‘You must be Thursday Next. Heard about you. LiteraTec, eh? Kind of a drop from SO-5?’
‘At least I made it up there in the first place.’
Franklin grunted and looked at the two bodies.
‘Dead?’
‘Very.’
‘You lot are becoming quite action-packed. I can’t remember the last time a shot was fired in anger by a LiteraTec. Let’s not make it a habit, eh? We don’t want Swindon turning into a killing field. And if you want a piece of advice, go easy with Jack Schitt. We hear the man’s a psychopath.’
‘Thanks for the tip, Franklin,’ I said. ‘I’d never have noticed.’
It was after nine when we were finally allowed to leave. Victor had turned up to ask us a few questions out of earshot of the police.
‘What the deuce is going on?’ he asked. ‘I’ve had Braxton yelling on the phone for half an hour; it takes something serious to get him away from his golf club AGM. He wants a full report on the incident on his desk first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘It was Hades,’ I said. ‘Jack Schitt was here with the intention of following one of Acheron’s killers after he’d dispatched us both.’
Victor looked at me for a moment and was about to comment further when a call came over the wireless for an officer in need of assistance. It was the unmistakable voice of Spike. I went to pick up the microphone but Victor grabbed me by the wrist with a surprising turn of speed. He looked at me grimly.
‘No, Thursday. Not with Spike.’
‘But an officer in need of assistance—?’
‘Don’t get involved. Spike is on his own and it’s best that way.’
I looked at Bowden, who nodded agreement and said:
‘The powers of darkness are not for everyone, Miss Next. I think Spike understands that. We hear his calls from time to time but I see him in the canteen the following morning, as regular as clockwork. He knows what he’s doing.’
The wireless was silent; the channel was an open one and perhaps upward of sixty or seventy officers had heard the call. No one had answered.
Spike’s voice came over the airwaves again: ‘For God’s sake, guys—!’
Bowden moved to switch the wireless off but I stopped him. I got into my car and keyed the mike.
‘Spike, this is Thursday. Where are you?’
Victor shook his head. ‘It was nice knowing you, Miss Next.’
I glared at them both and drove off into the night.
Bowden moved across to where Victor was standing.
‘Quite a girl,’ murmured Victor.
‘We’re going to be married,’ answered Bowden matter-of-factly.
Victor frowned and looked at him. ‘Love is like oxygen, Bowden. When’s the happy day?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t know yet,’ replied Bowden, sighing. ‘She is everything a woman should be. Strong and resourceful, loyal and intelligent.’
Victor raised an eyebrow. ‘When do you suppose you’ll ask her?’
Bowden was staring after the tail-lights of the car. ‘I don’t know. If Spike is in the sort of trouble that I think he is, perhaps never.’
17. SpecOps 17: Suckers & Biters
‘… I made the assistance calls as a matter of course; had done since Chesney was pulled to the shadows. Never expected anyone to come; was just my way of saying “Ho, guys! I’m still out here!” Nope, never expected it. Never expected it at all…”
‘Where are you, Spike?’
There was a pause and then: ‘Thursday, think hard before you do this—‘
‘I have, Spike. Give me your location.’
He told me and after a quarter of an hour I pulled up outside the senior school at Haydon.
‘I’m here, Spike. What do you need?’
His voice came back on the wireless, but this time slightly strained.
‘Lecture Room four, and hurry; in the glove box of my black & white you’ll find a medical kit—‘
There was a yell and he stopped transmitting.
I ran across to where Spike’s squad car stood in the dark entrance of the old college. The moon passed behind a cloud and blackness descended; I felt an oppressive hand fall across my heart. I opened the car door and rummaged in the glove box. I found what I was looking for: a small zippered leather case with ‘Stoker’ embossed on the front in faded gold lettering. I grabbed it and ran up the front steps of the old school. The interior was gloomily lit by emergency lighting; I flicked a panel of switches but the power was out. In the meagre light I found a signboard and followed the arrows towards Lecture Room Four. As I ran down the corridor I was aware of a strong odour; it matched the sullen smell of death I had detected in the boot of Spike’s car when we had first met. I stopped suddenly, the nape of my neck twitching as a gust of cold wind caught me. I turned around abruptly and froze as I noticed the figure of a man silhouetted against the dim glow of an exit light.
‘Spike?’ I murmured, my throat dry and my voice cracking.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the figure, walking softly towards me and playing a torch on my face. ‘It’s Frampton; I’m the janitor. What are you doing here?’
‘Thursday Next, SpecOps. There’s an officer in need of assistance in Lecture Room four.’
‘Really?’ said the janitor. ‘Probably followed some kids in. Well, you’d better come with me.’
I looked at him carefully; a glint from one of the exit lights caught the metallic gold of a crucifix around his throat. I breathed a sigh of relief.
He walked swiftly down the corridor; I followed closely.
‘This place is so old it’s embarrassing,’ muttered Frampton, leading me down a second corridor off the first. ‘Who did you say you were looking for?’
‘An officer named Stoker.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He looks for vampires.’
‘Really? Last infestation we had was in ‘78. Student by the name of Parkes. Went backpacking in the Forest of Dean and came back a changed man.’
‘Backpacking in the Forest of Dean?’ I repeated incredulously, ‘Whatever possessed him to do that?’
The janitor laughed. ‘Good choice of words. Symonds Yat wasn’t as secure then as it is now; we’ve taken precautions too. The whole college was consecrated as a church.’
He flashed his torch at a large crucifix on the wall.
‘We won’t have that sort of problem here again. This is it, Lecture Room four.’
He pushed open the door and we entered the large room. Frampton’s torch flicked across the oak-panelled walls but a quick search revealed nothing of Spike.
‘Are you sure he said number four?’
‘Certain,’ I replied. ‘He—‘
There was a sound of breaking glass and a muffled curse a small way distant.
‘What was that?’
‘Probably rats,’ said Frampton.
‘And the swearing?’
‘Uncultured rats. Come, let’s—‘
But I had moved off to a doorway beyond the lecture room, taking Frampton’s torch with me. I pushed the door open wide and an appalling stench of formaldehyde greeted me. The room was an anatomy lab, dark except for the moonlight coming in through the window. Against the wall were rack upon rack of pickled specimens: mostly animal parts, but a few human parts too, things for the boys to frighten the girls with during sixth-form biology lessons. There was the sound of a jar smashing, and I flicked the torch across to the other side of the room. My heart froze. Spike, his self-control having apparently abandoned him, had just thrown a specimen jar to the floor and was now scrabbling in the mess. Around his feet were the smashed remnants of many jars; it had obviously been quite a feast.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, the revulsion rising in my throat.