Killer Witch in Westerham
Page 8
I blinked. Even though I was speaking to Angelica, and this was likely not admissible in court, I didn’t want to say too much. I might accidentally condemn an innocent man, or I might help set a criminal free. My gut feeling was that I liked him, and we got along well, but I hardly knew him. I finally let out the sigh that had been threatening for the past couple of minutes. “No. I was nice to him and everyone at the birthday I was photographing for, well, except maybe his mother. She was hard work. I’m assuming you know all about how Jeremy and I know each other?”
“But of course.”
“Well, that’s all I can say. Now what happens?”
“I’ll text you her details. She’s a witch, of course. Her name’s Florence Peters. If you could give her a call in the morning and go from there. And you don’t have to see them, but if they think you’re important enough, they can subpoena you and force you to be a witness, although that won’t be conducive to having you do what they want.”
“Are you suggesting they’ll ask me to perjure myself? Because I won’t.”
She sighed. “No, Lily. Not really, but just be careful. And you won’t be able to tell anyone what you speak about with them. If you do, you could jeopardise our case against him. Understood?”
Man, everyone was going to be in a sticky situation—all because I happened to be the photographer in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why did I always get caught up in stuff? It was as if I were a crime magnet. I seemed to find crimes when all I was looking for were cappuccinos, double-chocolate muffins, and pretty landscapes to photograph. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll call her in the morning, and I won’t discuss it with anyone.” Olivia raised her brows at that.
“Not even Olivia, Lily. I’m serious.”
How the hell did she know? I rolled my eyes and shook my head at Liv. “Not even Olivia.”
“Or Will.”
“Or Will, or James, or Millicent, or their dogs. Is that everyone?”
“Ha ha, very funny, dear. I have to go now. But I’ll text you those details. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”
“Okay. See you later.” The call ended.
“What can’t you discuss with me?” Olivia had a folder in her arms, a disbelieving expression on her face.
“Jeremy’s case. Apparently his solicitor’s calling me as a witness for their side. I won’t be able to discuss anything with anyone.” I pouted. That was going to be beyond difficult. My friends and family were the ones I bounced ideas and thoughts off. How was I going to figure this out on my own?
Liv leaned over and rubbed my arm. “It’s okay, Lily. I’m not happy about it, but I can see you’re not either. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out, and I promise I won’t make it harder for you.” She smirked. “My questions will remain unasked.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Liv. Gah, this whole thing sucks. I only hope when all this is finished, justice is served.” That wasn’t too much to ask. Was it?
Chapter 8
Florence Peters worked for Evans and Peters Lawyers in a historic home just outside Westerham’s main centre. It had the coolest name: Wolfelands House. That was a building you’d expect a witch to work in, and maybe a werewolf, if such things existed. And yes, I saw the irony in that statement.
I’d borrowed Angelica’s car to get there. The three-storey red-brick building wasn’t that far from the main high street, which was, incidentally, called High Street. It was just down the hill, on the A25. I could have run there in a few minutes, but I didn’t think turning up sweaty and gross was the way to approach things. Still, I felt guilty driving such a short distance.
I sat in the carpeted waiting room, all sound muted as if the hushed conversations behind closed doors were about life and death, conspiracies and plots. It was if the air was heavier in here. I pushed back further into my chair, the feeling of inferiority making me want to be smaller and less noticeable. I glanced at the door. But that hope was useless. If I didn’t do this willingly, I’d be dragged into it anyway, and I’d just stress the whole time while waiting for it to happen. Might as well get it over and done with.
My gaze flicked to the cream-coloured walls and the reproductions of famous artworks lining them: the Mona Lisa hung next to a portrait of Churchill seated and sternly observing me from on high. The more pleasant Monet’s Water Lilies, and his Rouen Cathedral hung on the wall next to the door. What a dark, gothic place Rouen Cathedral appeared. It was in France. I should really pop over there and check it out. Maybe I could convince Will to come with me in the next couple of weeks if work wasn’t too busy.
“Miss Bianchi, Florence will see you now.” The receptionist opened a door next to her desk. “Please follow me.” She strode down a long hallway and stopped at the second door on the right. She entered before me. “Florence, here’s Miss Bianchi.”
Her glass-and-stainless-steel table was covered in neat piles of paper and a desktop computer. She stood when I came in. A few years older than me, but probably still only thirty, she was slightly taller than me and had chestnut-coloured shoulder-length hair that was straight and shiny. Her make-up was applied with perfection, and she had a pretty face with tawny-coloured eyes. Maybe she really was a wolf shifter or something. Nah, I was being silly. Wasn’t I?
She held out her slender arm. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Bianchi. You can call me Florence. Do you mind if I call you Lily? I like to keep things fairly casual. Makes it less intimidating.”
I shook her hand and returned her smile. “That’s fine. Thanks, Florence.”
“Please sit.” As we sat, the receptionist exited, the door clicking shut quietly after her. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you in on behalf of my client, Jeremy Frazer.”
“I suppose so. I mean, I don’t know him well.”
“That’s okay. I will ask for your first impressions of him, but what I really want to know are the times you were working for his grandmother, and at what times you were aware of his whereabouts.”
I raised my brows. “Are you establishing an alibi?”
She nodded. “Yes. Without divulging too much—I don’t want to be seen to be leading you—the woman was murdered sometime between the time she left his grandmother’s house and breakfast the next morning. I do realise that you weren’t there the whole time, but please confirm the times you were there where my client was visible.”
I had a think and told her what I could remember. But what use could I be? There was so much time when I was at home asleep when he could have killed her. Unless they could pinpoint the exact minute of her death, that left a lot of time open. If everyone in his house was asleep, how could he have any kind of alibi? Especially being a witch, he could pop around quietly without anyone noticing he was gone. As I spoke, she typed.
“Okay, thank you. And what were your first impressions of my client?”
I smiled, remembering his greeting at my car and what assumptions I’d made. I’d been wrong about the person he appeared to be as the day wore on. “He was a bit flirty in the first few minutes but not creepy. I just figured he was a typical up-himself movie star. But after we went into his gran’s house, he was polite and helpful. Actually, he offered to carry my heavy gear from the car. He showed me around the property, and we chatted about random things, including his childhood. He seemed relaxed and was good company, to be honest. My impression at that time was that he was nice enough and fairly normal.”
“So, you weren’t getting any aggressive vibes?”
“No.”
“Did he say anything inappropriate or rude at any time?”
I bit my top lip. Hmm…. “Nope. Not that I can recall.”
“And how was he with his family members?”
This could get him in trouble, make him look a bit aggressive, but maybe not. Who knew. Didn’t everyone have that one family member who drove them to want to kill on occasion? Actually, I didn’t have one of those. Okay, so scrap that. “He seemed to get along with everyone, especially his grandmother and b
rother, but his mother was another matter. She was overbearing, and he pushed back.”
“In what way?” She tilted her head to the side, appearing casual, but was this an important question? It was as if she were trying too hard to seem nonchalant.
“Just verbally. And I don’t think he overreacted. He just told her what he thought, although he did raise his voice a bit. But honestly, I couldn’t blame him. She was annoying and not very nice.”
“Was she not very nice to you?”
“Not really.”
“So you’d have reason to be on his side when it came to his mother.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” She focussed on her computer screen and typed. And what exactly did “Hmm” mean? Was it a hmm, unreliable witness, or hmm, interesting information to help my client? I swallowed. I almost felt as if I were in the witness box, and I didn’t like it. Was that what she was going for? Maybe it would be easier if she could get someone in to just read my mind and be done with it. Although, then they’d see all my secrets, and that would be less than ideal.
“You can’t order someone to have their mind read, can you?”
“No. If we could, there would be no point in going to trial.”
“It would mean less income for you, but wouldn’t it mean more justice?”
She laughed quietly. “Unfortunately, no. Have you ever heard of mind tampering?”
“Yes.”
“Thoughts and memories can be implanted. It’s not common because it’s a skill only a few witches possess. It’s one thing to implant a thought without someone knowing, but it’s another entirely to hide your magic signature when you do it, and those memories and thoughts are not permanent—they fade in time, and much quicker than real, lived memories. It has something to do with how they’re embedded. Embedding them with a spell is very different from the way your brain does it.”
“Oh, okay.” That was good to know. Although, if they could just rely on mind reading, a lot less time and money would be wasted, plus, the guilty would always go to jail. Oh well.
She asked me a few more questions and noted my answers. After around forty minutes, we were done… for now. “Lily, thank you for coming in today. This is just a preliminary interview. We’ll have more to talk about in due course. Are there any other questions you’d like to ask before we wrap this up?”
I wasn’t sure if I should care—what if he was the killer—but I couldn’t help asking. “How’s he doing?” I also wanted to ask if she thought he did it, but that was the dumbest question ever. As if she’d tell me she thought he had.
She frowned. “As well as can be expected. He’ll be pleading innocent, of course. Now we just have to get our ducks in a row and prove it to a court.” She stood. “Thank you for your time, Lily. If you think of anything else that might help us, or even something you think may not, let me know. We need to prepare for all the information that’s out there.”
“I will.”
She came around her desk and shook my hand, then opened the door and smiled. “I’ll be in touch.” She stood aside as I walked into the corridor.
“Okay, great.” Not. As I left, I looked at the receptionist and did that kind-of smile where you roll your lips in and show no teeth. It was an, “I wish I could smile, but there’s nothing to smile about” mouth. My stomach gurgled, and not because it was hungry. It was an unsettled, unhappy growl. As confident and professional as the lawyer was, and even though Angelica had said she was one of the best, the universe was telling me bad things were coming Jeremy’s way. I just wished I knew whether or not he deserved them.
Wanting to placate my stomach, at least a little bit, I stopped in at Costa and grabbed a cappuccino and double-chocolate muffin. Now that my magic skills were greatly improved and the PIB was short-staffed, I was allowed to do things without agents trailing me… that I knew of. I always kept an eye out, and I hadn’t caught sight of any, but they were supposed to be good at covert operations. At least now I could enjoy outings without consulting everyone. Today, I wanted to eat in, so I sat in a window seat.
“Excuse me, miss.”
I turned. An older man at the table behind me had tapped me on the shoulder. “Yes?”
“Did you know that a while ago, a car crashed through that window and killed an elderly lady?”
I blinked. Oooookay. “Um, no, actually. That’s really sad.”
He stared at me… waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure. As I turned to get back to my food, he said, “But, why aren’t you moving?”
“Why would I move?”
“It’s bad luck. What if another car comes crashing in?”
I wished Liv was here to share in this guy’s idiocy. “Firstly, the chance of it happening once is pretty slim, and I imagine twice is near impossible. Secondly, you’re sitting right behind me. If a car were to come crashing in here, it would probably take you out too.” I smiled sweetly.
His eyes widened. His gaze snapped around to an elderly woman who sat opposite him. “We must move. Quick. Move.” They stood as quickly as their aged bodies allowed and hurriedly shuffled to a table further back, out of the path of any wayward vehicles. I smirked as I turned to face the window and watch the world passing by.
What a crazy few months it had been. I smiled as I remembered the first time I’d come in here. The comforting warmth, freshly brewed coffee fragrance, and English-accented chatter had hit me like a massive tackle hug, and it still felt the same. I’d even met my best friend here. Liv no longer worked behind the counter, but she still enjoyed visiting and saying hi to her old workmates. This place felt like home. That hadn’t taken long. I missed the beach and surf—it had been a huge part of my life—but I loved the oldness, history, and prettiness of the UK, and of course, my brother was here. It turned out that what had seemed a huge ask—moving to another country—hadn’t been such a big deal after all. And it had brought me to Will.
A group of four teenage girls approached the door. They must have been late teens because school was in, and they were out. They came in and made their way to the counter to order. The one with the brown ponytail said, “Do you think we’ll catch a glimpse of him today?”
Her red-haired friend said, “I don’t think so. Isn’t he still in jail?”
The ponytail girl frowned. “Why didn’t he get bail? He’s, like, so famous. Surely they can’t hold him in there too long.”
The third friend, also brunette but sporting a short pixie cut, shook her head. “Didn’t you hear? He’s being charged with three more murders.”
Their collective and loud intakes of breath smothered my own. Oh crap. They’d linked him to those other murders? Had that American woman the same type of wounds? This didn’t bode well. I’d have to call James. Not that I could do anything.
Ponytail girl rolled her eyes. “Sheesh. Why did we come all this way then? I could’ve slept in. How are we supposed to celebrity watch if there aren’t any celebrities out and about?” Hmm, her empathy centre was missing. I looked around at the other patrons. What if one of them was a friend or related to one of the murdered women? How would they feel? Thankfully, no one batted an eye.
The girls finished ordering and chose a table down the back, far away from me, so I was saved from having to listen to the rest of their conversation, but that extra bit of information sunk deep into my middle. Serial killer? Jeremy? I just couldn’t picture it. Guilt lodged in my throat. I washed it down with coffee. Just because he was charismatic and attractive didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of murder, or even of enjoying murder. Was I blinded by those things? And if I was, shame on me. I shook my head to escape thoughts that followed the same track around and around. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to create a whirlpool of misery and confusion that I wouldn’t escape for the whole day.
Right. No more thinking about bad things. I again concentrated on the world passing by and thought of my awesome friends and family. While I munched my double-chocolate muffin, I counted my blessing
s. But no matter how much I tried to shift my focus, unease crept in. It couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes. Sheesh. The problem was, I had no idea what the universe was trying to tell me.
But I needn’t have worried. The universe made itself pretty clear soon enough.
Chapter 9
I travelled to James’s reception room with Will and Liv. It was our fourth meeting about the Regula Pythonissam, or snake group as we affectionately called it. Okay, it wasn’t because of affection—snake group was way easier to pronounce. Will had come to Angelica’s first so we could have a decent smooch without an audience. Once we’d said our proper hellos, I grabbed Olivia, and we’d made our magical way to my brother’s.
Millicent answered the door. Her normally small frame was still small but had the hugest beach-ball bump floating in front of it. She smiled, one hand on the doorframe and one on the small of her back. “Hey, everyone. How are we all?”
I leaned in, and we kissed each other’s cheeks. “Not bad. What about you and my potential niece or nephew?”
“We’re doing okay. The baby’s so heavy now, though. I’m having trouble getting around, and I don’t fit at my PIB desk anymore.” She laughed. Babies were kind of cute but carrying that stomach around wasn’t. It looked the opposite of comfortable. Torture would be the word I was looking for.
She greeted Will and Liv, and we made our way to their dining-room-cum-substitute-meeting-room. The dogs’ whining came from the back room where Mill had obviously locked them to keep them off Olivia, who had a phobia of large dogs.
“Hey, Beren!” I squished him in a big hug. It was still so good to see him alive and well. He’d died at his last big PIB assignment at a nursing home. James and I had done our best to save him, and we’d succeeded, thank God. But it had been way too close, and while I hadn’t said it aloud, saving him had been nothing short of a miracle.