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  Richard awoke at seven the next morning with a hangover. He left Susan in bed while he fortified himself with coffee and paracetamol before staggering off to work. The cold morning sunlight hurt his eyes but the walk refreshed him a little. Passing the bookshop he saw a hand written sign taped to the glass door,

  “Closed owing to bereavement” with a cold shudder he hurried on around the corner and saw Phil stepping out of his car.

  “Hey Phil!” He was delighted to see him, they went into the office together and Phil switched on the coffee machine,

  “You look a bit worse for wear this morning...” Phil commented dryly, “…Did you and Sue go out last night?” Richard was careful with his reply,

  “It's a bit of a long story, and I’ll tell you later. Oh, by the way, Cyndy needs the address of your client so that she can send the invoice.” He had tried to sound nonchalant with the request but could tell immediately that Phil had gone on the defensive,

  “No need. She's paying cash and values her privacy.” Richard couldn't believe it,

  “What about the VAT?” Phil was dismissive,

  “Oh don't worry, I'll sort it out, I'll lose it somewhere.” It was obvious that Phil wasn't going to give out her address and he ended their brief conversation abruptly before going to the printing room. Richard waited alone in reception, staring at Phil's jacket hanging neatly in its usual place. For the first time in is life he went through someone else's pockets, inside Phil's wallet he found an address on a slip of paper, 22 Old Bridge Lane, Hammersmith,

  “Hi Rich!” Cyndy clattered in dropping her handbag and umbrella on the desk and immediately turning towards the mirror.

  “Morning Cyn.” He muttered as cheerfully as he could manage while he dropped Phil's wallet back inside his jacket unnoticed.

  *

  Later that morning Susan phoned Richard at the office to say that she was coming in to see him, she had been brooding over last nights revelations and decided that they had best talk to Walther as soon as possible. She arrived late morning; Richard heard her chatting briefly with Cyndy before she joined him in his office.

  “Hi ya...” She called out cheerfully, “…I’ve got something for you.” From her handbag she pulled out a charm of some kind on a woven necklace, “…It’s for luck. It was my mother’s and you have to wear it.” She knew he wouldn’t be too impressed, he had no time for mumbo-jumbo stuff, but he was actually far more pleased than she thought. She had told him so little about her mother and father, except that they were dead, and he was pleased that she wanted to give him something so personal.

  They left shortly afterwards, telling Cyndy that were going for some lunch together. The bookshop was still closed and so they had to knock and wait. Susan peered through the dusty windows; the dimly lit interior with its rows and rows of well-worn books filled her with a sudden and unwelcome memory. She pictured her father's study and remembered when, as a child, she would sneak in when he wasn't there and explore his fantastic collection of artefacts. Books, of course, lined the walls, mechanical toys and puzzles lay on the lower shelving, and a free-standing globe beckoned by the window overlooking the garden. Often she would fall asleep under his desk, surrounded by her cache of collected objects, later to be gently roused with a smiling reprove.

  She shook her head to clear it of emotional baggage.

  “Here he comes.” She watched Walther appear out of the gloom, looking very much as Richard had described, except perhaps even taller and thinner. He unlocked the door and beckoned them in,

  “Thank you for coming, would you follow me through?” He locked the door behind them and led them to the little room at the back.

  “This is my wife; Susan.” Walther offered his hand in a polite shake. Seeming ill at ease, he turned to Richard,

  “Have you told your wife any of the matters we discussed last evening?”

  “Everything.” Walther gritted his teeth in frustration and annoyance, turned away for a moment, then whirled on Richard,

  “You are a fool! Do you not see the danger of this situation? You have no right to involve other people!” Richard never liked to be shouted at, but before he retorted Susan jumped in,

  “If my husband's in danger then I want to know about it! That's my right, and I'm going to be beside him all the way. So stop talking across me as if I'm not here and start talking about what we're supposed to do. Together!” Walther broke the ensuing silence with icy graciousness,

  “Please accept my apologies for my outburst. I am a little, um, distracted, at the moment. I have to see to certain arrangements.” He was evidently annoyed but at the same time seemed quietly desperate,

  “Richard, do you have the address that you promised?” Richard handed over a slip of paper before Susan could stop him; she guessed what Walther would say next,

  “Thank you. What there is to be done is for me to do alone. I will trouble you no further. Please leave now, I have much business to attend.” His tone was coldly dismissive. Susan wasn't about to be fobbed off and reared up,

  “Oh no you don't! We've got a friend in trouble and we're-” Richard grabbed her lightly on the arm,

  “Hold on Sue...” He faced Walther down, “...The police, I'm sure they would be interested in the whereabouts of the so-called Cat the Ripper, don't you think?” He had Walther by the balls and he knew it. Susan grinned; her own wicked lop-sided ‘Gotcha’ grin,

  “Well?” She demanded. Walther sat down wearily behind the desk;

  “You must not be so irresponsible. I beg of you. Please consider this. The police, if they are able to arrest her, a matter that I seriously doubt, will not have sufficient evidence for a trial. She will go to ground again, flee the country no doubt. And you…” He pointed his long forefinger at each of them in turn, “…Will be responsible for the suffering and death of Lord knows how many more innocent victims. Will your conscience bear such a weighty burden?”

  It was touché. In the silence that followed, Susan sat down, a purposeful look on her face, and motioned for Richard to also take a seat,

  “We are already involved.” She murmured. Walther seized on her remark instantly,

  “Ridiculous, how can you be? In what way? You know next to nothing of-” She stared steadily into his eyes forcing him to break off, and then dropped her bombshell,

  “I think she murdered my parents.”

  Chapter 2: “Your fear is my strength...”

  A Roadside Campfire, Southern England - 2000

  Shielded from the busy road by a knot of trees, the little Asian man, Tsuba by name, once again stared into the glowing remains of his campfire. Earlier, the old hag had staggered drunkenly back into their shared home and means of transport, a converted London bus; she snored loudly in the background but, as ever, it never bothered him. Sitting alone in the dark, breathing in the smoke from certain herbs thrown onto the fire, he succumbed to the warm peaceful feeling and allowed the tiny dancing flames to draw him in.

  He saw the world through those flames. Saw it and through it, and saw the people on it. And even though he had faced death and atrocity a thousand times, and killed in his turn, he still loved it and all the people on it. Once again he set his mind free to roam the astral plane, searching, searching for her.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Susan's revelation knocked Richard for six. He had always, or so he convinced himself, respected her silence when it came to talking about her family, believing that one day she would open up to him. That it came out now, in such unexpected fashion, and on top of everything else, threw him into a state of total confusion. Walther suspected as much and melted into the background. Susan stared into Richard's eyes, an imploring look, begging for understanding. They all jumped when the telephone rang. Walther picked it up,

  “Walther Von Vohberg speaking.”

  His conversation was brief and it was obviously to do with his father's funeral, after he had finished the call he turned back to them, his
voice weary with sadness,

  “Please, I am very busy, perhaps you could visit me tonight? On my father’s boat?” Richard looked to Susan for confirmation, she nodded,

  “Yes, good idea.”

  Walther wrote down the address and showed them out politely,

  “At seven? I will prepare a little dinner.”

  “No please, don't go to any trouble.”

  “It will be no trouble. I look forward to not dining alone for a change.”

  They left him at the shop door and made their way back to the office,

  “I just want to see that everything is ok, then I'll take the rest of the day off.” Richard called out, peering round the print-room door looking for Philip.

  “He's gone again…” Cyndy announced, “…Finished those books, and then just took off. Says he'll be back tomorrow.”

  Richard pounded the door in frustration;

  “Damn it what the hell is he up to?” He mused aloud and Cyndy picked up on it,

  “I don’t know Rich, but, well…” She hesitated for a second, “…I’m worried about him. You know how he gets when he meets a girl.” Richard knew all right, Phil always fell head-first for the wrong girl, and they always ended up hurting him. He sighed, feeling helpless, remembering the last one,

  “Let’s just hope he doesn’t get hurt like the last time.”

  *

  Ritupiae, Britannia - AD60

  The bustling port of Ritupiae, on the southern coast of Britannia, swarmed with traders of all kinds, shipping goods to and fro across the busy stretch of sea that, centuries later, would be known as the English Channel. Its garrison had been poorly depleted by the rush of soldiers needed to crush Boudicca’s revolutionary army and so the green-eyed gladiatrix found it easy to move around unchallenged. She had obtained money and clothing by robbing fellow travellers,

  “Dead men tell no tales. Or women.” She’d stolen other accoutrements and passed herself off as a merchant’s wife, trading on his behalf while he recovered from illness, soon she had passage on a ship to Gaul.

  *

  London, Windsor - 2000

  Richard took Susan to lunch in a nearby café, one of those old-fashioned tea-rooms popular with tourists and old people. They got the last vacant table. He had a hundred questions to ask but it was Susan who initiated the conversation,

  “I'm sorry Rich, for springing it on you like that. I suppose you're pretty pissed off about it, but I, well...” She dried up, still unable to open up to her husband. They sipped at coffees and picked at toasted sandwiches, quietly incommunicado.

  Richard was an orphan, fostered around several times during his childhood. His last 'parents' were by now quite elderly and he rarely visited them, they were just old people to him. Philip Leach had been his anchor during his teenage years, keeping him from going too far off the rails, and when he met Susan she opened his mind to love, she became everything and everyone to him. But he didn't talk about his past, his childhood, and neither did she. They were two broken people thrown overboard and clinging to each other for survival. He realised with a sickening feeling that he might be losing the only two people who ever meant anything to him. It was too painful to dwell on, he blocked the thoughts, closed down his mind to focus on the mundane,

  “Maybe I'd better get back to the office...” He eventually suggested, “...meet you at home later.”

  “Yes all right then.” Their conversation at a complete standstill.

  *

  The House in the Countryside - 2000

  Cairo stepped out suddenly from the dark behind a large wooden wardrobe, a black cross on her ragged white frock, a shadow cast from the attic window. She moved silently to the iron-framed bed against one wall and lay down. Apart from herself, the bed and the wardrobe, the room was completely empty.

  Wind whistled through the trees outside and she wondered what it would be like to go outdoors. She shivered in the cold, her breath frosty in the moonlight, her bare feet like blocks of ice.

  *

  London, River Thames - 2000

  At seven o'clock Richard and Susan stood together but slightly apart on the North bank of the river Thames, looking for Walther's boat. It was another clear, cold evening; Susan shivered slightly at the sight of the silver moon reflected in the black water. The riverbank was only dimly lit by the occasional lantern making it difficult to see the boat names,

  “There it is.” Richard pointed to a bulky old-fashioned brown timber houseboat, Persephone printed in faded gold on its stern.

  “Watch out for the puddle!” The curtains were drawn, Richard stepped aboard the dark planking at the rear and held out his hand to help Susan, they both turned as the cabin door opened with a rush of warm air and bright yellow light. Walther's voice called out to them,

  “Come in, come in, it is cold this evening.” They stepped down into the cabin, squinting as their eyes adjusted to the bright light.

  “Welcome to my home...” Walther greeted them warmly as he helped them off with their jackets, “...It was father's pride and joy, this old boat. And now it has come down to me.” Richard and Susan looked around in surprise, the décor was magnificent. Panelled end-to-end in walnut and brass, cupboards and shelves all built-in with ornate architraves and beading. Pretty tapestry curtains, each one different but complementing the next, hung on brass poles over the windows. From a drop-down cupboard Walther produced a crystal decanter of ruby wine and motioned for them to sit on a small but comfy sofa near the warmly flickering gas fire. The aroma of peppers and onion wafted through from the galley, Susan suddenly realised that she was ravenous. Walther sat himself on a leather footstool,

  “I would like to apologise for my rudeness this morning, I make no excuses, and I must also confess that I cannot remember if I mentioned providing dinner. And so, in order to be on the safe side, I have prepared something.” The ‘prepared something’ turned out to be a fabulously tasty Hungarian goulash served with salad and bread. Richard and Susan ate well, the combination of food, wine and the warm cabin lulling them into a dreamy, relaxed mood. Walther’s conversation was quiet but witty and they hardly noticed the passage of time, it was nearly ten o’clock before they got on to the subject of committing murder.

  “I still don’t understand why we can’t just tell the police.” Richard stated in exasperation,

  “We could even do it anonymously.” He added. Walther stared at him for a few moments as if coming to a decision, when he replied his words were clipped, impatient,

  “If you inform the police she will escape, I guarantee it. She will then continue to carry out her atrocities elsewhere. She is clever and cautious; do not be under any illusions about her ability to outwit us.” He paused briefly before again wagging his finger,

  “As I have said, you do not have to be involved.” Richard, silenced, looked down into his glass, shaking his head slightly. It was Susan, red in the face, who blurted out,

  “I’m in!…” She wagged her own finger back at Walther, “…And don’t think that anything you can say will talk me out of it!” Walther sat back quickly, not betraying any emotion but steepling his fingers as if to encourage her to say more, allowing her to continue unchallenged,

  “I believe everything you’ve said, even the crazy stuff, and I agree that the police would be a waste of time. I want to be a part of this, I think I owe it to my parents.” Her last few words were spoken more quietly but there was no mistaking the determination in her voice, she wanted in. Richard shook his head again, looking lost and almost helpless for a second, then with an ironic smile he reached out for her,

  “Well, I’ll try anything once; even murder I suppose.” He tried to be flippant but despite this all three of them nodded, satisfied that a commitment was made. Walther cleared his throat quietly before addressing Susan with a level gaze,

  “Susan, I do not wish to be impolite, but it might be of some help to our cause if you were to tell me the facts behind your parents, er, untimely,
er, well what happened to them?” Richard wasn’t prepared for that,

  “Oh No, hold on a minute, She’s not ready to make th-”

  “Rich...” She put up a hand, “…It’s okay, I think it’s about time I got this off my chest anyway. And besides, having someone else, someone who might not be so sceptical, no offence, to tell it to, might make it a little easier...” They exchanged looks before she continued. “…Forgive me if I ramble a little, I’ve never told this before, and it was ten years ago…” She took a deep breath and sat back in her seat, “…They were in South Africa on a kind of working holiday, doing research on a book they were writing together. It was a study on the legends of the undead, you know the sort of thing, vampires and zombies and stuff. They claimed that they had some evidence that would prove the legends were based on fact…” Walther leaned forward as she continued, “…I was at university and not really interested, I didn’t keep in touch much in those days.” They could hear the regret and guilt in her voice, “…Well one day my mother phoned sounding very excited, she said that they had visited a man, a witch doctor I think, who was living with a devil-woman hundreds of years old. Of course I laughed and wished her the best of luck.” She paused in her narrative, eyes sparkling. It was obvious she found the memories painful, Richard felt compelled to speak,

  “It’s all right Sue, you don’t have to go on if you don’t want to.” To his annoyance Walther disagreed,

  “On the contrary Richard, I believe that Susan will be very glad to finally unburden herself. Is that not so?” He addressed the last remark directly to her, she nodded in agreement and continued,