She headed back to the kitchen to make another coffee when movement caught her eye. A black head appeared through the cat flap and proceeded to climb through.
“Sorry, kitty, you got the wrong house,” she told it, bending down to scratch behind its ears. The cat looked healthy enough but didn’t have a collar. It was probably just curious.
The cat flap was an integral part of the back door and she had opted for it only because the original door kept sticking. The builders offered to order a new door but that would have taken six weeks while this door was already in stock.
She turned off the alarm and opened the back door for it. “Go on, kitty, off you go.”
The cat sat down and stared at her.
“Go on, shoo.”
The cat blinked.
Frankie took a step towards it but it dashed to the kitchen doorway and sat there instead. Frankie sighed, she didn’t have time to chase a cat all over the house and it was too cold to leave the door open.
“Fine, you know the way out when you’re ready. Just don’t expect a lot of company while you’re here.”
She supposed if it didn’t go home soon she’d have to call the SSPCA but for now it could stay. Frankie liked animals, actually. They didn’t give off such strong mental images as humans did and their fur provided a buffer between her hand and their skin making them as good as silent to her.
She’d begged for an animal as a child but her mother wouldn’t hear of it and now she was out too much to get a pet; it wouldn’t be fair on the animal.
She finished making her coffee then carried it through to her desk and logged onto her computer. The cat jumped onto the filing cabinet and watched her.
First she checked the police reports on the bullet-ridden body. The zombie had been Frank Harris and his body had been taken from Mayfield Funeral Home. Few other details had been entered on to the system yet, so Frankie began with a background search on all the staff members.
An hour and a half later she’d come up with one minor assault case dating back sixteen years, a fine for late payment of VAT and a few parking tickets. No one there seemed to fit the description of Bradley, though it was possible Bradley was a friend of one of the staff.
She checked her email to see that Will had sent her the file she’d just read and comments from the officer handling the case. The upshot was that nothing much was happening. The staff had been questioned, as had the dead man’s family and nothing was looking suspicious.
Well, aside from a bullet-riddled, body-snatched corpse found on the beach, of course.
There was, however, a new body snatched this morning from the Western General Hospital. Not much information yet but Will promised to tell her as soon as he had more information.
Frankie decided that her next course of action was to visit the funeral home and show them the sketch of Brad.
As she left her desk she was surprised to see the cat still staring at the screen.
“Hey little man, you hungry?” The cat looked well cared for, and if she fed him he would only keep returning, but Frankie found she liked that idea. The cat watched her intently as she gave it some tuna and a bowl of water and placed them both on the floor. The cat sniffed the tuna but left it.
Frankie shrugged, “It’s all I have, sorry. I’ve got to go out now but I’ll try and pick up some cat food for you on my way back, okay?”
She headed upstairs to shower and dress and the cat followed, watching her every move. After she got out of the shower Frankie felt a little disconcerted at his continued staring and shut him out of the bedroom while she dressed.
The cat glared at her when she emerged. As she left the house she thought he might try and follow her; after all he’s followed her everywhere else so far. But he simply watched her from the shadows as she told him not to break anything and left.
The Mayfield Funeral Home was located in Stockbridge and after she flashed her fake ID the owner, Harold Crimmins, was happy to talk to her. Frankie agreed with the investigating officer, this man was innocent. She showed him Bradley’s sketch and saw recognition flash in his eyes.
“He came in about two weeks ago,” Harold told her. “He said his father was dying and wanted to arrange his own funeral before he passed over.”
“Do you remember his name?”
Harold thought a moment. “Not offhand but I completed a client sheet for him after he left. This way.”
She followed him into his office and watched as he pulled a file from his desk drawer and began going through the sheets in it.
“Ah, here, Barry Jamison.” He handed her the sheet of paper.
Frankie read over it, it was just a name, date and notes on what had been discussed.
“I have a terrible memory, you see, I find writing everything down helps me remember and if I can’t, I still have a hard copy. It helps with the personal touch.”
Frankie had already noticed he had a tendency to explain everything. He was probably nervous.
“I understand. I’m a list writer.”
Harold relaxed a fraction.
“Did any of your staff see this man?” she asked.
“No, just me.”
“No one came in while you were talking?”
“No.”
“Do you always see new clients personally?”
“Yes.” His expression suddenly wavered. “Well, except for a few weeks ago. A day or so after I met with Barry, I came down with something, was bed ridden for three days so Dan took over.”
“Dan?”
“He’s my brother, he usually prefers to do the administration side of things.”
“I need to speak with him.”
Dan was in the next office sorting through invoices. “Not now, I’m trying to get the accounts finished,” he said tersely without looking up.
“I’m DCI Wright, I wondered if I might have a word.”
Dan finally looked up. “Not another one; haven’t we answered enough questions?”
Frankie could see why he stayed away from the customers.
“I just have a sketch I need to show you,” she explained.
Dan frowned when he saw the picture. “I remember him, he came in a few weeks back, his stepmother had died or something. He was helping with the funeral arrangements.”
“Do you remember anything else about the meeting?”
“Not really, he insisted on seeing everywhere though, which I thought was odd, most people like to stay away from the messier aspects of a funeral home.”
“You showed him the prep room!” Harold boomed.
Dan seemed to realise he’d made a mistake. “He insisted he wanted to see everything, I didn’t see the harm.”
Frankie left them to argue and went to look for the other two staff members. The brothers didn’t even notice she’d left. She found the other undertaker and his assistant in what she assumed was the prep room, it looked like an embalming room to her, but then that was probably too graphic a name to use.
They remembered seeing Bradley but they hadn't spoken to him and had nothing else to add.
As Frankie left she could still hear the brothers arguing. She hoped no clients came in before they finished.
On her way to the Western General she stopped at a Scotmid and picked some Whiskers up for the cat and a sandwich for her lunch. By the time she reached the hospital it was just after noon. The receptionist directed her to the morgue and Frankie spoke with the pathologist and his receptionist.
Neither one recognised the sketch she showed them. She asked them to take her through what they found that morning again and although they’d both been through it before, they did so again.
The lock on the fire exit had been broken but the alarm wasn’t set off, as it should have been. The room had looked almost normal, except for the open door on the storage fridge. That was all they could tell her. Frankie asked which drawer had been left open and examined it, telling them to go back to work.
When she was sure they were
n’t watching, she placed her hand on the handle and opened her mind. Bradley had been excited and left a strong impression behind but his thoughts were disjointed. He was afraid of getting caught, wanted to get this over with, get back home. She caught a glimpse of home in his mind, it looked like an abandoned stone building, but Edinburgh was full of those and she didn’t see enough to recognise either it or an area. He’d brought clothes with him for the corpse to wear.
Frankie swallowed down the bile she felt rising and forced herself to continue. He heard footsteps going up and down the hallway but no one came in. He hated the smell in here. Even though it wasn’t embalmed, he thought this body would last him until he was done as long as no one shot it up this time. He wiped any prints off the drawer and wondered if he’d left any incriminating evidence on the last body.
That was everything relevant she could get off the handle. She looked around a little more so they wouldn’t be suspicious, then left as quickly as possible.
Will checked his email to find an update from DS Harris, the officer leading the body snatching enquiry to say that the CCTV footage from the hospital cameras had been viewed but so far there was no sign of anyone transporting a body out.
Well there wouldn’t be, he thought; they were looking for a lifeless body, not a walking one.
It was relatively easy to believe last night, he’d been tired, drunk and Frankie’s parlour trick was impressive. Now though, under the florescent lights, surrounded by facts, forensic science and triplicate forms, magic, zombies, demons and psychics were much harder to believe in. There might be something to Frankie’s… quirk, but demons? Was it all just superstitious nonsense?
He shook his head at the thought and opened the forensics file. The copies of the fingerprints found at the crime scenes were on top, where he had put them after looking at them this morning.
All he had to do was ask Harris to fingerprint the corpse and he’d have his proof; the dead man’s prints would either match those at his crime scenes, as Frankie said, or they wouldn’t.
But did he really want everyone knowing that a dead man had killed these women? They wouldn’t believe it anyway, he decided, so what was the point? Sure, the two cases would be combined but he already had ample officers on his case, one more wouldn’t make any difference. And how big a fool would he look if the prints didn’t match?
No, he decided, for now he’d keep the information to himself.
Frankie let herself into the house and reset the alarm. “Hey, kitty, I brought you some proper cat food,” she called out. It felt so nice to have something to greet; she thought she’d look into getting her own cat when this case was over.
Assuming she was still alive. Also assuming that they managed to prevent the demon being unleashed. And that the world hadn't ended. Yes, she decided, then she was definitely getting a cat.
The cat didn’t come to greet her so she called it a few times but it still didn’t come. Its food remained untouched so she assumed it had gone home.
Maybe a cat was too fickle a pet, she mused.
She headed into the living room and logged onto her computer. All the files had been updated but she didn’t find anything she could use to help her find Bradley James.
She decided to call Clara and see if any witchy intervention could help. Couldn’t witches scry to find people?
She found the phone number in the information Will had given her and called.
She explained the situation and asked if there was any way witchcraft could help trace him.
Clara was silent for a few moments. “We can, but the only way I know of would involve having something belonging to the person you’re looking for.”
“Would something he touched be good enough?” She’d break into the hospital and steal that door in the mortuary herself if she had to.
“Only if he’s the only one to touch it recently. It has to have his… essence, and his essence has to be stronger than anyone else’s on it, otherwise you get multiple readings and nothing helpful.”
“If I did find something, would you perform the spell for us?”
Clara hesitated for a moment. “You sound desperate,” she finally stated.
“I am,” Frankie admitted. “This is as bad as it gets and I have to stop him before…”
“All hell breaks loose?” Clara guessed.
“Literally.”
Clara was silent a few moments longer. “If you can find something, I can perform the spell.”
“Thank you.”
After she’d hung up Frankie chewed her lip for a moment then decided to change into her workout clothes. Tai Chi helped her to relax and focus her mind.
Five minutes later she had changed, tied her hair back and pushed the coffee table to the side of the room. She practised for half an hour, trying to focus only on the movement. Then she allowed her thoughts to wander but one thought occurred to her and stuck.
Why a zombie? The zombie she’d met didn’t look capable of executing a precise plan without being seen. He’d been feral, so how had he managed to break in, kill three women and paint those symbols?
She realised her knowledge of zombies was sadly lacking. Perhaps if she understood more she’d find answers.
She stopped exercising and as she went to pull the coffee table back into the middle of the room she saw the cat tucked between the sofa and the wall. It was so dark in there she almost didn’t notice the black cat.
“There you are,” she exclaimed. The cat didn’t move. “Kitty? Kitty!” she called but the cat remained motionless.
She reached into the gap and pulled the cat out with both hands. It looked groggy and blinked up at her with bright green eyes. Frankie heaved a sigh of relief.
“You scared me!” she admonished the creature. “I thought you were dead and I’d see wanted posters for you everywhere and have to call and admit I’d killed you!” Her words came out in a relieved rush.
The cat just blinked a few more times, licked her hand with its rough tongue then got to its feet and stretched.
Frankie headed to the kitchen, drank a glass of water, then replaced the untouched tuna with the Whiskas she’d bought.
Back in the living room Frankie turned the lights on as night fell and began surfing the MI5 files hoping to find an expert who could help her. PaST kept details of a number of experts, both those who had helped them before and those who worked in the relevant field and might help them in the future.
There were two practitioners of magic and four academics who listed zombie rituals as a field of interest. Three lived in London, one in Norfolk, one in Manchester and one in Livingston.
Derrick Malcolm was a writer specialising in demonic texts and rituals. He had also written books on voodoo practices, ESP and the properties of spell ingredients.
Frankie called Will as she printed Dr Malcolm’s details off. The cat wandered across the desk and sniffed the printer, sitting at the edge of the desk and watching her. She absently scratched behind his ears as she filled Will in on her day’s activities.
“Do you want me to come with you to see this writer?” Will asked.
“No, I’ll be fine, I’ll let you know what I find.” She checked her watch. “I should be back in three hours, maximum. When are you getting off work?”
Will sighed. “I have a million and one reports to sign off on. Maybe midnight?” He didn’t sound sure.
“Well stop by if you want to; we can compare notes.”
“Not tonight, Frankie.” He sounded a little angry but mostly just tired.
Frankie hung up and went to change out of her workout clothes. As she went up stairs she heard the sound of the cat flap. Her new little friend was going back to his family for the night.
It took her about three quarters of an hour to get to Livingston and she was shocked to see a large black Hummer parked outside. She dismissed the thought immediately; the chances of the vampire Josh deciding to come here at the exact same time were minimal, it had to be a co
incidence.
It wasn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Derrick Malcolm looked to be in his late 50’s. He was of medium height and build and distinctly average. His only distinguishing feature was a mole on his cheek.
“Come in, I’ve been expecting you,” he told her.
“You have?”
He turned back at the surprise, and perhaps a little panic in her voice. “Yes, your friend explained the situation and said to expect you.”
“Oh.”
He showed her into his study while he went to make her a coffee. She had refused his offer three times but accepted on the fourth since he seemed determined.
She stood just inside the door and crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the vampire. “Look, I know why you’re here and I don’t care what you say, I am not stopping my investigation.”
Josh smiled. “Okay.”
“I mean it. I don’t care what you or Alex do.”
“Alex has shut you out of this investigation,” it was more of a statement than a question. “And you assume that since we are friends, I will agree with him, yes?”
“You don’t?”
Josh sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A lock of his black hair fell over his eyes. “How old are you?” he asked.
“What does that matter?”
Josh looked her over. “You’re in your thirties, right?”
Frankie nodded, much as she might dislike that fact, it was true.
“And are you an intelligent woman, Frankie?”
That question threw her. In fact the whole conversation wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “What?”
“Are you of average or above average intelligence?”
“Yes!”
“And all your faculties are intact, mentally and physically?”
“Yes.”
“No learning disabilities?”
“No.”
“A history of depression or mental illness?”
“No.”
“Then why would I try and stop you?”
“Because it’s dangerous and I’m just a feeble human.”
Past Due Page 15
