ His awful fiery eyes to terrify the unbeliever… he instruct the faithful in how to punish the infidel. Already He gather his army of strong and righteous warriors and when we number are complete then Armageddon it will fall."
Something about 'like a thief in the night' and 'fiery eyes' had a familiar ring to Moon. He frowned and looked up at her quizzically. "You've seen Him? You’ve seen these things"
She nodded fiercely. "Yes. Yes! The Master, He come to me, wreathed in shadows with eyes of fire. He say the time is soon when the unbelievers will fall before the Judgement for now he has placed His winnowing sword in the hands of the faithful."
There it was again - an allusion to a figure cloaked in shadows with burning eyes. The woman was clearly barking mad and it could just be coincidence but the description bore a striking similarity to the vision the ghost-globes had shared with him of the 'Ghost Eater'. "Are you saying that he encourages his followers to cause violence? I thought he was supposed to be all sweetness and light."
"That was then, this is now!" she replied sharply. "The Lord say He would come with a sword to set fathers against children and husbands against wives. His sword, it is in my hand, unbeliever!"
The woman threw back a long fold of white cloth over her right shoulder and Moon realised abruptly that in that hand she held a rusty, twelve-inch kitchen knife. Suddenly, everything became tinged with a sense of unreality. Time slowed down to a fraction of its normal rate of passing as his adrenalin kicked in. Without thinking he leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair and spilling the remains of his meal to the floor as he did so. Moving with a speed he didn’t know he possessed, he grabbed the wrist of the hand in which she held the knife before she was able to complete her attack. Passers by and the other café clientele watched in astonishment as he wrestled her to the floor and knocked her hand against the cobbled paving until she released her grip on the weapon. The woman screamed with frustrated rage as he pinned her against the ground and yelled, "Someone call the police!" Then after what seemed like an aeon of waiting in the stunned silence he added an urgent "Call the police… please!"
The police arrived on the scene a few minutes later. Moon and the woman were both sitting in the café manager's office when they arrived. The latter was guarded by two not-so-burly kitchen porters. She had calmed down somewhat but was still muttering under her breath about the 'Master' and staring at Moon with unveiled hostility. Moon hoped desperately that this wasn't going to drag on too long. There were a few important things he needed to do before he went to work for the night.
Luckily for Moon enough people had seen what had happened to back up his claim that this was an unprovoked attack. The woman, whose name was Benjamina Jones, continued to rave on about the 'Master' and his winnowing sword, which served to add further credence to Moon's account of the event. "Do you intend to press charges, Mr Moon?" the older of the two police officers asked.
"Of course I do," replied Moon. "This poor woman needs psychiatric help. We can't let her back out on the streets in this state. Her next victim might not be as lucky as I was."
"Then I'll have to ask you to accompany us back to the station so we can complete the appropriate documents."
For the second time in a week, Moon found himself taken by police car to Bridewell Police Station. He was sitting in one of the interview rooms making his statement to the same police officer when Detective Inspector Whatley entered quietly. The Inspector sat on a chair beside the door and waited patiently until Moon and the constable had finished.
"Afternoon, Mr Moon,” he said jovially after the constable had left the room, “we seem to be seeing quite a bit of each other recently, don’t we? I wonder why."
"Pure coincidence, I assure you, Inspector. I've no intention of making a habit of frequenting police stations. Did you just pop in to say hello or can I help you with something?"
Whatley attempted to straighten his tie. It was the same one he had been wearing the last two times Moon had met him and the tortured knot refused to budge. He was wearing a dark blue suit today but it was just as creased as the grey crumpled rag he had worn on the last two occasions. Moon wondered if the inspector actually slept in his suits because it was the only reasonable explanation for their state of extreme wrinkledness. "Well, I was hoping you might be able to help shed some light on our current situation. You see, the attack on you this afternoon wasn't an isolated incident. Every single nutcase in Bristol seems to have suddenly gone more doolally than usual and we've got a string of minor and not so minor assaults to show for it. It's just pure luck that no-one's been killed so far." He paused to stretch some kinks out of his shoulders, "Bloody deskwork! I swear I spend more time these days filling out forms than solving crimes. Anyway, did your assailant say anything unusual, perhaps to justify attacking you?"
"Inspector, nothing that Benjamina Jones said to me could be considered 'usual' in any way… But one thing that did stand out was when she told me that the 'Master' had come to her and ordered her to do it."
"The 'Master', eh? Did she describe this person to you at all?"
"Well… yes but what she described sounded like something from a horror film - shadowy black cloak, red glowing eyes, that kind of thing."
Whatley regarded him sharply and then nodded. "Really? That's very interesting, Mr Moon, very interesting indeed. You see all the suspects so far have claimed that they were either coerced or bullied into acts of violence by an individual of a similar description to the one you've just given me.
“I have to confess I'm a bit flummoxed by this business. At the moment the only theory that comes close to fitting the facts is that some lunatic is using stage make-up and special effects - possibly combined with a hallucinogenic drug - to incite the less sane element of our community to commit random acts of violence. Even as a theory, you have to agree, that this is a far from satisfying conclusion. There are too many unexplained variables - how did this individual gain access to his accomplices' homes, for instance?"
Moon wondered how to respond to this and must have been lost in thought long enough for Whatley to be concerned. "Mr Moon?"
"Oh, sorry Inspector, I was thinking that I might be able to give you a better answer but you'd probably think I was barmy."
Whatley mulled over Moon’s words for a second – then a connection seemed to click into place behind his eyes. "Is this something to do with your friend Mr Kievitch's suggestion that you may have what he referred to as 'special talents'?"
"Why? What has Uri been saying about me?" What had Uri told Whatley about him? Had he made a mistake in trusting the vampire?
"I interviewed Mr Kievitch at his home on Tuesday and it turns out he is, as you suggested, a rather eccentric but harmless musical entertainer. However, before I left he made a point of saying that you might be able to help me further with the case. It was his opinion that you are a very gifted psychic medium."
Great! Thanks a bundle Uri! The vampire's anachronistic lack of understanding of what one could safely mention to the authorities in this age of scientific discovery, had probably just landed Moon in a pile of trouble. "Did he, Inspector? I wonder what might have given him that idea."
Whatley must have seen the panic building in Moon's eyes. "Don't worry, Mr Moon, I'm not about to write you off as a loony. The 'Sight' is in my family as well, you might say. My maternal grandmother was like you. She used to talk to the spirits and that sort of thing. My Dad used to call her 'that crazy old bat' but;’ we kids knew that Granny Huddlestone was as sharp as a knife... enough inexplicable things used to happen when she was around for us to be sure she wasn't kidding about her powers. For instance, she’d know when we were up to no good even when we were out of her sight. Every now and then she'd tel
l one of us off for something we'd done when she hadn't been around to see it and we'd say: 'How did you know, Nan?' and she'd reply: 'Because Granddad Jack told me'. Granddad Jack was her father, Jack Huddlestone, who died ten years before even Tom, my older brother, was born. She told us that Granddad Jack had stayed around so he could watch over his children and grandchildren and make sure we kept out of trouble. Some people might say I have a touch of it myself; I certainly have a good gut when it comes to solving crimes. But that's the problem with this case we're working on at the moment… something about it doesn't sit right with my gut."
Moon eyed the organ in question. It certainly looks well developed, he thought. "Well, Inspector, if you're willing to entertain the possibility that I am actually in touch with the 'Other Side', I'll tell you what I know…" Moon explained what he had discovered about Dominic's murder and his suspicions regarding today's attack on himself - without going too deeply into how he had gained the information.
When Moon had finished, Whatley regarded him levelly. "So you think that Andrew Gibbons is the most likely suspect, as an accomplice at least?"
"I suppose so but what about 'Animal'?"
"You mean Francis Walters, the lad who's supposed to be in Glasgow?” Whatley shook his head. “We have nothing so far to indicate that he even went to Scotland. His parents knew nothing about the move and haven't heard from him since before Christmas. We're just waiting for the results from the Glasgow Met's enquiries with the various software companies in their area before we decide that he's officially missing." Whatley thought for a moment then seemed to come to a decision, with a small nod he said, "I'll let you in on a little secret, Mr Moon, seeing as you've been so helpful. Since we last met there’s been another murder victim found in the same vicinity - a young woman called Lorraine Newton. I think your girlfriend mentioned her to us when she called us with the information about her missing acquaintances."
"Yes, Sonia did mention a girl called Lorraine to me when we were discussing the Goths who’d gone missing from the Hangman's Rest. It was me who suggested she should pass the information on to the police."
"God, the Hangman's Rest," Whatley grimaced. "Where did they come up with such a bloody awful name for a pub? It just sounds like trouble waiting to happen."
"It's traditional, apparently the old Bristol gallows used to be near there."
"I can bloody well believe it. I guess that's always been a bit of a problem area." Moon knew that the part of town around the Rest had actually been quite prosperous at times in the past but this was probably not the best time to give Whatley a lesson in local history. "Anyway, Miss Newton's body was wrapped in bin-liners and left in a dark corner in one of the back alleys, a short walk up the road from the pub. It must have lain there for several months but no one noticed it, probably because there's so much rubbish piled up back there. You know what Stoke's Croft is like, with all those dodgy take-aways - some of the garbage piled around her smelt worse than the body. One of our scene-of-crime officers found her while they were searching the area for clues to the Llewellyn murder."
"So, was there anything to connect her death with the other murder?" Moon was intrigued. More than one Goth murder in the same area suggested the start of a possible pattern.
"Well, as you can guess, the body wasn't in the best of conditions after so long out in the open, but the autopsy suggests a similar modus operandi.” Whatley regarded Moon seriously for a second. “This isn’t to go beyond me and you, okay? But Forensics found evidence of a bite on Miss Newton’s neck, similar to the one found on Mr Llewellyn. We're very keen to get this nasty business solved as quickly as possible, Mr Moon, before it turns into a serial killing spree. In my case even to the point of accepting some supernatural help if it's offered… so why don't you keep your radar on alert and give me regular updates on what your friends on the other side have to say? I can treat you as an anonymous informant, if you like. So there'll be no need to mention us consulting a ‘psychic’ or to draw attention to you in any way... what do you think?"
"Well, I’d like to see an end to these killings as much as you do, Inspector, but I’d prefer that my employers didn’t hear about this. As long as I can rely on you to keep my contribution confidential I don't see why we can't come to some arrangement."
"Wonderful, it'll be easier from my point of view as well if we can keep the whole supernatural angle hidden. Looks dreadful in the paperwork and it tends to interfere with one's promotion prospects." Whatley winked one bright blue eye at Moon.
"If you don't mind I'll be going now, Inspector Whatley," said Moon looking at his watch. "It's four thirty already. I start work at eight and I need to catch up on a few things before then."
"Fine, Mr Moon, but keep in touch. I'll let you know any fresh developments from our end." Whatley opened the interview room door for him. "Goodbye for now."
As he walked back home Moon wondered about the possible consequences of this new development. He was dumbfounded that a policeman like Whatley seemed so willing to accept the idea of contacting the dead, when he, himself, had so much trouble accepting the existence of his gift to begin with. This new development would certainly make helping Uri to solve the mystery of Dominic's murder less difficult. However, he thought he might find it hard to protect the secret of Uri's true nature from the detective. The vampire had probably used his glamour to cloud Whatley's mind, the way he had done with Moon the first time he had seen him. The Inspector certainly seemed convinced that Uri and the girls were human, which was fine as far as it went, but Moon suspected that a mind like a vice lurked behind Whatley's scruffy exterior. You didn't get to be a detective inspector without having a certain capacity for winkling out the truth. Moon was certain that if Whatley grew suspicious that he had been deceived he would probably decide to subject Uri to much closer scrutiny.
The news that the shadowy figure that Moon had nicknamed the 'Ghost Eater' had graduated from attacking spirits to inciting attacks on living people was also worrying. Moon wondered what it could possibly hope to gain from this. Benjamina Jones’ ravings before she attacked him hinted that the evil creature was somehow intending to appropriate material power. Despite its unusual diet, the Ghost Eater seemed to be just another kind of ghost, so how could it hope to have power over the living... and what could it possibly gain from it? His discussion with Uri about the power of belief may have given him the beginnings of an answer but what he was contemplating was patently absurd. The thing couldn't be building a gathering of followers, could it? Or perhaps it believed it could draw others in once it began to organise the core of unstable individuals it already had under its influence.
Moon finally got back to his flat at about ten past five. Feeling the effects of his interrupted lunch, he fixed himself a Spanish omelette, which he ate in front of the television before having a quick shower. He was sitting on his bed in his bathrobe drying his hair when the phone rang. He threw the damp towel onto the floor and quickly grabbed the receiver. "Moon," he said brusquely, knowing this would probably throw any unknown caller off their guard. He had decided long ago that most anyone who called without know his name was probably trying to sell him something so if he could catch them wrong-footed at the start it was all for the best.
"Hi, Jerry," said Sonia's voice from the receiver. "You know you could really do with brushing up your telephone manner."
"Thus spake the telesales rep," replied Moon, grinning.
"Well, everyone's got to make a living somehow. We can't all be trained professionals like you."
"'Semi-professional', please," replied Moon, shaking his head even though Sonia couldn't see him. "That's a special term the Government invented specifically for nurses, so they don't have to pay us professional rates."
"My heart bleeds for you. So what kind of afternoon have you had, mister gets-up-at-two-o'clock?"
"Well, apart from the attempted stabbing, most of it was okay."
"Someone tried to stab you?" Sonia's voice
raised two octaves with outraged disbelief.
"Well, it’s not the first time. I’ll tell you about my adventures in Casualty some day. But this time was a bit special – a crazy ‘holy-roller’ tried to kill me because 'the Master' told her to do it." Moon described his afternoon's encounters to Sonia, including his meeting with Whatley.
"So now you're what… some kind of supernatural snitch?"
"I suppose so."
"Does that mean you'll have to start wearing a scruffy Mac and a tweed cap, start smoking dog-ends and talk in a miserable cockney accent?"
"You’ve been watching too many Callan re-runs on cable - not all police informants are socially inadequate, you know. Anyway, I see myself more in the role of the civilian specialist who helps the police with unsolvable cases out of the goodness of my heart."
"How philanthropic of you… I can’t wait to see the mini-series." Sonia chuckled. "It's good news though, isn't it? Now you can let the police in on everything you know so they'll be able to catch the killer. Then we can stop worrying about the safety of the local ghoulies and ghosties and have more time for making mad, passionate love."
"I don't know. I'm a bit worried that I might accidentally out Uri as a vampire. There's also something about this other thing, the creature that's attacking the ghosts, that makes me wonder whether it might be connected to the murders in some way. Plus all this somehow seems to be centred on Uri. I’m not saying he’s involved in any way but he seems to be the focus of all this nastiness. It’s as if Uri’s attracted the interest of something evil and it’s toying with him… and trying to draw attention to him. Uri's managed to convince Whatley that he's not a vampire for the time being but if Whatley turns over enough stones..." Moon left the consequence hanging and decided to change the subject. "Anyway, speaking of mad passionate love how's the old...?"
"Oh, much better thanks. I hope you've nothing planned for tomorrow night because I intend to ravish you repeatedly."
Under a Ghostly Moon (Jerry Moon Supernatural Thrillers Book 1) Page 14
