Deadly Departed: A Supernatural Thriller (Fletcher & Fletcher, Paranormal Investigators Book 2)

by David Bussell

  Stronge chewed her lip. ‘Is there something we’ve missed here? Something about this guy we’re not getting?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I rose to my feet, back in control now. ‘But I can tell you this much: I’ve tackled the guy twice, and he’s bad news. Maybe he had an attack of the conscience one time, I don’t know. The real headline here is that he’s trying to skip town, and since he isn’t leaving London on foot and doesn’t have a motor, what does that leave?’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Has Anyone Seen the Invisible Man?

  Either the Arcadian choked to death on London’s smog or he found a way out of the city fast. The way I saw it, he only had one real means of doing that now: mass transit. He could try to jack another car I supposed, but since that hadn’t gone so well the first time—and electric vehicles weren’t easy to come by around these parts—the smart money was on him slapping on some makeup and taking a ride on public transport. So what were his options? Coaches belched diesel and rode the motorways, so I could probably rule those out. That left trains.

  It was a risky play. Like Stronge said, the Arcadian’s enemies would be lying in wait for him at any obvious exit points, which made a train station with routes out of the city a likely trap. And yet what choice did he have? London was killing him. It was shit or get off the pot time.

  We decided to split up to cover more ground. Stronge staked out King’s Cross Station, while Frank and I made a beeline for Euston. Those were the two most obvious choices, escape-wise, being the closest to the suspect’s last known location.

  Being as Frank and I were still a bit out of sorts, we decided to stay separate for now. By the time we rocked up to Euston Station it was getting on for 4 P.M. and the sky had already turned off. It got dark early at this time of year—dismal for the living, perfect for vampires. Speaking of which, I spied a Vengari soldier posted at the station’s main entrance, stooped over, his long-fingered hands thrust deep into the pockets of a trench coat. His eyes were buried under a pair of shades, diligently sweeping the surrounding commuters for any sign of his prey. Lucky for us, he was so focused on finding the Arcadian that Frank and I were able to slip by unnoticed and take a hiding spot behind a ticket machine. From there we watched over the vampire’s shoulder, straining to get the first look at the man we were both searching for.

  It was another half hour before anything worth writing home about happened. Frank saw him before I did: the Arcadian, dressed in a black hoodie as he hobbled across the station concourse, coughing into a balled-up hand. He was wearing makeup to alter the colour of his skin, but that’s about as far as his disguise went. And yet the Vengari soldier looked right through him. I don’t think the vamps realised just how much the city disagreed with the fae. They had their eye out for a proud figure with a stride to his step, not a hacking leper. At least that was my theory.

  Frank and I kept a safe distance as we followed the Arcadian through the ticket barrier and onto Platform 9, next train departing for Gloucester. He was heading somewhere nice and bucolic I bet: a sweet little village where no one knew his name, completely off-grid.

  The Arcadian continued along the platform, shuffling all the way to its furthest end. There was precious little in the way of lighting along that final stretch, but then there wasn’t much there worth shining a light on, either. All the same, there was CCTV all over, covering every scrap of ground, leaving no blind spots. I took care of that with a spot of kleptomancy—a spell of my own design that disabled cameras and returned a jumble of static instead of video.

  The Arcadian pulled a Twix from his pocket, tore open the wrapper, and scarfed it down like a piglet, two fingers at once. A thought occurred as we spied on the sweet-toothed bastard: so long as Frank and I could get within grabbing distance without being noticed, we could do pretty much whatever we liked with the bloke. Forget about sparking him out, we could murder him if we wanted. A quick twist of the fae’s head and it’d be done. An eye for an eye. Surely the Big Man would forgive us that.

  But I’m no killer. Like I told Tali, I’m a P.I., not an assassin. I already had enough souls weighing on my conscience without adding another. The spirits I sent to oblivion back when I was an exorcist were a hod of bricks that I could never put down. Even if God were to one day grant me forgiveness and let me ascend, I’d still know the weight of those ignorant sins.

  So instead, I reached into Frank’s pocket and took out Jazz’s music box, the one that short-circuited any local magic. If the Arcadian caught wind of us, his first instinct would be to turn invisible. I couldn’t have that, so I inserted the key into the side of the box and went to wind it back. I was a half-turn in when the Arcadian stopped suddenly, seized by a violent coughing fit. Forget the box. There was no one else down this end of the platform and the suspect was all but incapacitated. Preparation had met opportunity; it was time to act before our target felt the itch of eyes upon him.

  ‘Go,’ I whispered.

  Frank lurched forward and bore down on the Arcadian, hitting him with everything he had. The fae hit the ground like a sack of hammers, his skull bouncing off the platform so hard it even made me wince. Frank didn’t care. Using a move I’d taught him, he cranked the killer’s arm up behind his back and got him in an unbreakable hold. The Arcadian let out a pained gasp.

  ‘Whatever they’re paying you, I can best it,’ he hissed into the concrete.

  Even if he hadn’t murdered a woman in cold blood, his stupid Little Lord Fauntleroy voice was enough to guarantee a no from this working-class stiff.

  ‘Fat chance.’

  Realising he wasn’t about to buy his way out of this bind, the fae did his best to wriggle out instead. He may as well have not bothered; when he blinked out of sight, I spent all of a second worrying about it. From the way Frank was positioned it was obvious that our captive hadn’t really gone anywhere. As suspected, all the Arcadian had done was pull his usual vanishing trick, which—given that my partner had a knee driven into the small of his back—was about as much use as sunblock to a skeleton.

  The Arcadian reappeared, bringing with him an exhausted outtake of breath. He wasn’t going anywhere and he knew it. There was nothing he could do to slip away or fight back. Which was a shame, as I was looking forward to a bit of aggro. Catching the Arcadian was the main thing, but giving him a boot up the Aris ranked a very close second. I almost wished he’d had some vegetation to work with so he could have done his Jack and the Beanstalk trick, but the only greenery on offer was the narrow trail of grass that ran between the nearby train tracks, watered into life by the flush of onboard toilets.

  Frank slapped a set of heavy-duty cuffs on the Arcadian and rolled him onto his back before giving him a pat down. A quick frisk showed us the fae hadn’t come tooled up.

  ‘Where’s the shooter?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The gun.’

  ‘That thing? I threw it in the Thames. The only reason I took it from the hotel was so I had it when I went after that eaves.’

  The bulb-headed dealer he had an altercation with at the nightclub. I still didn’t know what that was all about. Didn’t much care, either. We had our killer, that’s what mattered.

  I knelt down to get a proper butcher’s at the bastard. He looked even rougher up close. His cheeks were hollow, his skin wreathed in flop sweat, his violet eyes shot with red veins and weighed down by two purple pouches that no amount of makeup could conceal.

  ‘Not so pretty now, are you?’ I noted.

  London Town had taken a real toll on the Arcadian. He wasn’t going to survive much longer in the city. At least not if I had anything to do with it.

  I pulled out my phone and dialled.

  The Arcadian saw what I was up to. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he croaked, pulse hammering in his neck. ‘Get it over with.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything until my client knows the score. After that, you’re off to the Coven.’

  A look of genuine confusion crossed his face.
‘Coven? As in the London Coven? You mean you’re not with the Vengari?’

  ‘Unfortunately for you, no.’

  The call connected and the answering machine at my office picked up. Tali wasn’t able to handle physical objects or she’d no doubt have taken the call, but that was okay. The machine was one of those old-fashioned types that broadcast out loud, so she only had to open her ears to hear the good news.

  ‘We got him,’ I announced, not even bothering to disguise the smile on my face. ‘We’re going to turn him over now. In the meantime, put on your glad rags and some lippy, ‘cause you’ve got a date with the Big Man.’

  Once justice was served she’d be getting her ticket to the great clubhouse in the sky, and my record would get a shade less grubby. A couple of Brownie Points in my pocket and another satisfied customer. A job well done.

  I hung up.

  ‘Who was that?’ asked the Arcadian, genuinely perplexed. ‘Who were you talking to?’

  ‘What’s the matter? Did you already forget about the woman whose head you put a bullet in?’

  The Arcadian’s eyes were the size of saucers.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said, wagging a finger for emphasis. ‘She came back, and she’s not very happy with you, son.’

  The Arcadian’s gaze bounced between me and Frank until he regained control of his vocal cords.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ he said, his voice thin and reedy.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ I shot back. ‘What am I wrong about?’

  He looked at me with raw conviction in his eyes. ‘I didn’t murder Tali,’ he said. ‘She took her own life.’

  I’d have laughed it off if it weren’t for one niggling little detail. Much like Shakira’s hips, Arcadians can’t lie.

  Chapter Thirty: The Dirty Truth

  The book Jazz Hands gave me was wrong. It had to be. The part about Arcadians not being able to lie must have been fae-spun propaganda, like the story they have us tell children about the tooth fairy: the one that teaches kids to willingly invite their kind into our homes.

  I gave my partner a nod. He gathered up two fistfuls of hoodie, hauled the Arcadian into a sitting position, and dumped him on a bench. I craned over the fae and pressed a finger to his forehead.

  ‘What did you just say to me, sunshine?’

  ‘Tali shot herself. That’s the truth. I was supposed to do the same.’

  I pressed my finger into him hard enough to leave a divot, same place he left a bullet hole in my client’s skull. ‘So you’re not a murderer, is that it? This whole thing was just a suicide pact gone wrong?’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘What do you reckon, Frank?’

  Frank growled and dragged a thumb across his throat.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ the Arcadian protested, his voice at its plummiest yet. ‘He’s a zombie, what would he know?’

  ‘Plenty, I’d say. Old Frank here’s got a hell of a nose on him. Some say he can even sniff out lies.’

  Frank responded with an angry moan, the best he could manage with no tongue.

  ‘What’s he saying?’ asked the Arcadian.

  ‘He’s asking what fae brains taste like. What do you think? I bet they taste like rice pudding.’

  Frank’s mouth let slip a runnel of drool and the Arcadian’s hairline responded with a fresh trickle of sweat.

  ‘We were together,’ the fae pleaded, ‘me and Tali. My family disapproved, so we chose to die together rather than be forced to live apart.’

  I offered a dry chuckle. ‘Funny. Back in my day we drove to Gretna Green and eloped.’

  ‘We tried running once but we were caught,’ he replied, exasperated. ‘My family is dead set on me marrying a vampire. They dragged me back kicking and screaming, but even after that I got away.’

  I had to give him credit. The bullshit he was feeding me at least fit the narrative. Some of it, anyway.

  ‘Let me get this right,’ I said, toying with the toggles of his hoodie as if I was about to use them as a garrote. ‘You and Tali were sweethearts in a sinking ship? Then how come you’re still breathing?’

  The Arcadian hung his head. ‘Because I’m a coward. After it happened… when I saw her lying on the floor of that hotel room… I just couldn’t do it.’

  ‘No? Not even with all that ‘clad in your system?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ironclad. The drug you took that makes you feel like you can take on the whole world.’

  The Arcadian was so struck by that statement that he tried rising to his feet. Frank put him down with a shove that almost caved in his ribcage.

  ‘I took it so I wouldn’t be scared,’ the fae wheezed, struggling for breath. ‘It was Tali’s idea. She took it, too.’

  I decided to play along, to lure him into saying something I knew for a fact to be untrue. To watch him tie his own noose.

  ‘If you took that stuff, how come you lost your bottle? Why didn’t we find your brains painting that bedroom as well?’

  ‘Because the powder the eaves sold me didn’t work, and now I’m stuck here with you instead of lying in Tali’s arms.’

  I considered what he was saying. When we caught him in that nightclub toilet, he was raving at the eaves dealer for stitching him up with a dodgy dose. What if there was some truth to what the Arcadian was saying, only it wasn’t a bad dose he got, it was that the ironclad was incompatible with his system. The eaves told us the psychoactive substance in ironclad was fairy dust, and seeing as that was part of fae biology already, the Arcadian would most likely be immune to it.

  But even if the part about the ironclad had a grain of truth to it, that didn’t mean the rest of the story had merit. I’d met some champion bullshitters in my time, and there was a technique they all practiced: use a truth to hide the lie. That’s all that was happening here. The stuff about the ‘clad was legit, but the only reason I was hearing it was so I’d think his story about a suicide pact was on the level, too. Well, forget it. I wasn’t buying what he was flogging.

  ‘You believe this slippery prick, Frank?’

  My partner shook his head solemnly.

  ‘Please,’ said the Arcadian. ‘I swear to you I’m not lying.’

  ‘Sure. You’re just an innocent boy who fell in love with the wrong girl, right?’

  ‘The right girl. The wrong circumstances.’

  I didn’t appreciate the correction, so I had Frank give him a smack in the chops. The backhand left him slouching like a drunk granddad in his favourite armchair.

  ‘If you’re so innocent, explain why you left a will-o'-the wisp at the crime scene?’

  That shut him up.

  ‘Yeah, I thought so. A fairy STD doesn’t quite fit the star-crossed lovers narrative, does it?’

  ‘I must have caught it from one of my father’s concubines,’ he replied, swiping a trickle of blood from his chin.

  I made a face. ‘Come again?’

  ‘When my father found out his son was carrying on with a human, he tried to put me on the straight and narrow.’

  ‘By fixing you up with some fae floozies?’

  He released a deflated sigh. ‘Things work differently among my kind. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘I understand you caught crabs off your dad.’

  The Arcadian fell silent. Turns out he didn’t have an answer for everything.

  ‘Give it up, pal. Do you seriously expect me to believe my client caught a bullet because of some forbidden romance? If she loved you so much, why would she come to me asking for your head?’

  That was the big hole in the Arcadian’s tapestry of lies: what was Tali’s motivation in all of this? Why would she want him dead if they were lovers?

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said.

  ‘Obviously a crock,’ I replied.

  The fae’s gaze sank to his feet. ‘It’s the truth.’

  ‘Stop it. You weren’t in a relationship with Tali. There was no suicide pact. You’re just a vicious little shit with a moral compass t
hat points due twat.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  We were going in circles. I needed the Arcadian to confess to his crimes. Not because I doubted his guilt, but because I wanted to hear him admit what he’d done.

  ‘You know what, sunshine, I’m starting to think the Coven is too good for you. Frank, do me a favour and give this tosser a thick ear, would you?’

  He did it with relish, snatching the fae up by the scruff of the neck and laying a thump on him that sent his limp body skidding across the platform. Ordinarily, Frank would look to me for guidance before going in for round two, but on this occasion he was just as ticked off as I was. He rolled up his sleeves and stalked over to the Arcadian, who was lying on his front, wrists still cuffed behind his back, struggling to get upright. Frank grabbed him by an ankle and dragged him down, then raised a fist like a mallet about to sink a nail in one.

  ‘Stop,’ I cried.

  Something on the Arcadian’s hand twinkled. I squatted down by his side to get a look at it. He was wearing a ring. A copper ring. I turned the band around to examine it closer and found a distinctive green stone that was a perfect match for the one Tali wore.

  ‘Aw, shite.’

  I felt a knot of tension in my chest. Could it be? Was the Arcadian telling the truth? The clues were all there; I’d witnessed them with my own eyes but been too blind to see. First there was Stronge’s point about the Arcadian’s makeup—how there was no way Tali could have been fooled by it up close. I was five feet away from him on a gloomy station platform and even I could see the joins—the way the makeup crusted in his eyebrows, how his natural blue colouring showed through the creases of his skin.

  Then there were the psychic imprints my spell revealed at the crime scene: the spooning figures on the hotel bed that had lain together for hours. I wondered at the time what kind of killer would have waited that long to pounce, and why Tali hadn’t mentioned an extended conversation prior to her death. Now I knew why. The scene my magic rendered was their final heart-to-heart before they conspired to end it all.