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Andrews UK - Dean Turnbloom

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132 pages

English

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Victorian Englands most famous consulting detective is hot on the trail of London's most notorious serial killer, Jack the Ripper. But in Sherlock Holmes and the Whitechapel Vampire, Jack is a vampire and Holmes refusal to believe it could be his undoing as the two match wits in this delightfully original first novel.

Informations

Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	20 décembre 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781780921242
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page

SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE WHITECHAPEL VAMPIRE

by
Dean P. Turnbloom

Publisher Information

First edition published in 2012 by MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,
London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.com

Digital edition converted and distributed in 2012 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

© Copyright 2012 Dean Turnbloom
The right of Dean Turnbloom to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.

Chapter 1: Fresh Hope

June 30, 1888

Her arm dangled as he lifted her from the bed. A single drop of blood remained on her still warm pillow, a silent witness to her last moments. Cradling her body, he carried Marguerite from her room above Le Chat Noir down the back stairway to his awaiting coach. Mademoiselle Dubois, he knew, would not be missed for several hours. To avoid discovery he would deposit the young prostitute’s remains in the one place he knew she would not immediately be found, the Seine River.
Running through the center of Paris, the Seine was ideal. Not only was it a convenient receptacle that would not immediately give up its secrets, but it would also corrupt her body to beneficial effect disguising the true nature of her attacker.
The blood he’d so recently ingested would sustain Baron Antonio Barlucci during the long trip back to his villa outside Milan. It was from there he administered his affairs as one of the wealthiest financiers in Europe, known internationally as the Pope’s banker. But before leaving Paris, he directed his driver to the Academy of Science where a young American doctor was about to give a lecture that piqued the baron’s curiosity.
His carriage ambled along Le Quai du Tuleries, the clacking of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestones clinging to the humid night air. Movement near the water’s edge caught the baron’s eye; he watched as two policemen, their trousers rolled up their legs, worked to pull a body from the river. “Mon dieu!” The cry echoed up from the river giving it a disembodied quality, “She’s like the others.”
The coach passed a police wagon parked near the water. Two detectives stood beneath a gas lamp. A second voice, addressing the detectives, called out, “Her throat’s been cut nearly through.”

Settling back in his coach the baron smiled, confident his latest victim would not be found till he was well on his way back to his villa.
This centuries’ long game of fox and geese he played with legal authorities across Europe was one he could not afford to lose. At the dawn of his affliction, eluding even crude law enforcement agencies proved a challenge. As time wore on, the agencies became more adept, but fortunately they lacked the sophistication to effectively incorporate lessons learned the way the baron could. His intellect and patient observation allowed him to stay two steps ahead of detection. The immense fortune he amassed down through the centuries, further insulated him from suspicion. One advantage of being a vampire in this modern age was the reluctance of law enforcement to believe in him. Tonight as he watched the detectives and police officers discover the refuse of his appetites, he knew not only would he not be held accountable, but also his involvement would never be suspected.
When he arrived at his destination, he strode unnoticed into the lecture hall. The baron’s fashionable but modest dress allowed him to blend seamlessly into the elite assemblage of Europe’s scientific community. With dispassion he took his place in the rear of the hall.
Curious but cynical, the baron watched and listened to the charismatic speaker at the lectern deliver his discourse titled “Dispelling Folk Lore with Science”. As the young doctor spoke, describing his methods and the success he’d achieved on the Dark Continent with a variety of blood disorders, the baron’s interest became more acute - an interest soon to have a crucial influence over both their destinies.
With every word, the baron became increasingly convinced that this was the young man for whom he’d been waiting. As he watched, he thought about how patient he’d been for this moment to arrive. He thought back to his awakening in the early thirteenth century when the Inquisition would have burned one such as he at the stake. Unaware at the time just how long this curse would last, he watched as the world around him marched forward with inexorable sluggishness. He watched and waited as the world crept from the dull nescience of the dark ages, through the renaissance of enlightenment, and ultimately into the modern industrial age. Finally after six centuries, it appeared science had freed itself from superstition, attaining the dimension necessary to liberate him from the burden he’d so long carried.
The baron exited the hall with guarded exuberance before the lecture was over. The journey back to his villa in Milan was a long one and he was anxious to return. He would need time, time and research, in order to put into action the plan now formulating in his mind. As he climbed into the back of his coach, he had his driver stop in the middle of the deserted Pont Neuf on his way out of Paris, one final bit of business to tend to.
The overcast Parisian sky conspired to conceal his actions as the baron removed the lifeless body of Marguerite from her temporary crypt. Effortlessly he carried her to the edge of the bridge. Without ceremony he lifted her over the stone railing. Pausing only long enough to ensure no one would see or hear he relaxed his grip, allowing her body to slip into the black water of the Seine. His dark business concluded the baron retired to the back of his coach for the journey home.

Chapt er 2: Accusation

July 27-August 16, 1888

Carlino Gaetano and Vittorio Martinez first met when they were six and nine-years old. Vittorio rescued the younger Carlino from three bullies who were trying to steal his hat. The two soon discovered they had a connection born of tragedy. Each of them had lost a brother to the cholera epidemic that swept through central Italy in 1873. They came to feel they had somehow been brought together, each filling a need of the other. Their shared grief created a bond between them stronger than blood and a loyalty that would last a lifetime.
From that day on they were inseparable.
At twenty, Carlino, dark and swarthy along with Vittorio, with reddish hair and ruddy complexion, twenty-three, left their small village of Portovenere to seek their fortune in England. They arrived in Genoa near the end of July to gain passage onboard the White Star Line’s ship Manchester . Finding her manifest full, they scoured the docks looking for another ship readying to make the crossing. At last, fate delivered them to the cargo ship Lira . It was small and outfitted for cargo, but the word on the dock was they also carried a limited number of passengers.
With crew members busily loading the Lira , readying her for the voyage, Carlino busied himself watching the activity on the pier, while Vittorio, always the more practical of the two, set about finding someone with whom to discuss passage onboard the ship. Carlino lagged behind as Vittorio approached a group of rough-looking sailors, “Excuse me, Captain,” he said, addressing the one who appeared to be in charge. “We would like to book passage to England aboard your ship.”
Turning on his heel to face Vittorio, the sailor responded, “What’s that ye say?” Carlino watched the grizzled sailor’s manner soften as he eyed the two young men before him. He could see the man taking his measure of Vittorio, then asking, “What can I do for you, then?”
“Passage, sir. My friend and I would like to book passage on your ship to England.”
The sailor looked from Vittorio to Carlino and back, then stepped around him. Carlino saw him wink to his mates when he thought he was out of view of the two boys. They looked on with amusement. “Aye, then, I’m the Captain of the Lira all right, but passage ain’t cheap. You got money?”
“Yes, how much?”
As the sailor stood before Vittorio, feet apart and hands on his hips in a show of bluster, Carlino saw a quiet figure approach him from behind. When the other sailors noticed, their amusement waned and they began to disperse in haste. The figure, standing directly behind the “captain”, listened to the exchange.
“Twenty lire,” announced the “captain”.
The ire of the quiet man was evident in his eyes and it was clear to Carlino the “captain” was a fraud. Now Vittorio looked past the imposter to the figure, who was now laying his hand upon the “captain’s” shoulder, “Beggin’ your pardon, captain !” he said, biting off the word as he placed a rough hand on his shoulder and spun the sailor around to look at him. “I think the bilge is awaiting your inspection, if you please, sir” he said, shoving him toward the ship, “and I’d better not hear o’ y