Vampyre Dreams

ROBERT LEE

VAMPYRE DREAMS

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Robert Lee

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A RAINSTORM PUBLICATION.

Chapter 1.

The rain scythed down without mercy, the torrent washing the scattered mass of litter that covered the filthy alley floor into swirling heaps around its water choked drains.  

  Amongst the sodden piles of rubbish that had collected were strewn used hypodermics and discarded underwear, evidence of past misdeeds which had occurred here and a testament to the state of the city as a whole.   

  The moonless sky was painting the world below in thick velvet darkness, its gloom concealing the woman who walked barefoot through the alley, her feet snaking carefully between the heaps of decay that had piled up against its graffiti scrawled walls.

  Her pace was slow, her body seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold and icy water which continued to pour from above with unwavering severity.

  Her only protection against the downpour was the short black dress she was wearing, its inky material clinging tightly to her body as though tattooed onto her skin, the rain sculpting it to her elegant shape as she moved.   

  Staring skywards, she ran her slender fingers through her silky blond hair, the action rinsing away the blood that had gathered there sending rivulets of crimson cascading down her neck and arms. Unconcerned by its presence, she shook it from her fingertips and continued on her way.

  The buildings which bordered the alley loomed high above her, their lightless windows doing nothing to break the great charcoal silhouettes they cast, the creak of their rusted fire escapes making it sound as if every structure was moaning with misery at the state of its decay.

  About halfway along the alleyway the woman came to a halt, her eyes keen as she looked up and down its sprawling length to see if anyone might be watching. It was a habit borne more out of familiarity than necessity, her senses being able to detect the shallow breath of another at least fifty yards.

  All was quiet, the streets around her being as empty of life as the windows above.

  It was beneath one of these that she now positioned herself, the window’s sill sitting about twenty feet above where she stood. Unlike those around it, there was no fire escape with which to reach its height, the bolt heavy scars in the brickwork indicating where one once had been.

  Satisfied she was alone she leapt for the window, her feet landing neatly on its narrow sill with ease. Perching there for a moment, her fingers vice like as they clung to the window frame for support, she raised the rotting sash. The wood creaked its way stiffly upwards, its complaint fair on a night such as this as she slipped inside out of the foulness of the weather before closing the window behind her.         

  Now safely inside the gloom of her apartment, she crossed its sparsely furnished interior to the bathroom leaving a trail of blood tinged water on the floorboards as she went.

  The entire hotel building was rank and attracted vermin of both the animal and human kind, each of whom appeared equally welcome within its walls.

  She herself had resided here for only a few days but would soon move on again, this knowledge making the grim state of the place that little bit more bearable to her decidedly heartbroken sense of taste.

  Her apartment consisted of just two rooms. The one she’d entered was the bedroom, a title far too welcoming for a place which contained little more than an iron bedstead topped with a heavily stained mattress, its rankness hidden beneath a set of filthy sheets. Beside it stood an equally dismal chest of drawers of which only the top one opened without force.

  These facts mattered little however being that she never slept and had no possessions to store other than what she was now wearing, the apartment being rented for its anonymity, not its quality of furnishings.

  The second room was the bathroom which was decorated floor to ceiling in aged white tiles, their filth stained surfaces making them appear quite yellow like nicotine stained fingers. Its fixtures consisted of a white stone sink, above which hung a heavily cracked mirror; a toilet minus its seat, which allowed the stench of stale excrement to filter back into the room; and an old cast iron bathtub to which she now crossed.

  The building’s ancient plumbing groaned awkwardly as she twisted on the cold tap, its full flow offering little more than a sputter as she stripped off her soaking dress and dropped it into the lime ringed tub. Its removal revealed the full extent of the blood her body was concealing underneath, the scarlet ink having signed her body from neck to groin.

  Kneeling beside the bath, her heels pressing deep trenches into the soft flesh of her buttocks as she did so, she grabbed up a bar of abrasive soap which she held beneath the tap’s freezing cold stream. Coaxing a lather from it, she set to work on the coagulated bloody mess which covered her, her vigour making short work of the thick red stains.

  Once sufficiently cleansed, she rinsed herself off using a grubby wash cloth which, with a little persuasion, took the last traces of her crime with it.

  In the bathtub her dress was being swished around in lazy circles, the motion sending ringlets of bloody water spiralling away down the plug hole. Giving it a spin with her fingers, she squeezed out as much of the red flecked liquid as she could before laying it over the edge of the bath to dry. It was far from clean but it’d do for now until she could attend to it more thoroughly.

  Turning off the spluttering tap, she stood and crossed to the sink where she stared at herself in the mirror, its spider web cracks carving her reflection into a hundred shards, each one of which stared blankly back at her.

  The paleness of her skin was a sight she was used to being that she’d been dead for well over two centuries now. Her features were delicate and retained the elegance they’d possessed when she was young, their appearance having not aged a day unlike the mind behind them which was now ancient by comparison. Her eyes were pale grey, not due to the onset of death but simply because they had always been.

  Growing up she’d always thought that they radiated coldness and had wished desperately for the deep hazel tones that other women had been gifted. Now though, their colour seemed to fit the rest of her white visage as though this fate had always been intended and her eyes had been given their tint knowing this to be so.

  As she gazed at herself, a thin red trickle escaped from her hairline and ran down her brow.

  It was rare that she’d encountered a victim with such fight in them but tonight had been one such occasion.

  Twisting on the sink taps, she hung her head in the basin to further soak her already sodden hair, her fingers working their way expertly through her long blond locks removing the last of their gory contents.

  From behind her there came a sound, an announcement so soft that it barely whispered to the world but she knew that when she again looked up to check her broken reflection, his would be there behind her.

  The cool of the night, which she’d thus far resisted, finally found its way into her bones and she shivered at its touch. It had to be the cold she thought. Surely this wasn’t fear.

  It couldn’t be. Not of him.

  She’d promised herself long ago that she could never be scared of him, even though she knew why he’d come here tonight.

  Looking up, she could make out his soft, almost feminine features which were being shattered, as hers were, in the mirror’s faltering surface. He wore the same dark clothing he always had, though now they were mostly hidden beneath a long black leather coat which stretched to just below his knees. At his back was hung an elegant samurai sword though she knew this had no purpose here tonight.

  Despite the many years which had passed since last they saw each other, this meeting had not been entirely unexpected. She’d known that her recent actions would lead him to seek her out, the once rigid morality she used to pride herself on having waned to a point where she’d been unable to restore it.

  As their eyes met, he offered her the faintest of smiles which she echoed before turning from the mirror to look upon him in the flesh.

  His huge frame filled the doorway into the bathroom though he carried it with ease, never     once appearing awkward or cumbersome. His face looked as though it were being viewed through frosted glass, his soft features smoothing into each other as though they’d been sculpted from rich clay rather than flesh and bone. The long dark mane of his hair shone in the sparse light of the room as it trailed over his shoulders whilst his eyes, into which she now stared, were the deep hazel colour she’d so coveted as a child.

  ‘It’s been quite some time,’ she said softly.

  ‘Indeed it has. A shame that after my long search for you that we should meet under such wilted circumstances,’ the man replied. His voice was deep and gentle and despite the cold and her nakedness, she felt not a splinter of unease at his presence.

  ‘I knew you'd find me eventually though I feared you may send Kract,’ she said, her years spent in England having diluted her native French accent to little more than a hint now.

  ‘You deserved the dignity of seeing me in person,’ said the man. He’d been unaware that she even known of Kract though it mattered little in light of the situation.

  ‘You don’t hate me then?’ she asked.

  ‘Not at all. I tried so hard to but I never could, which makes my reason for being here all the more painful to me.’ His tone carried a genuine sadness, a sadness which was reflected in the deep brown pools of his eyes which seemed to flicker with woe as he spoke. ‘For decades I followed you hoping to find out why you cast aside what we’d shared for him. I know he’s nearby and soon I will discover the answers I seek, but not by your lips. For to hear you speak of him is poison to me. Tonight I’m here for one purpose only and for that— I am truly sorry.’

  She knew that this was no act on his part and that whatever was to follow, he would indeed be genuinely regretful for. She offered her plea nonetheless.

  ‘Must it be this way? Suppose I was to leave the city. The country.’

  ‘You know I could not now allow that Raynor.’ Her name had not passed his lips in an age and speaking it now ignited a fire in his memory, its heat threatening to consume all her wrongdoings from his mind leaving only the love he’d felt for her back when he’d first heard it spoken.

  ‘So I must die?’ she whispered.

  ‘This pains me more than you could ever imagine,’ he offered softly.

  ‘I know and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too,’ replied Raynor, her soft feet padding after him as he retreated out into the bedroom.

  ‘Have you any requests for after it is done?’ he asked.

  ‘Just leave me here for I deserve this grave of filth after what I’ve done of late.’

  A gentle nod confirmed he would respect her wishes although, as she looked around at what was soon to become her tomb, she hoped he may yet offer an alternative to leaving her for the rats and cockroaches which were already waiting nearby feast upon her corpse. 

  ‘May I have a request in the now?’ she asked, realizing no such offer was going to come.

  ‘Just a kiss. Something exquisite to send me on my way.’

  Down the long years of his life, it was only Raynor who’d ever spoken with such poetic elegance, her petal soft lips caressing every word that glided over them like silk sheets against the naked flesh of lovers.

  Slipping off his heavy coat, he allowed it to fall to the floor along with his sword as Raynor crossed to his side. They’d first met in Paris where he’d found her already separated from her life by another’s hand. Deciding that one as beautiful as her didn’t deserve to be buried away from the rest of the world, he’d brought her back and taught her the ways of their kind as they’d roamed the world together in love.

  Though she possessed incredible skills which she'd honed to perfection through her many years, both of them knew that, even with the threat of her death to spur her on, she could not escape him nor would it be dignified for her to try. Instead, she simply brushed aside the soaking hair that hung at her nape allowing him to move in close.

  He wrapped his arms around her, his palms squeezing softly at her buttocks as she in turn snaked her arms around his neck before easing his lips onto hers.

  As they kissed, she felt the power in him flowing between them, its touch chasing the cold from her body leaving only a glorious warmth which enveloped her entirely.

  Before they’d gone their separate ways, there had been so many moments of intimacy like this, everyone being passionately powerful. Never had he given his touch out of routine or some sense of duty; it’d only ever been given from the heart.

  The smoothness of her flesh against him called forth feelings he thought had been lost forever and he wept knowing that, after so many years apart, this glorious moment was to be only fleeting and heartbreakingly final.

  Despite the beautiful body it had come wrapped in, Raynor knew that it was death who now held her and she was determined to take all she could from this, their final embrace.    

  Pulling him in tightly, she coiled one leg around his back. Clasping it behind the knee, he drew her in closer so that she could feel the growing stiffness at his groin. She ground her pelvis against it in rhythmic circles, her breathing becoming ever shallower as he lifted her from the floor allowing her to wrap both legs tightly around him.

 Riding his palms around under her bottom he held her firmly, her body feeling as light as a feather to him as they continued with their passions.

  Raynor knew that whatever she could muster would not now distract him from the task he had come to carry out and so, with her euphoria high, she broke the frenzy of their kiss and lolled her head over to one side allowing him into her neck.

  Needing no such invitation, his tender lips began to meander their way downwards in a carpet of bitter sweet kisses.

  As he worked, Raynor gripped tightly onto his hair willing him to get it over with in case the excitement she was feeling were to give way to fear.

  His mouth broke contact with her flesh for the briefest of moments, an act she knew only too well from her own experiences. The time would allow for his incisors to stretch forth from their confines, their ends narrowing to dagger sharp points.   

  ‘Goodbye my love,’ she sighed as the reality of the moment finally struck her, its brutal caress bringing streams of tears to her eyes.

   ‘Goodbye Raynor,’ said the man softly before plunging his distended teeth deep into the soft tissue of her neck. The pain hit immediately, its sting making her cry out as he bit into her hard knowing that the sudden release of pressure as he drank would make her pass out. After two hundred and fifty years he knew how to make this act swift for his victims though he swore, in this moment, that he would never count her among them.

  The fierceness of her grip on his hair quickly weakened before failing completely as she slumped forwards against him, dead once more though this time it was his hands that bore the guilt. He held her close making sure he’d drained every last drop of blood, Raynor’s age and ability giving her a resilience to death which he knew could cheat the reaper if just the slightest wisp of life remained.

  He’d never been afraid to cry counting it as a blessing that, even after all of his time as a Vampyre, he still possessed his humanity. With Raynor lying limp in his arms, the tears came in an unrelenting flood.

  He would not leave her for the starving rats as she’d requested. He knew that even as she’d asked him she hadn’t wished this as her fate. Instead, he laid her carefully on the bed before dressing her in the still soaking dress that hung from her bathtub.

  Even in death she was radiant, forcing him to bury the urge to once again take her up in his arms and attempt to restore the life he’d taken just moments earlier.  

  Placing her hands together across her chest, he brushed a few moist strands of hair away from her face and neck, his heavy tears continuing to blur her beauty from his vision.

  The worn white door of the apartment opened with the same groaning complaint as the window had as he pulled it wide before flicking on the bedroom light. The single bare bulb buzzed angrily at being woken from its dust covered slumber as its dull light chased away the shadows to reveal just what a tragedy the whole place was.

  Around the room the rot heavy floorboards had broken away from their joists leaving treacherous holes, the walls bearing similar disfigurements where the paintwork had peeled away with damp making them appear mottled like rancid flesh.

  He pitied Raynor knowing that in the time they’d shared together, they’d graced some of the finest hotels in the world and that it was her desire to follow another which had led her to this hovel.

  Gazing at her one last time, he kissed her gently on the forehead before leaving by the window outside of which the sky still cried for them.

  With the light on and the door open she’d be discovered quickly he hoped. She wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of being found days, maybe weeks later after the rats and roaches had had their fill of her beautiful body.

  The thought provided little comfort to him as he dropped into the alleyway and returned to the city streets, the still pounding rain failing to wash away the unimaginable sin he’d committed just moments earlier.     

Chapter 2.

The telephone rang out through the silence of the early hours in a tone demanding that it be answered.

  Detective Robert Park awoke from his slumber and checked his bedside clock, its luminescent green digits reading three fourteen in the morning. Wearily he grabbed up the receiver and mumbled a half-hearted greeting.

  ‘Bob it’s Mike,’ said the voice on the other end, his partner sounding far too perky for Robert’s liking.

  ‘It’s after three Mike this better be fucking important,’ he replied, his tone venomously quiet so as not to wake his wife who remained sleeping by his side.

  ‘I’m sorry but this couldn’t wait. We’ve just found number eleven,’ said Mike.

  ‘Same as the rest?’ asked Robert, his tone losing its spike in light of the news.

  ‘Seems to be so far. Male, middle aged, discovered on waste ground behind an office complex.’    Robert took a moment to take in what he was being told before replying.

  ‘Alright. I’ll throw on some clothes. Send a car for me and have the driver me fill in on the specifics. I’ll meet you there.’

  Mike assured him he’d do as instructed and with that, the phone went dead. Robert listened to the buzz of the dialling tone for a moment before replacing the receiver and flopping his head down onto his pillows, their comfort feeling all the more welcoming now that he had to leave them.

  ‘Who was that Bobby?’ asked his wife who’d managed to sleep through the ringing and talking only to be woken by the plastic on plastic of the telephone being placed down.

  ‘It’s work. I gotta go. Another murder,’ he slurred, his lack of sleep and the half bottle of bourbon he’d consumed before coming to bed slowing his tongue.

  Kate Park propped herself upright against the bed head as her husband rubbed the tiredness from his clammy face with the heels of his hands.

  ‘I wish you’d get out of this job Bob. You know it frightens me, you having to deal with these sorts of things at all hours of the day and night. It’s not good for you at your age,’ she said, her twenty year youth over her husband making her much more alert at this time in the morning.

  ‘Well I tried pleading with all the local murderers to keep nine to five hours but they just aren’t listening to me. Besides, you know all I ever wanted to be was a cop. Anyway—’ he said turning to face her, ‘Five short years and that’s it. I’ll be a free man and we can go do whatever you want us to. See the whole world and all that.’

  He offered her a weary smile, the token failing to allay her fears as she pleaded with him to keep safe, her hand stroking his grey flecked receding hairline as she did so. Giving her his promise, he pulled back the bed clothes and hauled his less than slender fifty three year old frame from their cotton confines to dress.

It was a little after three thirty when the police car pulled up outside the Park residence. The young officer at the wheel was about to get out and knock when the front door opened and Robert emerged wearing a crumpled suit and overcoat munching on a hurriedly made sandwich.

  ‘Good morning sir, I’m Green.’ said his immaculately uniformed driver, his delivery military  in style as Robert trotted down his garden path before climbing into the car beside him.

  ‘Morning yes. Good? Not in the slightest,’ he said, his comment making the younger man snigger a little as they quietly drove out of the estate leaving the rest of its residents to enjoy their slumber.

  ‘What have we got?’ asked Park as another huge bite of the cheese and pickle he was clutching disappeared down his gullet.

  ‘Male about forty years old, six feet tall, brown hair and well dressed. Found on waste ground at the back of Robertson’s Gate, that new office complex south of the bridge. Same two puncture marks on the neck and none of his personal possessions have been taken. He had nearly five hundred in cash in his wallet and a diamond encrusted Breitling on his wrist, all left untouched.’

  ‘Any witnesses?’ asked Robert, his jaw continuing to chew mechanically between sentences as his mind began whirring into motion with the myriad of possible scenarios that could’ve lead to the man’s death.

  ‘Not as yet but we’re checking the offices. He was working late and left about one-ish so it’s conceivable that some other staff left with him or at least saw him go. Forensics had just arrived when I left sir.’

  The young officer paused to take a breath between his well-rehearsed statements, his delivery coming like that of a soldier addressing his sergeant major.

  ‘Who found the body?’ Robert asked, the fresh air and his sandwich quickly sobering him up as he tried to absorb every detail he was being told so that he’d be up to speed when they arrived.

  ‘Just some homeless guy. He was looking for a place to crash for the night and came across our man. He reported it at the offices and someone there called us in sir.’

  Robert nodded appreciatively at the rookie’s level of information, the few words of praise he offered making Officer Green beam from ear to ear, his body wishing it had a tail that it could wag in gratitude.

  ‘Thank you,’ he fawned. ‘I’m hoping if I knuckle down then I’ll one day be where you’re sitting,’ he said giddily as though he were about to ask for Robert’s autograph.

  ‘In five years time you can have this job with my blessing,’ replied Park without a sliver of mockery.

  ‘You’ll be retiring sir?’ asked Green.

  ‘That’s the plan. The job’s so different now from what is was when I first started. And I’ve seen far too much unpleasantness of late to stay. When I first became a cop, I couldn’t believe the things that people did to each other. The horrors one person could inflict on another. Over time though, you just learn to accept that that’s the way things are and you become— immune to it I guess. Just lately though, that feeling of disbelief has come back. The knowledge that there is true evil in the world and that sometimes there’s just nothing you can do to stop it. But on the plus side, at least nowadays I can eat before heading to a crime scene without any fear of it reappearing,’ he said before taking another monster bite of his all but devoured sandwich.

  His words made Officer Green laugh once again as they continued on through the grave quiet streets, arriving at their destination a few short minutes later.

The car park at the base of Robertson’s Gate contained a plethora of high class motors which Robert doubted had come from years of hard graft like he’d done, Green finding a space between two gleaming examples in which to park.

  In amongst the money were at least a dozen police cars and vans of different descriptions, the coroner's ambulance also being in attendance ready to carry the body away in a quiet dignified manner before it would be dissected into chunks to try and unlock its secrets.

  The building was brand new and this was the first time Robert had seen it up close.

  Robertson’s Gate stood as fifteen stories of smoked glass plaited together with polished steel all of which had been named after the ego that had designed it.

  Although it had already fulfilled its promise to bring more business to the area, Robert thought it a bland work by an unimaginative architect, its clean angular lines lacking the soul that the older buildings in the area possessed. To him it looked little more than a giant refrigerator, the immaculate foliage and flowers in the car park’s planters being the only thing that appeared pleasing to his eye.

  Its development had been mostly funded by local government and was part of a long term strategy to try and improve economic growth in the area. Although the local council saw the offices completion as a step in the right direction, Robert knew exactly what it really signified.        All that glass and steel was little more than a shiny new pacemaker sewn into the chest of an already dead city. To his mind, it would’ve been better to let the place rest in peace rather than try to resurrect what had already long since rotted beyond saving.      

  With his scathing appraisal complete, he and Green exited the car and walked quickly in through the building’s well lit atrium. Traipsing along its pastel coloured corridors, the pair were bombarded with hits of vivid colour from the many abstract pictures which lined them, their forms appearing ghastly to the artist in Robert as they hurried along before emerging out of the glass double doors at the building’s rear.

  The rough ground that lay before them spread out into the gloom of the distance, its surface being smattered with a small army of police all going about their various duties, each one being illuminated by flashlight.

  In the centre of all the activity lay what was to be their destination, the fifteen foot square white tent lit by a bank of spotlights powered by a chugging petrol generator. It was surrounded by yet more officers who seemed to be working more feverishly than those scattered further away, their proximity to the epicentre of the crime seemingly demanding it.

  This whole area was soon to become a vast tranquil garden once the last little details of the office’s main building were completed, but for now, at least, it remained a place for people to dump that which they were too lazy to covet.

  As Robert and Green headed across the filth strewn uneven earth towards the tent, Mike Young emerged from its interior.

  As always, he looked sickeningly well turned out as though he’d come here straight from a cocktail party, the stylish clothes he was wearing matching his handsome face and strong physique perfectly.

  ‘Hey Robert,’ he said upon seeing his boss, his tone still too irritatingly awake for Park’s weary head as he ran over to greet him, his superior buoyancy coming from being twenty five years Robert’s junior and more importantly, stone cold sober.

  ‘Mike. We got anything new?’ Park asked.

  ‘Not as yet. There’s about twenty or so people still working in the offices and we’re getting statements from all of them now. Charlie’s team is inside with the victim. They’re nearly done from what I understand.’ His report given, he led them back down the gentle slope of a hill towards the tent allowing Robert to see the full extent of the police presence there.

  Three dozen flashlights flickered back and forth as they searched every inch of the mud and earth for anything that might prove useful, a long and drawn out process due to the sheer size of the waste ground. Robert guessed it stretched over about half a square mile, every inch of which was littered with everything from old shopping trolleys and piles of bagged up rubbish, to the odd burnt out car which had been stolen and dumped here.

  As the trio neared their destination, Robert thanked Officer Green and dismissed him sending him peeling off to assist his colleagues as they continued to trawl through the dirt. Most were on foot fanning steadily outwards from the tented off area whilst the ones closer to it crawled inches at a time on their knees, the hope being that their near stationary persistence would pay evidentiary dividends.

  Reaching the tent, Mike placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder halting his entrance.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked, Robert answering that he had. ‘Not wise,’ said Mike, his head shaking a little as he did so.

  ‘Surely you know me by now,’ said Robert with a wry smile.

  ‘Yeah. The stomach of a cow and a face to match!’ Mike offered.

  ‘Get inside before I double the body count!’ Park growled mockingly making both of them laugh as they pulled aside the plastic flaps that covered the entrance and stepped through.

  Inside the tent’s well lit square confines were a team of five men all decked out in white overalls, particle masks and gloves.

  Three of them were searching the area close to the body which had been covered over with a sheet and had had plastic bags taped around either wrist to preserve any evidence the hands or fingernails might contain. Every particle of muck was either being swabbed, sprayed or collected to be bagged up for further analysis once they were in more sanitary conditions.

  The two remaining men were stood by the entrance, one of them fiddling with a stubborn camera whilst the other waited impatiently.   

  After a few painfully drawn out seconds, the camera bearer suddenly broke a smile from behind his mask as the flash on his device could be heard increasing in pitch as it charged.

  ‘It’s ready,’ he said triumphantly to the man stood next to him whose attention had already passed onto the tent’s newest arrivals.

  ‘Morning Bob. Hope this isn’t too late for you because I know how you like to be up early to get into your Sunday best,’ joked Charlie, his comment aimed squarely at Park’s scruffy attire.

  Charlie Suttle had been on the force for an eternity as far as his colleagues were concerned and was well liked by all of them, especially so by Robert. He reminded him very much of his father, his lively features and mischievous grin beaming out from behind his thatch of neatly trimmed grey whiskers.

  Suttle’s comment drew Robert’s eye down over his clothing for the first time since dressing, his creased shirt and twisted tie a result of his speedy exit from home. Rubbing his palms pointlessly across the rumpled garments he tried to think of a clever retort to Charlie's put down.

  ‘Everyone’s a fucking comedian this morning,’ he said, his lack of snappy wit disappointing him somewhat. Suttle laughed nonetheless before removing his mask and gesturing towards the body.

  ‘Well this guy was no comedian. He was one Harry Thomas, unmarried, thirty eight and a financial advisor over in the Gate. He was heading home after a double shift when this happened. Just goes to show how hard work can be murder,’ said Charlie, Robert avoiding the urge to respond to the humour. All he wanted right now were the facts surrounding the death and nothing more.

  Crouching beside the body, Charlie pulled back the sheet to reveal its gory contents.

  Harry was lying face down in the muck which had coated his immaculate suit, the evening’s earlier rainfall reducing its dark navy and thin pin stripes to just a sticky mass of earth and litter. On the right side of his neck could be seen two deep puncture wounds about an inch and a half apart.

  Taking a small scale from his pocket, Charlie laid it beside the injury as the camera bearer moved in and began snapping away feverishly, Suttle pointing with the blunt end of his pen at the key places he wanted recording.

  Between each shot, the camera’s flash took a while to charge, its pitch screaming that Robert look at what it was about to capture in order to prevent it from ever occurring again.

  Once satisfied that everything had been sufficiently shot, Charlie and the cameraman carefully rolled the body over onto his back as Mike and Robert looked on in a contemplative silence.

  Harry’s front was even more of a disgrace than his back, his pristine white shirt being soaked with blood from his neck down as far as his groin. His eyes were frozen open in fear, the killer no doubt being captured in them before his death.

  The rest of his features, including his pain twisted mouth, were also spattered with blood which had mixed with the filth and dirt from the ground he’d collapsed onto.

  Though the other victims in this series bore the same marks on the neck, none had so far displayed the wasted blood that Harry’s three figure silk shirt now held.

   ‘Looks like our Vampyre’s getting sloppy,’ teased Mike as Charlie’s photographer once again began shooting his macabre portfolio.

  ‘Vampyre my arse. I keep telling you It’s just another sicko who’s seen too many movies,’ spat Robert who’d become bored with the Vampyre theories as soon as they’d sprung up. To him they lessened the tragedy of these events in his fellow officer’s minds, filling them instead with pointless flights of fancy. As far as he was concerned this was just another criminal trying to make a name for himself by tearing people up. 

  ‘He is getting sloppy though,’ said Suttle coming to Mike’s defence. ‘Look at the knuckles.’

  The pair peered down at Harry’s hands through the clear plastic bags that contained them.   

  Several deep grazes were clearly visible on his upper fingers and bloody slivers of what looked like skin had been caught beneath his immaculately manicured nails.

  ‘Old Harry put up quite a fight by the looks of things. We’ll get the usual swabs and scrapings and hopefully turn up something useful.’

  ‘Any idea what the weapon is yet?’ asked Robert as he gazed closely at the puncture wounds on Harry’s neck.

  ‘Teeth,’ said Suttle flatly causing Mike to burst into laughter which he quickly choked back seeing his boss’s disapproval.

  ‘I’m serious Robert. Like I’ve told you countless times before, the puncture wounds display all the characteristics of pointed teeth. The distance between the marks are all consistent and there’s the traces of saliva.’

  ‘Yeah but you’ve also said that the depth of the wounds on the previous victims is about an inch to an inch and a half. So unless our killer is a fucking python or something, I don’t think we’re looking at teeth as a weapon. I’ve told you both before it’ll be some nut who thinks he’s something special by drinking the blood of his victims. That doesn’t make him a Vampyre anymore than bathing in his own shit makes him a pig so let’s just drop it!’ spat Robert who was rapidly losing his patience with the Charlie and Mike double act.

  Suttle responded by getting straight back to business. ‘What I do know is, as with all the others, there’s a substantial blood loss. Far more than what’s down his clothing and there’s no trace of it anywhere around the body. It’s likely he was killed elsewhere and dumped here.’

  ‘Could it be on his attacker?’ asked Mike, his manner following Charlie’s and reverting back to cold professionalism.

  ‘Doubtful with the amount that’s missing. They’d be so drenched you could literally wring them out,’ replied Suttle whilst simultaneously shaking his head.  

  ‘So it there anything else you can tell us at this point?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Not until we get Harry here back for more tests but I surmise that he’ll be the same as all of the others. Cause of death probably being exsanguination with no DNA match on the saliva. The material under his nails is encouraging though.’

  Robert lolled down his head, the combination of tiredness and dead end disappointment making it simply too weighty to hold up.

  ‘As soon as you’re finished get him bagged up and out of here. I want anything you find as soon as you find it you understand? I’ll be at the station all day,’ he said as Suttle sent one of his team out to collect the coroner who was still waiting patiently in the car park for his cold fleshy prize.

  Robert and Mike said their goodbyes to Charlie and exited shortly after his messenger, the cool night air outside immediately kicking Robert’s mind into high gear.

  ‘Okay this is what I want. Send units knocking on every door within a mile radius of this site. I want every statement on my desk by dinnertime. Keep this lot here and have them search for as long as there’s daylight tomorrow. After that, if they need more time then get some more lighting organized ‘cause they can’t work properly by torchlight. I want to know where that blood went Mike. You’re going to go to Harry’s house and find out from his neighbours everything you can about him. Girlfriends, boyfriends, pets, inflatables, everything.’

  As the pair strode purposefully back towards Robertson’s Gate, Mike replayed every word his senior was saying to him over in his mind to ensure clarity before assuring him he’d be straight onto it in the morning.

  ‘No now, while it’s all fresh in everybody’s minds. If you have to wake people then wake them. We’re up so they can be too. I’m off to the station to go over the other case files one more time,’ said Park sternly.

  ‘You’ve been over them a hundred times already,’ protested Mike, annoyed that the smart shoes which bottomed off his designer suit were getting caked in filth as they paced.

  ‘Well once more won’t kill me then will it?’ Robert barked. ‘If these murders continue at this rate then sooner or later they might wind up with someone you care about getting hurt. Did you ever think about that?’ he said, his anger at being questioned brimming over. Mike had heard this sermon many times before and knew exactly where it was coming from.

  ‘So this is about Taylor is it?’

   ‘It’s got nothing to do with Taylor!’ growled Park before apologising immediately.

  Though several years had passed since that day, the memory was still fresh enough in his mind to offer him the taste of tears on his cheeks and scent the blood on his hands.

  ‘I’ll get things organized and meet you back at the station then,’ said Mike quietly, his hand squeezing Robert firmly on the shoulder. Robert thanked him for his cooperation and understanding before Mike left to give the myriad of searching police officers their new instructions.

  Charlie and the three remaining members of his team now emerged from the tent having completed all that could be done on site. Between them they carried a stretcher which ferried the body of Harry Thomas wrapped in his new black rubber cocoon at a steady pace back towards Robertson’s Gate.

  ‘We’re all done here,’ said Suttle as he passed Robert who gave only the briefest acknowledgment in return, the seed Mike had planted in his mind having now grown into the grim tableau of Taylor’s graveside.

  Seeing that Robert was now alone, Officer Green trotted over to offer his services once more, his desire to impress being fired up again by Robert who requested that he give him a ride back to the station. Green agreed before quickly scurrying off to warm up the car as Suttle and his team reached the glaring glass rear of the office block.

  Being free of the burden they carried, Green reached the doors slightly ahead of them and held them ajar to allow the men to pass through. As they entered, Robert’s thoughts suddenly snapped back into the now. Calling after the group to stop, he ran as fast as his heavy frame would allow over the uneven ground to catch up to them.

  ‘What’s up Bob?’ asked Charlie, his arms already achingly tired from the weight they carried.

  ‘You can’t go through there,’ puffed Robert, the few meagre yards he’d run already telling on his paunchy body.

  ‘Why not? We’re a damn sight cleaner than you are,’ said Suttle waving his free hand down over his immaculate white overalls to emphasize the point.

  ‘It’s not that. Harry’s colleagues are still in there being questioned and are probably still very