‘Morbid’s not the way to go, Harry,’ the other told him. ‘Let’s for now just try to find this Johnny, right? Plenty of time then to sort the rest of it.’ And the Necroscope knew he was right. All except the plenty of time part . . .
The following morning, the Minister Responsible called Darcy Clarke in to E-Branch HQ. When Clarke walked into what had once been his office, the Minister was seated at his old desk . . . and Geoffrey Paxton was standing in one corner of the room, arms folded across his chest and with his back to the reinforced glass windows. Clarke could do without Paxton picking at his mind, but he was no longer in a position to complain about it.
After apparently casual nods of greeting or acknowledgement, the Minister remarked how ragged Clarke looked; to which he replied, ‘I was up late. In fact I’d just managed to snatch an hour or two when your office called to arrange this meeting. Well, that was good, for I was coming in anyway. You see, last night I had a couple of visitors. Except I’m afraid you’re not much likely to believe me when I tell you who one of them was.’
Paxton spoke up at once. ‘We know who they were, Clarke,’ he said, sourly. ‘Harry Keogh and Trevor Jordan -vampires!’
Clarke had been ready for that. He sighed and turned to the Minister. ‘Do we have to have this meathead in on this? I mean, if he must forever be wriggling about like a fucking great maggot in people’s heads, can’t it be from a distance? Say, right outside the door here?’
Unruffled, the Minister stared right back at him. ‘Are you saying that Paxton is wrong, Clarke?’
Clarke sighed again. ‘I saw Harry and Trevor last night, yes. He’s right that far.’
‘So you’re saying that Harry Keogh and Jordan aren’t vampires?’ The Minister’s voice was very quiet.
Clarke looked at him, looked away, chewed his bottom lip. And the Minister prompted him: ‘They are vampires?’
Clarke faced him again and said, ‘Jordan . . . isn’t.’
‘But Keogh is?’
Clarke snapped, ‘But you were already pretty sure of that, right? All thanks to -‘ he glanced fire at Paxton ‘- to this slimy shit! Yes, Harry’s been contaminated. He picked up this bloody thing protecting us – every single one of us – doing a job out in the Greek islands which I had asked him to help us with. So that in my book at least he’s not about to turn killer now! What more can I tell you?’
‘We think quite a lot,’ Paxton answered, but softly now, his pasty face reddening from the sting of Clarke’s insult.
Clarke looked at him, looked at the Minister, and felt no rapport. He wasn’t getting through to them at all. ‘Why don’t you let me tell it my way?’ he pleaded. ‘And why don’t you try listening to me? Who knows, you may even learn something?’
But Paxton said, ‘Yes, and we might get thrown right off the track, too.’
Clarke glared at him, looked at the Minister across his desk and said, ‘Look, your pet parrot here isn’t making much sense. Shit, I don’t understand a word! Do you know what he’s raving about?’
The Minister came to a decision, gave an abrupt nod and said, ‘Clarke, I’m going to give it to you straight. E-Branch was monitoring your place last night. Yours and Jordan’s both. You see, we knew even before you did that Jordan was back from the dead, which is to say undead. What? A man dead and gone, yet up and about among the living? Undead! That’s how we see it, the only way we can see it. And not only Jordan but one of those murdered girls, too. Vampires, for there’s nothing else they can be.’
Clarke cut in desperately, ‘But if you’ll only listen to me -‘
But the Minister wasn’t listening. ‘We know what time Keogh got to Jordan’s flat, the time they left it together and where they went, and the fact that however much we don’t know – and even if you hadn’t admitted as much -still we’d be absolutely sure that Harry Keogh is a vampire! How can we be so sure? Because he carries all the stigmata. You could say he even smells of vampire: which is to say he covers himself in mind-smog. Do you follow me so far?’