'Anyway, I'd arrived right on cue, because they were asking about the night of the murder, especially about the deliveries of refrigerated meat which had been made to the cookhouse that night. Apparently forensic had alerted them to beast blood on Penny's clothes, do you see?
'Well, you can imagine how it felt, Harry, to be right there when the Cook Sergeant got out his register of deliveries to check details of the beast carcases that had come in… yes, from Frigis Express! Naturally, I said nothing, just kept my ears wide open and my mouth tight shut, and took in as much as I could get. Which was quite a bit; because this overweight, red-faced, hot-and-bothered sergeants' mess cook was efficient to a fault. He not only kept a record of dates and times of all deliveries of foodstuffs — and copies of his own countersigned receipts, which bore the signatures of his suppliers — but he even had the registration numbers of delivery vehicles, too! And naturally I made a mental note of the number of the truck which had made the deliveries that night.
'This is how the delivery system works:
During the day the esplanade gets crowded, and anyway, Edinburgh's streets are no place for big articulated trucks during daylight hours. So Frigis Express delivers at night. Of course, big vehicles can't make it under the arch of the guardroom and up the narrow gantlet, so they park down on the esplanade and the cookhouse sends down a driver in a military Landrover to collect the carcasses. The Frigis driver passes the meat straight out from the back of his truck into the back of the Landrover, which then conveys it up to the main cookhouse. And the Frigis driver goes up as a passenger in the Landrover to get his docket signed. And sometimes he'll have a beer with the Cook Sergeant in his little office, before walking back down to his truck on the dark esplanade. By night, of course, the esplanade is empty and he has plenty of room to turn the big vehicle round and get out of there.
'So… the plain-clothes officers wanted to know if this had been the routine on the night of the murder, and it had. In fact the Cook Sergeant knew this delivery man quite well; he worked for Frigis out of Darlington (yes, Darlington, Harry) and made deliveries to the Castle every three or four weeks. And when the sergeant was around they'd usually have a pint together in his office.
'As for his name: well, his signature was a scrawl, quite unreadable, possibly even disguised… all except for the "F" which started his surname. But the fat sergeant was willing to swear that he referred to himself as — that's right — "Johnny"!
'Well, that was about it. When the officers were satisfied with what they'd got I came out with them. Along the way I made mention of how they seemed to be doing OK without E-Branch on this one. It was pretty obvious they weren't exactly sure what the Branch is all about — hell, who is, except Branch members? — but that they guessed we were some sort of higher echelon intelligence organization which "fools about", however successfully, with psychic stuff: table-rapping and divining and such. And I suppose in a way they were right at that.
Then we spent a little time looking over the wall in various places and down on the gardens towards Princes Street, and sure enough there are places you could dump a body without breaking its bones. The Jocks seemed especially interested in looking down on one spot, and I guessed that's where Penny had been found. A peep inside their minds told me I was right.
'Finally, as I parted company with them on the esplanade, I said, "We'll be in touch, and if this Johnny bloke doesn't work out the way you — "
'But one of them broke in on me: "Oh, we're pretty sure he's the one. And we can wait a few days longer. Actually, we'd like to catch this bastard in the act of picking up some girl before we move on him. He's been doing these jobs of his thick and fast, so we think he'll maybe try it on again the next time out. Another day or two at most. And you'd better believe we'll be right behind him…" Then he shrugged and let it go at that.
'So I told them good luck, and that was it. I felt great — great to be alive, and even better that I'd made a dent in the case — and so had a beer on the Royal Mile. Following which I just waited around for you to contact me. End of story…'
The Necroscope seemed a little disappointed. 'You didn't get a general description of this man, or discover when he's driving for Frigis again?'
These things weren't in their thoughts,' Jordan answered, shaking his head. 'And anyway, if I'd had to concentrate on scanning their minds I might have slipped up, done something stupid, given myself away. Remember, you and I are both telepaths. When we read each other and it comes over strong and true, that's because we're doing it deliberately. But reading the mind of an ordinary person is different. They're cluttered things, minds, and rarely concentrate on anything for more than a moment or two.'
Harry nodded. 'I didn't mean to put you down. What you've done is wonderful. It's worked out perfectly — so far. But now I want to find out something about this man's background, like why he's the way he is. Such knowledge might be of use, that's all. If not to me, to E-Branch after I've gone. Also, I'm curious about his name. You said something about Dragosani also being a foundling? Well, maybe there's more to that than you thought or intended. So… I have one or two things to learn about this Johnny Found. And, of course, I want to get to him before the police. He'd be charged with murder, I know, but what he's done and would still do is worth a lot more than that. He came on very cruel. And that's how he should go out.' The Necroscope's voice as he finished speaking was a deep growl, sinking deeper all the time. Jordan was happy to keep out of his mind, but he couldn't help thinking to himself: Mr Johnny Found — who or whatever, or why ever you are — I wouldn't be in your shoes for all the gold in Fort Knox!
Ben Trask had called his briefing for 2:00 p.m. and all available E-Branch operatives were present. The Minister Responsible was there, too, accompanied by Geoffrey Paxton, whom Trask really hadn't expected to see. But he made no fuss about it; it had dawned on him that the job was too important to let personalities interfere. It just struck him as incongruous that while a low-life specimen such as Paxton was safe and legitimate, the good stuff such as Harry Keogh had crashed foul of fate and was about to become a victim of his own methods. Sure, for it had been Harry who showed the Branch how to do this sort of thing. How to set it up, what weapons to use — the stake, the sword, the fire — and how to strike. In order to kill vampires.
When everyone was present Trask wasted no time but got right down to it. 'By now all of you know what Harry Keogh has become,' he began. 'Which is to say, he's the most dangerous creature who ever lived… partly because he carries this plague of vampirism, which could consume all of us and for which there's no cure. Well, there have been others before Harry and they all succumbed — usually to the Necroscope himself! And that's the rest of what makes him so dangerous: he knows all about it, about us, about… just about everything. Now don't get me wrong: he isn't a superman and never has been, but he is the next best thing. Which was great when he was on our side but isn't quite so hot right now. Oh, yes, and unlike the other vampires the Branch has dealt with, Harry will know we're after him.'
He let that sink in, then continued: 'Some other things that make him dangerous. He's become a telepath, so from now on all you thought-thieves keep a close watch on your minds. If not, Harry will be in there. And if he knows what we're doing as we're doing it, then he won't be waiting around for it to happen, right? He's a teleport, too, and uses something called the Möbius Continuum to come and go as he pleases. He can be literally anywhere he wants to be, instantaneously! Think about that…