Jamie was roused from his thoughts by the loud alarm that accompanied a new window opening on the van’s screen.
ECHELON INTERCEPT REF. 97607/2R
SOURCE. Emergency call (mobile telephone 07087 904543)
TIME OF INTERCEPT. 23:45
OPERATOR: Hello, emergency service operator, which service do you require?
CALLER: Police.
OPERATOR: What is the nature of your emergency?
CALLER: I just got home from work and something’s been painted on my neighbour’s front door.
OPERATOR: Does this qualify as an emergency, sir?
CALLER: It’s the same thing that’s been in the papers, that Night Stalker thing. The wolf’s head. It’s right on the front door.
OPERATOR: You can call your local police station to report vandalism, sir. This line needs to be kept clear for emergencies.
CALLER: Right. Sorry.
INTERCEPT REFERENCE LOCATION. Violet Road, West Bridgford, Nottinghamshire. 52.933714, -1.122017
RISK ASSESSMENT. Priority Level 2
“All right,” said Ellison, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s go.”
“Have you got the location, Operator?” asked Jamie.
“Yes, sir,” replied their driver, his voice sounding through the speakers. “ETA three minutes.”
“Very close,” said Qiang, as the van accelerated, its engine rumbling beneath them.
“Weapons and kit check,” said Jamie. Excitement was crackling through him at the prospect of something that might actually be worth the attention of his squad. Ever since V-Day and Gideon and stupid, reckless Kevin McKenna, Patrol Responds had become purgatory: night after night of false alarms, attacks on suspected vampires who turned out to be every bit as human as their assailants, denouncements and accusations that were usually the malicious result of some minor grudge. This, the call they were now racing towards, had the potential to be different. Everyone inside the Department was following the Night Stalker attacks with great interest, although, for once, Blacklight seemed to know little more than the public and the media.
There had been ten attacks so far, all in the Midlands and East Anglia, all bearing signature similarities, most notably the wolf’s head painted on the doors of the victims’ homes and across their bloody remains. Public opinion seemed to favour the lone crazy theory, that the Night Stalker was a single individual carrying out vigilante executions, but Jamie, along with the majority of his colleagues, thought otherwise. He knew better than anyone how powerful vampires were, how fast and agile, especially when cornered; even allowing for the element of surprise, he didn’t believe that anyone could carry out ten vampire killings on their own, unless they were also a vampire. Which was a possibility, although Jamie subscribed to a simpler solution: that there was no such thing as the Night Stalker, but several Night Stalkers, at least two, perhaps even four or five.
“Twenty seconds, sir,” said their driver.
Jamie fastened his helmet into place, flipped up the visor, and looked at his squad mates. “Ready One as soon as we touch the ground,” he said, and felt his eyes bloom with heat. “Non-lethal. Clear?”
“Clear,” replied his squad mates.
The van slowed to a halt. Jamie twisted the handle on the rear door and pushed it open. “Go,” he said.
Ellison and Qiang leapt down on to the tarmac, their weapons at their shoulders, their visors covering their faces. He was beside them in an instant, floating a millimetre or two above the ground; his vampire side, the part of himself that heightened his senses and kept him sharp, was wide awake, and hungry, as he looked around. They were standing in a quiet suburban estate, a long row of square, two-storey houses with neat lawns and mid-range Japanese cars in their driveways.
“Shall I circle, sir?” asked their driver, his voice loud and clear through the comms plugs in Jamie’s ears.
“No,” he replied. “We’re not going to be here long. Ask Surveillance to bring up the CCTV grid for a ten-mile radius from this location and leave a line open.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jamie nodded, and looked at the house standing before them. It was identical to all the others on the estate, with one ghoulish exception; sprayed on its front door, in white paint that had dripped all the way down to the step, was a crude wolf’s head, its teeth huge, its eyes wide and staring.
“Night Stalker,” he said. “Or a good impression, at least. Check the door.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ellison, and jogged up the driveway, Qiang close behind her. She moved to one side of the door frame, her back against the front wall of the house, and tried the handle. It turned in her hand, and the door swung open.
“Sweep the house,” said Jamie. “Both of you. Quick as you can.”
His squad mates disappeared inside as he took a closer look at the quiet street. The night air was still and cool; his supernatural ears could pick out the low drone of dozens of televisions from inside the identical homes. Jamie spun slowly in the air, until movement on the other side of the road caught his eye; a curtain had fluttered in the window of the house opposite, as though someone had been peering through it until he looked in their direction.
Nosy neighbour, he thought, and flew slowly towards the house. What would we do without them?
Jamie rose over the low wall at the front of the garden, crossed the lawn, and waited in front of the window for the curtain to open again. He had absolutely no doubt that it would; the van and his squad’s unusual appearance would prove too tempting. Long seconds passed until the curtains parted, ever so slightly, and the face of an elderly woman peered through them. Her eyes locked with Jamie’s, and he smiled widely as they flew open with fright. The curtains snapped shut again; he waited a moment, then flew along the front of the house and knocked hard on the door.
“I didn’t do nothing,” called a voice from inside. “Get away with you. I won’t look no more.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I need to ask you some questions.”
Silence.
“I’m not opening the door,” shouted the woman, eventually. “I don’t care who you are, I don’t open up after dark and that’s all there is to it.”
“That’s fine, ma’am,” said Jamie. “That’s a sensible policy. I just need to know if you’ve seen anything unusual in the last hour or so.”
“Just you lot,” said the woman. “What’ve you come back for? Can’t you leave that poor man alone?”
Jamie frowned. “What do you mean, just you lot?”
“You lot,” repeated the woman. “All in black, with that big van of yours. Twenty minutes ago it was.”
“Thank