The Werewolf of Wottenham Wood

by Rupert Harker

  With this disquieting thought in mind, I hailed the waitress, who by now had removed her bra and covered her upper half in baby oil, and I ordered two more drinks and ten menthol cigarettes.

  If there were any doubt as to whether subliminal advertising works, I can assure you that it certainly does upon the patrons of The Blue Belvoir. The unsheathing of Lexi’s assets loosened my purse strings considerably, and I tipped her twenty guineas, which she tucked into her G-string along with what appeared to be a small fortune in folded notes.

  I turned my attention to the stage, where Clara was now completely naked other than her wimple and a smile, and I lit a menthol cigarette and inhaled deeply. I sighed and closed my eyes as I enjoyed the cool smoke; like an autumn breeze rasping through my lungs. It had been many years since I had kicked the habit, but having come face to face with death three times in less than a week, I was beginning to suspect that my days were numbered, and let’s face it, who needs lungs anyway?

  The music died, and polite applause broke out around the club, which I complemented with my retching and gagging as I continued to puff away as if attempting to signal a neighbouring tribe. Clara descended the stage and began touting her wares amongst the club members. There was a thud and whistle from the club steward’s microphone, and the next dancer was introduced; none other than the fair Nell.

  An extremely funky version of the CHiPs theme began playing, and out strutted Nell, dressed as a United States police officer. She wore a black police tunic open to the waist, tight black shorts, thigh-high leather boots, all topped off with wraparound sunglasses and a peaked police cap. A pair of handcuffs hung at her waist and she clutched a plastic baton sprayed with glittery paint which shone and glistened beneath the bright lights. She stroked and fondled the baton before gently running her tongue up its length, drawing approving gasps and polite comments from the small crowd.

  By this time, I had almost finished my fifth double vodka, and the room had begun to sway gently in time to the music.

  “Hello, Rupert.” Clara draped herself across my shoulder and began fondling my chest. “Did you enjoy my dance?”

  “Most stimulating, thank you,” I drawled.

  “Would you like to see some more?” She sat on my lap and nuzzled my ear. “I’ll give you a discount.”

  “Really,” I tutted. “I don’t think Nell would approve of you trying to seduce her boyfriend.”

  “Don’t bet on it, lover.” She kissed me squarely on the lips, pushed herself off my lap and ambled off to mingle further, leaving me to ponder the meaning of her words. I tried to reason the matter through, but I was quite inebriated, and my thoughts swayed and meandered such that I was unable to follow them to their conclusion.

  Onstage, Nell was down to her thong and continuing to tease her plastic baton. I ordered another double and watched the remainder of her dance, but it was over all too soon. I lit another cigarette and watched her circulate around the tables, collecting compliments and chatting happily. Happily, that is, until she spied me lurking in the corner of the room, puffing away like the Orient Express.

  She scurried over to confront me. “Rupert. How did you know I was at work tonight?”

  “I didn’t.” I raised my half-empty (for I was feeling pessimistic) glass. “I have come to eat, drink and make merry. Cheers!”

  “You’re drunk.” She wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. “And since when do you smoke?”

  I drained my glass and slammed it down on the table to attract the attention of the waitress. “Another,” I bellowed, and Lexi scurried away to the bar.

  I reached out and patted Nell on the thigh. “I have no wish to disrupt your busy work schedule,” I slurred. “All I want to do is to try to forget this beastly day.”

  “Rupert.” She squatted down on her haunches. “I know it’s been hard for you, but you have to give me some space.”

  “Ha,” I spat. “It may amaze you to learn that not everything is about you.” She reared back as if stung, but the alcohol had left me burning with self-righteousness and too uninhibited to pull up short. “This has been the most frightful afternoon in living memory. I have been dragged about the Natural History Museum at gunpoint, abandoned to my fate by my closest friend, and then assaulted and harangued by the constabulary. As a matter of fact,” I said brandishing my cigarettes defiantly, “it is my intention to commit suicide this very evening by giving myself lung cancer.” I crammed three of the menthol cigarettes into my mouth and endeavoured to light them simultaneously.

  “That was you?” Nell gasped. “You were at the Natural History Museum?”

  “Yes I was,” I bellowed.

  I drained my glass and tried to push my chair away from the table, but I overcompensated for the shiny floor, and the chair flew away from me. I landed heavily upon my back, my limbs splayed to the sides, and fury in my heart.

  “Blast and curses,” I stormed, trying in vain to right myself.

  My theatrics attracted the attention of the club steward, who appeared at my side and assisted me into an upright position. “Dr Harker, Sir. Whatever has happened?” he asked, brushing the dust from my lapels and straightening my collar.

  “Murray,” I slurred. “I have overindulged. Please summon me a taxicab. If I am to die, I prefer to do so in my own bed.”

  With Murray, the club steward, supporting my left side, and Nell the right, I was able to negotiate the distance from my table to the lobby of The Blue Belvoir, where I sat upon the padded bench, awaiting my cab.

  “I heard about the museum on the news,” said Nell, who had borrowed a coat to keep her warm while she waited with me in the lobby. She huddled in close to my side; her warmth was comforting and not a little arousing. “They said that a man died.”

  “Yes,” I muttered. “He took his own life right in front of me. Well… behind me actually.”

  “Oh, my poor Rupert,” she crooned. “Why ever did you not call me?”

  I straightened my glasses and peered at her, perplexed. “Because you said not to. I recall it vividly.”

  “I think you could have made an exception for this, Rupert.”

  My alcohol level was too high to reason any further, and I simply shook my head in wonderment. “Nell,” I said sombrely. “I have had much cause to think these last few days. I want us to be together, but I cannot fathom how to make it so. I want to support you in your choices, but how can I when they appear to exclude me almost entirely?” I shuffled around to face her more directly. “Please tell me, Nell. Are we to be together, or do you wish to walk your own path?”

  “Oh, Rupert.” Tears had formed at the corner of her eyes. “I’m so confused.”

  “Taksówkowe Dr Harker.” My taxicab had arrived, and the driver, a burly Eastern European gentleman, stared at me and shuffled his feet in a manner suggesting that he did not wish to be kept waiting.

  “I’m sorry, Nell, but I’m too tired and too drunk to continue this now.” I leant over with a wobble and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I shall call you tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Call me.”

  I crawled into the back of the taxi and waved out of the rear window as we pulled away from the kerb, but Nell had already vanished back inside the club, leaving just a nagging ache in my chest and a small puddle of baby oil on the bench cushion where she had been seated.

  *

  I did not stay at The Blue Belvoir for long, and I was back at Chuffnell Mews by half ten. It took me several attempts to place my key in the lock, and by the time I had gained access, Gonzáles was barking and huffing at the top of his lungs, bringing Mrs Denford scuttling down the stairs in her dressing gown and curlers, grumbling and muttering darkly. She observed my inebriated state and trundled back upstairs again with an exasperated sigh.

  “Rupert!” Urban-Smith had appeared at the end of the hallway. “You have lived to drink another day.”

  “No thanks to you,” I mumbled, staggering past the excited Bichon Fris
e and into the kitchen. Urban-Smith followed me in.

  “I am sorry that I was unable to rush to your aid,” he said, drawing out a kitchen chair and seating himself at the table. “Colonel Smirtnitsky’s men insisted that we leave with all due haste, and I have not long since returned.”

  “They detained you all this time?”

  “No, but I needed time to consider my position before presenting myself to the police. I spoke with Detective Sergeant Wendall McKendal, and he has been taking my statement.”

  “Harrumph,” I harrumphed, spooning coffee into my mug. “You seem to have got off lightly. I have been thoroughly dissected and mauled by our old friend, Gadget.”

  “I trust that you kept The Colonel’s name out of things.”

  “Of course,” I confirmed, seating myself at the table. I had prepared coffee only for myself; childish I know, but I was feeling most petulant. “I vividly recall what he told us and the mess that his men made of Professor Gorshkov.” I stared miserably into my coffee. “Fairfax,” I sighed, “I am exhausted; both physically and emotionally. My eyes have shown me things that my mind cannot accept, and I have faced dangers that have left me fearful and agitated. I see menace and evil all about me, and I startle at even the slightest sound. Please tell me; when will this wretchedness cease?”

  He lay his hand upon mine. “Soon, Rupert, for I do believe that I have at last cracked the case wide open, as they are wont to say on American television programmes.”

  “Really?” I gasped.

  “Indeed.” He broke into a broad grin. “Tomorrow we are to return to Wottenham to inspect the scene of Adam Upstart’s demise, but for now, I believe that you require rehydration and sleep. We shall expound further over breakfast.”

  ◆◆◆

  20. The Fist Strikes Once More

  Wednesday, 10th January 2007

  Mercifully I had the wherewithal to drink a pint of water before retiring to bed, but I still awoke in the small hours with a wicked headache. I swallowed some pain killers and managed a little more sleep, and summoned the bravery for a shave and shower by eight.

  By half past, my nausea had abated, and I staggered down to the kitchen to join Fairfax for breakfast. Mrs Denford and Gonzáles had gone out for their morning stroll, leaving us to fend for ourselves.

  “Good morning, Fairfax.”

  “Good morning.” Fairfax yawned and stretched. “Forgive me, Rupert. I was up late last night. I had promised to make Wendell a list of likely venues for the Fervent Fist to target. I have made a list of all the English football clubs with the initials WTFC that had their grounds constructed after the war but before 2001. There are twenty-five on the list, including the three that have already been destroyed. Wendell will arrange for the Met to liaise with the local forces of each town and arrange surveillance.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Fairfax,” I said, reaching for the marmalade. “Inspector Gadget assures me that he will post a guard at the Wottenham ground entrance to deter any shenanigans.”

  There was a clatter as Fairfax dropped his bread knife onto his plate. He looked pale and stricken.

  “What is it?” My heart began pounding against my ribs. My friend and colleague looked as if he had seen the coming of the apocalypse.

  “Oh please, Rupert,” he whispered. “Say that it isn’t so.” His shoulders slumped. “The Fervent Fist is working its way down this list and will have each stadium under surveillance. If the police single out one ground for a public display of security, they may as well mark it with a giant cross; ‘X’ marks the spot.”

  “But surely,” I protested, “with the police protecting the ground, the Fervent Fist will be unable to set their equipment unseen. They would be apprehended immediately.”

  “No, Rupert,” he groaned. “The Fervent Fist have huge resources at their disposal, but they have had to spread them thinly. If they now suspect the exact location of the Apple of Eden, they will consolidate their resources and strike a decisive blow.” He reached for his mobile telephone. “I must warn DCI Arsolé before it is too late. He has to have his men stand down and initiate covert surveillance if there is any chance of apprehending Schwarzkröte’s people in the act.” He dialled the number and ground his teeth as he awaited an answer.

  “Hello? Yes, this is Fairfax Urban-Smith. I must speak to Detective Chief Inspector Arsolé immediately on a matter of the greatest urgency. Yes, I’ll hold, but for pity’s sake woman; do not dally, dither or delay, for the fate of the entire Kingdom may rest upon our prompt action.” He stood and paced the kitchen anxiously. I lowered the marmalade and pushed my plate away, suddenly no longer hungry.

  “Arsolé? Yes, it is I. Listen carefully, I have vital information. I believe that there is to be an imminent attack on the Wottenham Town Football Ground.” He stopped pacing and with a cry of despair threw himself into a chair. “No!” he wailed. “This cannot be.” He lowered his head to the table, the telephone still pressed to his ear. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Yes, Chief Inspector. Yes, right away, Chief Inspector. We shall take the next train. Thank you.” He cast his telephone aside with a snarl. “Blast and confound it!” he stormed. “Blast it to Hell with a Howitzer. We are too late. The Fervent Fist have struck, and the Apple of Eden is theirs.”

  “I’m sorry, Fairfax. I didn’t realise that my warning to Chief Inspector Gadget would precipitate such a disaster.”

  “It’s alright, Rupert,” he sighed. “I suppose…. pardon me; did you say Chief Inspector?”

  “Yes. The apparent resolution of the LOL curse proved to be more than merely a feather in his cap.”

  At this singular piece of news, Fairfax threw back his head and positively brayed with laughter, causing Ajax to fly from his position beneath the table and straight out through his cat flap as if from a slingshot.

  “This is amazing,” he roared. “The lunatics have truly taken over the asylum. Whatever next?”

  I cannot express my relief at seeing my friend able to rise above our adversity and see the humour inherent in the situation. His mirth was short lived, however.

  “We must away to Cambridge with all due haste,” he said. “Inspector Arsolé wishes to speak to us about this latest incident. I think we shall have to come clean about all, for we cannot risk the Fervent Fist taking possession of the Atman.”

  “The Apple of Eden is half a century old,” I said. “With advances in technology, surely the Fervent Fist could bypass its security.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Bomb disposal is always a hazardous pursuit. In fact, the older the bomb, the more unstable and hazardous it becomes. One false move, and the Apple’s core would be lost forever. I believe that the Fervent Fist would only attempt to penetrate the Apple’s defences as a last resort.” He began collecting together the breakfast pots. “Let us not leave a mess for Mrs Denford. Our path is hazardous enough already.”

  *

  We made good time and arrived at Scragnell Police Station by a quarter past eleven. We were directed to DCI Arsolé’s office, where the DCI and Inspector Mallow were awaiting us. Greetings and handshakes were exchanged, and we seated ourselves around DCI Arsolé’s desk to discuss the business of the day.

  “Yesterday evening,” said DCI Arsolé, “the duty sergeant received a telephone call from his counterpart at Wandsworth Police Station, stating that there had been reports of suspicious activity around the Wottenham Town football stadium, and asking if we could station some uniformed officers outside the ground to deter any troublemakers.

  “Two officers were stationed at the entrance from eight p.m. until midnight, but when no activity was reported, they were advised to leave the scene, and the midnight shift were instructed to patrol the area regularly and report anything unusual.

  “At around three thirty, a patrol car stopped to investigate an unmarked van that was parked at the west side of the stadium. Two men in dark clothing were noticed to be unloading some equipment onto the pavement, so the officers contacted dispatch
control and approached the two men. As they did so, another van pulled up alongside, and two masked men with assault rifles jumped out and forced the officers into the back of the van, where they were handcuffed and forced to call dispatch and report that everything was under control.

  “The two officers were driven a short distance away and held at gunpoint for about an hour, during which time they reported a ten minute episode of visual disturbance which coincided with widespread local reports of ghost-sightings. This was followed by the sounds of an unspecified disturbance and several helicopters passing overhead.

  “Finally, they were driven to a local park and handcuffed to a railing, where they were spotted by an early morning dog-walker who took several pictures and posted them on Twitbook before ringing nine-nine-nine.”

  “Were the officers hurt?” I enquired.

  “Thankfully not.”

  “What happens now?” asked Urban-Smith.

  “We have the whole area sealed off, and anti-terrorist officers are going through the wreckage with a fine toothcomb, but we have journalists and reporters crawling all over the place.” DCI Arsolé steepled his fingers and rested his arms on his desk. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “It is a long story, Chief Inspector. You may wish to make a few notes.”

  And indeed it was a long story, starting with the LOL murders and Project Tremble, the Fervent Fist’s infiltration of the mobile telephone networks and their search for the Apple of Eden, and culminating in our encounter at the Natural History Museum with the late Konrad Schwarzkröte.

  “So you see, Chief Inspector, now that the Fervent Fist have spirited away The Apple of Eden, they will devote all of their resources to locating the Fourth Atman.”