The Werewolf Murders by William L. DeAndrea

Author:William L. DeAndrea [DeAndrea, William L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784084141
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd
Published: 2012-10-30T23:42:00+00:00

15

THE ROMANIAN LAY AWAKE on his bed and wondered without really caring what the people of Mont-St.-Denis thought of Ion Romanescu.

Did they think him mad because of his outburst on the mountainside? Let them. If he was mad, he was making the most of it, cosseted in the baron’s château, not exposed to the inevitable risk the rest of the community assumed.

Perhaps they thought him a coward.

It was true he had been frightened. The shock of the first attack (he never said it, but “of the Werewolf” lingered in the air every time he spoke the phrase) was something he would remember the rest of his life. The sudden feeling of being doomed, trapped. The panic as he sought a way out. The pain and blood as he felt desperate nails clawing his cheek. The sudden elation when he realized that, against all odds, he was going to survive after all. He had told all this in these very words to Professor Benedetti, earlier in the day, with an unfeigned sincerity and truthfulness that amazed him.

He had told Benedetti that, too.

He had been frightened, then, and he still knew fear. Both the day and night held their terrors for him. Romanescu could only lie low and hope those who might pursue him found other things to occupy themselves.

No. He would do—he was already doing more than hoping. He was, after all, a survivor. He had survived the years of dictatorship in his homeland, and the bloody end of that dictatorship. That hadn’t been easy, either. Neither was this, but there were things he could do. He would ask to leave Mont-St.-Denis and OSI, perhaps to stay in England or the United States. Surely they must soon let him go, on grounds of health, if not the putative danger he was in. He would of course promise to be available to return for further questioning, or to testify at a trial, if anybody ever arrested anyone in this case.

He had to make many decisions, some quite soon. What would help him; what would keep him here exposed to danger?

Romanescu made his first decision. He knew Benedetti had advised him otherwise, but the Romanian wanted to show he was not completely intimidated either by the danger or by the Great Man’s warnings. He switched off the alarm and opened the window, then went back to his bed.

He never even bothered to look at the moon. His astronomical contributions to this gathering, never destined for greatness in any event, were now over.

Jacky Spaak could barely contain his excitement. This was too good. He was on an adventure worthy of Sam Spade, a middle-of-the-night meeting with a key informant, with secrecy the key word.

Of course, Jacky had to concede to himself that the adventure did lack one element—danger. He knew well the voice that had spoken to him over the phone (indeed, with television and radio news, it was unlikely anyone in town could fail to recognize it), and he knew that this was one person—perhaps the one person on the whole mountain—with whom he might feel completely safe.

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