Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) (29 page)

'Do
go on.' Hobbes growled softly, like a lion on the hunt. 'Where did you first
meet your most generous friend, Mr Waring? I'd love to know.'

'Uh
… Blackpool.' Tony was no longer slouching but leaning back as far as he could.

'Blackpool?'
Hobbes sounded almost amused, though his brows were still furrowed.

'Yeah.'
Tony clutched at straws. 'Blackpool. I was working on the … uh … donkeys and we
got chatting and he invited me for a beer. Yeah, that's how it was.'

'What
did you chat about?'

'Uh
… this and that.' He nodded, as if reassuring himself of the facts. 'Deckchairs
… candyfloss … seaweed. Those sorts of things I expect.'

Hobbes
snorted. 'Of course, that makes it all clear. Just one thing, when, exactly,
was this?'

'Uh
… twenty years ago.' Tony, scratching his head theatrically, screwed up his
weasely face. 'More or less.'

'So
you really have known him a long time,' said Hobbes. 'He must have been really
generous taking you for a beer, so soon after meeting you. It sounds like you
two hit it off. Good for you.' He paused, looking thoughtful. 'Though, I
suppose you actually bought the beers?'

Tony
looked confused. 'Why me? He was flush. As I remember, he'd just had a win on
the geegees and insisted on getting the beers in.'

'A
win on the geegees? How amazing,' said Hobbes. 'What a lucky lad – winning on
the geegees and then meeting you. Incredible, some might say, as he must have
been about ten years old at the time. I know modern kids grow up fast but it's
not really likely is it?'

'I
don't know. Maybe I got my sums wrong.'

'By
a decade?' Hobbes raised his eyebrows. 'D'you know what I think?'

'No.'

'I
think, you're not telling me the truth.' His eyebrows puckered into a savage
scowl. 'I would advise you to be honest. You know I like honest people.'

He
sprang with such predatory intent that it made me gasp. Tony, jerking backwards,
would have fallen had Hobbes not grabbed his shirtfront. The frightened man
clutched at Hobbes's hand as he was dragged upright, dangling, his trainers
barely scuffing the lino, his watery eyes bulging like a rabbit's with
myxomatosis as Hobbes, grinning, pulled him closer, his teeth looking as sharp
as steak knives. Tony whimpered, hanging limp like a rag doll.

'You
nearly hurt yourself,' said Hobbes. 'It's lucky I caught you. I knew a fellow
once who broke his spine falling off a chair and never walked again. Still,
such is life. Accidents can happen at any time. Now, are you ready to tell me
the truth about Philip Waring?'

Hobbes,
setting Tony's feet back onto the floor, held him up by the head. Though the
room had begun to warm up, I shivered again, because of a horrible vision of
the ratty skull, cracking like a new-laid egg, spilling its contents over the
floor. I could only imagine what was passing through Tony's mind – and hope it
wasn't Hobbes's fingers.

'Alright,'
Tony squeaked as if the words were being squeezed from him. 'I'll tell you what
I can.'

Hobbes
shoved him back into the chair. There were dents in his forehead, the size and
colour of plums.

'That's
better,' said Hobbes, quietly resuming his seat, pulling a tattered notebook
and a pencil stub from his pocket. 'Now, when did you really meet him?'

Tony
swallowed. 'Uh … about two weeks ago.'

'Go
on,' said Hobbes.

'It
was like this. I was back in town and had got myself the squat but I was broke
and on the lookout for some fast cash. Anyway, I'd got just enough for a pint
in the Feathers, so I was supping it, keeping my ears open, thinking what to do,
when this posh ponce walks in, taking off his jacket, hanging it over a stool
and ordering a single malt.'

A
slight smirk flickered across Tony's face. 'Featherlight slipped him a malt
vinegar and it didn't half make his eyes water. Anyway, when he was
spluttering, I sort of noticed his wallet was still on the bar. Taking my
chance, I grabbed it and ran. I thought I'd got away but he collared me in the
car park.'

Tony
took a sip from his mug. Hobbes sat quietly, occasionally scratching in his
notebook. I relaxed and the room grew warm and stuffy.

Tony
continued. 'I reckoned I was in for it, cos he was a fit bugger. He'd either
give me a bloody good shoeing or turn me over to you bastards, or both. He
didn't, though. He took his wallet back, said he was a reporter and offered me
twenty quid for my story, cos he was writing a piece about crime in the town.
Well, I was hardly going to turn down twenty quid, was I?'

'I
noticed,' said Hobbes, 'that you said he
was
a fit bugger. Why?'

'Well
he was a fit bugger.' Tony looked puzzled for a moment. A look of shock erupted
across his pasty face. 'Hey! I don't like what you're getting at. I've done
nothing to him. I'm not a killer. You know I'm not.'

Hobbes
snarled. 'I don't know any such thing. Billy would have been dead if I hadn't
turned up in time – and it was you who'd put him in harm's way.'

'I
never knew what she was up to. I swear I didn't – and I did help you find him,
which was why you let me off. All I knew was that the old witch was willing to
pay good money for him, cos he's so bloody small. She said a kid would've been
better, though she didn't want no kids, cos of all the fuss when one goes
missing.'

'You
didn't care what was going to happen to him,' said Hobbes. 'You sold him and
forgot about him.'

'I
never hurt him.'

'Did
you hurt Philip Waring?' He leaned towards Tony like a tiger preparing to
pounce on a tethered lamb.

'No,
not me.' Tony's face was as white as a sheep.

'So
who did?' asked Hobbes quietly, sitting back.

'No
one.' Tony looked more disconcerted by Hobbes's sudden quietness than by his
aggression.

'So,'
said Hobbes and smiled, though his unblinking gaze was merciless, 'where is
he?'

'Don't
ask me.'

'I
am asking you. Where is he? What's happened to him?'

'I
don't know. Honest.' Tony's face had taken on a greenish hue and he looked as
if he might be sick.

I
wouldn't have blamed him; I was shaking and sweating, even though it wasn't me
on the heavy, knobbly end of Hobbes's cudgel stare.

'You
can do better than that.' Hobbes was as unblinking as a cobra.

'I
can't.' Tony shook his head as if he hoped his neck would break. 'She told me
…' His eyes were wild and scared. 'I can't say.'

'Tell
me who
she
is? Does
she
know where Mr Waring is?'

The
room became very quiet. I was holding my breath and you might have heard the
proverbial pin drop if it hadn't been for the slither of Tony falling from his
chair and the dull, soggy thump as his body hit the floor. He lay still.

'He's
scared of someone,' said Hobbes.

I
nodded. He wasn't the only one.

Hobbes
stood up, poking the inert body once or twice without response, waving a
sharp-nailed finger close to Tony's throat. 'His heart's beating and he's still
breathing. He's just fainted I expect. Such a pity. I was enjoying our little
chat.'

'Who
do you think he could mean by
she
?' I asked.

He
paused thoughtfully. 'I don't know. Last time there was a
she
in his
life, apart from those unfortunate nuns, it was the wicked old witch who wanted
Billy's blood. We believe she died in the inferno when I was getting Billy out,
although there was no trace of her afterwards.'

'What
did she want his blood for?' I asked, appalled.

'We
never found out for sure, though Billy reckoned he'd heard her muttering about
a blood-bath.'

'A
blood-bath?'

Hobbes
nodded. 'She had some crazy notion it would make her young again. I've never
heard of it working, though, and it's more orthodox to use a child's blood. I'm
pretty certain it wouldn't have worked using dwarf blood.'

My
mind struggled to compute the data. 'When you said 'the wicked old witch', I
thought you just meant a nasty woman. Are you telling me she was a real witch?'

'No,
I'm not telling you. I've already told you.'

'So,
let's get this straight. There are witches in Sorenchester?'

'Not
anymore,' he said, 'unless she resurrected herself.'

'This
is too much. Witches aren't real … are they?'

'Oh,
they're real enough, they are just rare – they should be treated as an
endangered species, the genuine wicked ones that is, not the harmless ladies
and gentlemen who enjoy prancing around in their birthday suits; there's a few
of them still around and you should see Hedbury Common at mid-summer. It's an
eye opener and no mistake.'

I
shook my head, struggling to make sense of the world. It was no use.

Hobbes
stood with one foot on Tony's chest, like a big-game hunter with a trophy. 'I
can't believe,' he said, 'that the old witch is behind this. I know we found no
trace of her body, but the fire was intense. Foolishly, she'd built her house
from gingerbread. It defies all logic and it's incredibly inflammable when
mixed with brandy. It's a wonder she obtained planning permission.'

I
thought I detected a twinkle in his eye. Perhaps he was winding me up, or
perhaps not. I was becoming more and more inclined to believe the previously
unbelievable. Maybe I was gullible, yet I had seen and heard things I would
have considered incredible before meeting him. I realised, of course, that he
made jokes at my expense but I think, in part, he was using them to prepare me
for the weirdness of the world he inhabited. There were strange parallel lives being
lived all around us, if only we knew where and how to look. Yet, humans have
proved themselves adept at ignoring whatever does not fit with their simplistic
views of the way things ought to be. Or rather, humans have proved
ourselves
adept at ignoring whatever does not fit with
our
simplistic views.
Hobbes was getting to me; I hoped unhumanity wasn't catching.

'Right,'
said Hobbes. 'I suppose, we'd better drop Tony off in a cell until he feels
better.' Slinging the limp body over his shoulder, turning towards the door, he
strolled to the cells.

The
desk sergeant glanced up as we approached. 'Morning, sir. Another one fainted?
Drop him in number two and I'll keep an eye on him.'

'Thanks,
Bert,' said Hobbes. 'Right, Andy, since we won't get any more out of him for a
while, I propose having a word with Augustus Godley.'

'Who's
Augustus Godley?' My mind was blank.

'Do
keep up. He's the old churchwarden. He lives only a couple of minutes away.'

'Oh,
yes, I remember. The one who knows everything about the church. Umm … will he
know anything about Phil?'

Hobbes
shrugged. 'I doubt it. However, he does make a really good cup of tea and he's
generous with the biscuits. Now walk this way.' He turned towards the door.

If
I'd tried to walk that way I'd have done myself a mischief, so I contented
myself with my usual scurry, interspersed with bursts of jogging. Leaving the
station, turning through an alley into the bottom of Vermin Street, we crossed
into Moorend Road, where a row of impossibly cute alms-houses stood. Hobbes
held open the gate, ushering me onto the garden path of the first house. Four
steps took us to the diminutive stone porch, blotched and camouflaged with
decades of lichen and moss. Hobbes rang the bell and we waited. And waited. He
rang again.

'There's
no one in,' I said after about a minute.

'He's
coming. Just be patient.'

He
was right. A few seconds later I could hear a shuffling sound and the door
creaked open.

'Hello?'
A face, crinkled as a pickled chestnut and a similar colour, surrounded by a
fuzz of white whiskers and eyebrows, poked out. 'Hello?' he said again, peering
at us through alert blue eyes. 'Why, it's PC Hobbes.' He grinned, revealing a
mouth as free of teeth as his skin was free of smoothness. Every line on his
face was wrinkled, every fold was furrowed. 'I should say Inspector Hobbes.
Come in, my dear fellow, and bring the boy with you.'

I
glanced over my shoulder before realising he meant me. Hobbes introduced us and
I trundled after them down a gloomy stone-paved corridor that was even gloomier
when I'd pulled the door behind us. Though the house smelled musty and dusty,
Augustus was smartly dressed in a black suit, as if he was off to a funeral. After
a minute or two, and all of ten steps, he led us into a small room in which a
coal fire glowed like a small volcano. A blue budgie in a cage by the window
greeted us with a chirrup as the old man waved us towards a couple of faded velvet
armchairs.

'I
was just going to make a cup of tea,' said Augustus. 'Would you care to join
me?

'Yes
please,' said Hobbes, while I nodded hopefully.