A shape detached from the shadows high above him, from the girders underneath the bridge. It dropped like a stone towards Gabriel, who was talking in an urgent and irritated tone into his phone.
James launched himself at Gabriel, twisting as he dragged him to the ground, so that he took the brunt of the fall as they landed, and sent the phone flying. James twisted again, pressing Gabriel into the mud and pebbles and covering Gabriel’s head and torso with his own. Gabriel was finding air to protest as James leapt to his feet, ready to spring at the assailant.
There, by the embankment, nowhere to go but… up. The shape stirred in the dim light and James could see dark hair, pale skin, wicked teeth unsheathed in a voiceless snarl. Its arm lifted, moved and James had time to see the projectile hurtle towards them, so fast it whistled in the night air. A black pebble, spinning, like a bullet, straight for Gabriel as he stumbled to his feet. James stepped into its path and snatched it from the air, hissing as it stung his palm.
‘James? What the–’
The shadowed figure had gone. It leapt straight up the embankment to the wall above and disappeared.
James turned towards Gabriel, shaking the sting from his hand as he dropped the stone. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine, given the rugby tackle.’
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Where did he come from?’
‘Who?’
‘Very funny. That man. Nice catch, by the way.’
James’s glance flicked to the pile of ashes and the body.
Gabriel followed his gaze. ‘Oh.’ He flexed his hands and clenched them again. He spotted his phone, screen glowing, in the mud, and snatched it up. He wiped the instrument off on his shirt and pressed it to his ear. ‘Vic?’
James could hear the waspish buzz of a voice in reply.
‘Yes, well someone attacked us a minute ago… yes, us. I’m here with a friend.’
James was listening for any noise heralding imminent attack, but they were alone in the darkness.
‘You’re hilarious, Vic. Are you coming? I think we’ve found Daryl Mulloway… It’s too late for an ambulance. Forensics better come fast, though. The tide’s coming in.’
Detective Inspector Victor Bakare and his team were with them fifteen minutes later. Bakare took in their shabby track suits with no comment but a sardonically raised eyebrow. Gabriel told the policeman what he knew of Hannah’s disappearance and the circumstances that had brought him to Chelsea Bridge. Gabriel appeared calm, but James could hear his heart thundering, and see the horrified glances he darted towards the corpse.
James didn’t look at the body. All of his other senses were too well aware of it. Instead, he watched the police investigating the scene, taking photographs, measuring things, and bagging up potential evidence. One officer in particular was staring at the two of them; staring at him. She was a plainclothes detective, her dark brown eyes glared at him in a strange fashion – both judgemental and pitying.
The looks she gave Gabriel were harsher still. Suspicious and angry. James knew she had it the wrong way around. If she’d understood anything about them at all, she’d have known that James was the one deserving of suspicion and rage.
He returned his attention to Gabriel and the DI. Bakare was giving James pointed sidelong looks.
Gabriel, with a sigh, took the hint. ‘Detective Inspector Victor Bakare, this is Doctor James Sharpe.’
Bakare arched an eyebrow at James without offering a hand to shake. ‘And you’re Gabe’s what? Jogging partner? Street buddy? Boyfriend? Parole officer?’
‘I’m his landlord,’ said James, deadpan.
‘His landlord.’ Bakare packed an awful lot of scepticism into three syllables, a talent for which he thanked his Nigerian forbears.
James offered a mild smile. ‘I take the vetting procedure very seriously. Tomorrow, I’m following him to the gallery to decide whether he’s a good enough artist to stay under my roof.’
Bakare was unimpressed. ‘I do love a comedian,’ he said flatly. ‘Especially at a murder scene where someone’s been butchered and burned to death.’
James sighed ruefully. ‘Dr James Sharpe. I work at the Lester Avenue clinic. Gabriel does rent a room from me, and I offered to accompany him when he got the note to come here.’
‘More than a landlord then, eh?’
‘Friends,’ asserted James.
‘Plus,’ interjected Gabriel lightly, ‘trustworthy tenants are hard to come by, I expect, and James didn’t want his new one to be murdered all alone under Chelsea Bridge if he could help it. I’ve only just settled in.’
Gabriel’s eyes met James’s and there was that flash of humour again.
‘He’s paid ahead,’ said James drily. ‘So I’d have had some breathing space. Still. I like him a lot better than the last tenant; I’m hoping not to have to replace him soon.’
Bakare rolled his eyes at the pair of them. ‘You two were bloody made for each other.’
Gabriel turned away from them both. James looked at the dark ribbon of the Thames, with the lights glinting off the inky black. ‘Tide’s coming up.’
‘So it is,’ Bakare agreed. ‘Why don’t you go home, and come into the station tomorrow to sign your statements.’
‘I’m at my clinic tomorrow,’ said James. ‘I’ll come after work.’
‘Good. Ask for me or Sergeant Datta.’ Bakare indicated the dark-eyed, dark-skinned woman who had been giving James and Gabriel the unfriendly appraisals. ‘See you first thing, Gabe.’
Gabriel was watching the forensics team work on the site. ‘I won’t talk to Datta.’
‘Gabe…’
‘Vic, she doesn’t like me. She wants to pin this on me already and I didn’t bloody do it. I’ve been trying to find Hannah. Ben Tiller and Alicia Jarret too… what?’
Bakare hadn’t covered his surprise quickly enough. ‘This Alicia Jarret you’ve been looking for,’ he said, ‘Tell me about her.’
‘She went missing a week ago,’ said Gabriel. ‘She’d found a place in a shelter and then she vanished. One of her friends asked me to keep an eye out for her. No-one’s seen her, or heard a whisper. She didn’t show up on her usual corner to sell The Big Issue, she didn’t go to her clinic appointment. Nothing.’ Gabriel drew a breath. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘Found the body this morning.’
‘Like Mulloway?’
‘Not burned like him, no. I’ll have to get the autopsy report before I can say anything else.’
Gabriel swore. ‘Wasn’t me,’ he said fiercely, ‘whatever your precious Sergeant Datta thinks.’
‘Why would she think you had anything to do with it?’ Bakare asked blandly.
‘You’ll have to ask her,’ said Gabriel. ‘The unreasonable prejudices of the Met have always been a mystery to me.’ He glanced over his shoulder to highlight the way Datta was glaring at him with her lip curled. He grimaced and waved at her.
She sneered back at him, then frowned at James.
James stepped closer to Gabriel. ‘Let’s get home,’ he said.
Gabriel jammed his hands into his pockets and glared at the policeman. ‘You’re going to investigate this properly,’ he demanded more than asked, ‘you’re going to find out who killed these people. They weren’t nothing. They deserved better. They deserve an effort, at least.’
James thought that Bakare might be outraged at the smear on his professionalism, but the DI didn’t react. ‘I’ll do everything I can, Gabe. I promise.’
Gabriel nodded curtly then strode up the banks, away from the incoming tide. James cast a final glance back at the unfathomable Sergeant Datta, and followed his friend away from the bridge.
Chapter Six
James slid the needle smoothly under the woman’s skin and into the vein. He could smell the blood, and hear its steady whoosh in the circulatory system when he listened closely enough. Those abilities, along with his preternat
urally steady hand, made him a favourite at the clinic for taking blood samples.
He filled the two vials and withdrew the needle. He surreptitiously licked his thumb and passed it over the small puncture wound, so that it began to heal up almost at once. The healing properties of vampire saliva were pretty much the only advantage he’d gained from the transition. Mrs Kapur tended to bruise easily, and this was a simple thing he could do for her comfort. She was 72, and a good- hearted soul, and he figured she deserved any consideration that was so easy for him to give.
‘That’s all, Mrs Kapur. We’ll be in touch with your results.’
Mrs Kapur patted his arm. ‘Lovely, thank you, Doctor Sharpe.’
Then she giggled. ‘That’s the wrong name for you. You should be Doctor Gentle. I never feel it when you’re using the needle.’
‘All part of the service,’ he said, smiling at her as she left. Once the door was shut, he labelled one vial then he pulled the stopper out of the second and drank it.
Thyroid function down, and I’ll need to up her heart medication. He scribbled a note to transfer later to Mrs Kapur’s computer records. First, he had to get to the police station to sign his statement from last night’s incident.
He straightened his suit and tie as he left the clinic. Gabriel was there, striding in rapid, agitated steps up the path to the entrance, brow furrowed unhappily. His leather jacket was drawn close around his body, and the dark green scarf he wore was wound firmly around his throat. It was like he had armoured himself in wool and attitude.
‘Everything okay?’
Gabriel shrugged jerkily. ‘I still need to give my statement.’
‘I thought you went in this morning.’
‘Bakare wasn’t in this morning. Datta was. I don’t talk to Datta. She acts like I murder people on Bank Holidays for a hobby.’
James’s hand flexed into a fist, then splayed out as he forced the tension out of his joints. ‘Let’s go find Bakare, then.’
Gabriel jammed his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you think she’s right?’
‘Of course she’s not bloody right. You’re no killer.’
‘How do you know?’
Takes one to know one. James quashed the notion. He had more factual reasons for knowing it to be true. He’d have smelled the blood on Gabriel, for a start. He’d have smelled the burned meat on him, if he’d killed Daryl Mulloway. That kind of stink took a long time to wash clean. He’d been to burned-out villages where the stench of firebombed homes lingered for months.
‘I’ve met killers.’
‘Feel free to be a character witness for me, then. Datta aims to pin something on me if she can.’ He fell into step beside James and they walked together towards the nearest bus stop.
‘Aren’t you going to ask why she doesn’t like me?’ Gabriel prompted.
Dinnae care, do ye, Jamie? Ye like the braw lad plenty for everybody.
‘I assume she’s fickle and deranged.’
The reminder of his words about the failed date washed the tension out of Gabriel. ‘Maybe. I’ve never understood it, otherwise.’
Fortunately, Bakare was in when they reached the station. Less fortunately, he was on his way out, Datta in his wake. ‘We’ve got another body,’ Bakare said through gritted teeth, ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow if you–’ Then he pulled up short. ‘This Ben Tiller you were looking for. Can you give me a description?’
‘Twenty-two. About James’s height. Dark hair, hazel eyes. He’s got a scar on his…’ Gabriel waved indicatively towards his own chin. ‘He was glassed by a gang of pricks in a park last year.’
‘Think you could ID him?’
Gabriel’s fists clenched. ‘Yes.’
‘Come with us, then.’ Bakare regarded James sourly as he fell into step with them. ‘Don’t recall inviting you, Doctor Sharpe.’
‘You want to take Gabriel to a crime scene to identify a body and you’re telling me you want him alone?’ James’s voice was calm, but his posture was military-rigid, his eyes hard. ‘I can always call his lawyer if you don’t want me along.’
‘Fine. Get in the car. Do what you’re told when we get there and stay out of the way. Datta, take your own car.’
With a glare at both James and Gabriel, Datta obediently went to her own vehicle.
James wondered what the hell he was doing, drawing attention to himself this way, but Gabriel’s small nod of thanks settled the matter. James would be damned if he let Gabriel get dragged off to a murder scene in the company of one, and possibly two, police officers who seemed to think him guilty of a gruesome crime.
James slid into the back seat of Bakare’s car beside Gabriel. ‘Should I be calling a lawyer?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Gabriel quietly. ‘There’s nothing they can charge me with. I didn’t do it.’
‘I know.’
Gabriel drooped his lanky frame against the seat, long legs bent and his angular face pensive. He closed his eyes. He looked terribly vulnerable, with his dark hair in customary disarray and mouth pursed. When he opened his green eyes again, his gaze met Bakare’s reflected in the rear vision mirror.
Bakare’s brown eyes crinkled apologetically. ‘Gabe, I don’t think it’s you. But you’re the only link so far.’
‘Me and the fact they’re all living on the streets. I think you’ll find a lot of other links if you bothered to look.’
Bakare scrubbed his hand through his thinning hair. ‘Let’s eliminate you from the suspect list, shall we? Then I can get Datta off my back about you and we can follow the other leads’
James wanted to take the DI to task over it all – the irregularities and lack of proper protocol, Datta’s clear prejudice, the idiotic assumptions. He was sure that Bakare was aiming to observe Gabriel’s reactions, and attempt to catch the artist in a cover-up or lie, and it simply wasn’t going to happen. Gabriel was innocent.
More to the point, if vampires had killed Daryl Mulloway, vampires might also be involved in the deaths of Alicia Jarret and this new corpse. Gabriel Dare was no vampire. He hadn’t even recognised James as being one.
James very much wanted to see, first-hand, if this new corpse had been killed in the same way as Mulloway. Because if it had, some arsehole vampire was on his patch and he was not fucking having it. Not for one hell-damned second longer.
Aye, I’ll feckin’ skelp the bastard.
Fifteen minutes later, the DI’s car, then Datta’s, pulled up in a small square of park next to a boarded-up shop and a derelict garage. Soon after, James was standing next to Gabriel at the tape barrier, staring up into a tree.
A body was draped between its branches, head hanging back. The dark hair fell away from the young man’s face, which was frozen in a rictus of horror. A scar ran from beside his mouth to just underneath his chin from the glassing. The faintest rust red was smeared on his lips and teeth. His throat had been gashed open on the left, but there was no other blood at the scene.
Gabriel stared at the body. ‘That’s Ben,’ he said dully.
Bakare looked at Gabriel, at the body, at James. ‘You’re going to give an alibi to Gabe, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Of course I fucking am,’ snapped James. ‘We were together at home all evening, except for those few hours under the Chelsea Bridge. Then we went home.’
‘You can vouch for him all night?’
‘Yes.’
‘He could have slipped out while you were sleeping.’
‘I don’t sleep. I’m an insomniac.’ When Bakare didn’t look convinced he added, ‘Ex-army, active front line service in a warzone. I don’t sleep well at the best of times. Last night was not the best of times. I was awake all night. Gabriel didn’t leave the flat after we got home. Happy now?’
‘Yeah. Pretty happy.’ Bakare cast a glance at Gabriel, who had not taken his eyes off the body in the tree. ‘I’m sorry, Gabe. It’s my job to ask.’
‘Fine. Go ask s
ome other people. Find out who’s doing this. We’re done here.’
James regarded the corpse in the tree closely. He tilted his head and inhaled deeply, passing it off as the settling of nerves, but he could smell it, even from here: the vampire blood in Ben Tiller’s mouth. Not enough to turn him, even given there was no guarantee a turning would work. Ben had bitten the vampire who murdered him.
Brave lad. Poor brave, terrified boy. It took courage to bite a vampire. Not much damage caused, but he’d drawn blood, with its distinctive scent for those with the power to detect it.
What made James particularly angry was knowing that murder wasn’t necessary. There were clubs for this sort of thing, with willing volunteers who offered their throat to the beast and off they went, happy as crazy, crazy Larry. Vampires didn’t need that much blood in a sitting. Even for the greedy, a mouthful from each of a dozen volunteers provided sustenance without hard-to-hide deaths. Too many of those and the police investigations would start, and those were, James gathered, irritating and inconvenient.
James hardly thought that London’s vampires would bother acting against this particular killer, though, no matter the inconvenience. It wasn’t as though vampires had any real hierarchy. As far as James had learned, the individuals in London’s small vampire population had their petty domains and were very selective about who they brought in. No. London’s vampires, like London’s constabulary, probably wouldn’t be arsed to act in this matter unless it threatened them directly.
The murders were unnecessary, James reflected, which mean that the vampire committing them was possibly doing it for fun.
It was exactly the sort of thing that gobshite, Major Cael West, would have done.
James clenched his jaw. He could hardly suggest that to anyone. No-one would believe him for a start. Well, they might if he fanged up in front of them, but James couldn’t think of a single scenario where that ended well.
‘You said you’d found Alicia Jarret too,’ said James suddenly to the DI. ‘Was she like him?’ He gestured towards the corpse. ‘No blood?’ At Bakare’s look he added, ‘I’m a doctor and I was a combat medic for six years. Give me some credit.’
Ravenfall Page 6
