Vampire Shift (Kiera Hudson Series #1) (4 page)

“Protection from what?” I asked, half smiling.

Glancing back over her shoulder as if she were scared that someone might be eavesdropping, she lent in towards me and whispered, “From the vampires,” and her breath smelt stale and warm against my face.

Looking straight back at her, I said, “I don’t believe in vampires.”

“That’s what the others said when I tried to warn them,” she hushed and snatched another quick look over her shoulder.

“Who?” I asked, sipping my coffee.

“The other ones,” she sighed, starting to sound inpatient. “The other police officers who came here before you.”

Looking into her milky-grey eyes I asked, “Do you know what happened to them?”

“They -” she started but was cut dead by a gruff sounding voice from the other side of the room.

“That’s enough, mother!” the voice said, and I looked up to see a fat balding man come waddling into the dining area. He wore a red chequered shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a white apron that was smeared with old food and drink. His cheeks were flushed red and his forehead glistened with sweat.

“The girl has a right to know!” the old woman barked at him.

“There’s nothing for her to
know
!” her son snapped back. Then crossing towards the table with the bottles of holy water and crucifixes, he added, “and how many times have I told you to get rid of all this bloody nonsense?”

“You keep a civil tongue in your head, Roland,” the old woman hissed. “This is still my Inn – it ain’t yours yet.”

“But you’re scaring away all the customers,” he told her, his jowls wobbling.

“It ain’t me that’s scarring ‘em off,” she snapped at him. “It’s those things – those
creatures
!”

Roland saw me staring at both of them as they argued in front of me. With a fake smile stretched across his face, and wiping his meaty hands on his apron, he came towards me and said, “I’m sorry about mother – don’t be put off by what she says.”

Munching on the last of the toast, I smiled and said, “Don’t worry about me, I’m not easily spooked.”

Hearing this, the old woman hobbled towards me and leaning into my face she gasped, “You
will
be.”

Taking his mother by the arm, he escorted her from the room and back into the kitchen. Within moments, he had returned and came to clear away my empty plate and mug.

“So what is all this stuff about vampires?” I asked him.

“Just stories,” he said, without looking at me. “Okay, the town has had more than its fair share of strange goings on – but I don’t agree with all this scaremongering. It was good for business at first. People came from all over to visit the town, believing it to be infested with vampires. We did the Inn up as you can see, and we even did a roaring trade in those little crosses and bottles of water – but it was just a laugh – you know to attract the tourists,” he told me.

“So what went wrong?” I asked him.

“More and more murders started to happen. People started to go missing and then there was the grave robbing,” he said, wringing his hands together.

“Grave robbing?”

“Yeah, but it was more than that,” he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. “The bodies of those poor murdered souls were being dug up and stolen.”

“By whom?” I asked him.

“Greedy freaks – that’s who,” he spat. “The whole thing just started to get out of hand. People were making a lot of money – me included – off the back of the rumours being spread about the vampires. But people got bored or scared of The Ragged Cove, and just stopped coming. The guest houses started to empty, the restaurants had no bookings, and the High Street became deserted. So the incidents just got more and more bizarre, and I reckon it was all down to some of the locals, hoping that they could entice people back by strange evil-doings and stories. Everybody likes a good scare, don’t they?”

“I guess,” I said. “But digging up the bodies of murder victims seems a bit extreme.”

“Not if you’ve got mouths to feed and a business to keep going,” he said. “Folk will do the strangest of things to survive.”

“But what about these murders?” I asked him, interested to see what his view was. Like me, he hadn’t been hooked on the whole vampire thing.

“Undoubtedly there is a murderer in our midst,” he said, and again his voice had dropped to a whisper. “But I reckon all this attention is just encouraging him – getting him all excited like.”

I didn’t tell him about the three sets of tracks that I had found by Henry Blake’s body; I let him continue to believe that the murders were being committed by just the one killer.

“What do you mean ‘excited’?” I asked.

“These serial killers love all the attention they get from the media, don’t they,” he said more as a statement than a question. “Seen it on the T.V. I have. They love it when the newspapers give ‘em a name like ‘The Ripper’ or
‘
The Black Panther’, makes ‘em feel all important like – when really, they’re nothing but scum,” he said.

“So do you have any ideas?” I asked him.

“About what?” he asked.

“Who this serial killer might be?” I said, staring at him.

Then looking straight back at me, Roland said, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question? After all, you’re the police officer ain’t ya?”

Getting up from my seat, I said, “I’m working on it.”

“You make sure you do, pretty lady, ‘cos that sergeant of yours couldn’t find his own arse with both hands and a flashlight,” he said as I reached the door.

Looking back at him, I said, “I’m sure Sergeant Murphy is doing his best.” But in my heart, I doubted that he was.

Chapter Five

The morning was overcast and dreary looking, but at least the rain from the night before had stopped. I didn’t know the area at all, and I thought I would spend the morning getting to know it. My first official nightshift started at seven, and I wanted to get a feel for the place and its people before I started policing it and them. If I were going to be successful in my new post, I would have to know my patch.

Heading back in the direction that Luke had brought me the night before, I started a slow jog. There were no pavements and I had to keep to the side of the road. In some places the undergrowth was so overgrown, I had to run further out into the road. It wasn’t as if I were putting myself in danger, as the roads seemed deserted. Not one car or person had passed me in the twenty minutes or so that it had taken me to run all the way from the Inn to the outskirts of town.

Slowing down, I looked left then right, trying to decide on which way to go. Then looking over my shoulder in the direction that I’d come, my stomach tightened and my heart sped up as I saw the hooded figure from the previous night. He was cycling towards me, his face hidden by the same hoodie he’d worn before. Turning front again, I turned left, wondering if he would follow me. I hadn’t gone very far when I glanced back again, and to my surprise saw him turn into the narrow road that I had taken.

I tried to tell myself that perhaps it was just coincidence that he was cycling the same stretch of road that I’d chosen to jog along. But who was I trying to kid? He was following me. After all, I knew it had been him who had left that crucifix tacked to my door. But why? Perhaps I should ask him?

Slowing to a standstill in the middle of the road, I turned around, and with my hands on my hips, I faced the oncoming hooded cyclist. Then seeing that I had stopped running, he stopped cycling. There was a long moment that seemed to stretch out forever as I stared at him and he stared back at me from beneath his hood.

Turning my back on him, I started to run again, this time picking up my speed. After a short time I looked back, only to find that he had started cycling again towards me. I slowed and so did he, always careful to keep a good distance between us. What did this guy want? I wondered. And why wouldn’t he show his face?

Again I stopped running and turned to face him. As I suspected he would, the cyclist stopped, and just sat and watched me.

“What do you want?” I called out, and my voice sounded echoey as it travelled across the empty fields on either side of the road. “How do you know my name?”

The hooded guy said nothing, but just sat on his bike and looked at me from beneath his hood. Then without warning, I ran as fast as I could towards him. He turned his bike around in the road and peddled as fast as he could away from me.

Knowing that I could never catch him, I slowed, doubled up gasping for breath. Once I had stopped, so did the cyclist ahead of me. Turning his bike again in the road, he sat and watched me.

Drawing in lungfuls of oxygen, I shouted as loud as I could, “Why did you leave me that crucifix?”

The cyclist, whoever he was, didn’t respond, he just sat motionless on his bike.

“I know it was you!” I yelled at him. Turning, I started to run again. Okay, I thought. If he wanted to play games, I could play along. Ahead there was a bend in the road, and running as fast as I could, I raced towards it. I rounded the bend and saw that it opened out into a wide open area of wild grass and sand, which led down through the cliffs and towards the cove. Off to the right was an outcrop of rocks. Diving behind them, I lay flat against the ground. From my hiding place, I could hear the sea crashing against the shore in the distance, and the sound of seagulls as they squawked overhead.

Peering around the rocks, I watched as the cyclist rode his bike onto the open area. He stopped, and looked from left to right, his hood never moving, not offering the smallest glimpse of who was beneath it. After a few seconds, he rode forward and headed towards the rocks. As he drew nearer, I could see that his hands were covered with gloves, and apart from the dark black hoodie, he wore blue jeans and trainers. There was a chill in the air, but I found it odd that he was so snugly wrapped up and wearing gloves. It was as if he didn’t want to show any of his skin.

Squatting on all fours, I waited for him to draw level with the rocks. When he was almost on top of me, I sprang from my hiding place and made a desperate grab for his handlebars. I managed to get hold of one before he twisted them away and out of reach. Holding on as best I could, the bike wobbled and the cyclist steadied himself by slamming both of his feet down into the sand.

“Who are you?” I hollered at him, his head lowered so I couldn’t see beneath his hood. “Tell me who you are!” I demanded.

Without so much as a murmur, he rolled the bike backwards, dragging me along with him. Losing my footing, I fell forward, letting go of the handlebar. As I went down, I caught my wrist on one of the bike pedals, tearing the skin from my wrist. Crying out in pain, I rolled into the sand and cradled my bleeding arm. Seeing that he had cast me loose, he pedalled as fast and as hard as he could away from me and down the narrow lane towards the cove.

“Come back!” I yelled after him, but he was soon gone, disappearing amongst the rocks and cliffs. Rolling onto my back, I gripped my bleeding wrist in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. It oozed through my fingers, in red sticky rivulets and for just the briefest of moments, I felt dizzy and the world seemed to turn black.

“Are you okay?” I heard someone say.

Opening my eyes, I looked up to see Luke standing over me, a concerned look etched across his face. “What happened?”

“I fell over,” I said, trying to get to my feet.

“Come here,” Luke said, offering me his hand to help me up. It was then that he saw the blood flowing through my fingers and he almost seemed to flinch in horror.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, getting myself to my feet. Again I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed unable to take his eyes off the blood that now ran up my wrist towards my forearm and dribbled from the tips of my fingers. The colour had drained from his face and he looked suddenly unwell.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, and he took a step backwards.

Continuing to look at my bleeding wrist, Luke said, “I’m not very good around blood – it kind of makes me queasy.”

“You’re meant to be a cop,” I winced in pain.

“I know, but I just don’t like the sight of blood, that’s all,” he said, and again I noticed that he couldn’t help but stare at the cut in my arm.

“Well don’t just stand there,” I said. “Give me a hand.”

Then shaking his head, as if coming out of a trance, Luke said, “I’m sorry. Sure.” Then pulling his sweatshirt from over his head, he wrapped it tightly around my arm. I noticed how careful he was not to get any of my blood on him.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked him, as he knotted the sleeves of his sweatshirt around my arm like a makeshift bandage.

“I could ask the same of you,” he said, eyeing me.

“I was taking a run,” I told him. “That was until I started to be followed.”

“Followed?” he asked, sounding alarmed. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He had his face covered. But he left me a crucifix outside my room last night.”

“A crucifix?” Luke asked. “Why?”

“I don’t know that either.” I told him.

“Where is he now?”

“Cycled off down there after knocking me to the ground,” I said, pointing in the direction of the rugged path. “Where did you come from?”

“That way,” Luke said, nodding in the direction that I had been pointing.

“You must have passed him then,” I told him. “He was on a bike.”

Shaking his head, Luke said, “No one passed me on a bike.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling confused.

“Sure,” he said. “Now let’s get you back to the Inn, before you bleed to death.”

“You never said what you were doing way out here,” I reminded him.

“Oh,” Luke smiled, “I often drive out here, park up and take in some of the sea views.”

“Where’s your car?’”

“Over there, on a piece of flat,” he said, pointing beyond the rocks. ”There’s a narrow road, but you can get a car up here if you’re careful.” Then wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he led me back down the path.

Chapter Six

Back at the Inn, I invited Luke up to my room. Closing the door behind us, Luke sat on the chair by the desk and I went to the bathroom. Removing the makeshift bandage from my wrist, I pulled off my sweatshirt and ran my arm under the cold tap. The icy water made the cut sting and I winced in pain.