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Johann sat in the outer office sulking. Annica had taken at least two pints of his blood while she pondered their first case. She had given him near immortality, voluntary control over his adrenal gland which afforded him abnormal strength whenever needed. However he was now her servant and walking nourishment supply. He was amazed at what he had learned about vampire history since his conversion some forty years ago in Aachen. Crosses, garlic, sunlight and stakes were all completely harmless, he grinned,
Abraham Stoker was one of the first exponents of misinformation when he wrote ‘Dracula’. Stoker was still writing vampire tales under various pseudonyms, there were rumours that ‘Buffy’ had been the result of a speculative script sent into a TV station.
Annica called him in again and said,
“Johann, fetch your coat, the game’s afoot!”
“Oh good God, I wish you wouldn’t do that, Mistress. Sir Arthur was very particular about you using his catch-phrases all the time.”
The vampire sniffed,
“I don’t see why, we only chatted with him last year and….”
“Yes and I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that either. Biting famous authors, I mean.”
“Oh yes? Well if a certain clan Master hadn’t started that collection of explorer converts, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
Yes, mused Johann, Columbus was having a hell of a time at the moment. Before Annica got too overwrought he decided to divert her attention,
“Anyhow Mistress, what makes you think you’ve solved the mystery?”
The mollified Mistress stopped in mid-rant and said,
“I think that the answer lies in one of Holmes’ favourite adages, ‘when everything else has been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, is invariably the truth.”
She smirked,
“I’ll tell you later.”
“That’s another catch…”
“Johann!”
“Yes, Mistress, I know - get my coat. Where are we going?”
“Out.”
Johann rolled his eyes and followed her out of the office.
An hour later, they arrived at a terraced house in Fenton. A middle-aged woman opened the door, she wore a simple black dress and her face was lined with worry. Annica smiled and introduced them as friends of her recently deceased husband’s parents. The woman, Geena Sneisko, seemed unsure but was glad of any company and this aristocratic lady appeared to be disinclined to accept any argument. She invited them both into her lounge and went through to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.
“Mistress,” hissed Johann, “You’re not going to bite her are you?”
“Certainly not.” huffed Annica, “A blood-type O and unknown as well? The only interest I have in her is her husband’s unusual demise.”
“This is the garlic clove death?”
“That’s right.”
Mrs Sneisko returned with a laden tray, set it down and sat opposite Annica. She tried a watery smiled and Annica tutted sympathetically,
“It’s such a terrible blow to lose a loved one.”
“Ja, yes it is.”
“You’d been married for how long was it?”
“Ten years – he was my second husband.”
“Of course. Johann, perhaps you’d like to pour the tea? Mrs Sneisko, or may I call you Geena?”
The woman acquiesced and Annica murmured,
“Thank you, Geena. I was just thinking how tired you seem. All this stress I suppose.”
-Hello-, thought Johann, -She’s started.-
“Oh yes, it has been very upsetting.”
“Well you just relax and let Johann serve the tea.”
When Johann handed around the cups, he sat back and let Annica continue,
“Geena, you must be feeling so sleepy. But I do need to ask you something.”
“I’ll do my best to help.”
Annica said gently,
“Of course you will. Now then, what colour were Viktor’s eyes?”
“Blue, like sapphires.”
“The same as mine you mean?”
Geena looked at Annica and Johann smiled, it was all over bar the shouting now.
“Well, yes they are very similar.”
“That surprises me, keeping looking at my eyes, Geena. Examine them carefully, they are almost identical to your husband’s? You do need to relax don’t you?”
“Hmm, yes.” muttered Geena drowsily.
Annica guided the woman into a deep state of hypnosis and asked,
“Geena, when this is over, you’ll forget everything that has happened. You won’t remember me or my servant Johann. Now then, your husband is dead yes?”
“No.”
Johann nearly choked on his tea, Annica sighed and glared at him,
“If you don’t mind, thank you so very much.”
“Sorry, Mistress.”
“Huh. Now then Geena, why isn’t Viktor dead? I thought he had choked.”
“ A man broke in and forced garlic into Viktor’s mouth.”
“What happened then?”
“Viktor was really upset, he hates being woken up in the middle of the day. So he pushed the garlic down his attacker’s throat, packed his bags and ordered a taxi to the airport. He’s gone back to Poland and I’m to join him later.”
Johann whistled softly. Viktor Sneisko was an undead and his would-be assassin had tried the usual ineffective method of killing a vampire.
“So the dead man you identified as Viktor was his attacker?”
“That’s right. He’s going to be cremated next week.”
Annica woke Geena up, they finished their drinks and left.
Back at their office, Annica smirked complacently,
“There, how difficult was that? Sneisko is obviously from one of those noveau-undead clans, I’d never heard of them before – and his servant was so common. He’ll need a better blood-type that a mere O, if he wants to get on.”
Johann turned his mouth down at the edges,
“And that’s what happened in the other two incidents?”
Annica frowned,
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know, but it seems the most likely explanation.”
“Elementary my dear Mistress?”
“I expect so. Next time though – let’s wait for somebody to ask us to investigate.”
“Why bother? The bank hands over money whenever we want it, thanks to a vampire not a million miles away from me.”
“Yes, but there’s no challenge in that.”
“Well, it’s going to be interesting at any rate.”
There was a knock on the door. An elderly man stepped in and said,
“Afternoon, Albert Bloggs, sign-writer. I finished me last job early so I thought I’d pop in and see if you’re okay to let me do you today.”
Annica smiled at him,
“Excellent, Mr Bloggs, could I have a word first though? Sit down, Albert you seem rather tired.”
Johann left the room muttering,
“Obviously this challenge business depends on what we can afford.”
the end
------
In five hundred years time, most of us will be forgotten dust. But Hitler will still be remembered, God loves irony.
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Fear book 3 - part 9
