Dracula Cha Cha Cha

Word got out to the press. Mrs Craven's story was worth more now her precious boy was not just a vampire slayer but a vampire victim. Fullalove had a note smuggled into the station, offering Kate a column in the Gazette if she'd write up the killing. If she took him up on it, she'd never get access to B Division again. However, judging from Bellaver's face after a phone call from the Home Secretary, there might not be a B Division after this hash.



The story had changed and not in any useful way.



Vampires were monsters. Julian Griffin's death wouldn't get an inch under the racing results. Donna Rogers and Peter Craven would be on the front page for weeks.



'Bellaver,' Kate called, getting his attention, 'give Craven's mug shot to the papers.'



'Why on Earth should we do that?' he asked.



'The only other photos of him will come from his mum. He'll be in school uniform. He'll be the naughty, cheeky lad who sits at the back of the class. At least the picture you took last night makes him look like a murdering thug.'



'If our press officers thought like you, they'd run the Yard.'



'It'll come,' she said.



The Super took her advice. He also ordered Dixon to find 'couply' snaps of Donna Rogers and Julian Griffin from before they turned to release to the press. Though policy was to discourage relationships between officers serving in the same unit and he wasn't supposed to know they were going out. Things were escalating. Griffin for Laura and Carol. Craven for Griffin.



Someone had to put Rogers under arrest, for form's sake.



During the hub-bub, Sergeant Lynch clocked off and Kate's old playmate Tom Choley showed up bright and early. He couldn't stop smiling as he went through the formalities of booking Rogers. The WPC hadn't wiped her face. She looked like an Apache squaw after scalping the Cavalry troop who massacred her village. Handcuffs hung loose on her thin wrists. Jasper Lakin gave her his card.



Choley had scared up a Shooter's Hill plod to escort Rogers down to the holding cells. Kate caught the ice glint in her eye.



'Unless the bars are silver, you're putting her within reach of the rest of Van Helsing's mob,' she warned Bellaver. 'She'll be out of her cell and in theirs in seconds.'



The Super thumped his forehead.



'Damn, Katie... are you the only one here thinking?'



Bellaver had Dixon take Rogers away from the local woodentops.



'Give her a wash and haul her back to Holborn.'



Dixon fetched a wet towel and dabbed the blood off Rogers' face like a Bank Holiday mum cleaning a mucky lad with the spit-wet corner of a hankie. She didn't resist.



'Neither of you are to talk to the reptiles outside,' said Bellaver. 'Rogers, you are ordered not to say you've been arrested. You're just another plonk, savvy?'



Plonk. Person of limited or no knowledge. Prejudiced male officers called policewomen plonks. She'd never heard Bellaver use the word before.



Rogers nodded. She felt no guilt over murder, but her Super's disapproval stung. Bellaver had hopes for Donna Rogers. Had had hopes.



Dixon took out the key to take her cuffs off. She broke them before he could get to the lock and gave him the pieces.



'Enjoying yourself?' Bellaver asked, incensed.



Rogers was sobered. It was all crashing in on the woman now. She hadn't thought past the killing. Which made her just like Peter Craven.



Dixon and Rogers left through the front doors, despite Choley's protests about Rogers being a Shooter's Hill catch not B Division's. With the sun up, Rogers had to roll down her veil.



Kate looked through the open doors as Dixon and Rogers went into the harsh light. The reporters were baying.



On the steps, Rogers' sleeve was tugged by Mrs Craven.



'When can I see my lad, miss?'



Rogers laughed in Mrs Craven's face.



Mrs Craven screamed and tore away the veil. Rogers' red eyes shrank in the dazzle of sunlight and her face steamed. A monster being dragged to the stake.



Cameras went off. Rogers had better pray she didn't show up in photographs. She was not displaying the ideal front page face.



The police station was in chaos. The shift change made things worse. Everyone had heard different versions of the night's events.



Choley was putting in multiple complaints about the vampire invasion. After this shambles, he'd be listened to.



Breach of the peace, grievous bodily harm and accessory to murder charges still had to be laid against Van Helsing's Circle of Light. Now that booking Craven for the murder of a police officer would be problematic, his mates' crimes risked being viewed as high-spirited misdemeanours. As Bellaver said, 'Who doesn't want to set fire to a long-haired guitar player?'



Then, Norman Pilcher of the Drug Squad arrived, with his best hippie-kicking size elevens on, fired up to raid St Bartolph's. When told circumstances had intervened and that little adventure would have to be postponed, he was gutted. He threatened to make complaints. Bellaver laughed and told him to queue up behind Sergeant Choley and every other bugger in London.



'You can't let these addicts win,' said Pilcher. 'Or society falls, mark my words. Look at her...'



Pilcher meant Kate. His nostrils twitched, like a bloodhound's.



'This is a police station and she's "on" something. Out with it, "flower-child"? What's your "bag"?'



'Sunshine, man,' she said, flashing the peace sign. 'Sunshine.'