Magic Lantern. Alex Archer

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       Annja kept walking. Working for the television show was sometimes a pain, but mostly it was fun. And there was Doug and a few of the other people she liked who were connected to the production. Not only did she get to travel, but the salary and bonuses were nice and allowed her to follow up on other explorations and digs.

       She watched the shadows carefully. Detective Chief Inspector Westcox hadn’t been happy when she’d come to his office to discuss the recent murders that the media was attributing to “Mr. Hyde.” Of course, the reporters were only doing that because “Mr. Hyde” had written in, claiming responsibility for the murders.

       Westcox had shown Annja the morgue photos of the victims. The DCI was closemouthed and professional, and he’d thought to frighten her off with the brutality of the killings. The victims had been stomped to death, their faces pulped by size eighteen Rufflander work boots.

       What DCI Westcox hadn’t known was how much violence Annja Creed had seen. The police inspector had assumed she was a young woman inquiring into things much too bloody for her.

       “I’m keeping my clothes on for the next two years, too.”

       Doug whined. He was a good whiner when he wanted to be, but Annja was impervious.

       “You have Kristie for the T and A ratings. With me, you’ve got history and archaeology ratings.”

       The fact that Kristie Chatham was the fan darling because of her habitual loss of clothing and “wardrobe malfunctions” bothered Annja more than she would ever tell anyone. But she accepted it. She had her fans, too.

       “Would Kristie agree to walking in a rat-infested alley at midnight so a serial murderer could leap out of the shadows and murder her?”

       “No, of course not. If she got hurt, she wouldn’t be able to work.”

       “And I would?”

       “You’re not going to get hurt. You have Igor. Besides, you’re only there tonight to shoot a little mood footage. Igor also tells me the fog is going to have to be enhanced. Says it’s really weak.”

       Annja looked back over her shoulder at the lumbering shadow that trailed her. Igor carried a portable video camera in one giant paw. “You’re talking to him?”

       “Texting. I’m talking to you.”

       “Great. So you’re distracting my bodyguard.”

       “He’d probably be more focused on you if you weren’t overdressed.”

       Turning her attention back to the alley ahead of her, Annja shook her head. Sometimes—most of the time—Doug had a one-track mind. “About the Mr. Hyde thing.”

       “You said you loved the Mr. Hyde thing,” Doug said, instantly wary. “You said the Mr. Hyde thing was awesome. You couldn’t wait to do the Mr. Hyde thing.”

       Annja had said that. But that had been when she’d thought her schedule wasn’t going to be so tight. She’d hoped to get out to Hadrian’s Wall. That had been the site of her first dig, and the place still held a special spot in her heart.

       Then, when she’d seen those poor women in those police photographs, she realized that the “investigation” bordered on sensationalism. That the women were going to be fodder for the conspiracy mill Chasing History’s Monsters routinely set into motion didn’t sit well with her.

       “You do realize Mr. Hyde isn’t real.”

       “When you meet Mr. Hyde, tell him that. Either we’ve got one of London’s oldest and eeriest monsters returned from over a hundred years of being missing, or we’ve got someone who rediscovered Dr. Jekyll’s secret potion. I don’t care which it is. It’s a great story.”

       “That’s what it is—a story. Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was a novella written by Robert Louis Stevenson. An allegory some say was based on Victorian views of sex.”

       “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You told me that already. And I agreed that you could put that stuff in there. As long as there’s not too much of it. Which is why we’re picking up the tab on your date with Professor Beeswax.”

       “Professor Beswick. And it’s not a date. He’s an expert on film, literature and myth.”

       “I suppose it doesn’t hurt that Professor Beeswax is good-looking, though. I ran a Google search on him. I see what you saw.”

       “Really? You thought Professor Beswick was attractive?”

       Doug nearly choked. “No! That’s not what I said. Are you recording this?” He cursed. “Now I’ve got Diet Coke up my nose. Don’t do that.”

       Annja chuckled. Doug was easy to set off.

       “As for this Mr. Hyde thing, I got a very convincing email stating that the Dr. Jekyll formula had been discovered on the internet and someone had re-created it.”

       “Who was the email from?”

       “An anonymous source.”

       “Doug, it’s me and you. You can tell me.”

       “I can’t. That’s how the writer tagged the email.”

       “And you bought into this based on that.” Annja couldn’t believe it, then reminded herself she’d been in the same situation with Doug dozens of times before.

       “Sure. There are the three murders. Mr. Hyde claims to have done them.”

       Annja bit her tongue. She was looking forward to her stay in London and dinner tomorrow with Professor Beswick appeared promising.

       Ahead, one of the doors suddenly banged open and four figures spilled out into the alley. Three of them were young Asian males dressed in dark clothing backing out of a restaurant. One of them held a young woman trapped with an arm across her neck. Her eyes rolled fearfully and she hung on to the man’s arm to keep her balance.

       The woman was dressed in black pants and a white shirt, the typical server’s uniform for a lot of restaurants. Light shined from the open doorway and revealed tattoos on the necks of two of the men. All of them carried pistols. A handful of pound notes drifted from the cloth bag one of the guys fisted.

       “Doug, I’m going to have to talk to you later.” She unclipped the Bluetooth earpiece and shoved it into her pocket. Annja was calm as she surveyed the scene. Her heart went out to the frightened young woman.

       An older man in a suit raced through the back door and quickly stopped when he saw the gunmen. “Laurel.”

       “Get back, old man.” One of the youths took a step forward and pointed the gun at the businessman.

       “Please. You have the money. Don’t take my daughter.”

       The youth opened fire. Annja didn’t know if he was trying to hit the man or not, but one of the bullets chewed into the door and the other went through the doorway.

       The man dropped to the ground, covered his СКАЧАТЬ