Anne Billson - Suckers

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.

One day, I had just finished rearranging some mushrooms on toast when he made an outrageous suggestion. He'd wolfed down his own food and I'd watched in repelled fascination as he had whipped out a length of dental floss and sawed at the gaps between his teeth. I had witnessed this ritual several rimes before. He had asked more than once if I realized fewer teeth were lost to decay than to gum disease, had talked at length about plaque and disclosing tablets, had even advised me on what type of toothbrush to buy. Now he finished with the floss and dropped it into the ashtray, then sat back and took a long, cool look at me, a faint smile on his lips, but not in his eyes. I had learned never to trust his smiles.

'You always wear black,' he observed eventually. 'And your skin is unusually pale. Good God, Dora, don't you ever go out in the sun?'

'Not a lot.'

'If I didn't know better, I might think you were like Violet.'

'What? Me? A vampire? ' I laughed.

He laughed too, but his laugh went on long after mine had faded. 'Speaking of which, I should like to ask a small favour. You will be in a certain place, at a certain time. You will not speak. You will do nothing, except take what is offered, and then you will give it to me.'

I glared at him. 'What the hell do you think I am? A messenger service? Do it yourself.'

I could tell he was wondering whether to use threats, but he opted for keeping it sweet. 'But that is impossible. You see, I am too tall, my hair is the wrong colour, and I am also the wrong gender. No one else can do this. Only you.'

The enormity of what he was asking finally dawned on me. 'You expect me to impersonate Violet .'

'Not impersonate, don't flatter yourself. No one could ever do that. You will simply be a stand-in, like in the movies.'

'And is she part of this? Does she know?'

After weighing the possibilities, he went for the truth. 'No.'

So it was that, two nights later, I was lurking in the undergrowth outside Violet's basement, dressed in my best black. I knew Grauman wasn't far away, but I could neither see nor hear him. My chief worry was that Violet would make an unprecedented decision to leave Duncan early and I would run slap-bang into her on her own doorstep. It crossed my mind that Grauman might have set the whole thing up specifically in order for this to happen. But then I dismissed my fears; it would have been too elaborate a ruse. He could have delivered me up to her at any time without needing to resort to that sort of baroque subterfuge.

While waiting for the appointed hour I explored the overgrown garden. In summer, any such freedom of movement would have been impossible, but now my path was not quite blocked by false cypress and rampant ivy. I smoked five cigarettes, one after the other, and was just about to light a sixth when the hinges on the garden gate creaked and the light from the street cast an elongated shadow across my path. My heart skipped a couple of beats; this was going to be more difficult than I had anticipated. The newcomer spotted me standing there and swooped. I melted back into the foliage before he could get too close a look at my face.

But, as he approached, I saw my first impressions had been mistaken. I had been expecting a vampire, but this man was obviously human, and hardly a prime example of the species. It was impossible to be afraid of someone this puny, who had an Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness. With a thrill of excitement I realized he was more frightened of me than I had been of him.