I woke early, just before six. I didn't want to miss breakfast, like I'd missed dinner the night before. The owner of the Inn seemed particularly strict on the rules surrounding meal times.
As I pulled on a sweatshirt, jogging-bottoms, and trainers, my stomach groaned. It was then I realised I hadn't eaten anything since before leaving my home in Havensfield the day before. As I made my way down to the dining area, I switched on my mobile phone. I scrolled through my contact list, until I came across 'Sergeant Phillips'. I pressed the call button, but all I got back was an unobtainable tone. As I reached the dining area, I noticed the signal bar on my phone was red, indicating that it was unable to find a signal.
Putting the phone in my pocket, I was frustrated that I couldn't get hold of Phillips. I wanted to ask if he couldn't find me some better accommodations. The old woman that I'd spoken with the night before trundled over to my table, which had been laid with a bowl, plate, and a mug. Apart from me, the small eating area was deserted.
"Tea or coffee?" the old woman croaked, not looking up from a small pad she held in her liver-spotted hands.
"Good morning," I smiled, hoping to get off on a better footing with her than I had the night before.
"Tea or coffee?" the woman asked again, and her eyes met mine with her glazed stare.
"Coffee, please," I told her, trying to keep my smile.
"Bacon and eggs?" the woman asked, the pen poised over her note pad.
"Just toast please." Although I was hungry, I wanted to go for a run and I didn't want to be bloated out with a stomach full of greasy bacon and eggs.
"Toast," the woman said, turning away and shuffling towards the kitchen. The dining area, like the bar, was decorated with cloves of garlic, but with one difference. Along the far wall was a small coffee table which was covered with a white lace cloth. On top were an arrangement of crucifixes and small bottles of water. With a black marker pen, someone had written across each bottle the words 'Holy Water'.
Smiling to myself - I wasn't superstitious at all - I got up from my seat and crossed over to the table. The crucifixes were identical to the one that had been left for me the night before. Picking up one of the tiny bottles of water, I heard the old woman speak to me as she shuffled towards my table with a plate of toast.
"They're for sale, if you want one." she said, placing the plate on the table.
Putting the little bottle of holy water back with the others, I crossed back to my table and sat down.
"Why would I want to buy a bottle of holy water?" I asked her, and took a bite of the toast.
"For protection," she said, pouring a cup of coffee.
"Protection from what?" I asked, half smiling.
Glancing back over her shoulder as if she were scared that someone might be eavesdropping, she lent in towards me and whispered, "From the vampires," and her breath smelt stale and warm against my face.
Looking straight back at her, I said, "I don't believe in vampires."
"That's what the others said when I tried to warn them," she hushed and snatched another quick look over her shoulder.
"Who?" I asked, sipping my coffee.
"The other ones," she sighed, starting to sound inpatient. "The other police officers who came here before you."
Looking into her milky-grey eyes I asked, "Do you know what happened to them?"
"They -" she started but was cut dead by a gruff sounding voice from the other side of the room.
"That's enough, mother!" the voice said, and I looked up to see a fat balding man come waddling into the dining area. He wore a red chequered shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a white apron that was smeared with old food and drink. His cheeks were flushed red and his forehead glistened with sweat.
"The girl has a right to know!" the old woman barked at him.
"There's nothing for her to know!" her son snapped back. Then crossing towards the table with the bottles of holy water and crucifixes, he added, "and how many times have I told you to get rid of all this bloody nonsense?"
"You keep a civil tongue in your head, Roland," the old woman hissed. "This is still my Inn - it ain't yours yet."
"But you're scaring away all the customers," he told her, his jowls wobbling.
"It ain't me that's scarring 'em off," she snapped at him. "It's those things - those creatures!"
Roland saw me staring at both of them as they argued in front of me. With a fake smile stretched across his face, and wiping his meaty hands on his apron, he came towards me and said, "I'm sorry about mother - don't be put off by what she says."
Munching on the last of the toast, I smiled and said, "Don't worry about me, I'm not easily spooked."
Hearing this, the old woman hobbled towards me and leaning into my face she gasped, "You will be."
Taking his mother by the arm, he escorted her from the room and back into the kitchen. Within moments, he had returned and came to clear away my empty plate and mug.
"So what is all this stuff about vampires?" I asked him.
"Just stories," he said, without looking at me. "Okay, the town has had more than its fair share of strange goings on - but I don't agree with all this scaremongering. It was good for business at first. People came from all over to visit the town, believing it to be infested with vampires. We did the Inn up as you can see, and we even did a roaring trade in those little crosses and bottles of water - but it was just a laugh - you know to attract the tourists," he told me.
"So what went wrong?" I asked him.
"More and more murders started to happen. People started to go missing and then there was the grave robbing," he said, wringing his hands together.
"Grave robbing?"
"Yeah, but it was more than that," he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. "The bodies of those poor murdered souls were being dug up and stolen."
"By whom?" I asked him.
"Greedy freaks - that's who," he spat. "The whole thing just started to get out of hand. People were making a lot of money - me included - off the back of the rumours being spread about the vampires. But people got bored or scared of The Ragged Cove, and just stopped coming. The guest houses started to empty, the restaurants had no bookings, and the High Street became deserted. So the incidents just got more and more bizarre, and I reckon it was all down to some of the locals, hoping that they could entice people back by strange evil-doings and stories. Everybody likes a good scare, don't they?"
"I guess," I said. "But digging up the bodies of murder victims seems a bit extreme."
"Not if you've got mouths to feed and a business to keep going," he said. "Folk will do the strangest of things to survive."
"But what about these murders?" I asked him, interested to see what his view was. Like me, he hadn't been hooked on the whole vampire thing.
"Undoubtedly there is a murderer in our midst," he said, and again his voice had dropped to a whisper. "But I reckon all this attention is just encouraging him - getting him all excited like."
I didn't tell him about the three sets of tracks that I had found by Henry Blake's body; I let him continue to believe that the murders were being committed by just the one killer.
"What do you mean 'excited'?" I asked.
"These serial killers love all the attention they get from the media, don't they," he said more as a statement than a question. "Seen it on the T.V. I have. They love it when the newspapers give 'em a name like 'The Ripper' or 'The Black Panther', makes 'em feel all important like - when really, they're nothing but scum," he said.
"So do you have any ideas?" I asked him.
"About what?" he asked.
"Who this serial killer might be?" I said, staring at him.
Then looking straight back at me, Roland said, "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question? After all, you're the police officer ain't ya?"
Getting up from my seat, I said, "I'm working on it."
"You make sure you do, pretty lady, 'cos that sergeant of yours couldn't find his own arse with both hands and a flashlight," he said as I reached the door.
Looking back at him, I said, "I'm sure Sergeant Murphy is doing his best." But in my heart, I doubted that he was.