[Vampire Babylon 01] - Skarlet (2009)

by Thomas Emson

  Murray said, “I’ve got a contact in the pathology department of a – a leading London hospital.”

  “A leading London hospital?”

  “Yes,” she said, and Lawton listened as she told him what her contact had told her about the bodies.

  “Shrivelled?” he said.

  “That’s what my contact said. And the heart black, engorged, and wet.”

  “Okay,” he said, and thought for a moment.

  “What are you thinking?” she said.

  He looked at her and scowled. “Do you still think I’m involved?”

  Murray looked into her lap and her cheeks reddened.

  He said, “All right. That’s a start,” and he fished out the plastic bag from his jacket pocket and tossed it into Murray’s lap.

  Her mouth dropped open. She looked at the bag for half a minute, and then picked it up and held it at eye level. She shook it, and the dozen pills it contained jumped about.

  She said, “What are they?”

  He said, “You know what they are. Your pathology friend might be able to use them. Find a cure or something.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Where did you get them?”

  He looked away. “Does that matter?”

  “Do you think I’m a fool? Are you involved in this?”

  “I don’t think you’re a fool, Christine. I think you’re wrong on a number of things, but I don’t think you’re a fool.”

  “Why did you bring them to me?” she said.

  “If I took them to the cops, they wouldn’t believe me, and they’d probably arrest me. They already fancy me for all this, so if I walk in with a bunch of pills, they’ll take it as a confession, I guess.” He rolled down the window and he leaned his elbow out of the car. “But you,” he said, turning to face her, “you’re looking beyond me. You’re a reporter and reporters don’t care about right and wrong, reporters only care about the story. And that” – he pointed at the bag of pills – “is a story.”

  “All right,” she said, eyeing him. “What do you get out of it?”

  “I get to know what killed Jenna McCall and all those others. You know people, Christine; I don’t know so many – not useful ones, anyway. And I’m just using an old trick.”

  “An old trick?” she said.

  “Yeah. It’s called keep your friends close” – and he stared at her – “but your enemies closer. Let me know, Christine, or I’ll let the cops know you’ve got those pills – and they’d want to know why you didn’t tell them.”

  He got out of the car, shut the door, and walked toward the shadows.

  * * *

  Murray watched him leave. He melted into the shadows, and then Murray shut her eyes for a moment, blowing a breath out of her cheeks.

  Then, she looked at the pills in the plastic bag that Lawton had given her. She held them up, gave them a shake. She saw the “K” inscribed on them. She put the pills on the dashboard and took a Moleskine notebook from her breast pocket. She wrote, “K on tabs – what does K mean?” in the notebook, then returned it to her pocket.

  She got her phone and called home.

  David answered and something in her melted.

  She said, “Hello, love, how are you?”

  “I’m all right,” said her ten-year-old.

  “Are you sure? You sound glum.”

  “I’m all right – d’you want dad?”

  “No, no, darling, I’d – I’d like to talk to you,” she said, glancing at the dashboard clock. “Are you all right, David, shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “There’s no school.”

  “No school? Why isn’t there school?” she said, trying not to sound too suspicious.

  “One of the teachers died.”

  Murray’s chest grew cold. “Died?” she said, and last night’s murders sprang into her mind. “Is – Is dad there, baby?”

  “Okay, so you don’t want to talk to me, now.”

  She said no, that’s wasn’t true. But David was gone and his voice came to her from a distance, calling for his dad and saying, “Phone for you.”

  Murray’s eyes dampened and she let out a sob.

  And Richard came to the phone saying, “Hello,” like he was saying hello to a stranger.

  “Did David not tell you it was me?” she said.

  “No. He might not have recognized you. I thought you were going to take them to school this morning?”

  “David said there’s no school.”

  “There is for Michael,” he said, “so you could’ve taken him.”

  “He goes on his own, on the bus.”

  “Oh, you know that do you? I’m fucking impressed.”

  “Don’t curse like that in the house, not when the boys are around. Why isn’t David at school? He said one of the teachers died.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Died last night, said the headmaster. He made an announcement at the gates.”

  Murray thought, Why wasn’t I told? Why wasn’t I there? It’s my story.

  And Richard said, “Paul Gless, he was twenty-eight. Killed by a gang, they said. Thirty people died, according to the news. Is this anything to do with this story you’re doing?”

  “I think it is, which is why I’m here, Richard. It’s why I’m home late and why I leave early. It’s a big story, and I’m getting paid big – ”

  “I’m not sure if it’s worth the money if the boys don’t see their mother, or perhaps their mother doesn’t want to see them.”

  Anger flashed white in her head and she said, “Don’t you dare, don’t you – how could you say – ” but she trailed off, her body shaking with rage.

  Richard said nothing.

  Murray’s rage cooled and she said, “I’m paying the mortgage, Richard. It’s what we agreed. You could stay at home, write your book – I’d go and work. Well,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek, “I am working. So how’s your book coming?”

  She heard a breath hiss out of him.

  And then he said, “You have no understanding of what it takes to write a hundred-thousand words. You’ve no concept of the psychological hurdles that need vaulting to achieve such a feat. You and your thousand-word rants that get re-written by – what do you call them? – the grey old men of the subs’ bench. You have no idea.”

  “Oh, Richard,” she said, “you do talk bollocks. Just get up to the study and be a writer.”

  “Perhaps I could do that if you come home and be a mother.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he’d put the phone down.

  Chapter 32

  SASSIE.

  THE man in the tweed jacket studied the jar and said, “And where did you come across this, um, piece?”

  Lawton, casting his eyes around the antiques that cluttered up the shop, said, “I got it on eBay.”

  The man nodded and hummed. He stroked a penny-sized red badge on his lapel. A mobile phone poked out from the jacket’s breast pocket.

  Lawton found the antique shop in Covent Garden. Furniture piled high around the edges of the store. Bric-a-brac stacked on top of brica- brac. The place smelled musty. Gloom enveloped the shop and dust layered everything.

  The man in the tweed jacket said, “You say, eBay.”

  “Yes, eBay. What is it, do you know?”

  “It’s an internet auction site, isn’t it,” he said, a belted out a laugh.

  Lawton didn’t laugh, he just stared at the man in the tweed jacket.

  The man said, “Bad joke, I assume.”

  Lawton stayed quiet.

  The man hissed through his teeth. He pushed his half-moon glasses up his nose and squinted, holding up the jar to read the underside.

  “This letter, this ‘K’, seems recent.”

  “So the pot’s old, then.”

  “I’d say quite old, yes. Do you need a value on it?”

  Lawton tensed. “I want to know what it is,” he said, “where it’s from.”

  The man shook his head. “Clay, I�
�d say – it’s – perhaps – Persian.”

  “Persian?”

  “Or Egyptian, even,” said the man in the tweed jacket.

  “And how old?”

  The man hummed, still scrutinizing the jar. “Could be six or seven hundred years old, I’d say.” He looked at Lawton. “So do you want to sell it?”

  “How much is it worth?”

  The man tilted his head to the side and said, “It’s worth what people are willing to pay, sir.”

  “And you’d say that was – what?”

  “I’ll give you, um, two hundred for it.”

  Lawton guessed the man in the tweed jacket could double or treble that by selling it in his shop. He could make even more at auction. But Lawton wasn’t planning to sell. He thought this pot might give him a clue to what was happening, to what killed Jenna and why her body had gone missing.

  Lawton said, “I don’t think I’ll – ”

  “Three hundred,” said the man.

  “No, no deal.” He took the jar back from the shop-owner. “But thanks for your time, yeah?” Lawton turned to leave.

  “Sir.”

  Lawton stopped and looked at the man.

  The man in the tweed jacket said, “Sir, I’m not an expert in this kind of pottery.”

  You don’t say, thought Jake.

  “I’m a buyer, you know – that’s why I tried to buy it. Please don’t take offence. I wouldn’t want to – offend you.”

  “I’m not offended,” said Lawton.

  “But, if I may, I could point you in the direction of someone who could offer genuine support with regards to this artefact.”

  * * *

  Dr. Melissa Rae said, “My uncle sent you?”

  “Yes, he told me you were the expert,” said Lawton.

  “Well,” she said, “I caught the bug at his shop.”

  I’m not surprised, thought Lawton, remembering the dust and grime in the antique shop.

  The man in the tweed jacket, Dr. Rae’s uncle, had directed Lawton to King’s College London’s School of Humanities. Lawton had been told he’d find Dr. Rae in the classical archaeology department based at the Strand Campus, a few minutes walk from Covent Garden.

  Dr. Rae was a blonde in a grey hoodie, jeans, and a pair of green Converse. She’d said, “Call me Sassie,” and he’d said, “Call me Jake.”

  The pot sat on her desk. She’d cleared away files and books to make room for it. They stared at it, as if they were waiting for something to happen – for the hero painted on it to come to life, perhaps.

  “So you know where it’s from?” he said.

  “Incredible, really. It’s Babylonian, I think.”

  “How do you know?”

  She tilted the jar towards Lawton and ran her finger around the lip of the vessel, saying, “See here? This lettering?”

  Lawton squinted. He saw tiny black shapes encircling the inside of the jar and said, “I didn’t notice – ”

  “The language is Akkadian, which was the language of the Middle East and North Africa in the Bronze and Iron Age – up until about 100 A.D., when it became extinct.”

  “What does it say?”

  She cocked her head to look at the script. Her hair fell over her ears, and she hooked it back. She squinted, trying to see the minute lettering. She said, “It’s cuneiform, which is the writing system they used in that part of the world three-thousand, four-thousand years ago.”

  “So you don’t know what it says?” he said.

  She looked up at him, and her eyes grew cold. “No, I don’t.”

  Lawton saw her irritation and said, “I’m sorry – it’s been a rough few days, and I’m – I’m really grateful.”

  She nodded. “That’s all right. It’s an incredible piece. Can I ask where you –?”

  “EBay,” said Lawton, not flinching from her gaze.

  “EBay – that’s what my uncle said you said.”

  He moved the conversation along by asking, “Who’s the guy with the spear?”

  Sassie held up the jar and creased her brow as she studied the image on the vessel. She deliberated for a few moments, and then put the vase down on her desk.

  She got went to a bookshelf and reached up for a book. A band of flesh showed between her top and her jeans. The skin was golden and smooth. Lawton felt something fizz in his belly, and he looked away.

  She got the book down and flicked through it, then laid it open on the desk, facing Lawton.

  Sassie leaned forward, and she smelled of apples. He felt calm with her, and he’d not felt calm with anyone in years. He felt like he could sleep. It was as if she smoothed away the furrows in his life. A desire rose up in him; a desire to be in her company and smell her odour and see her skin.

  “Are you all right, Jake?”

  He snapped back to reality. “Yes, sorry, tired.”

  “Oh, would you want to do this another time?”

  “No, no, I’m fine and really grateful.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m glad you brought it over. Here, look” – she indicated the book – “here’s an image of Alexander the Great.”

  Lawton noticed the blonde hair, the boyish face, and the large nose, and the picture in the book looked like the image on the jar. But he said, “Don’t they all look the same, these ancient pictures?”

  “It’s not an exact science,” she said, “but we can deduce through educated guesswork that the image is Alexander’s. Alexander the Great conquered the Persians and made Babylon his capital. That was more than two-thousand, five-hundred years ago.”

  Lawton said, “Babylon – you said they were Babylonian –”

  Sassie said, “Its ruins lie on the banks of the Euphrates – ”

  A jolt of excitement shot through his veins. “Iraq?”

  “Uh, yes – modern day Iraq,” she said, staring at him. “The town of Hillah stands there today.”

  Lawton knew Hillah. And he’d heard of Babylon, too. It came back to him, now. The U.S. forces were based there. They were given a hard time for building a helipad on some ruins – Babylonian ruins, Lawton remembered.

  And as if she’d read his mind, Sassie said, “The Americans have caused havoc there since their invasion. Damaged the archaeological record. Bloody morons.”

  She looked gloomy, her eyes fixed on the pot as if it were the only record left of the ancient civilization.

  “I was there,” said Lawton.

  She snapped her gaze up to his face.

  “In Iraq,” he said. “Basra.”

  “I thought you might be a soldier.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You look” – she stared at him for a few seconds with her dark blue eyes, and her pupils flared – “soldiery.” And then she blinked, took her eyes away, and said, “You’re not a soldier any more, then?”

  He grew red and he felt the heat in his cheeks. “Not any more. Long story. I’ll tell you another time.”

  “Oh,” she said, “there’s going to be another time, then?”

  “If you can help me with this, I’m sure there will be.”

  “Can I keep it?” she said.

  “No,” said Lawton.

  “Well, how am I supposed to –?”

  “If you keep it, I’ll have no excuse to come back.”

  He smiled at her, forcing the gesture into his eyes. They’d not had a smile in them for a while, and they struggled to find the warmth required. But when she smiled back, Lawton knew he’d pulled it off, and he felt something cruel in him soften.

  She said, “I’ll take a few pictures,” and he then watched while she snapped images with a digital camera.

  After he’d wrapped the pot up in the cloth and tucked it back in his rucksack, he thanked her.

  “Thank you, Jake. It’s incredible. A real find. And I’ll let you know. This guy I know in the department, he’s an expert on this period and might be able to decipher the symbols. And he’s also into Babylonian mythology. I’m sure he’ll b
e able to help us.”

  And as he walked along the river towards Embankment station, one word played in Lawton’s mind:

  “Us.”

  Chapter 33

  REMOVALS.

  Holland Park, London – 12.05 p.m., February 8

  ION said, “Shall I kill him now?”

  Nadia, looking down at Hammond, said, “No, we can use him.”

  “Use him how?” said Ion. Hammond lay curled up in the chest. He was naked and his body peppered with wounds. The smell of decay came off his body, the bullet wound in his shoulder starting to fester.

  After Nadia shot him, she’d beaten him. Then Ion came home. He stripped Hammond naked and beat him again, then burned him with cigarettes. Hammond vomited and pissed himself, and begged for mercy until he passed out. Ion, staring down at the pathetic creature, said, “I can’t see any use for him other than food for the worms.”

  “Or food for a god,” said Nadia.

  Ion looked at her and lust crawled in his belly. The grey light streaming through the window shimmered off her dark hair. Madness glinted in her purple eyes, and her pale skin glowed moon-white.

  And she said, “He can be the first feed, can’t he.”

  Ion said, “Yes,” and he tensed at the thought.

  She looked at Ion and said, “Is everything packed.”

  “Everything we need. The van’s waiting outside. Dr. Haddad’s already over there. I set up his lab for him before dawn.”

  Nadia gazed around the bedroom. “Shame to leave so much of it.”

  The wardrobe and the bed remained, emptied of clothes and stripped of sheets. “Had we more time” – she looked down at Hammond again – “we could’ve taken everything with us.”

  Hammond and Lithgow’s break-in had hurried their departure. The burglars were unlikely to have told anyone they were coming here, but Nadia didn’t want to take the chance.

  Ion said, “We can buy more beds, more cupboards and chairs.”

  She glanced at her brother and touched his arm, saying, “You’re right. They’re nothing. And we were planning to move – it’s just we brought our plans forward, that’s all.”

  Ion looked her in the eye, and his heartbeat accelerated. Her perfume filled his nostrils and the odour fired a longing in his belly. She licked her lips and sweat shone on her brow. He could feel the heat stream from her body. He yanked her against him, and her body lay flat against his. Her mouth opened and her eyes narrowed, and she whimpered.