Inspector Hobbes and the Blood: A Fast-paced Comedy Crime Fantasy (unhuman) (7 page)

Finding
my way to the bedroom, lying on the bed, burying my face in the pillow, I let
loose the fear that had been growing throughout the day. It emerged as a long,
long, long scream, from the soul, from the guts and most of all from the lungs.
I counted myself fortunate I'd had the foresight to muffle it, just in case
anyone heard and called the police, for Hobbes might have been sent round to
investigate and might have been angry I'd disturbed his supper. He might … in
fact, what might he do? In truth, and in his own way, he'd looked after me. He
was an enigma. He was a monster. He was a policeman. He was someone I ought to
be writing about.

A sharp crackle of rain on the window and the
wind humming and whistling drove me to snuggle under the duvet. It sounded as if
we were in for a fine storm and my tatty little flat had never felt so cosy or
so safe.

Not
meaning to fall asleep, I awoke to the storm rattling the windows and beating
against my front door. As consciousness slowly returned I wondered how that
could be, for my flat was upstairs and down a corridor. Raising my head, I
glanced at the alarm clock, which showed
2200
, ten o'clock, triggering
an alarm in my brain that resulted in an attempt at a vertical take-off. I'd
been lying on one arm, which felt all big and clumsy and useless, as far as I
could feel it at all. It tingled back to life as I ran, jerking open the front
door. Hobbes was standing there, his fist again raised for knocking and, though
I'd been expecting him, I gasped and cringed.

'Evening,'
he said. 'Good chips?'

'Oh
… umm … yes. Very good.'

'Excellent.'
He smiled. 'D'you fancy the graveyard shift?'

Not
really, I thought, the rain pounding down with renewed vigour. Nevertheless, I
nodded, for the evening might lead to a fantastic article, assuming I ever got
down to writing anything.

'Great,
get your things and we'll be off.'

Grabbing
a thick jumper, the front curry-stained, stinking a bit of sweat under the arms,
yet the warmest top I'd got, and pulling it on, I looked around for my cagoule,
before remembering it was still in the office. I disinterred a dusty old anorak
from under the bed and, before I'd really woken up, found myself back in the
car, hurtling through the darkness. After a short while we turned onto the
Fenderton Road.

'Are
we going to Mr Roman's house again?'

'No,'
said Hobbes, sounding puzzled, 'we're on the graveyard shift.'

'Yeah,
so you said, but where are we going?'

He
gave me a glance and replied slowly, as if to a simpleton, 'To the graveyard.'

'Umm
… the cemetery?'

The
night was very dark and very stormy.

'Precisely.
We're going to be doing some surveillance.'

'In
the cemetery? Why?'

'I
have received information that a person, or persons well-known, might attempt a
little grave robbing. We're going to watch and ensure no harm is done.'

I
wished I were back in my flat.

'It
might be a long night,' he said, turning onto a side road with a squeal of
tyres.

After
a short distance, he stopped on the kerb in a spot offering a panoramic view of
the cemetery, if it hadn't been so dark, and, reaching into the back, pulled
out a paper bag. 'Have a doughnut. Mrs Goodfellow made them.'

I
took one, though I wasn't hungry. It was rather good and cheered me up a little.
Then we sat and stared into the darkness, the windows steaming up, time crawling
into the bleak, small hours. When I couldn't take any more, I flopped into the
back, huddling beneath a musty old tartan blanket and dozing.

The
car was buffeted by the pounding fist of a wind, howling in rage that anything
dared stand in its way. Hobbes flicked on the windscreen wipers, combatting a
fresh spattering of rain, sitting up abruptly as distant white headlights
pierced the sodden darkness, illuminating the grinning grey headstones. When
the lights turned away down Tompot Lane, he sighed, slouching back into his
seat.

'It's
on nights like this,' he remarked, 'that I wish I was tucked up in bed with the
wife.'

'Really?
I didn't think you were married?'

'I'm
not but I can wish, can't I? Any doughnuts left?'

'No,
sorry.' I emerged from the comforting warmth of the blanket, shivering. 'What
time is it?'

'Nearly
two. Looks like they're not coming. Hold on … what's this?'

He
leaned forward, peering in the mirror, and I turned to see the vague shape of a
car rolling down the hill towards us, lights off, vanishing now and again in
the shadows. Hobbes sank down his seat, presumably in an effort to remain
inconspicuous and, despite my fatigue and the cold, I chuckled. There could
never be the remotest chance of him hiding in such a small car; it would be
like trying to conceal a warthog in a wheelbarrow. Yet, I had little time for
amusement with the other car approaching slowly, silently, as the hairs on my
scalp stiffened. I couldn't see the driver and had a sudden horror that it was
a ghost car. Although I'd heard whispers of strangeness happening in the
vicinity of Hobbes, I'd never expected anything like this. When it drew
alongside, I nearly wet myself. It was a hearse.

My
mouth, opening and shutting involuntarily, only a feeble, stuttering whimper
escaping, I stared wide-eyed over the edge of the window as the driver's door
opened. The shriek that had been growing inside burst from dry lips and I fell
back quivering.

'Oh,
do be quiet, Andy,' Hobbes growled. 'This is supposed to be covert
surveillance.'

I'd
read books in which a character supposedly growls but, before meeting Hobbes,
I'd just taken it as a literary affectation. Dogs and lions might growl but
people didn't, except for him; he could growl fiercer than any of them.

Still,
it had its effect and shut me up. I'd discovered one of the advantages of
working with him that I failed to appreciate for some time: no matter how scary
things got, he could always be scarier.

I
heard a click, the front passenger door opened, clean night air blowing away
the greasy doughnut fug and the faint animal odour.

'Evening,'
said Hobbes.

He'd
spoken to no one. At least, to no one I could see.

'Wotcha,'
said a high-pitched voice.

'What's
the word on the street?'

I
struggled up, staring through the open door into the black night. The driver
wasn't, in fact, invisible, he was just short: very short. I'd seen him in
town, now and again, mostly at the Feathers, where, bizarrely, he seemed to get
on well with Featherlight, often working behind the bar.

'I
can't stop, guv, but I thought you might be interested in some news. You
scratch my back, y'know? Cos I'm a bit short this month.'

'Cheers,
Billy,' said Hobbes, handing him a twenty pound note.

Billy
grinning, screwed it up, thrusting it into his trouser pocket. 'Ta, guv. Right,
the guys are gonna do it tonight, like I told you, but they're gonna do it in
St Stephen's down Moorend. The rain's made it too wet to dig here and there's
better drainage at St Stephens. Plus, their bike broke and it ain't so far for
'em to walk.'

'Great
work.'

The
dwarf nodded, returned to his hearse and drove away. It seemed to dissolve into
the night.

'Good
man, that,' said Hobbes. 'He keeps his ear close to the ground.'

I
nearly remarked that he kept all of himself pretty close to the ground, but something
in Hobbes's expression suggested it might not go down too well. Instead, I
asked a question. 'Why did he come here in a hearse?'

'Because it was too far to walk.' His reply
had an unanswerable logic.

The
engine bursting into life, the acceleration flinging me back into my seat, we roared
through the rain to St Stephens, a Victorian churchyard on the Moorend edge of
town.

'It's
a thirty,' I squeaked, as Hobbes's buttress foot squashed the accelerator.

He
flashed his yellow teeth in what I supposed was a grin. 'What's a thirty?'

'The
speed limit.'

'Well,
I never.'

'And
wouldn't headlights be useful?' I asked, rechecking my seatbelt, clinging to
the passenger seat in front.

'If
we weren't on covert surveillance.' He was grinning like a maniac.

I
groaned, shutting my eyes, holding on, cursing myself for accepting the
assignment. If I'd just resigned on the spot, I'd be safe and warm back home in
bed.

The
car, stopping abruptly, I opened my eyes, blinked and tried again. It was just
as dark as when they'd been shut.

'Where
are we?' I whispered.

'Just
outside St Stephens in a derelict garage. No one comes here but derelicts. You
may find the aroma is rather … pungent. Now, let's move, we're supposed to be
on watch. Be quiet and follow me. And quickly.'

We
left the car and, he was right, it didn't half pong. Holding my breath, I
followed the sound of his footsteps until we were in the open air, where a
glimmer revealed the silhouette of a kneeling angel, marking the edge of the
churchyard. I could just about pick out Hobbes's hunched form.

I
wiped rain from my eyes. 'Shouldn't we have back-up?'

'I
don't normally require it. Anyway, I have you.' I caught a vague glint of
teeth.

'Mightn't
it be dangerous?'

'Let's
hope so.'

As
he slouched forward, a huge, creeping gargoyle, I shuffled after him. I didn't
want to be with him, yet daren't lose him.

Lights
flashed from behind a huddle of overgrown gravestones. I froze, heart pounding,
as the rumble of chanting male voices reached me, making the hairs on my neck
quiver, starting a dull ache in my stomach. Hobbes had melted into the
blackness. I blundered forward, close to panic, needing the reassurance of his
hulking presence and, unfortunately, he wasn't present. He'd left me, lost and
alone, in a churchyard at night and my head was filled with chanting that
chilled even more than the icy stab of the rain.

'Turn
the bleeding music off, you daft berk,' said a rough voice, like someone was
gargling with hot gravel. With a click, the chanting ceased and, at the same
instant, a light shone in my face.

Dazzled
and disoriented, I turned to run, my heart racing like a dog's at the vets. My
feet missing the ground, I dropped through blackness until something hard
transformed my gasp of terror into a groan of pain, leaving me to endure a few
seconds of stunned confusion.

My
groping hands touched wet, muddy walls. A sharp, earthy odour filled my
nostrils. I'd tumbled into an open grave. The next horror was discovering I had
an audience. As the grave filled with light, voices coming from above, I rolled
onto my back, blinking, temporarily blinded. After a few moments, I began to
make out two faces that, if I hadn't spent the past day with Inspector Hobbes,
would surely have given me an immediate cardiac arrest.

'Blimey,
this one's still moving. What we gonna do with it?' The gravel voice I'd heard
earlier sounded hesitant.

Another
voice, softer, yet creepy, replied. 'Dunno. Maybe if we fill it in again, it
won't be next time. Nuffing like this ever 'appened to me before. They've
always been still … and packed inside the box.'

'Good
evening,' I said, putting my hope in politeness and affability. At least I had
the satisfaction of making them jump.

'Wah!'
said Gravel Voice. 'It talks.'

'Certainly,
I talk. Look, I appear to have stumbled into this hole and I wonder if you
could see your way to giving me a hand out?'

'Give
you a 'andout?' said Creepy Voice. 'Do I look like I'm a charity? What are you?
A bleeding scrounger?'

'No,
sir, I mean, could you help me to get out?'

''elp
you to get out?' Creepy Voice sounded shocked. 'I'm not sure that's allowed.
What are you in for anyway?'

'It
was an accident. I slipped and fell. I shouldn't really be here.'

'That's
what they all say,' said Gravel Voice, knowingly.

'Oh,'
I said as I pushed myself onto my knees, 'it's most remiss of me. You must
think I'm terribly rude. I haven't introduced myself. I'm Andrew Caplet, Andy.
And you are?'

'I
am not,' said Creepy Voice, 'you're wrong there, mate. I'm not Andrew Caplet
Andy.'

'No.'
I forced a smile, struggling to my feet, for the muddy coffin top was as
slippery as an ice rink. 'I meant, who are you?'

'Ghouls,'
said Gravel Voice.

I
held up a hand. 'Nice to meet you. Umm … I'd appreciate a bit of help, it's
getting very wet down here.'

The
two faces looked at me, then at each other. They whispered a few words.

Creepy
Voice nodded and spoke. 'Er, look, mate, we'd like to 'elp but we're worried
that if we was to let you out, then all of them would want out and then what
would we 'ave to eat?'