Part 8 (1/2)
”Difficult to tell how the b.u.g.g.e.rs got in,” said Terence. ”Back door was locked, and all of the main windows were closed.”
I stepped carefully across the dining room and drew back the drapes. Three of the small upper windows were open. Even a child would have found it impossible to climb through them, but a strigoi mort strigoi mort could slide through the narrowest of gaps. Once inside, he would have opened the front door for any could slide through the narrowest of gaps. Once inside, he would have opened the front door for any strigoi vii strigoi vii who might have accompanied him. It wasn't easy to tell how many who might have accompanied him. It wasn't easy to tell how many strigoi strigoi had been here, because there was so much blood and so much mess, but they usually went out feeding in threes. had been here, because there was so much blood and so much mess, but they usually went out feeding in threes.
I looked back at the dining table. All the food had been splashed with dark brown blood-the birthday cake, the sausage rolls, the mashed-sardine sandwiches-and now flies were crawling all over it so that the whole table looked as if it were rippling.
I went to the door. There were bloodstained fingerprints on either side of the doorjamb. ”You say that one of the bodies was found upstairs?”
”Eleven-year-old boy, yes.”
”See these fingerprints? My guess is, the kid was trying to escape, and somebody blocked the doorway to stop the Screechers from going after him. Unsuccessfully, of course. Because, look.”
I pointed to some smudges of blood on the wallpaper. They ran diagonally up the wall, each one higher than the next, until they reached the ceiling. I stepped back into the hallway and looked up. The smudges continued across the ceiling toward the staircase, and up the sloping ceiling above the stairs, too. across the ceiling toward the staircase, and up the sloping ceiling above the stairs, too.
”Footprints,” I said. ”The boy tried to get away and one of the strigoi strigoi chased him.” chased him.”
”On the ceiling ceiling?” said Terence. He looked at the chap and the chap raised his eyebrows and puffed out his cheeks, but didn't say anything.
”You have to understand what we're up against here,” I told him.
The other chap came in from outside. ”Your dog handler's here,” he told us. ”Bit of all right, as a matter of fact.”
Bullet.
I went out on to the porch-not only to greet my dog handler but to breathe some fresh air. During the war I had grown pretty much inured to the ripe stench of cut-open human beings, but over the past twelve years I had forgotten how sickening it was, and how it seemed to cling to your clothes and your hair for hours afterward. You could even taste it in your mouth when you were eating.
The dog handler had parked her pale green Hillman Minx estate car next to Terence's Humber, and was opening the back doors so that her dog could jump out. The dog came up the path first, a glossy black Labrador with a crimson tongue, panting furiously in the heat. The dog handler followed, and the other chap hadn't been exaggerating-she was ”a bit of all right.”
She was very slim, with dark s.h.i.+ny hair cut into a bob. She looked as if she might have had some Burmese or Siamese blood in her, because she had high cheekbones and dark feline eyes. She was wearing a white short-sleeved blouse with the collar turned up, and she was very large-breasted. I don't know what it is about white blouses and big b.r.e.a.s.t.s that does it for me, but for a split second I felt a rush of blood to the head, as if I were fifteen years old again. second I felt a rush of blood to the head, as if I were fifteen years old again.
Her waist was cinched in with a large silver-buckled belt, and she wore a navy pencil skirt that came down just below the knee.
”Hallo,” she smiled. She had a clear, upper-middle-cla.s.s accent, and she spoke as if she were reading the BBC news. ”You must be Captain-Falco, is it?”
”Falcon. With an 'n.' Like peregrine falcon. But call me Jim.”
”All right. I'm Jill Foxley, from the Metropolitan Police dog section at Keston.”
”Great to meet you, Jill Foxley. And your dog, too. What does he answer to?”
”His proper name is Willowyck Gruff but his working name is Bullet.”
”Bullet, I like that. Hey, Bullet! How are you doing, boy?”
Bullet turned to me and gave a single contemptuous bark.
”Hey! I think he likes me already.”
Jill said, ”I'm sorry. He's very loyal, once he gets to know people. But he's been trained to be suspicious of strangers.”
”Well, that's what we need, suspicious. In fact we need very very suspicious. You've been briefed about this job, I hope? I mean, you know what you and me and Bullet here are supposed to be looking for.” suspicious. You've been briefed about this job, I hope? I mean, you know what you and me and Bullet here are supposed to be looking for.”
”Yes. They gave me a general idea. They said that if I needed to know anything more, I should ask you about it. Apparently you're the world's greatest expert.”
”And? What do you think?”
She pulled a face. ”I'm not at all sure. At first I thought they were having me on toast. But I've always liked unusual work. Bullet and I spent the last six months tracking down heroin smugglers in Limehouse. That was fascinating. You know, all that Chinese culture and everything.”
”You understand what these Screechers are, don't you?”
”Well, yes.” She seemed embarra.s.sed. ”Vampires, sort of.”
”Exactly. We're not dealing with human beings here. They don't have a soul and they don't have a conscience. They don't have any compunction about killing anybody of any age, with no warning at all.”
”Like wild animals, then, really?”
”Unh-hunh. They're not like animals. They're intelligent, and they're so d.a.m.n quick you can't even see them, and they won't give you any second chances.”
”I understand.” She had an alluring way of tilting her head sideways and looking at me out of the corner of her eyes.
”Well,” I said, trying to sound brusque and professional, ”you'd better bring Bullet inside. You've visited a homicide scene before? It's not too salubrious in there.” The language I was using, I was starting to sound quite British. I would probably start saying ”constabulary” next, instead of ”cops.”
”Don't worry,” said Jill. ”I've been called to quite a few murders. The last one was a husband who beat his wife and their seven-year-old daughter to death with a hammer, and then cut his own throat with a bread knife. That was quite yucky.”
”Quite yucky? Yes, I guess it must have been.”
Out of her navy blue pocketbook, Jill pulled a strip of brownish fabric about the length of a woman's scarf. She held it up against Bullet's snout so that he could sniff it and lick it. ”This is a piece of the linen shroud they found in the casket,” she explained. ”If the same Screecher has been here, then Bullet will be able to tell.”
”Good for Bullet. Let's take a look, shall we?”
I led her through the hallway into the dining room, with Bullet trotting obediently beside her. I think she was determined not to show that she was nauseated, but as soon as she entered the door she clamped her hand over her mouth and couldn't stop herself from letting out a high, cackling retch. ”Oh my G.o.d, it's disgusting.”
”Do you want to go back outside?”
She shook her head. ”I can manage, thanks. It's the flies, more than anything else. I can't stand flies.”
”Join the club. But this is fairly typical of a Screecher attack. The strigoi mort strigoi mort gains entry first-in this case I'm guessing that it came through one of the skylights here. It probably came in so fast that n.o.body saw it-or, if they did, it would have looked like nothing more than a dark blur, whizzing through the room. It would have opened the front door and let in its companions, and then the three of them would have come back in here and had themselves a feast.” gains entry first-in this case I'm guessing that it came through one of the skylights here. It probably came in so fast that n.o.body saw it-or, if they did, it would have looked like nothing more than a dark blur, whizzing through the room. It would have opened the front door and let in its companions, and then the three of them would have come back in here and had themselves a feast.”
Bullet was snuffling around the carpet, occasionally licking it with his thick crimson tongue.
”How many victims were there?” asked Jill.
”Seven. The Screechers would have sliced their stomachs open first, and cut the Achilles tendons in their heels so that they couldn't get away. Then they would have gone from one to the other, cutting them open even wider, pulling out their hearts, and drinking their blood directly from their aortas.” have gone from one to the other, cutting them open even wider, pulling out their hearts, and drinking their blood directly from their aortas.”
”That's so horrible.”
”Yes, it is. But if you and I don't stop them, the Screechers are going to multiply. I don't know how much they told you when they briefed you, but there are two kinds of Screechers-the infected ones who are still alive, the strigoi vii strigoi vii-and the dead ones, the strigoi mortii strigoi mortii.”
”I didn't completely understand that when they briefed us. The strigoi mortii strigoi mortii-they're really dead? I mean dead dead dead?” dead?”