Here is the next entry in the modestly anticipated series called... Well I never actually came up with a catchy name for it. Anyway, if you need to see the rules or any explanation, see May I Conduct an Experiment?. The series will be ten episodes long, so bear that in mind with plot development and such. The entries referenced in this episode come up as linked entries wherever your skin usually puts them, and the Post Team will, as it were, post the next five entries to be used to continue this story at the bottom of this entry. The first person to follow up by adding their name will take on responsibility for the next episode.

Please keep up the challenge of...

Whatever Next...

Episode Two

......'Have I got your attention now?' .....

He didn't.

Dave had grabbed the disc, and manhandled it into his CD Walkman (a somewhat antiquated device in this age of MP3s, he thought). Through the earphones, though, did not come the trance-like drum'n'bass jazz that he was expecting.

Dave was baffled by the haunting yet tranquil string melodies and pizzicato, and stared at Buckeye.

'I... I don't think this is Squarepusher.' He muttered, popping the disc.

'Dammit, the discs must have been switched,' breezed Buckeye. 'That'll be my Vaughan-Williams... Look, Dave, that's not relevant. It was just a diversion. Café. There. Now.'

Dave started at the sudden change in direction, but followed the pointing finger. He took an uneasy seat by the café window and waited for the American to join him. Buckeye, if that really was his name, looked surprisingly young, barely into his early twenties, but his designer casual clothes belied someone who was trying a bit too hard to look casual. Who was he? Pictures of concealed FBI agents all around the town centre flashed across Dave's mind.

His paranoid reverie was interrupted by a greasy mug of coffee being plonked on the table in front of him; immediately Buckeye was sat opposite. He clearly had the knack of moving without being seen.

'Professor Garbinstein did not send you that email, Dave.'

Well, this came as little surprise.

'Who are you?' said Dave

'That's not important right now. Listen: what do you know about Matthew Hopkins?'

The name was familiar, but Dave couldn't pin it down. Buckeye apparently wasn't willing to wait for Dave to talk and ploughed on...

'I'm a Yale medical student working on secondment to Scotland Yard. They've asked me to investigate some suspicious occurrences in SW19'

'Isn't that where that bad pop group came from?'

'You're wasting my time, Dave. It's Wimbledon. Where the All England Lawn Tennis Club is, yes? More importantly, to me, it's also home to an important cancer research centre.'

'So this Matthew Hopkins has cancer, does he? This has nothing to do with me.'

'Wrong on both counts,' Buckeye drawled. Dave was getting irritated. 'The police found several falsified medical reports. All of young women; all of them suffering some sort of skin abnormality; but the police suspected murder was the cause of death, rather than a tumour. They asked me to sort through some of the evidence, and it led me back to your Professor Garbinstein. That, first of all, is where you come in: the man is a loner, and no-one knows him better than you.'

Dave stared into his coffee in bemusement, but suddenly something clicked. 'Matthew Hopkins! I know where I've seen him now! Professor Garbinstein has an oil picture on his office wall. He told me that Matthew Hopkins was a 17^th Century political reformer...'

Buckeye gave a hollow, dark laugh. 'You might say that was true. He was a witchfinder. He sought out young ladies who showed signs of abnormality, such as a scar or a skin blemish, and torture them or put them to death.'

Dave shivered involuntarily.

'Grisly, isn't it?' Buckeye continued. 'Unbelievable though these practices are, I believe that they may be being revived in the 21^st Century. I believe that Professor Garbinstein may believe himself to be a disciple of Matthew Hopkins.'

Dave snorted in derision. 'Professor Garbinstein?! C'mon! The guy is nearly seventy, and weighs eight stone soaking wet. Are you trying to tell me he's a serial murderer?'

'Indeed I am, Dave. He identifies young ladies who, in his warped mind, may be witches, and drowns them.'

This was too much for Dave. 'Does he f***!' he blurted out.

'F***, he does.' replied Buckeye coolly. And his firmness and assuredness was such that Dave couldn't help but believe what he was saying.

'What we're not sure of is how he manages to cover up these murders by passing them off as natural deaths from cancer. He must have an accomplice who is filing these fake medical reports. I tried searching the internet for medical reporting procedures, but the Wikipedia page I found was frankly useless.'

Dave pondered this. He wasn't entirely surprised.

Buckeye was still talking. Did the guy ever shut up? 'Luckily for us, the police are gathering evidence for these murders, and there is a pattern being revealed. Garbinstein's first victim came from here, Newport, and then they follow a south-eastward geographical pattern across the country. We think we know who he will target next. And that is the reason why you need to know all this.'

Dave's mind swam with the enormity of the realisation of what Buckeye had just told him. 'Lisa....?' he gasped.

Dave recalled full well his first fumbling sexual encounters with Lisa. It had happened earlier than he had wished, thanks to a combination of remarkably-calm eczema and a fair amount of peer pressure. He wondered why Lisa had been so adamant about turning the light off, and had coerced her into revealing her shyness. Just below her left breast had been a brown blotch. It wasn't the worst thing Dave had seen on a woman, but he had to admit it wasn't pretty. Lisa had joked about adding a black cat and a broomstick to her third nipple. It didn't seem so funny now.

Buckeye was staring at Dave in unusual silence. 'Are you OK?' he asked, showing a bit of empathy for the first time since they had met.

'I can't believe it' spluttered Dave.

'That's your choice,' retorted Buckeye. 'But I'm here to follow up the first of Garbinstein's murders, and I really could use your help...'

The next episode will be based on the following five entries, selected by the Post Team with the Infinite Improbability Drive:

• Metals, Their Properties and Reactivity - A Beginners' Guide.
• Glasgow City Chamber.
• Advanced Placement Courses (USA).
• The True Story of 'The Story of O' by Pauline Reage.
• King's Lynn, Norfolk, UK.

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