by Ian Jarvis
‘Hullo, Guv,’ said Watson, trembling with terror.
An old man walked in behind Amy.
‘Who needs homework when one can cheat.’ Strand laughed loudly. ‘Take them down to the cells, Larry.’
‘Okay,’ said Larry Reynolds.
Chapter 57
Katie Bradstreet looked up from the papers on the incident room desk. ‘Still no sign of Constable Gregson or Doctor Clarkson?’ she asked.
Sergeant Aslam shook his head. ‘We found Gregson’s car where Mitchell left him in the alley behind Amy’s. The window is broken and there’s blood in the street. Both doors are smashed on Amy’s house and we found more black animal hairs. It doesn’t look good.’
‘That’s the understatement of the fucking year. Even if Gregson’s been hurt, where could he be?’
‘Who do you suppose the girl was who claimed to be Nicole Patterson?’
The Inspector shook her head. ‘And where’s the real Nicole Patterson?’ She held up the papers she’d been reading. ‘Have you seen this report on the morgue sweepings? That powder is all that’s left of Mirren’s corpse.’
‘What?’ Aslam blinked. ‘What?’
‘Which brings us to the missing manager of Brightshield Glazing,’ continued Katie. ‘You recall Dreyer’s car was found in Acomb?’
‘Yes, with his clothes on the bonnet and some...’
‘Powder. Yes, I’ve checked with forensics and it’s the same.’
‘You mean the dust was Dreyer?’ The Sergeant gaped at her. ‘His corpse was powdered? What could you possibly use to turn people into dust?’
‘I don’t know, Tariq.’ Katie shook her head. ‘What the hell are these feline hairs doing at the crime scenes? The lab still can’t identify the hairs found on Lisa Mirren and Becca Travis. Does our killer have some weird hybrid pet?’
‘Could the weird hybrid pet be responsible?’ Aslam laughed uneasily. ‘Most of our victims seem to have been savaged by an animal like a big cat.’ He held up the file he carried. ‘I have a forensic report of my own. You were right about Doctor Stapleton. Her prints are all over the biker’s house in Clifton. They match the ones taken from the lab and her home on Linden Mount.’
‘Yes, they would.’ Katie nodded to the picture on the case noticeboard. ‘The blow-up might be grainy, but the girl in the photograph is definitely the one I met at Clifton. What was the owner of a laboratory doing pretending to be a biker and living there with them? And why would Will Gillette tell us she was out of the country skiing?’
‘That’s not all.’ Aslam handed her the report. ‘Those were Stapleton’s fingerprints on the stolen Range Rover found at the farm outside Lamberley.’
Katie’s eyes widened. ‘Now that is interesting.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Aslam. ‘If Stapleton drove a stolen vehicle to Lamberley that day, she was almost certainly involved in her employee Lisa Mirren’s death. But the landlord at the Hound told us she was in his pub with those bikers at the time.’
‘What is it, Zoe?’ The Inspector turned as Constable Planer slammed down her phone and approached the desk.
‘Rex Grant,’ said Planer. ‘You know he’s been staying at Sedgefield Grange on the North York Moors?’
‘Don’t tell me he’s dead?’ Katie let out a short laugh. ‘Everyone else is.’
‘That call was the Pickering police. They have uniform at Sedgefield attending reports of a death. It turns out a woman has been decapitated and she’s very pale. It looks like her blood was drained.’
‘What?’
‘Grant took someone named Fran there yesterday and the description fits Francesca Stapleton.’
The Inspector leapt up. ‘Are they still there?’
‘No one knows where they are,’ said Planer. ‘They set off for Manchester this morning, but Grant’s not answering his mobile. Do you want me to...’
‘Yes, I do,’ snapped Katie. ‘Alert the Manchester police. Alert everyone. I want them found.’
Mitchell entered the incident room with a sheet of paper.
‘Don’t tell me...’ She held out a hand. ‘Another corpse?’
‘Bernard Quist,’ he said. ‘I finished the checks you wanted, but there isn’t much.’
‘You’re not joking.’ Katie read the few lines of type. ‘This is it?’
‘He’s lived alone outside Askham Richard for the past two years and operated as a private investigator in York for just six weeks. Beyond that there’s very little.’
‘What about his records, credit cards and...’
‘The car and a telephone are registered to his address, and he owns a TV license, but that’s it. He has no criminal record and I can’t find any trace of him historically. Prior to the last two years, it’s as if he didn’t exist. I asked around his office building to see if anyone knew him, but it didn’t help.’
‘How about the kid who works for him?’
‘John Watson lives on the Grimpen estate in Acomb with his mother, Joanne. According to her, he started at the detective agency three weeks ago, but she knows nothing about his employer. He left with Quist yesterday and she hasn’t seen him since. She didn’t know he’d been here overnight. Didn’t know he was mute either.’
‘Where do you reckon those two fit into this?’ asked Aslam.
‘God knows.’ Katie scowled. ‘But I wish I had them here now.’
Chapter 58
Watson peered miserably at the laboratory paraphernalia on the desk opposite the basement cell and wondered who’d be dissected first. Sullen resignation had overtaken terror. He knew how cats kept dismembered prey alive for hours, playing agonising games with it. He’d have much preferred a Christmas game of naked Twister with Suzy Baines back on the estate in York.
‘Cat got your tongue, Guv?’ He nudged Quist. ‘You haven’t spoken since they locked us in here.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ The detective stood motionless at the cell door, brow resting on the bars. ‘I can’t believe Larry is involved with the Ubasteri.’
A hiss from the adjoining cage told them the burnt creatures were still hungrily watching them.
‘I can’t get over his strength.’ Watson ran a hand through his wiry hair. ‘How old is he? He jumped off a wall, ripped the canvas top off your car, and dragged us out. We tried fighting him, but it was a waste of time.’
Amy sobbed at the memory and Rex held her. ‘Are you okay?’ he mumbled.
‘I’m not okay,’ snapped Watson. ‘So much for keeping us out of danger. I was hoping to spend Christmas in one piece this year. Not ripped apart with bits of me coughed up in a fuckin’ furball.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Quist turned. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you or Amy. I should have insisted on a hotel for you both. I honestly thought you’d be safe if...’
‘Never mind sorry. What are we going to do?’
‘Do?’ Rex took out his cigarettes with a shaky hand. ‘What can we do?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ snarled Watson. ‘How about using some of that SAS training to get us out of this?’
Rex gulped. ‘Er, well...’
‘Just forget it,’ said Amy. ‘We know you’ve been lying.’
‘Lying?’ Rex sagged. ‘Er...’
‘What was all that crap?’ Watson glared angrily. ‘Shot in the leg? Missions in Iraqi jungles? What the hell are you?’
Rex shrugged dejectedly and lit the cigarette. ‘Nothing,’ he whispered. ‘I’m nothing. A failure.’
‘We don’t have time for self-pity.’ Quist narrowed his eyes. ‘That lighter of yours is silver, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Rex clicked the Zippo shut. ‘Why?’
‘They haven’t realised, otherwise they’d have taken it. Silver is lethal to the Ubasteri. It might come in handy.’<
br />
‘Absolutely,’ scoffed Watson. ‘We might get a chance to melt it and make a few bullets.’
‘Hang on to it, Rex.’ Quist glanced up the staircase as the door opened. ‘Hide it away quickly.’
Strand descended the steps with Fran and Doctor Zucco. ‘So how are we all settling in?’ He laughed. ‘No problems with the room, I hope?’
‘Where’s Larry?’ asked Quist.
‘He’ll be along presently,’ said Fran. She’d changed into a short Italian dress and jacket, both cut from black silk. ‘Apparently he feels uncomfortable about facing you. I can’t imagine why.’
Amy held tightly onto Rex as the shapeshifters approached the bars.
‘Captain Grant.’ Strand smirked at their closeness. ‘I’ve always considered Doctor Stapleton to be my girl, and now she tells me about your night together. I’m speechless.’
‘You didn’t?’ Amy backed away from Rex. ‘On top of all that shit you told us, you screwed a cat?’
‘No. Er, well, yes.’ The cigarette quivered in the man’s mouth like a demented metronome. ‘I didn’t know she...’
‘What do you want?’ demanded Quist. ‘Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?’
Strand took out a cigarette and lit it. ‘As I mentioned earlier, I need your help, Bernard. I want you to kill someone for me tonight.’
Watson, Rex and Amy peered at Quist, before slowly turning back to Strand.
Strand fished a tub and a small plastic bottle from his jacket. ‘I think Doctor Clarkson can tell us what these are?’
‘Solstice sunscreen and UV eye drops,’ muttered Amy.
Quist gestured to the cellar hatch. ‘Looking at those shackles and the creatures down here, I’d say this is where the products were sent for testing?’
‘Correct,’ said Strand. ‘Fran’s been using them since Friday and felt no ill effects until this afternoon. We’ve both applied a new layer of cream.’ He stroked a hand down his cheek. ‘Tomorrow I’ll walk in sunlight for the first time in two centuries.’
‘Let’s hope it turns out nice,’ grunted Watson. ‘We’ve had crap weather recently.’
Strand laughed and produced a CD. ‘Everything we need to begin manufacturing is here in Gillette’s research. Can you imagine what this means? A new dawn. No more glasses and time limits on dull days. The Elite can live amongst you in direct sunlight.’
Zucco chuckled. ‘The future looks bright, if you’ll excuse the pun. It always made sense to live in dull climates, but there are such wonderful pickings in Bangkok, Rio, Montevideo...’ The doctor recited the cities the way a gourmet would list spices.
‘Great,’ said Watson. ‘You’ll be able to shit on an exotic beach and bury it in the sand.’
‘Get to the point,’ said Quist. ‘You want someone killed? From your recent track record, I wouldn’t think you’d need any help.’
Fran strolled close to the cell. ‘It’s time you understood about the Elite and our organization in Britain. We began forming groups to assist one another long ago; developing practises to safeguard our secrecy. We select superfluous prey that won’t be missed - prostitutes, homeless and other dregs - but they’re never allowed to transform and we don’t leave drained corpses with wounds. Prey is disposed of in furnaces. The smaller the society, the easier the anonymity.’
‘Humans join occasionally,’ said Strand. ‘Wealthy individuals are chosen and those whose skills can assist the Elite. A nice system, wouldn’t you agree? We keep a low profile, regulate our numbers, and hardly ever bother the normal people.’
‘No, just the dregs,’ said Quist, contemptuously. ‘Why are you telling us this?’
Strand drew on his cigarette. ‘Someone named Lucius Silva arrived in Manchester after the war and wormed his way into our society.’
‘He’s ancient,’ said Zucco. ‘Older and supposedly wiser than any other Elite. Everyone listened to him like a guru.’
‘He began shaping our people and creating a hierarchy,’ continued Strand. ‘Silva is now President, controlling a committee of twenty leaders from around the north of Britain who, in turn, control the members in their regions. Laws were introduced to theoretically protect us, the changes occurring over years as his power intensified. The rules suffocate, but deviation is punishable by execution.’
‘In the old days we could hunt any time,’ said Fran, angrily. ‘We used common sense when choosing prey. Now applications have to be sanctioned by area controllers, who take responsibility for blunders. If anyone is spotted–a British big cat sighting–they’re executed. It’s ridiculous!’
‘Red tape.’ Quist tutted. ‘Who needs it?’
‘We don’t.’ Fran gave a curt smile. ‘Unfortunately, because he rules by terror, most of the Elite are loyal to our President.’
‘Most? Ah, I see. We’re talking revolution.’
Strand nodded. ‘Fran was told to research eye protection, but she experimented further. Silva knows nothing of the Solstice and our daylight abilities. It’s time to rid ourselves of his ludicrous regulations and begin afresh.’
‘So this is who you want killed?’
‘At tonight’s Winter Solstice meeting,’ said Strand. ‘Solstice–appropriate, don’t you think? When the Committee see the sunscreen, we’ll be hailed as the greatest benefactors of all time.’
‘And then you’ll slaughter Silva,’ said Fran. ‘It should be a night to remember.’
‘What the fuck?’ gasped Watson. ‘Am I thicker than pigshit, or am I missing something?’ He jerked a thumb at Quist. ‘You want this bloke to assassinate your President, the most powerful big cat in Britain?’
‘That’s right.’ Strand winked at the detective. ‘He’s one of the few blokes who can carry it off.’
‘And here you are, Bernard,’ said Fran. ‘Right on time for the assassination, as we planned. I mesmerised that debt collector and gave him the fiancé story to arouse your interest. I chose him because he worked in the same building; Larry mentioned him. He also told us of your curiosity.’
‘Did he indeed?’ said Quist. ‘Then you ordered Selden to commit suicide and the badges were planted to draw me to Creeper’s address.’
‘My address.’ The girl nodded. ‘It was a better hideout for me than the hotel we’d originally chosen. I left one of his badges on the railway, knowing you’d go there after listening to Selden, and Larry left one by the Wolds river. We knew you’d speak to the Lamberley pub landlord and trace the bikers. I also spoke to the landlord after Lisa’s death and looked lovingly into his eyes. He now swears that I was there with them at the time she died.’
‘Who was she hiding from?’ asked a bemused Rex.
‘Their President,’ said Quist. ‘I don’t think he’d be pleased with Lisa’s bloodless corpse being left to become Ubasteri.’
‘That’s right,’ said Strand. ‘We knew Silva would send a security team to dispose of the corpse and deal with Fran. I took charge to leave him with less protection. I sent two of his guards into your cottage knowing what would happen to them...’
‘And shot the others and planted the Sunnyvale card,’ broke in Quist.
‘Correct. We left Lisa Mirren’s corpse to reduce Silva’s security, but also to let you see her. Larry told us you keep a low profile, but if you discovered Ubasteri were involved in the murders, your sense of responsibility would take over. After you read the police reports, I knew you’d go to the morgue. I delayed my visit and allowed you to find her first.’
‘How could you know I’d read...’
‘Larry never took that Oxford train, as you’ve doubtless guessed. He bugged your car and followed you in Doctor Zucco’s BMW listening on the receiver. We knew you’d traced its registration. We knew you were going to the railway, to Lamberley, to the Clifton party, and the morgue. We always knew wha
t you were up to.’
‘I found the transponder,’ said Quist. ‘It never occurred to me to look for listening devices too.’
‘After you met Fran at Creeper’s house,’ continued Strand, ‘she was to kill the bikers and rush to you for protection. This damsel in distress would convince you she’d escaped an Ubasteri attack and persuade you to bring her here to her brother.’
‘But Rex found me first,’ said Fran.
‘You turned up with those cat things.’ Rex peered at Strand. ‘How did you know I’d be there with her?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Strand. ‘I had to speak with Fran before she left and I told the bodyguards Gillette had given me the address as one of her possible hideouts. I was surprised to see your Ferrari outside. I knew who you were, of course. We checked your registration when Larry saw you in Lamberley.’
‘But you attacked us,’ said Rex.
‘Improvisation. Silva’s guards spotted Fran and rushed to help me. I turned it to my advantage. When she had you believe we killed the bikers, I played along and allowed your escape. You were acquainted with Bernard and I knew you’d make a good hostage.’
‘You thought you were taking me to Manchester,’ said Fran. ‘In reality I was taking you. We saw that Amy also had hostage potential. You didn’t save her today, Bernard. She was chased to frighten her and bring you closer together.’
‘All this to get me here and provide you with hostages?’ Quist shook his head. ‘Why do you want an outsider to kill this President?’
‘We can’t get near him,’ said Strand. ‘Silva knows assassination is possible and seals himself in a fortress on Salford Quays surrounded by guards. Metal detectors make it impossible to get weapons inside, and every hi-tech device is incorporated into the building’s defences. Automatic gun pods with silver bullets cover the corridors and stairways. They operate when they sense movement and heat...’
Quist glanced up as Larry trudged resignedly down the steps. ‘Why?’ he gasped. ‘Why have you been helping them, for God’s sake?’