Vampire Shift - By Tim O'Rourke Page 0,11

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