Suckers

'I've heard about it.'

He looked grim. 'Well, there you are. It is like I told you. She is becoming careless.'

'Go on.'

She came originally from Moldavia, he said, which was now a part of the USSR. She had led a normal, respectable life as a daughter of Bogdan until, in a port on the Danube, she encountered a certain Italian aristocrat.

'Then what? Who was the aristocrat?'

'I have told you my story. Now you tell me yours.'

'You haven't finished. Where does she get her money?'

He sighed. 'There is a very old man who lives in Colorado, in the United States of America. He is extremely rich. There is another old man who lives in a castle in Mexico. He too is a millionaire. There is an old woman, I think, who owns a small island off the coast of Japan. There are others, I am not sure where — maybe in the Aegean, or Nepal. But I know they are all very old, and all very rich. They give her money.'

'Why?'

'Because they are vampires too.'

'Good Lord. How many vampires are there?'

'Not many. Like many species, they face extinction.'

'Why don't they spread it around, then? Bite more necks?'

Grauman sighed, his eyes glazing over. 'It is not so simple, not like in the movies. One bite may be enough to infect you, but it will not bestow on you the full range of powers. That process is long and arduous, and extremely dangerous, as the recipient will hover on the threshold of death for six or seven days, while fluids are still being exchanged. And, so long as this recipient exists, the original vampire is unable to bestow his or her gift on another. At least, not in its entirety.'

'How inconvenient.'

'Yes, it is. Most inconvenient.'

'So what is Violet being paid to do?'

His eyes snapped back into focus. 'I have kept my part of the bargain,' he said pleasantly. 'Now you will keep yours. Tell me your story, or I will break both your arms.'

I looked at him to see whether he was joking, but I didn't think he was. 'What was it you wanted to know again?'

'Tell me about your boyfriend. What is his name?'

I sipped some wine. 'Duncan.'

He snarled. For a second I thought he really was going to lean across and break my arm. 'Duncan what?'

After the first shock of waking up to find him there, I had found him simply creepy. Now he was beginning to frighten me again.

'Duncan Fender,' I said.

A look of such ferocious anger crossed his face that I quickly estimated the fastest route to the door, just in case I had to make a run for it. But then he sighed and sat back and lit another cigarette.

'Duncan Fender,' he said. 'I thought as much.'

Chapter 4

I saw a lot of Andreas Grauman in the next few weeks. Or rather, he made sure I saw a lot of him. He was keeping tabs on me, but I was careful not to give too much away. I refused to tell him where I lived, for example — I didn't want him springing any nasty surprises. But it was true I was spending more time in W11 than in NW1. I had a friend called Matt who was attempting to run a tiny independent record company from a couple of rooms at the dingy end of Blenheim Crescent. I talked him into giving me a set of keys so I could use the place as a makeshift base at night. It was somewhere to make coffee, chop up sulphate, and smoke cigarettes — all fast becoming my favourite hobbies. And it was only a short walk away from Duncan's.

Violet killed people. I knew that now. She wasn't turning them into other vampires; she was tearing their throats out and drinking their blood. Down and outs, drug addicts, people who wouldn't be missed — but they were still people, and I wasn't happy about it. The cemetery was obviously a favourite dining area. I followed her as far as the gates, once or twice, but I had seen it once, and had no desire to see it again, and I couldn't bring myself to follow her in. I never found out what happened to the corpses, but there was never any mention in the press of a serial killer at large. I had the impression, from something he let slip, that one of Grauman's duties was to clear up after her. This struck me as a demeaning task, and I wondered why he put up with it.

Sometimes, I wondered if I were transferring my obsession from Duncan to Violet. I couldn't get enough of her. I felt cheated during the daylight hours, when she disappeared into the basement of her big empty house in Holland Park. It was as good as a fortress, and it needed to be. The windows were barred, and the door was solid as a rock. Without keys, or a bulldozer, there would be no way of getting in. Grauman warned me not to try; the place was rigged, he said.

While she slept, I browsed in libraries, mulling over books and taking notes. I made lists, concocted theories. I theorized, for instance, that the traditional effectiveness of garlic as a deterrent was due to its playing havoc with the finely tuned sense of smell, triggering off some kind of debilitating migraine. I was curious about how people were turned into vampires in the first place. It would be a long drawn-out process requiring more than one blood-draining session — probably a whole series of them. I began to look even more closely at Duncan when I saw him, but while he was obviously having trouble keeping normal hours he didn't seem particularly distressed by the garlic I waved under his nose.

I still dropped in on the occasional college seminar, justifying my absences by dropping hints about the grand designs in which I was engaged at home. In fact, I was turning my dealings with Violet into a sort of artistic project. Matt let me fix up a bulletin board on his wall and, since it was quite decorative, never asked what it was all about. I constructed a collage of maps, coloured cotton, and drawing-pins to record Violet's movements. The blue drawing-pins recorded her wanderings, the green stood for her meetings with Duncan. Fatalities were red.

My main reason for going in to college, though, was to keep myself supplied with drugs. Ruth Weinstein had lots of hippy friends and had consequently become our resident dealer. Mostly she supplied various forms of hash, but the rich kids liked to splash out on cocaine for special occasions, and she turned a tidy profit on the side. I had never had the money to fritter away on recreational drugs, but I needed to stay awake at night. Ruth supplied me with the means of doing so, usually on credit, and every so often I would fiddle the till at the cake shop to pay her off. This was her idea of making friends; she was convinced we were going to be chums for life.

Meanwhile, I was meeting up with Grauman in smoky pubs and greasy cafes where I would push coagulating food around my plate and drink endless cups of coffee. After that first meeting he was sparing with his information, even though I tried to coax him into commenting on some of my theories. I never believed for a moment that he was interested in me personally. I think in his grotesque Teutonic fashion he might have found me diverting, but I kept reminding myself I was only a means to an end. There was no question in my mind he was ruthless, vicious, and entirely without sentiment — and that once I had served my purpose, he would calmly arrange for me to be removed from the face of the earth.

For now, I was determined to spin my usefulness out for as long as possible. Grauman wanted Duncan out of the way and he thought I could help him there. And what was in it for Andreas? I had no idea. He insisted his interest in Violet was neither sexual nor financial. He talked about duty, to sponsors and to heritage, but I could tell that underneath the high-sounding words, it all boiled down to something personal. Grauman and I were very much alike in that way. Naturally, I wondered what it would be like to go to bed with him. The thought of it made me squirm, and not from anything remotely resembling pleasure.