"I'm afraid I can't offer you an opinion here either, Mrs. Peel," Dr. Neff said. He plunged his hands into his coat pockets, then pulled them out and scrubbed them together for a moment before dropping them to his sides. They were standing on the path in St. James's Park at the spot where Iris Mallon had been attacked. It was their second stop after visiting the nearby scene of Randy Styles's death.
The psychologist glanced furtively around, his yellow eyes flicking up and down the path, only pausing when they landed on Emma.
"Oh well," she said, "I know it was a long shot – I appreciate your taking the time for me." In fact, she had been surprised at his willingness – even eagerness – to join her in the park. She'd thought it meant he was innocent of any involvement with the murders, but watching him fidget she was revising her opinion.
"I am glad of the opportunity to spend a few moments with you, Mrs. Peel," he replied. Emma was fortunate to have momentarily turned away from him, for her brows shot up at this overt flirtation. She schooled her features and turned to him with a warm smile.
"Mrs. Peel, would you join me for lunch?" he went on, his hands back in his pockets.
Emma knew that she was wading into treacherous waters. Neff had plainly developed a personal interest that she did not reciprocate. But lunching with him would give her more time to study him. She had hated deceiving male suspects in this way ever since the first time she'd done it working closely with Steed in Berlin. She knew it meant she could not be a professional agent, but she never wanted to become so hardened that using people would not bother her.
She checked her wristwatch – a pretense so that she could end the meal promptly. "I have an appointment this afternoon," she said. "But I can join you for a quick bite."
"Splendid!"
ooooo
"No, Mrs. Peel, I cannot stress this often enough: lycanthropy is a myth. The man who attacked the woman last night may have been mentally disturbed, but he was not a werewolf."
Neff had brought her to a café near the park where they had ordered a light meal and glasses of wine. The business of the meal taken care of Emma had returned to the subject at hand.
"Of course not Dr. Neff. But Miss Mallon seemed certain that the man behaved like someone who fancied himself an animal. Isn't that possible?"
"Psychological defects manifest themselves in many ways," Neff said, patting his mouth with his napkin although he had not consumed anything. "Some unfortunate victims do indeed fall prey to a sort of wolfish delusion."
"I see," Emma said thoughtfully, but withheld her full response. So what's the difference?
ooooo
"And did he explain the difference?" Steed asked a while later.
She had caught up with him at the ministry morgue where Dr. Mildred Booth had completed her report on Randy Styles's corpse. He was seated at a stainless steel counter with the report open in front of him. Emma leaned against the counter beside him, her arms folded, as she described her meeting and lunch with Dr. Neff.
"I decided not to press the point," Emma replied. "I could see the distinction is very important to him. And I did not want to antagonize him."
"No?" Steed asked, turning a page in the report and then glancing up at her. She smiled at his sparkling eyes.
"No. He was very edgy in the park, and over lunch he seemed intent on convincing me. It seemed wise to let him."
At that Steed half turned to really look up at her.
"He was very – intense," she went on.
"Intimidating?" he asked with a puzzled frown. He had trouble imagining Mrs. Peel being intimidated.
"I wouldn't go that far," Emma said. "But I think he was close to being very upset. And something told me I should not upset him."
"So do you think he's involved with the murders, or does he just have a bad temper?"
"I think that we should have a look around his cottage – unescorted. I'd like to see if he has any patient files or notes."
Steed grinned eagerly up at her as he shut the autopsy file and stood up.
"We can't go until after dark," she added.
"Yes," he drawled, retrieving his hat, umbrella and the file. "I was just thinking about all the things we could do between now and then."
ooooo
"That's it?" Steed asked as he and Emma approached the cottage drive. She had parked her Lotus a little way back down the road and led him on foot the rest of the way. The moon had not yet risen and the night was very dark. Emma caught herself peering into every shadow and noticing every rustling leaf and branch.
"It's charming, isn't it?" she whispered back to Steed, focusing on the normal to dispel the sense of menace in the night.
"Quaint," he agreed, following her up the drive. Half way along he paused, looked around, and hopped over the low white fence onto the small manicured lawn on the other side. Emma cast an indulgent smile at him, his playful antics further calming her strange nervousness. She made her way through the little gate and up to the front door.
"No car in the drive," Steed observed, coming up close behind her.
"There was none the other day either – he may keep it in the garage.
"What if he's here?"
"At lunch he mentioned that he was going out this evening." Emma knocked on the door as she spoke.
They waited in silence, the small sounds of the night hushed in anticipation along with them. Emma and Steed exchanged a look, and then she produced a half rake from an invisible pocket in her royal blue catsuit and bent to manipulate the lock. Steed stood with his back to her watching the yard and the road until the door clicked open. She took his hand as she entered and he backed in behind her, shutting the door. He turned and nodded as she gestured toward the parlor.
They each produced a small torch and started on opposite sides of the room, carefully opening drawers and looking behind pictures, replacing everything much as they had found it.
"Look at this," Emma murmured. Steed looked up from across the room. She was standing in front of the barrister's bookcase. The glass pane in the cover of the shelf just below eye level was missing. Frowning slightly, she lifted the empty frame. A few bits of shattered glass remained on the shelf in front of the books.
"This was not broken when I was here the other day. And whoever cleaned up wasn't very thorough," she said.
"Could have been an accident," Steed whispered.
"Could have been a scuffle," Emma countered, studying the floor and other furniture in the area. Focusing her light on the floor she crouched and examined chips in the veneer of the delicate feet of a candlestand. Working her way up she examined the rim of the table top and found another chip. The table actually held a candle in a holder. Emma picked it up and the top half of the creamy wax taper slumped sideways.
"Poor thing," Steed whispered, appearing at her elbow. "It's gone limp."
Emma rolled her eyes at him and set it down. "I think this table was knocked over," she said, turning to survey the room. "What's that?" she noticed that Steed was holding a small portfolio.
"Checkbook," he opened it and pointed his light at the stubs still attached to the binding. "Your Dr. Neff has written three checks in the last six months to a Bela Zeklos. A total of ninety-eight pounds."
"Bela," Emma repeated, eyes locked with Steed's.
Just above their heads a floorboard creaked.
Their eyes widened as the sound was repeated. Emma switched off her torch and moved toward the front door while Steed rounded the sofa to replace the checkbook where he'd found it. There was a scraping sound near the top of the stairs, and then the house filled with an unearthly, vibrating moan. Emma inched back from the stairway, feeling her way along the hall to the front door, eyes riveted on the shadows at the top of the stairs.
Her hand landed on the doorknob just as the moan became a menacing, throaty growl. She was certain something moved in the shadows at the top of the stairs.
"Mrs. Peel," Steed was beside her nudging her hand off the doorknob to open it himself. He guided her out, pausing to look back and aim his torch up the stairs. The growl became a howl as the small beam of light cast hazy, undefined shadows. And then there was a flash of unearthly yellow and the shadows formed into a large creature bounding down the stairs. Steed slammed the door and grabbed Emma by the arm, dragging her with him along the path to the gate.
Behind him something slammed into the door as the bloodcurdling howling went on and on.
They pelted up the drive and onto the road, their sharp-edged shadows cast ahead of them by the newly risen moon. They covered the distance to the Lotus in less than a minute. Emma started the engine, maneuvering the car in a jagged, high-speed "K" turn before roaring away so fast Steed clutched at the dashboard.
ooooo
"I think you've outrun it, Mrs. Peel," he said after a few minutes of careening around the bends of the serene country road. He looked over at her, noting the set of her jaw and her tight grip on the steering wheel. "Emma, it's all right to be spooked sometimes," he added.
He had read her correctly. She inhaled a sharp breath, then eased up on the accelerator and her grip. When the car had slowed to a more appropriate speed she took another long breath and then glanced at him, her expression embarrassed.
"What was it?" she asked.
"A dog, I suppose," he replied. "A very big dog."