Chief Inspector Gordon Maxwell phoned me just before dawn. "You better come down to the Marble morgue." He said in a gruff voice. It sounded like he'd been up all night.
I got dressed and jumped in my car and headed to a morgue that was out of the public eye. It was where the police put the real grisly murderers. It was 20 feet below Police HQ.
It was rumoured it was where the real Jack the Ripper was buried. The story goes that the police had caught him red-handed and killed him in a shootout. But his identity could never be revealed to the public because he was Queen Victoria's grandson Prince Albert.
It was a nice story; London was full of them.
As I walked up to the police station, I saw a few coppers saluting me. I nodded back and went in. It had become an open secret now that I, Darknight, was working with the police.
The public and the press had liked the idea a lot.
I went down the cold steps and smelt the bleach and formaline wafting up. It ran a cold shiver through me. I never would get used to it.
The Chief was waiting for me. "You move fast Darknight. But then with a car like yours I'm not surprised." We shook hands. "I only ever break the speed limit on mothering Sunday, Chief." I said.
We both laughed as we walked through into the cold dark morgue.
Inside ten steel trolleys were set in a row. No one had put a white sheet over any of the mutilated bodies. The harsh lighting gave the whole scene a horror like feel to it.
Mother of God I whispered and felt a fool for laughing.
The Chief walked round each of the bodies and said. "I've never seen anything like it before."
"Where were they found?" I asked trying not to look at them too hard.
"Some old night watchman found them all jammed up in a dock outlet pipe."
"How is he, the night watchman I mean?"
"Shook up but responding well to whiskey." The Chief stopped to a woman whose head had been bitten off. "But he kept repeating your name and the word werewolf."
I took out the piece of paper the old man had given me and showed it to the Chief. "I met the old man earlier, he said he found this. It's a Russian poem. I dug a little deeper and yes we got ourselves a werewolf loose in London."
The Chief picked up a nearby phone and said into it. "I want all Russian ships docked in London searched this morning...I don't care what mess it makes do it Sergeant." Then hung up.
He rubbed his head slowly. "I haven't a clue what to do next." He sat down on a nearby desk edge. "I thought this job would be easy. I thought I'd be ordering people around all day. But the reality is everyone wants to talk to me, everyone needs me."
Again, he rubbed his head. "Bloody werewolves. Jesus, does this mean there's a hell? There's a devil? There's vampires and mummies and God knows what else out there on the streets." He shook his head slowly. "I don't think I'll ever sleep right again."
"Come on." I said slapping him on the back. "Let's go upstairs and we'll have a nice cup of tea and you can then lend me your policeman's silver whistle."
He looked at me as if I was crazy, but said nothing.