by Drew Cross
I was at the hospital when he died, but I wasn't allowed to see him, which seems a perversely protective act in retrospect. The corridor smelled of swimming pools with the fun extracted, and my little brother slept on our silent mother, who seldom spoke to, or looked at either of us, even in less sombre circumstances.
Granddad had told me before that there were things that had been done to her that could not be undone, and that in time I would have to learn to accept that she would never be like my friends mothers. I never told him that I had no friends and had therefore never met their mothers for comparison. I already understood that she should be left alone, had learned that lesson instinctively at about the same time that I had learned to walk and talk. To pass the time in the corridor I read a book that had been abandoned on the waiting area table, quick to stifle a laugh when I turned it over and saw one of Granddad's giant rats on the cover; I felt her disapproving glare without daring to look up.
Granddad taught me a lot of things, most of which I've never forgotten even a decade and a half after he passed away. He told me that life exists within narrow bands of acceptability, that nobody likes a genius or an idiot because they don't belong between them two bands, and that I might just prove bright enough to conceal the fact that I didn't belong there too.
“They're not my words son, but one more thing I've learned over the years is that if you decide that you've got to hit a man, don't just hit him to get his attention and don't just hit him once or you'll end up regretting it,” he'd said and winked with an eye so pale it appeared almost white. “There's nothing wrong with selective truth boy. You decide what people need to know about your business, and tell them when it suits you and not before.” His world view was harsh and his opinion of other people low, but I listened at all times with rapt attention, learning to be like the man I idolized and absorbing his hard earned wisdom.
* * *
I had agreed to meet up with Marcus after work, promising a straight answer to his direct questions and buying myself more time to decide what version of the truth I was comfortable handing over. He obviously considered my acceptance of social intercourse to be a result judging by his self-satisfied smile, and I was merely grateful for the respite from questioning.
The rest of the day proved to be too busy for me to dwell on it much, but I found time for my thoughts between the howling sirens and flashing lights, revisiting my dead grandfather's words, momentarily blind to the passing urban scenery, a paint pallet smear past the windows. I needed to know more about the 'vampire' investigation after Marcus's comments, specifically whether it might shine an unwelcome light in my small section of the city's alternative underbelly. I counted the minutes until we clocked off for the night, hanging back until the rest had left for home, as soon as they did I headed for the Criminal Investigation Department office.
“Excuse me, Detective Inspector.”
“Since there's no-one else in here call me Karen, keep the D.I for the briefing room, Shane.”
I'd never really spoken to Detective Inspector Karen Cobb before. Her work and rank meant little involvement with beat Bobbies on a day to day basis, and the reputation that preceded her didn't invite friendly chat. Here she was disarmingly relaxed and open though, holding my eye for a moment and gauging my reaction to the fact that she knew and had used my first name.
I notice, briefly, that she wears no rings and that she's a lot prettier when she smiles. “Thank you, Karen. I just wanted to express my desire to apply for a secondment to work for you on CID when the next opportunity arises.”
“That's pleasing to know, and I'll do what I can to ensure that it happens.” She smiles again, smoothing a few strands of hair away from her face, and I linger, faking indecision.
“If there's anything that I can do to help with the current case, the biting attacks I mean, no matter how repetitive or uninteresting, just say the word and I'll be there.”
“Thanks, Shane, I'm sure with a little thought I can find a use for you.” There's a definite twinkle of intent in her eyes. “I've still got a lot of interesting places to visit, would you believe there's such a thing as the Nottingham Vampire Society? I despair sometimes, honestly.”
“Nothing surprises me these days, Karen. I've always been an open-minded kind of guy. I'll stop taking your time up now, thanks for hearing me out.” I give her a smile of my own and head for the lockers, removing my shirt to change into civvies before I leave.
“I forgot to say, put that request in e-mail for me and I'll get it authorized when I get a chance. Oh, and nice tattoos by the way.” I hadn't realized that she could still see me through the crack in the door, but when I turn around she has already walked away leaving me to laugh softly to myself. This could be interesting and seriously complicated.
The doors are open but it is still early and there's only one person in, a ruffled looking old man with distant eyes and a nose with a surface of the moon topography. He nurses a flat pint of Guinness and talks to himself angrily. Lee, head of the Nottingham Vampire Society, the barman and owner of the Old Angel, looks up at the sound of my footfalls on the wooden floor. He recognizes me of course, even without the fangs and mouthful of blood, and his face falls; I seldom visit unless there's a private event so he knows that I want something. He greets me with a nod, evidently not in the mood for a man-hug or a smile. I'm hurt.
“What can I get you?”
“How about a bloody Mary, extra blood.”
“Very funny.”
“No, what I'd actually like is a pint of your finest Guinness and for you to delete all of my membership records from your database in such a way that they never resurface.”
He starts to pull the pint, thinking. “I'm no technical whiz-kid, so I'd probably have to replace my computer to do that. I keep them records for safety and to back up the legitimacy of the society so I'm not breaking any laws.”
“I'll buy you a new computer, you smash up the old one.”
“I'm not sure that I want to do that, and there's no point, nobody's interested in the records anyway.”
“The police will be here soon to talk to you about a spate of vampire attacks in the city. Now I know that you're discreet enough to give them only the official stance on our activities, but they're going to want to speak to each of your members individually too. I don't want to be amongst those listed members so I'm asking you nicely for your assistance.”
“Why would they be interested in you?”
“Because I'm a police officer, which means that if anyone does spill the beans about our little soirees then my career's over. It doesn't help that I live where the attacks have been happening either.”
“You, a cop?”
“Ain't life just full of surprises?” I take a small bow.
“In case you're wondering I've got nothing to do with the attacks.”
“I'll get rid of it, but I'm holding you to that new computer.”
“Make sure you do.”
I select a couple of tracks on the jukebox and settle in with my pint to await the arrival of Marcus, Lee turning up the volume without needing to be asked, a big fan of Tool himself. Marcus had pulled a face when I'd named the venue at the end of shift, but bitten his tongue for once.
Judging by the loud dance music emanating from his GTi as he pulled out of the car-park, he wouldn't derive much pleasure from the soundtrack in here either, but nobody was forcing him to socialize with me.
I settle back in my chair enjoying the chance to reflect on the weird quirks of my day, of my whole life in fact if I'm honest with myself. The music that I've chosen is perfect for moments of calm reflection, and I try out a few different versions of what I might say to Marcus when he arrives in my head. The words themselves aren't difficult to find, I've always struggled more with attempting to second guess how somebody else might react towards any of the little revelations that I could easily litter my conversation with if I wasn't habitually cautious. For my own amusement I do a couple of men
tal run-throughs where I reveal some of the seriously juicy stuff to him with no preamble or sugar coating.
We had arranged to meet at eight, but it is approaching half past when he arrives, by which time I'm fast approaching the bottom of my second Guinness and considering a third. It was worth the wait. He enters wearing oversized sunglasses, black jeans and a tight white t-shirt that shows off his neck chain and chest hair. He looks like an escapee from a Wham video and people are openly staring in his direction. Begrudgingly I raise a hand in greeting so he can locate me, now that the place has begun to fill up.
“I take it you couldn't find a rainbow flag to wrap around your shoulders, maybe an I Love Men sandwich board to complete the look?”
“Fuck you.”
“You're welcome.”
He removes his shades and takes a look around. The interior is all peeling red painted flock wallpaper, with dirty black woodwork and a riot of posters printed on bright fluorescent paper advertising various gigs past and present. “You take me to all the nicest places.”
Next time I'll break out the hot-pants and we'll try your local. Still keen to get to know me then?”
“Yeah, why not? I've got no better offers at the moment. You can be the ugly mate making me look even more gorgeous and improving my chances of success tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“What are you drinking then pretty boy? No let me guess a white wine spritzer?”
“A pint of Becks actually.”
He waves me towards the bar.
“Are you sure that's wise at your size? I don't want to have to fish you out of if you fall in, how about a half?”
“Get the drinks in and stop stalling you big daft bastard, I'm parched.”
I do as I'm told, and when I return to the table he doesn't waste any time.
“Investigation. Talk.”
I take a sip from my fresh pint, buying time even though I've already thought my response through.
“You know that I'm a Goth right?”
Marcus gasps, hands on cheeks in mock surprise.
“Your terrible secret is out.”
“Shut up. Well, I have a number of acquaintances who share the same taste in music and fashion too. Some of them have a particular interest in the vampire aesthetic, which means that the current investigation into alternative lifestyles puts them under the spotlight.”
“And by extension you too, right?”
“Right.”
“There's no offense in being interested in vampires, mate.”
“True, but our mutual employer is not renowned for its tolerance of peoples private lives.”
“Just ask your mates not to give your name if they're spoken to then.”
“It's not quite that simple, but I think I'll be all right now anyway.”
He sits back in his chair and takes another swallow of beer, swirling the straw colored liquid in the glass and looking into its depths as if they might hold the answer to some pressing question.
“You're only telling me some of it, but that's progress so I'll settle for now. How likely is it that this investigation is going to cause you problems?”
“I don't honestly know. I guess it depends on how thorough they are.”
“Well, why don't we try to catch the fucker first then? After all, from what you're telling me you've got contacts which gives us a good head-start and I've got the looks, charm and intellect to keep us out in front.”
“We'd be risking our careers.”
“I reckon yours is at risk anyway, and I just need to start shouting about racism and homophobia and they'll run a mile. So what do you say?”
“Let's do it.”
“Right, looks like we're going back to yours to outline what we know and what we need to know then.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?”
“In your dreams. I just want a nose around the bat-cave, maybe a peep at your cloak and coffin.”
“Get your coat then love, you've pulled.”
After two hours of brainstorming and draining my best malts, we'd managed to ascertain that our suspect was a white male with large fangs and a hatred of women, which probably meant a previous criminal record. He probably lived locally since he'd been on foot when he approached the girls and also when making his escape. It was possible that he traveled by bus, but not likely since he'd have been spattered in blood and therefore rather conspicuous. In short we had nothing that a reasonable intelligent pair of chimps couldn't have figured out on a fag break, and we were a long way from picking up any kind of scent.
“What kind of city is it where we can't immediately find a nut-case with vampire teeth and a complete lack of self control?”
“They should use that in the tourist literature. Half the problem is that CID haven't released a full description, just white male with sharp nails who likes to bite.”
“Where would you get teeth like that?”
“You can buy fangs in several of the fetish shops down in Hockley, you just use a soft dental putty to hold them in place and then take them out when you're done .... hang on.”
“What?”
“I've just realized something important.”
“That you're exceptionally drunk?”
“Yes, but it's about the teeth too. Wait there.” I get to my feet a little unsteadily, remembering that neither of us has eaten anything to soak up the drink, and head for my bedroom drawers. I retrieve the small leather case, opening it up and applying small amounts of adhesive from the tube to the perfect white fangs inside. I slip them into place over the top of my own incisors, re-entering the lounge; Marcus' expression is unreadable in the low light.
“Watch.” I bite into my own arm, steadily applying pressure until eventually the veneers shift out of place.
“See? The skin's not broken. These are the sort of thing that you can buy for playing at vampires, but they're decorative. No use if you genuinely want to bite someone with them unless you can get a much stronger adhesive.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It tells us that our guy isn't playing at this, he's either sharpened his own teeth with a file or had cosmetic dentistry to enhance the size and shape of his teeth. Since we know that he's been described as having large fangs I'd guess at the latter, filed teeth would be smaller. We've got a starting point.”
“That's wonderful. Just one question though.”
“What?”
“What about you?”
“I just go to lots of fancy dress parties.”
Chapter 5
I drive a metallic black Skoda Octavia VRs with black alloys and tinted windows. What can I say? I'm secretive but not always subtle. It handles well, is more than fast enough for my needs, and I don't really give a shit what jokes people still like to tell. Ghost sits up in front, hanging his head out of the passenger side window and allowing the wind to whip his ears and jowls around, his eyes closed in a state of doggy bliss.
“Stop drooling down the side of the car you mutt. I'll end up having to clean that off later.”
He ignores me, nose twitching with the thousands of deliciously interesting aromas that are carried past on the breeze.
“You're starting to smell again, hound, I can feel a bath coming on for you soon.”
He pulls his head back in to give me a dirty look, then closes his eyes and sticks it back out of the window to resume his sniffing.
With Marcus having finally left in the early hours to go and sleep off the rest of his hangover, and plenty of time on my hands, I'd decided to take a short trip out into the countryside to let Ghost stretch his legs and to blow away a few cobwebs. As the cityscape gives way to fields and trees, the dog soon cottons on and starts to make the soft urgent squeaking sounds that signal his growing excitement.
I step on the accelerator now that the traffic is sparse, enjoying the low roar of the engine and the invisible shove that presses me back into my seat. My thou
ghts are flitting on autopilot. D.I Karen Cobb, what was all that about? I know flirting when I see it, and I know how useful she would be as an ally too. Have I said too much to Marcus? Do I actually care?
I imagine how Karen would feel beneath me, stripped literally and figuratively; can't help but think about how she would carry the delicate scent of that familiar perfume that wafts around as she moves, would she taste of the same subtle sweet musk?
I fidget in my seat, aroused. It's been a while since I had sex with anybody at all, and I've grown accustomed to using the false intimacy of vampire meets as a substitute for the act instead. I resolve to put the situation right as soon as possible. Perhaps me and Karen could settle down together, vampire and vampire hunter in perfect matrimonial bliss; could I just drink a little of your blood from time to time darling? It's just a small idiosyncrasy of mine. Then again, perhaps not.
We reach our destination, and I slip a lead over the dog's head in an attempt to stop him from climbing all over me in his haste to exit the car. The area is heavily forested, mainly pines that make the air sap heavy and fragrant, with miles of forestry commission footpaths for joggers, dog-walkers and exhibitionists to use. It is breathtakingly beautiful, meditatively quiet, with only the occasional sounds of birdsong and the snapping of twigs to spoil the quiet, but I'm not here for the view or the possibility of naked company, this place has other significance for me.
I allow Ghost to slip his lead as soon as we're away from the car park, and he sets off in pursuit of a lone squirrel crossing the path up ahead. The dog is swift and silent when hunting, but not wily enough to catch the wiry squirrels that live here, who grow up learning to evade passing dogs of every variety. The squirrel chatters loudly at him once lodged safely up a tree, rebuking or taunting, it's hard to tell which, then self-consciously grooming itself in a shard of sunlight that pokes through the foliage.