'There's someone here to see you, Mr Cutler. Name of McNair. I suggested he make an appointment, but he said he'd rather wait, it being his lunch break an' all.' Matthew said, imitating Tom McNair's accent. He clearly didn't approve. 'I could tell him to leave.'
So Tom was back? Interesting. 'No, it's fine. Show him in.' I said and readjusted my tie.
'Mr McNair. Tom. What can I do for you?'
He was standing in the doorway, hesitating. I could see the outline of a wooden stake under his smudgy coat, but he didn't look threatening. I shook his hand, sticky with something greasy, and offered him a seat. He sat down.
'I hope it's convenient for you, Mr Cutler. I can understand if it's not, you being a busy man and all.'
'Don't worry. You're here now, aren't you?' I looked at my watch. 'I've got a client in half an hour. So consider this my lunch break.' I smiled.
'Yeah, mine too. That's why I brought these. He took two Styrofoam boxes from his bag, and handed me one. 'It's this week's special. Cheese and jalapeno burger.'
'Thank you.' I said. I wasn't hungry. 'Now, what is it you've come to see me about?' I said, and placed the box on my desktop. 'Coffee?' He preferred tea. I pushed a button on the intercom and asked Matthew to get me a double espresso and a tea.
Tom took a letter from his pocket. There were grease stains on the envelope. 'It's from the letting agency. The house was let to George and Nina. They say I'm not supposed to live there. But I pay the rent. Can they do that? We, I mean I, really need this place. It's my home.' He handed me the letter.
Carefully I took a bite from the burger. It wasn't half as bad as I'd expected. 'Good, eh?' Tom said proudly. I nodded, scanned the letter and gave him a stern look. 'Well?' he said.
'This is nothing to worry about, Thomas. They clearly don't approve of subletting, but I think I'll be able to persuade them to change the tenancy agreement, so that it's in your name. Do you have a passport or other identity card?' He shook his head.
'Right. I'll take care of that too. Don't worry.' I said and opened the door for him.
'Thank you, Mr Cutler.' He said, genuinely grateful. 'What do I owe you?'
'I told you it's my lunch break, didn't I? It's fine. You don't have to pay me for such a small favour.'
He shook my hand vigorously. 'Thanks, Mr Cutler, if there's owt I can do for you, just let me know.'
I smiled. 'I'll make sure I'll remember that, Tom.'
'What did he want?' Matthew asked.
'Client confidentiality, Matthew. You should know that by now.' I said sharply.
'Don't expect him to pay.' He said defiantly.
'One way or another, Matthew, my clients always pay.' I said.
'What do you want me to do?' Dai Jenkins asked. We were standing in the dim light of the long closed Crystal Palace. The club was stripped of furniture, curtains and floor covering, and our voices sounded hollow in the empty space.
I opened my briefcase and took out the contracts. 'Sign these. Here –' I showed him. '- and here. Now don't forget to read the small print.'
He hesitated and looked at his watch. 'I'm sure it's alright.' He said.
'It's your choice. I suppose I could leave the papers here, and come back tomorrow to collect them.' I suggested. It was a gamble. I didn't want him to actually read the documents.
It worked. 'Nah.' He said. 'It's fine. Here you go. But no complaints about the leaking pipes in the cellar. And your client will have to sort out the fire regulations himself.'
'No problem. He will be very pleased.' I swept the papers into my briefcase and shook his hand. 'It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Jenkins.' My client now owned his derelict club. At least that's what I made Dai Jenkins think.
He was very different from his son Dewi, I thought as I walked back to my office. Hal would be proud. Well, he would have been if he'd still be alive. I could picture him smiling at my news. 'Clever Cutler. Always scheming to please me without getting your hands dirty.' I could even imagine the slight contempt I'd learned to put up with. I loosened my tie, so I could breathe.
The old freezer at Stoker's wasn't reliable, I discovered when I went there to collect Doctor Wilson's body. The room was lukewarm and Wilson was rapidly decomposing. I should have got rid of her body earlier, but there hadn't been time and it was a job I'd gladly postponed.
I took off my jacket, rolled up my shirt sleeves and wrapped her in a couple of extra strong plastic sheets. The stench was nauseating. I dragged the body to the back door where I'd parked her car. I had some difficulty carrying her into the boot. She was a dead weight.
It was completely dark when I sat down behind the wheel. I could still smell her. I opened the car windows, and used a can of air freshener I found in the glove compartment. Jenny Wilson had been well prepared.
I left the docks and drove in the direction of the hospital, along Port Road towards Bear's Wood and further North. I drove carefully, and kept to the speed limit. During the one hour drive I spotted at least four police cars. As I approached Brecon Beacons National Park there was less traffic.
On the radio a newsreader announced the resignation of a local councillor because of his alleged income tax fraud, and then moved on to the next topic. 'Doctor Wilson, coroner in the Box Tunnel Massacre, has been reported missing. Last week Doctor Wilson reported that the stomach of the Box Tunnel murderer contained human flesh. Doctor Wilson has last been seen outside Barry Magistrate's Court on Thursday, the twelfth of this month…'
'It was one of you. And then he apologised.' She had said. But who was he, the vampire that was frustrating my plans?' The only two vampires I knew that were capable of saying sorry were Dewi and Regus. But there was no way Dewi could have known about my plans, and as for Regus – he was too gentle to threaten anyone. It couldn't have been one of them. I wished I hadn't killed Wilson. Now I would never find out.
The small track through the woodlands was still there. I remembered the first time I'd left the main road for that muddy track. Hal had given me directions. Nowadays we had Sat Nav, but I doubted this shortcut would show up on any device. The track was narrow. Twigs and low branches scratched the doors and windows.
'Are you sure this is leading anywhere?' I'd asked Hal.
'Oh yes, it's definitely leading somewhere. Don't worry, we're almost there. Lots of open spaces, magnificent vistas and not a single person in sight to disturb us.' He'd replied.
I hadn't been very convinced and that must have shown.
'Trust me, Cutler. You don't want to carry her all the way from the Lower Neuadd car park. Unless you insist.'
He'd been right of course. He'd always been right. After what felt like ages we'd reached an open grassy area, next to the reservoir. The deep water glistened and I could hear the soft rustling of tree leaves, but nothing else. I'd never been anywhere this quiet before.
It was dark now. The water looked icy and black. There was no wind. I looked around and felt utterly alone.
We must have buried at least eight bodies here, back in the fifties. Always the same pattern. Hal leaning against the car, watching and smoking, while I got my hands dirty and dug the graves. There would be no need for that now. I tied a scarf in front of my nose and mouth and opened the boot. I wanted this one to be found.
I had difficulty getting her out. The plastic kept slipping from my hands. I wiped my brow and tried again. It took me ages, but at last I succeeded. I unwrapped the plastic and rolled her body onto the grass. In plain view, for whatever lone hiker of fisherman that would pass here first.
'You're not alone.' I said, in a futile attempt to shatter the numbing silence. I looked at the bumpy grass around me and tried to remember where we'd buried each of them. But the graves had long been grown over. No one would discover them now.
It was cold. I cast a last glance at the remains of Jenny Wilson and got back in the car. I was certain the discovery of the body would stir things up. It better had. I thought of the tramp I'd put on display in the woods near Barry.
His body with its gruesome wounds had been found in a matter of hours, but the media hadn't given him much attention. He was just a homeless man. Someone living rough, probably an addict. There'd been a few lines dedicated to him on page six of the local paper. I should have realised. Well, that couldn't be helped now. I turned the key and started the engine.
Margaret Torville, Martha Bean, Jarvis Carlyle, David Morecombe, Tania Blackwell, Jessica Moran, Holly Mears and Catherine Dean. I was surprised I could still remember their names. Pete Travis, Jenny Wilson, I thought and felt inexplicably sad for a minute. It passed. I turned on the radio and searched for Radio 4.
How many people had Tom McNair killed? But that was different, I supposed. He only killed vampires, because McNair had taught him. Was he the one who had killed Fergus? But Fergus hadn't been on his own. He and his private army had last been seen at the place where Tom lived. Who else lived there, besides Tom? Another wolf? I didn't think so. That ghost? Maybe. But I'd never heard of a ghost threatening, let alone kill vampires.
It was a puzzle I was too tired to solve. I turned up the volume of the radio and drove off, leaving Jenny Wilson to the elements.
Tom was still grieving, I was certain of that. McNair had been his family, perhaps even his whole life. And now he was gone. That must have left a bloody big hole in Tom's heart. He'd even been sad when he was plastered. With his sad puppy dog eyes he'd be perfect as a model for one of those cliché paintings of crying gypsy children. But I had other plans for him.
I'd already set the date. The next full moon, when he would transform again. It was a Saturday, the perfect day for the opening night of a new club. An event to remember, for the few that would survive.
Of course Tom would find out his victims weren't vampires, but innocent humans instead, but not until the inevitable had happened. And I would be there for him, and tell him it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. That is, if he would live that long. Chances were we'd have to get rid of all werewolves to show humanity how powerful we were. Maybe not all of them. I sincerely hoped Tom would live. With humanity terrified of werewolves Tom would be my trump card.
He'd never been to school. I could teach him things – he'd like that. He'd be grateful, would look up to me and utterly depend on me. For a very brief moment I thought of Rachel and the child she'd been carrying when Hal – when she died. My son.
I parked along the roadside and took a deep breath. I hated how I was drawn to the past. It was useless. My hand was shaking as I pulled up. Don't you worry, Tom, I thought. I'll look after you, if you do me proud.
'I never promised you a rose garden.' With Hal's voice in my head I woke up. I felt disoriented for a while, until I remembered I was in a hotel in Cardiff. I lay curled up in the expensive sheets in the middle of the king-size bed. I'd been dreaming. I'd been doing that a lot lately. I got up and drank some water from the tap.
Even though I'd worn gloves I could still smell the sick odour of Wilson's dead body. I'd spent an hour in the shower and had used up all the shower cream, but it was still there. I washed my hands, scrubbing them 'til they were red and the strong smell of the soap, Yardley Lily of the Valley, one of Rachel's favourites, made me feel queasy.
I stared at the empty mirror and wondered if I was losing it. It wasn't conscience that was bothering me, far from it. No, it was lack of control. Cool, calm, collected – that had been me for the past decades. But now doubt had crept in. What if my plan would go awry? What if Tom recognised me for what I really was, and refused to play my little game? And what if the arrival of the Old Ones would be a disillusion? I rubbed my eyes, suddenly weary. What's it all for, a small voice kept nagging at me.
At breakfast I scanned the morning papers. No news about Dr Wilson. Of course not. I called Matthew and told him to take care of business for me. 'I'll be back by noon.' Next I called Anthony Sears. He was an old client of mine, had his own building company, and he owed me. I'd asked him to renovate the club.
'Morning, Mr Cutler.' He said.
'How's it going?' I asked.
'Ever so smoothly. One of the walls sort of collapsed, but we'll soon fix that. It's a dump, though. Are you sure you want to pay good money for this?'
'I'm paying you to boost its potential.' I replied. 'How much input do you need?' I could hear voices in the background., and hammering and drilling as well. 'Are you alright?' I asked Sears.
'I'm fine. But Harry just slipped. Those cellars are dangerous. Did you know about the leakage?'
I sighed. 'Of course I did. Why do you think I got it cheap?'
'So what do you want me to do?' Sears asked.
'Make it look good, so that it'll pass fire and council regulations and make sure the electricity and construction will hold for at least a fortnight.'
'A fortnight?'
'Within budget. Need I say more?'
He laughed. 'Loud and clear, Mr Cutler. Who's your client, I'm curious.'
'Nothing for you to worry about.' I said.
He didn't ask any further. 'How's the Jacuzzi?' he asked instead.
'Just fine.' I said, and ended the call.
There was no client. Dai Jenkins still owned the club, even though he didn't know it. By the time I'd completed my plan vampires would have taken over the world and none of that would matter. But I never bet on a single horse, let alone dog. I had a back up plan. Whatever happened at the Crystal Palace, none of it could be held against me. I was just a solicitor, acting for my anonymous client.
But just in case I had a couple of open flight tickets and false ID's waiting for me. I hoped I would never need the tickets, nor the holiday cottage in the tropics or the false identities, even though I was childishly fond of my alias C.U. Nichols. I didn't like hot weather. My life there would be comfortable but boring, and it would mean my plan had failed.
The next day I visited the letting agency and talked to the woman who had let the house to George and Nina. She talked a lot, with a shrill voice.
'I remember there was a third person. Dark broody type. Only had eyes for the TV. And they said they were expecting a fourth person. A friend who acted in Midsomer Murders, if I remember right. I wonder what happened to those two?' she said.
'My client's number four. Mr Mitchell left.' I improvised.
'Your client's in Midsomer Murders?' she asked.
'Was. As an extra.' I smiled apologetically.
She shook her head. 'Funny people, if you don't mind me saying. We offered to do up the place, but they said they wanted to move in straightaway. Can you imagine that? They even liked that dreadful Hawaiian mural. You must have seen it.'
I didn't have a clue what she was talking about. 'Yes.' I lied.
'Well.' She said. 'I suppose I was just glad that they wanted to rent it. You see, people thought the house was haunted. Total rubbish of course, but the place was in a dreadful state.'
'So we have an understanding?' I asked. 'My client can stay?'
'If he can afford the rent. It's a large place for a man on his own.'
'He's been paying the rent these past few months. What makes you think that might change?' I said. She blushed.
'If there's anything that bothers you, just give me a call, Martina.' I said, and handed her my card.
'You have a gift.' Hal had once said to me. 'You're a lousy killer, but you're good with words. Those lips are gold, Cutler.'
It had been a compliment, and compliments from Hal were rare. I was still good, but sometimes it was too easy, almost boring. I loved to stir things up, occasionally. Though I'd loathed Fergus, I'd enjoyed our little arguments. But he was gone now, and so were Griffin and Regus, and there weren't that many people left to impress.
I was determined to dazzle the Old Ones, though. Make sure they'd know my name. I was due some recognition. I craved it, just as I craved the blood. That reminded me I had some calls to make.
I went home early. In one swift move I kicked off my shoes, took off my tie and undid the top buttons of my shirt. Better, much better. I sat down with a glass of vodka and switched on the telly.
National Geographic had a documentary on Siberian wolves. In Top Gear a couple of mad celebrities tried to get themselves killed at 200 miles per hour, and on the local news the murder of the Box Tunnel Twenty coroner was one of the headlines. They showed a picture of Dr Wilson that was all but flattering. One of her colleagues said she'd been nervous when they last met.
Animal Planet featured a man called the dog whisperer. He was training an Alsatian who was jealous of a newborn baby. I switched back to National Geographic and poured myself a second vodka. '…but without their pack they're lost.' The monotonous voice-over said. I grinned and thought of Tom. He'd definitely been lost, and I'd make good use of that. Trust it to me to show the world the difference between wolves and dogs. Soon Tom would be my puppet.
I switched channels again. On MTV Sting sang 'No matter what I do, I'm still hungry for you.' I took my phone and tweeted: They're out there and they're hungry for you.'
Stoker's was quiet. I didn't mind. These last months before George and his cronies killed off most of the vampires the place had been rather too crowded for my liking. They came from all over the country, attracted by our shelter and supplies. 'We'll be noticed.' I'd warned Griffin, but he'd disagreed.
'Not long now before the Old Ones are coming, Cutler. Besides, no one with the guts to check us out will leave alive or with his own teeth intact. The more the merrier.'
He'd been far too careless. I knew arrogance like his could get us killed. And I'd been proven right. I quite enjoyed the silence and spent some time preparing my master plan. It was eleven AM. I had to be in court by two, and I didn't expect visitors.
There'd been a few visitors in the past weeks, none of them promising or useful, and I'd sent them all packing. When the doors opened all I thought was that I should have locked them. I didn't look up when they came in. 'Look, there's no room at the inn. Kindly sod off.' I said and re-read my last tweets.
Show humanity something worse – that was my plan. It was simple, really. Expose the werewolves to humanity and they'll come running to us for help. The Old Ones would be pleased. But I wished they'd hurry up, cause I was having difficulty holding the fort.
They didn't leave. There were three of them, two men and a woman, and they took me by surprise. I didn't have time for this nonsense. I'd choose my own army, thank you. I had enough of people claiming either Griffin or Fergus was their maker. But Griffin had been very selective and didn't recruit much, and Fergus used to treat his recruits as disposables. When he was bored he got rid of them.
The woman was in charge, and the men were her lackeys. She looked as if she'd just stepped out of an eighties B-movie. The men looked stupid. I stepped forward to see what they were up to, prepared to tell them off a second time, but I didn't get the chance. My day had started so promising. And now everything fell apart.
Her name was Golda, she told me as she barged in and took control. I told her Griffin left me in charge, but she just laughed and said she didn't think so, and that she was here to prepare the arrival of the Old Ones. I hated her from the start. She had no business here, taking over from me.
I told her about Tom, in a foolish attempt to impress her, but I regretted it instantly. I should have known she wouldn't understand – she was a fool. As if the Old Ones would be impressed by a dog fight and a handful of concubines. She snatched my laptop and on top of that she humiliated me in front of her minions.
'Excuse me, Mr Cutler, you were saying?' District Judge Deacon said. 'Did you just say your client is guilty? I seem to remember Mr Barnes himself pleaded not guilty at the previous session. I do hope you're not wasting our time?'
Oh god. 'Excuse me. Not guilty is it, Sir.' I corrected myself. Deacon frowned, and my client, a small time crook arrested for shoplifting for the fourth time in a row, started fidgeting, suddenly worried.
I hadn't exactly promised him a discharge, but I'd assured him chances were I'd be able to get him off with a suspended sentence and a fine. But now he wasn't so sure anymore. I didn't blame him. I found it hard to concentrate after what had happened this morning. All I could think of was that bloody woman, Golda.
She'd humiliated me. Barging into Stoker's and assuming control. As I gave a character sketch of my client and dwelled on his circumstances, I kept hearing her voice. Her arrogant laughter. 'This wasn't the plan.' Someone coughed. Had I said that aloud?
'Would you care to elaborate on that, Mr Cutler?' Deacon said.
'It's therapy gone wrong.' I improvised. All eyes were on me. Something that usually didn't bother me. Now it made me sweat.
'Excuse me?' Deacon said, not amused.
'Mr Barnes here's trying to suppress his compulsive behaviour. He's well aware of the damage his kleptomania causes, and he's doing all he can to prevent himself from repeating his actions in the near future. His visit to the supermarket in question was part of a therapy session.'
'He was shoplifting.' Nichols, the prosecutor, said.
'An unfortunate relapse? No. My client was in fact returning some of the goods he'd taken on an earlier visit, when he was apprehended.' I avoided looking at Barnes. 'And he can proof he was. Take that bottle of Kia Ora that was found on him – that was long past it's use-by date. Do you seriously think the shop would still sell that? Think of public health issues, negligence, the lot. Need I say more?'
Silence. They all looked at me, confused.
Barnes got a fine and a suspended sentence, just as I'd predicted. 'Next time bring your therapist.' Deacon had said. Barnes was banned from the supermarket for a year.
'Piece of cake.' I said as I escorted him out of the building.
'You think so? What was all that about?' he asked.
'You leave the law to specialists, Barnes. Do you think you can pay the fine?'
He shrugged.
'I see.' I took out one of my business cards and a pen and wrote down a phone number for him. 'Go see this man. He'll help you out with a loan. That will cover both your fine and my fee.'
My head hurt. I sat down on a park bench and watched a group of pigeons. I had to think of a way to get rid of that Golda woman. I had plans and her presence wasn't helping. Music drifted from an open window. 'Time, time, time is on my side. Yes it is.' Well, it would be, once I'd found a solution to the Golda problem.
'Mr Cutler.' I heard and looked up. It was Dewi Jenkins. Great. He sat down next to me and kicked at the pigeons. He looked less anxious than he had the other day.
'Dewi. How are you?' I asked.
'Fine. My dad told me you bought the old Crystal Palace. I don't suppose he told you about the leaks?'
'My client.' I corrected him. 'And yes, he did tell me – what makes you think he wouldn't?'
'He's my dad, that's why. He's not a very reliable and trustworthy person. He left me and my mum, you see.'
'Ah.' I said. 'Well, he speaks very highly of you. Not about your sense of dress, obviously, but he's very positive, all in all.'
He kicked at the gravel beneath the bench and looked at his feet. 'I don't know about that, do I? It's not as if he visits me regularly. He left mum for another woman, see. A number of other women. The one he's with now is twenty-two, can you believe that? He knocked Shirley up and now they have twins. They're my little sisters, I suppose, but I only ever see them here, when she takes them to the park. They're called Patricia and Leticia. Shirley's actually quite pretty, but her babies both have dad's nose, so there must be some justice in this world. He even forgot to invite me to their birthday party. He's had loads of girls before, but I think this one's a keeper. Mum thinks he's gone crazy. I wouldn't mind baby sitting now and again, but he doesn't think I can handle the responsibility, see. I don't think that's fair. It's not my fault.'
'Right.' I broke into his endless litany. That kid made my ears ring.
'Sorry Mr Cutler. Did he really do that? Speak highly of me?'
'Absolutely.' There'd been some talk about lazy bums like his ex and good-for-nothing son, so much was true. 'Have you got a job?' I asked.
'No. I tried, I really did. And it wasn't my fault that I didn't finish school. It was the circumstances, you see.'
And maybe it would help if you wore a tie to your job interviews, I thought. 'Are you planning on staying in the area? I might have something for you. How well do you know that club?'
'I've known it all my life. It was his first club. I've helped in the kitchen. Mum said it was good for my people skills. He used to lock me in the cellar when he was mad at me. That happened quite often, to be honest. Do you think I could get a job there?' He sounded hopeful.
'That's for my client to decide. But I could throw in a good word. You won't disappoint me, though, would you?'
'No, of course not. I'd love to work there. Call it nostalgia, but what's wrong with that, I'd like to know?' So he was fond of the memories of his father bullying him? How odd.
'Now, don't get high hopes. I can only ask.' I warned him.
'You're the best, Mr Cutler.' He said, and offered me an Opal Fruit. 'Now, do you think we could have a talk about the blood?' he continued, almost whispering. 'I went to Stoker's, but there was this woman from hell. She shouted at me. Do you know her? What's she doing here?'
I sighed. That Golda woman again. 'You better watch out for her. She's nasty.' I said.
I was standing in front of my office, searching for my keys, when I heard a familiar voice.
'Mr Cutler? I wonder if we could have a chat? We need your help.'
Tom McNair. Again. And with him was a teenage girl. Young, small, and with a head full of dark curls and inquisitive eyes behind glasses. She had an enormous shoulder-bag full of badges.
'This is Allison. She's like – er, she's my friend.' Tom said. She was a werewolf. I could smell that.
Allison shook my hand. 'Nice to meet you, Mr Cutler. Tom says you're a solicitor, and that you've helped him recently? It's not exactly a legal matter we're here for, but if we could borrow some of your precious time…' She smiled broadly.
'Right.' I said, completely baffled. So Tom had found himself a she-wolf? Interesting. 'Yes, of course. Pleased to meet you. Do come in.' I said and returned her smile.
I watched them leave. They walked close to each other and their arms almost touched. They looked so innocent, yet they'd just confessed to killing one of Golda's boys. And it wasn't even a full moon. The girl was smart, I had to grant her that. And Tom was completely smitten with her.
Who'd have thought my schemes would result in matchmaking? Allison had seen my YouTube footage and had come looking for Tom. Two people who couldn't be more different, if it hadn't been for that one curse they had in common.
She'd trusted me instantly. Looked up to me. And I'd been flattered, even more so when she explained that she wanted to become a barrister. Tom was very impressed. She was everything and more he'd ever dreamed about. Had he ever had a girlfriend? I doubted it.
For a second, when they asked my about the YouTube footage, I'd been concerned. But then it became clear that they didn't have the slightest suspicion, and that gave me an idea. This was too good a chance to forego. Either way I'd profit. By sending them to the docks there was a reasonable chance they'd get rid of Kane and Golda for me. And if they failed I could always take the credit for providing Golda with two dogs.
They're just kids, I thought, still watching them. I even felt a little jealous. I had been like them, when Rachel and I were courting. I'd been in love with her for a long time before I'd found the courage to approach her. And then she said yes, and we got married and five years later Hal Yorke killed her.
They're young and in love and they think they're invincible, I thought. Please don't let them end up in Golda's cage. Or dead.
Wait. Where did that come from? I went inside and splashed some cold water on my face. You can do this, I told myself, and left for Stoker's.
(to be continued)
