Absolution - The First Book Of The Vampire Immortalis Trilogy (8 page)

“Jim Scott's death becomes more interesting by the day. He left Monte Cassino with friends shortly after 10.40pm on Saturday the 9th of October. CCTV has him walking alone down the High Street at 10.46pm and there's no suggestion of him being followed. He is presumed to have been walking in the direction of High Cross Avenue and his home in Darnick.

“It has also now been confirmed that the blood found at the public toilets in Abbey Street is that of Jim Scott. He must have taken quite a beating in one of the cubicles because his blood was splattered all over the walls and on the toilet itself. Forensics found traces of the disinfectant used in the toilets in his hair and on his body and it's likely that his head was repeatedly forced into the toilet basin.

“There is no suggestion of Scott being injured in any of the CCTV images we have, so that places him in the toilets at some point after 10.46pm and almost certainly before midnight, but there is also no footage of him having returned to the town centre. The cameras on Abbey Street haven't been working for several months, unfortunately, so we have no footage of comings and goings at the toilets. We still have no idea how Scott got to the toilets or how he got from the toilets to the rugby pitch on High Cross Avenue. He apparently did both without being picked up by any of the cameras in town.”

“Somebody must have seen something,” said Buchan. “The lack of any blood trail between the two crime scenes suggests he was being transported in a vehicle. I want CCTV footage from the High Street looked at again for any vehicles coming out of Abbey Street from eleven at night onwards. Has anybody got anything else to add?”

Detective Constable Tony Craig raised his hand. Tony was the token geek on the case and was in charge of making sure all the information regarding the murders found its way into the computer system. His party trick was retrieving deleted text messages from mobile phones.

“Yes, Tony?”

“This may or may not be relevant, but I've been looking on the Net for similar cases involving vampires...”

Murmurs of laughter accompanied what Tony was saying until Buchan told everyone to be quiet. “This better be good, Tony.”

“Well, it's just that there have been a number of vampire-style murders in America and Europe that have involved people who identify themselves as goths and who practice devil worship. In 2002, two goths in Germany killed a man, believing they would achieve immortality as vampires if they drank his blood. In court, they said that they had learned about vampires and Satan during holidays to Scotland.”

“Whereabouts in Scotland?” asked Buchan.

“That I don't know, but I'm in touch with the Kriminalpolizei in North Rhine-Westphalia in the hope that they can give me the specifics.”

“There are a few goths in Melrose,” said Jane Carver, “but they are just kids.”

“Kids or not, I want to know everything about them,” barked Buchan. “Joe, find out if any of them are known to the uniformed officers in the town. From now on, they don't drop a sweetie wrapper without me knowing about it. They don't fart without me knowing about it.”

Vampire hunting was not as exciting as Walter Miller had thought it would be. Since arriving in Melrose yesterday, they had spent most of their time at local cemeteries, looking for any soil disturbances or anything else out of the ordinary that might indicate vampire activity. Nick Webster had been using what he claimed was a vampire detector while examining graves, but Walter thought it looked suspiciously like one of those damp meters surveyors use. Not that Walter could get a good look at it. Nick said that the handler had explicitly stated that only he, “the commanding officer”, was allowed to use it. Of course, the handler had said nothing of the sort. He hadn't even given it to Nick. It was indeed a damp meter.

After visiting the cemetery on Huntly Road, and the one on the other side of the by-pass, the two intrepid Londoners were now on their way to the abbey before it got too dark to see what its graveyard held in store for them.

Walter was complaining because one of his trainers had a hole in the sole and was letting in water. “I'll need to buy a new pair of shoes if this rain continues. My left foot is soaking.”

“Kit should be checked and double-checked before going on manoeuvres, Miller. Basic training 101. Anyway, a dose of trench foot never hurt anyone.”

As they started down the hill towards the abbey, they saw a police car pull up. Two officers got out and disappeared down an alley that ran alongside the abbey. Nick quickened his pace. “Look lively, Miller. Those two coppers look like they are on to something.”

* * *

There were only three goths in the park when the two policemen came to talk to them.

“Don't worry about that,” said the older one on seeing Muckle trying to hide a bottle of Buckfast. “We've bigger fish to fry at the moment than you and a bottle of Buckie.”

“Can I start by asking for some names please?” said the other officer, pen and notebook at the ready.

“Lisa McIntyre.”

“Michael Renton, but the ladies call me Muckle.”

The policeman taking the notes stopped writing and looked up. “Do I look like a lady to you, son?”

“No,” said Muckle. “Do I look like your son?”

“Is that your idea of funny, Michael Renton? Because I can do funny too. Like taking you home in the back of a polis car to Mummy and Daddy. Do you think they would be pleased to know you were causing a public nuisance in the town, Michael Renton?”

Muckle stayed silent.

“And you, son?” said the policeman to Liam. “What's your name?”

“Liam Cameron.”

“Right, now we know who we're talking to, can you all take a look at this photo and tell me if you've seen him before.”

“That's the guy from New Zealand that got murdered,” said Lisa, “but I never saw him in Melrose. Only on the news.”

“Same for me,” said Muckle.

“What about you, Liam?”

“Nope. Doesn't ring any bells.”

“Were any of you in this park last Saturday night?” asked the other officer.

“Aye, we were all here,” said Lisa.

“Do you know at what time?”

“From about seven until about eleven o'clock,” said Lisa.

“Did you see anyone acting suspicious that evening or hear any noises from the public toilets over there?”

“No, nothing,” said Lisa. The two boys shook their heads in agreement. Muckle was about to repeat his joke about wee Alan's dirty bomb, but thought better of it.

“And where did you go after eleven?”

“Home”, said Lisa and Liam at the same time.

“Aye, home,” added Muckle.

“Okay, that'll do for now. I'm going to give you one of these leaflets that we are handing out to members of the public regarding the two recent murders. We are asking for any information that may be of use in our investigation. There's a number on there to call. If you could show it to your friends, we'd much appreciate it.”

As the two police officers made their way back to their car, they passed Nick Webster and Walter Miller in the alleyway.

“Evening officers,” said Nick.

“Evening, gentlemen.”

“Causing a nuisance were they, the little blighters?”

One of the policeman stopped and looked directly at Nick. “No more than you, sir. No more than you.”

DCI Andrew Buchan was at his desk, looking through some paperwork, when there was a knock on his office door. “Come in.”

“Something interesting from uniforms, sir,” said DS Jane Carver. “One of the names of the teenagers they talked to earlier this afternoon, Liam Cameron. Eighteen year old male, one of the goths who hangs around the park by the abbey in the evenings. They ran a routine check and he's in the system. In March of this year he was issued with a Fixed Penalty Notice for malicious mischief. He was caught spray painting graffiti on the wall of the old train station. The graffiti was satanic in nature.”

“Right. Bring the lad in for questioning,” said Buchan.

Peter Cameron was looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. The sore on his neck now resembled a large mouth ulcer and there were now two other swollen lumps just below it. He wasn't in any real pain, but he felt under the weather and there were the spells of feeling cold, even when in the house with the heating on. Just as worrying as the lumps, he was unable to remember what he had been doing for the best part of a week. Hours at a time were a complete blank. He had been drinking heavily recently, but he had never experienced memory blackouts like this before. Even after being paralytic with drink, he normally remembered at least something of what he had been doing.

Now he was hearing the voice inside his head again. The voice that rarely gave him a moment's peace.
The Lord shall smite thee with a consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee until thou perish.

“Shut up!” shouted Peter at his face in the mirror. “Please, shut up!”

Adam stood outside the Simply Delicious cafe and watched as Liam was led to the police car by a policeman and policewoman. Muckle, David and Lisa, stood and watched as their friend was driven away.

“What's up with Liam?” Adam asked after joining the three goths on the other side of the street.

“They say they want to ask him some questions down at the police station regarding the murders,” said a worried-looking Lisa.

“Liam will be fine,” said Muckle, putting a comforting arm around her. “It's not the first time he's had tea and biscuits at the cop shop.”

“Should we tell his Dad?” asked Lisa.

“Better no',” replied Muckle. “The police will soon realise he has nothing to do with what's been going on and will have him home before old man Cameron even notices.”

“Was he arrested?” asked Adam.

“No. They just asked him to come to the station to help with their inquiries and he went voluntarily,” said Muckle. “He'll be out in no time, you'll see.”

Adam wasn't so sure, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He was still no closer to finding the Hundeprest, but one thing was for certain. Liam was as close as he had got so far.

* * *

The grass in the abbey graveyard had been soaking wet and now Walter's shoe was making a squelching noise as he walked. They had drawn another blank and had decided to head back to the hotel. As they were coming out of the abbey, they saw a teenager being led to a police car. They stood and watched as the teenager was put in the back seat and driven off up the hill.

“'Ere we go,” said Nick. “I told you those goths looked suspect. Now one's being carted away by the Old Bill.”

“Could be anything though, Nick. You know what kids are like these...”

“Bloody hell,” said Nick, no longer listening to his partner. “I don't believe it. It can't be.”

“What is it Nick?”

Nick dug deep into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. On it was an artist's impression of a man's face, together with a description of a vampire said to be responsible for the deaths and disappearances of dozens of Battalion Sabbatarians in the United States, Canada and Mexico. At the bottom it said that there was a ten million dollar reward for information leading to his capture or destruction. “That bloke talking to them. It looks like Adam McLeod.”

Walter took the piece of paper and looked at it closely. He then stared at the man standing with the two goths. He certainly bore a close resemblance to the Adam McLeod on the piece of paper, at least from this distance, but why would he be in Melrose of all places, talking to goths?

Nick didn't even need to look at the face on the paper. He had it etched on his mind. He had looked at it countless times, fantasising about being the one who brought the mighty Adam McLeod to justice. He would go down in vampire-slaying history if he did that, not to mention rich beyond his wildest dreams. Finding Adam McLeod was like holding a winning lottery ticket.

Nick started walking quickly towards Adam McLeod, his hand in his pocket fondling his Beretta Bobcat pistol. He was now just 20 yards away from doing what countless other Sabbatarians had failed to do. 15 yards. It was definitely Adam McLeod. Ten yards. Nick's breathing was becoming heavier. Five yards. He had his finger on the trigger of the gun that was still hidden in his coat pocket. This was going to be easy. Too easy. Adam McLeod didn't know what was about to hit him.

“Don't do it, Nick!” shouted Walter who was running to catch up with his friend. He hadn't signed up for this. Not really. He thought it would be a bit of fun, a game, being a vampire hunter. He certainly didn't want to see someone die and his friend go to prison for murder.

Walter's shouting made Muckle, Lisa and Adam look at the two men coming towards them. Muckle and Lisa didn't have time to register what was going on, but Adam did. He saw a balding middle age man heading straight for him, hand in pocket, fondling what could well be a weapon.

It all happened in a blur, but if you had been able to see it in slow motion, you would have seen Adam spring forward and deliver a devastating front kick to Nick's left knee. It connected with such force that it shattered the kneecap, leaving Nick on the ground screaming blue murder. “Somebody call an ambulance,” Adam said, “I think this man's having a heart attack.” As he spoke, he ripped the gun from the man's pocket then punched him hard in the kidney, leaving him gasping for air and writhing in agony.

Muckle and Lisa were still trying to make sense of what had just happened. It all happened so quickly. One moment a man was walking towards them, the next he was collapsed on the ground and Adam had rushed to his aid. Walter too was looking on in total disbelief. Nick had been right. When the man standing over his friend looked directly at him, Walter froze momentarily like a rabbit caught in headlights and then Walter was off, running down the road in the direction of the Tweed.