“Gran! Gran! Come and see! Bailey’s caught a centipede.”
Hmm, that kind of rhymed. Oh, and so did that! I snorted. Jeremy gave me a perplexed look, then smiled, and his mother just glared. Oh well. Can’t please everyone.
“Here, let me help you.” Jeremy took the heavy bag off my shoulder. “Where do you want this?”
“Just over there, next to the wall and out of the way. Thanks.” He was such a nice guy… or was he? I needed to figure this out before I went crazy second-guessing it. Oscillating back and forth was doing my head in. The question that did pop up, now that I considered it, was how come no one had been murdered lately? If you’re a serial killer, you aren’t doing a great job if you stop at three. Maybe the killer was already in jail for something else so was out of action? Or maybe the killer had died or become disabled and wasn’t able to carry on his spree?
I unfolded my tripod and found a great spot to set it up. I had a clear view down the long line of table, which was set for what was going to be a yummy lunch—not that I was actually having any. There were two sets of knives and forks, a set of dessertspoons and forks, and side plates. Looked as if everyone would be rolling out of here totally satisfied. A waiter balancing a large tray offered glasses of champagne, and the mouth-watering aroma of garlic bread enveloped me. Would they let me have a piece? No, Lily. You’re on the job.
But I need it, my stomach wailed. I sniffed deeper. Oh, the travesty.
I swallowed all that extra saliva. Sorry, stomach. I’ll get you some for dinner. Promise.
“You can’t go in there. It’s a private party!” a woman’s distressed voice came from the entry. I turned.
A man with a large, shoulder-mounted video camera hurried after a taller man who held a microphone. “Jeremy, we just need to ask you a few questions.” He barged his way through Jeremy’s family to reach him. How rude. I hurriedly turned on my camera and started shooting my own video. Maybe Jeremy could do with proof later that these guys had stormed in and accosted him.
Jeremy’s jaw set. “Get out! You can’t just crash my grandmother’s birthday celebrations.” His fists were tight at his sides, and it looked like he was doing all he could to remain calm. The public would eat up another celebrity-behaving-badly moment. “Please leave.”
“Not until we get a statement from you. You don’t look too upset.”
His brow wrinkled. “What? About you barging in here? Trust me; I’m upset.”
“No. Tell us, Jeremy, are you even a little sad that your fiancé’s been murdered?”
Jeremy’s mouth dropped open, as did pretty much his entire family’s. Why would they bring up his girlfriend’s old murder? And I’d thought they were only dating and not yet engaged.
Marcia scrambled to reach him and put a comforting hand on his arm. She glared at the duo. “Leave now, please. This is no place for any such discussion.” As old as she was, right then, she looked like a mamma bear protecting her cubs—fierce and not to be messed with. Her voice was strong and brooked no argument. The media guys exchanged glances, neither knowing what call to make.
Sirens whined in the distance. The manager must have called them as soon as the news guys burst in. Still, had the police been driving past? Unless they could witch travel, that was pretty damn quick.
“I suggest you leave now or risk being arrested,” the manager said, her hands on her hips.
“How do you know they’re not random police cars that are going to drive past? Huh?” The guy with the microphone raised his brows. “I didn’t see you call them.”
The manager locked eyes with Marcia and shrugged. Had she called them? If not her, then who?
The sirens became deafening, then shut off as three cars skidded to a halt in the pub parking lot. I was still filming—might as well see where this went. I panned across to Jeremy, his mother, and the rest of the family. Everyone was ping-ponging their gazes from Jeremy, to the manager, to the reporter, and out the small windows to the approaching police. Jeremy’s brow creased, and his mother shook her head at him, as if chastising him. What was that about?
The police strode in—six of them. The biggest one, at around six foot six, and with an officer on either side of him, approached Jeremy. “Are you Jeremy Alfred Frazer?”
Jeremy’s eyes were wide. He nodded, then managed to stammer, “Y—yes, sir. I’m Jeremy.”
“Turn around, son. You’re under arrest for suspicion of murdering Trudie Fawn Allen. You do not have to say anything—”
Catherine screamed, “My baby!” She fainted to the floor, landing with a loud thud.
“But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do it!” Jeremy had paled.
His grandmother put her hand on his shoulder. “Of course you didn’t. I believe you.”
Jeremy’s brother stood toe to toe with one of the officers, who said, “Please step aside, both of you, or you’ll be arrested for hindering an arrest.”
Marcia’s gaze darkened, and the resonance of power zinged down my spine. My eyes widened. I lowered my camera and shook my head at her. “Marcia, I think it’s a good idea to do what the officer’s asked. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” Gah, there I went, making promises I couldn’t keep to stop a situation devolving into violence. And whatever happened would be caught on camera and probably be on the national news tonight. He might have been guilty, so we’d all be safer with him behind bars, and it wouldn’t do for the general public to find out about witches and magic. That would be a whole other headache, and I really didn’t want to see Marcia arrested—the PIB would be sure to come down on her hard if she hindered an arrest with magic.
Marcia looked at me, her brow furrowed as she likely assessed how I was going to get to the bottom of anything. She didn’t move or say a word, and the essence of power lingered, warming my skin. She obviously was not convinced.
I nodded towards the news guys, looked back at her and raised a brow, then tried again. “What good can you do for Jeremy if you’re in jail? There’s going to be enough on the news tonight as it is.” I gritted my teeth, as if the force of my jaw could make her get what I was saying—no magic in public.
“Listen to the young lady. She’s making a lot of sense. Now please, move aside, all of you.” The officer turned, shoving Jeremy around, pointing him in the direction of the exit. Jeremy’s gaze darted from the officers to his grandmother, brother, and then mother, who was now sitting up and being comforted by other family members. As they pushed him out the door and bulbs flashed from the awaiting paparazzi, he turned back to give me one last look. The emotion in his eyes could only be described as “help me!”
I ran to the door. Some guy was jogging alongside and shouting at Jeremy as the police took him to the car. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this. If you hadn’t stolen Amanda from me, none of this would have happened. Karma, baby. Enjoy jail, Frazer.”
A niggle tapped on my brain. That’s where I’d seen him before! It was the balding guy with the earring from the pap crowd at Marcia’s yesterday. So, had Jeremy stolen Amanda from him? Even if he had, surely he should have gotten over it by now? Had he killed Amanda as payback to both her and him—the old if-I-don’t-get-to-have-her-you-can’t-either thing. Had he known about Jeremy’s stalker from yesterday? Maybe she magicked herself into town, and he recognised her. Or maybe Jeremy was a killer and an evil girlfriend stealer.
The guy spat at Jeremy as the police put him in one of their cars, press closing in on all sides like seagulls descending on scraps, squawking and flapping, trying to pick at their share of the hot chips. This would all be on TV tonight, and it would likely spread way further than UK shores. I frowned. That had been… intense, and the violence of it all made me shudder.
I needed to find out what evidence they had on him. I still had doubts he would be capable of doing something like that. And I had to know whether we should keep looking for the murderer because if they’d arrested the wrong person, obviously more dead bodies would con
tinue turning up. But was it really my place? And I had more important things to investigate, like my parents’ disappearance.
The paparazzi shouted as the car drove off, and they ran after it. Idiots.
But then one pap, the only one who hadn’t run, a chubby guy with particularly heavy-looking camera equipment, turned to me. “Hey, how does it feel to be related to a murderer? Did you know he was a murderer? Are you an accessory?” The photographers heard him, and then, they were all jogging towards me in a frenzy of shutter clicks.
“Oh, crap.” I jumped inside and slammed the door. My preference was to be on the other side of the camera.
Shouting outside and crying inside. Marcia was hugging Jeremy’s brother and sobbing. Jeremy’s mother stared out one of the small windows, her face slack with what I suspected was shock. Everyone else looked at each other, and no one spoke louder than a whisper. It must be time for me to go home.
The party was definitely over.
Chapter 7
Olivia shook her head while staring at our TV, watching the nightly news. “I can’t believe you haven’t gotten me an autograph yet. He’s going to be even more famous after this.” Images of Jeremy visiting sick kids in hospital played behind the newsreader, then a clip of him feeding a baby goat with a bottle. Then, to show how far he’d fallen, on came the scrimmage of photographers jostling him this afternoon as he was led to the police car and shoved in, all semblance of pride gone. And there was the guy with the earring, shouting, then lunging at Jeremy and spitting. Ew, that was the moment I’d seen yesterday.
Olivia leaned forward, her dark eyes wide. “Oh, my word, it’s you, Lily. You’re on TV!”
Out of everything we’d just seen, that was what she picked up on? Argh, just great. There I was, deer in headlights, practically throwing myself back through the door to the event venue and slamming it shut. That was just before I had decided to leave, but then I’d been stuck there for another thirty minutes until more police came and cleared a path through the vultures hoping to get a comment from the family. They were trespassing, being on the grounds, so the manager had them removed… finally.
Olivia turned to me. “You looked great! You’re so photogenic.”
“Um, thanks.” That was debatable, especially when I had my stunned-mullet expression happening.
Then a picture of the murdered woman came on screen, and disappointment sat uncomfortably in my stomach like undercooked chicken from an all-you-can-eat place. “Oh, wow. It’s the woman from yesterday, the one who turned up saying they were married.” The newsreader was saying they were engaged, and that after telling her family she was joining Jeremy for his grandmother’s celebrations, she wasn’t answering her phone. They didn’t have Jeremy’s number and called local police, who had found her body, although they weren’t saying where. A photo of them from two years ago popped up. They were facing the camera on a red carpet, arms around each other, and smiling. He’d been trying to avoid her for years, he’d said, but there they were—together. This did not look good.
“So, what do you think, Liv? Is he guilty?” Maybe asking her was a waste of time because she’d been a fan of his for so long, but I was pretty sure she could put her police hat on and look at it objectively.
The news changed to the next story about the rise in train fares. I grabbed the remote and switched the TV off. “So, Liv. Tell me.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t look guilty. He’s so handsome and nice. I mean, I just can’t imagine him killing anyone. Can you?”
“I have no idea. I can’t, really, but then, isn’t that a good trait for a serial killer—the ability to appear innocent? How many times have you heard people say they just couldn’t believe their next-door neighbour or brother or childhood friend or whatever had killed their wife? He lied about being with that woman, but he just looked so forlorn. Wouldn’t you think a serial killer would be angry or something because they believe they’re above reproach? They might even look happy because they’re going to be famous. But then, he was already famous, so he doesn’t fit that particular profile.”
“I don’t know. Maybe? And before, about the autograph, I was only joking. What if he really did it? I’m going to have to get used to hating him.”
“But we don’t know, and it’s not our job to find out, unless someone asks us, of course.”
She raised a brow. “You mean the PIB?”
“Well, he is a witch. I imagine they’re going to be investigating it.”
“But do you have time, what with the meeting tomorrow night and following up on those you-know-what people?”
She meant the snake group, and lucky for me, she had the presence of mind not to say their name out loud because I hadn’t put up a bubble of silence. I swore that one day I was going to get the hang of being a witchy spy person, but I guessed that was why I forgot stuff—it wasn’t my full-time job, and it never would be. I just wanted to take photographs. Although that hadn’t worked out too well this weekend. What a shambles. This was an eightieth birthday Marcia, her family, and I were unlikely to forget.
“Not much time, no. I suppose we just leave it up to James and the crew. That’s what they’re there for.”
“And me.” She grinned.
“But of course. How could I forget? James has said you’re a massive asset. You’ve found your calling, methinks.”
She grinned. “I really feel like I have. My parents weren’t happy at first—policing isn’t exactly the safest or happiest of jobs—but it’s not like I’m out in the field amongst danger. Research and administration are what I love, and Millicent’s been getting me to read through evidence and tell her what I think. She says I have a knack for seeing what others miss.”
I smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m so happy it’s all worked out.” After her fiancé cheated on her and was killed in a shootout with the PIB while trying to kill me, she’d had a rough time. She’d moved out of home and changed jobs, and now everything was going the way it should. Now she and Beren just had to get their acts together, and all would be perfect.
“So, you’re not going to look into it?”
I shook my head. “It’s not my place, and besides, they must have some good evidence if they’ve arrested him—you don’t do that to someone so famous unless you’re pretty damn sure. Imagine if they got it wrong? The public is already calling for them to release him. Have you seen Twitter and Facebook?”
“Can’t say I have. I’m more of an Insta girl.”
“Well, there’s a trending hashtag ‘ReleaseJeremy.’ I’d hate to be the person who okayed his arrest if he’s eventually proven innocent.”
“I hope he’s not the killer. I still have a mini-crush on him from Seven Steps to Heaven. He made such a sexy angel.”
As much as I wasn’t into fangirling over people, I had to concede, he had looked good in that one, and his character had been just the right mix of take charge, romantic, and not at all creepy. “Yeah, I suppose he did. But that’s not reality. You know that, right?” I smirked.
She chucked a throw pillow at me. It glanced my head as I dodged to the side. Well, throw pillows were for throwing. No one could blame her. “I don’t think he’s that great an actor, to be honest. I think some of them tend to play the same characters over and over because that’s who they kind of are. So, I think he really is a nice person and a bit of a cad because that’s who he always plays.”
I looked at her, unsure of my previous opinion of her high intelligence. It was true—he could be a really nice cad…. “Or… he’s a really good actor.” I laughed. “Anyway, it’s not up to us, and if he is a serial killer, he’s definitely not a nice person, and you’ll need to get over it. I’m totally staying away from the whole thing. Anyway, enough talk of Jeremy. What are we doing for dinner?”
“Hmm, what abou—”
My phone rang, cutting her off. I looked at the screen. Angelica. “Hi. What’s up?”
“Hello, dear. I did
n’t really want to call you, but I have no choice.” Her voice was businesslike and firm, so I didn’t think it was going to be terrible news, but I sat up straighter, worried about why she was calling.
“Have no choice about what?” I asked. Olivia looked at me questioningly. I shrugged.
“After the police took Jeremy to their facilities, James contacted them, and he was moved here. Seems there was no one on duty who knew about witches or us, and they cuffed him with normal cuffs, which does happen from time to time, but if he was thinking of going rogue, he could easily have escaped. We’re lucky he’s not violent.”
“But if he killed the woman they say he did, doesn’t that mean he is violent?”
“Killing a helpless woman in private is different to attacking male police officers in front of multiple cameras. There would be no point trying to escape. With his career, it would be hard for him to hide anywhere. Everyone knows who he is, and he’d never blend in somewhere he wasn’t famous, like Cambodia.”
“Okay, fair enough. So, what did you have to tell me?” I didn’t do suspense well. My knee jiggled up and down like a super-caffeinated hummingbird, and I suppressed a huge sigh.
“Jeremy’s got himself a solicitor—one of the best, actually—and she’s asked to meet with you. You’re going to be one of their star witnesses, apparently.”
“What?” I wrinkled my brow. “But I hardly know him. And why wouldn’t the solicitor contact me directly? Why go through you?”
“When I said she was one of the best, I wasn’t joking. She’s done her due diligence and discovered you’re living with one of the most senior PIB investigators and that you’re the sister of another one. She asked me to call you, said she was doing that as a favour to the PIB.” If anyone’s tone could convey an eye-roll over the phone, it was Angelica’s. “Jeremy must think you’d vouch for him. Any reason he’d think that, Lily?”
Killer Witch in Westerham Page 7
