by Helen Harper
Potential tattoo aside, he would have been a perfectly ordinary looking man if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were a cold, glacial blue which both drew my attention and made me want to look away. I shivered, committing his face to memory, then I logged into the facial recognition programme and uploaded the photo.
The software immediately started to do its work running his features through all known criminals. While that happened, I ran a quick search for similar crimes in the area. Knightsbridge was a rich tourist hotspot, so it was a prime location for would-be muggers. Unfortunately, that meant I ended up with a long list of similar attacks. Even if I enlisted Fred and Liza’s help, it would take too long to go through them all. That was where it helped to have contacts.
I tapped through my phone until I found Molly’s number. We’d gone through a lot of our detective training together but, while I’d ended up in Supe Squad, she’d eventually been sent to CID after a brief stint with Special Branch. Molly might have been disappointed that she was no longer dealing with matters of national security and having to focus on assaults, murders and burglaries, but at that particular moment I was delighted.
She picked up after several rings. ‘Detective Constable Emma Bellamy,’ she drawled. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
‘Detective Constable Molly March,’ I replied. ‘The pleasure is all mine.’ The greeting, and the mutual use of our full names and titles, had become a ritual between us. It was a way of acknowledging that we both still felt the thrill of becoming detectives. I hoped it would never go away. In the human world names – as well as titles – had power too, even if that power wasn’t quite similar to what the supes experienced.
‘Alas,’ I continued, ‘I’m calling you about work rather than pleasure.’
I heard her yawn. ‘I expected as much. You do realise that it’s barely seven o’clock? We’re not all like the night owls of Supe Squad. I’ve only just rolled out of bed.’
I jerked guiltily. I’d become so wrapped up that I’d forgotten about the time. ‘Sorry. I can call back later.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already too curious. What’s up, Emma?’
I outlined what I’d learned from both Lukas and the CCTV footage before adding, ‘I have a list in front of me with all the usual suspects who’ve been nabbed for muggings and burglaries of that sort around Knightsbridge. But it’s a long list and I was hoping you could help me narrow it down.’
‘Piece of cake,’ Molly told me. ‘I don’t need to check any records. You’re looking for the Flock.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s a gang that runs out of Knightsbridge. They don’t live there, obviously. If they could afford a house in that district, the last thing they’d be doing is petty thievery. They’re all over the area, and they frown on competition. Chances are your vamp attacker is one of them.’
It was exactly the sort of intel I was looking for. ‘Does this Flock have a leader?’
‘A man who goes by the name of The Shepherd.’
‘How very imaginative. Let me guess,’ I said drily, ‘their mugging targets are sheep.’
‘I expect so,’ Molly said with a faint snort. ‘The Shepherd’s real name is Devereau Webb. We’ve been trying to pin something on him for years, but he’s a slippery bastard and the members of his Flock are loyal to a fault. It doesn’t help that he has friends in high places. Word is that several members of the current government are in his pocket.’
Hmmm. ‘Any ideas where I can find him?’
‘He’s got a flat somewhere across the river. I don’t know the address but I can look it up when I get into work and let you know.’
‘That’d be great. Thanks, Moll.’ I paused. ‘Aren’t you going to warn me off approaching such a dangerous character?’
‘I’ve not had my porridge yet. My warnings are at a minimum. Not to mention that I know nothing I say would do any good.’
I grinned. Nope. By the sounds of things, The Shepherd was the one person who could lead me straight to Moira’s assailant. He would get a visit from Supe Squad’s finest detective, whether he wanted one or not.
The computer dinged, indicating the facial recognition programme had completed its search and found no match for the bald attacker. Right now, The Shepherd was my best and only lead.
Chapter Nine
Given that he’d barely had any sleep, Fred looked remarkably well rested. His knee jiggled when I told him what I’d learned from the ghouls. He was as discomfited by the thought of corpse-stealing as I was. ‘Can we trust this Finnegan fellow?’
‘He certainly came across as truthful,’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t mean one of the other ghouls hasn’t turned rogue and decided that they’d rather hunt down their own food instead of getting it delivered on a plate.’ I paused. ‘So to speak.’
Fred grimaced. ‘You want me to check out the other ghouls?’
‘It’s daylight. You won’t be able to get hold of them until night falls again. What concerns me is that Reverend Knight and the church authorities are convinced that ghouls are responsible for the disturbances at the graves at St Erbin’s. Knight said quite clearly that there have been two occasions since he started there when there was evidence of ghoul activity. Speak to him and see if you can get the exact dates. That way we can link them to any recent burials.’
‘How about prior to Knight’s arrival?’
I nodded. ‘See what you can find out on that front, too. How long has this been going on for? How many graves might have been affected? Is there any actual evidence that points to the ghouls, or is it all supposition?’
Fred scratched out a few notes on his pad. ‘I’ll get on it right away.’ He raised his eyes to mine. ‘Is there any other reason why someone would steal bodies out of their graves?’
I thought about what Finnegan had told me about Burke and Hare’s chilling activities. We weren’t living in those times any more.
I shook my head. ‘Honestly, Fred, I can’t think of a thing.’
***
Molly was on the ball. The first thing she must have done when she got to her desk was to look up The Shepherd’s details. I still had a few hours before Kennedy showed up again for our next crossbow session so, as soon as I received her text with an address, I grabbed my coat and headed out of the door.
Surprisingly, Tallulah’s engine started first time. Maybe our little ‘chat’ last night had done some good. We whizzed through the busy London streets at almost record speeds, arriving in front of the tower block where The Shepherd lived before half the city had digested their breakfast. Tallulah deserved an oil change for that sort of performance.
After murmuring my thanks to the car without a trace of self-consciousness, I clambered out and angled my head upwards to examine the building. The tower block had a shabby quality, despite being relatively new. Maybe crime didn’t pay after all, I thought wryly. I went towards the main door and steeled myself for the smell of stale urine that was usually present in such buildings.
I was pleasantly surprised. Instead of the graffiti-laden entrance and litter-strewn floor I’d expected, I was confronted by some healthy-looking pot plants, the fresh scent of lemon cleaning products and what appeared to be a working lift.
I paused long enough to read the community notice board. Details of bingo, Pilates, and even a neighbourhood committee bid to get council funds for a tennis court had been posted on it. I chastised myself for my prejudices. I managed to keep an open mind about supes; I should be able to do the same about humans. The exterior of The Shepherd’s tower block didn’t reflect its interior. There was a lesson in there for all of us.
The address was for the thirteenth floor. Rather than take the lift, I opted for the stairs. I’d not managed my morning jog because of my new caseload – and the unfortunate matter of my third death; the least I could do was to get some cardio while on the job.
Running up steps was hard work, and I fully expected that by the time I got halfway I’d be ou
t of breath. That wasn’t the case. I sprinted, taking the stairs two, and then three, at a time. I’d never had it so easy. I didn’t pause until I reached the tenth floor; even then, it wasn’t fatigue that stopped me but rather the lack of it.
I considered my body with awe. I’d always been reasonably fit but this was something new. I flexed my muscles and stretched my legs, marvelling that it wouldn’t matter to me if The Shepherd lived on the hundredth floor. It was getting harder and harder to deny the evidence: the more times I died, the more powerful I became. I wasn’t sure if I should be pleased or terrified.
I was about to bound up the next set of stairs when I heard the sound of raised voices below me. I hesitated, cocked my head and listened to the argument. With the fire door leading to the stairwell closed, I could only make out a few words but I was sure that one of them was Devereau. It wasn’t exactly a common name in these parts. Whatever the people on the ninth floor were yelling about, it was something to do with The Shepherd. I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it.
‘I don’t care what you think you need,’ a gruff female voice said. ‘It’s too early to disturb him.’
‘We both know he’s up. I won’t take a lot of Devereau’s time. I only want to find out why I’ve been taken off the Harvey Nichols’ crew.’
‘I already told you. We’re putting our efforts into other areas.’
‘Can’t I go out today?’ The voice of the man arguing his case had a whining quality. ‘You know Thursdays are the best.’
‘Nobody is going out today. Devereau’s orders.’
My eyes narrowed. Interesting.
‘Let me through. I want to see him.’
The woman’s response was tired. ‘Fuck off, Gaz. I’ve already told you.’
I pulled back and considered. My little bout of eavesdropping had been fortuitous. From what I’d overheard, it was obvious that The Shepherd’s claws were all over this entire building. It wouldn’t surprise me if all his crew lived here. And although the address Molly had given me was for the thirteenth floor, it sounded like Devereau was here on the ninth. It made sense. He probably owned several of the flats and moved between them so that when the police came knocking – as no doubt they did regularly – he could either delay them or escape them. Surrounded by his Flock, The Shepherd was a canny criminal. No wonder he’d managed to carve out his own little empire.
Before I could debate my next move, I heard the sound of another fire exit door opening not far below me, and footsteps pounding up the stairs. A second later, the young freckled face of a girl appeared. Beneath her freckles her skin was very pale, suggesting she spent more time in front of a screen instead of outside playing. It wasn’t my place to judge.
She came to a halt as soon as she saw me, her pigtails quivering as she stared, open-mouthed.
I smiled in return. ‘Hello,’ I said. I could do kids. Kids were easy. ‘I’m—'
She threw back her head and screamed with all her might, ‘Pigs! Pigs are here!’
For a split second nothing happened, then the door next to me was flung open. The girl vanished, hurtling down the way she’d come and I was confronted by two snarling faces – one woman and one man. No doubt these were the two who’d been arguing.
The woman looked exactly like I’d pictured her, with a weathered face, platinum blonde hair and suspicious eyes. She glared at me. ‘Gaz,’ she muttered.
He jabbed a number into his phone and held it up to his ear. Then he shook his head. ‘She’s alone.’
‘It doesn’t explain why the fuck they didn’t tell us earlier,’ the woman snapped. ‘They’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for visitors. Those idiots need to get their act together.’
‘She ain’t a copper,’ Gaz said, with one ear still glued to the phone. ‘She came in a Mini. An old one. No police officer drives a car like that.’
I decided this wasn’t a good time to disabuse him. The woman circled round me before eventually coming to a halt in front of my face. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Emma,’ I started.
‘I didn’t ask for your name. I asked who you were.’
I met her eyes, stare for stare. I knew if I told her that I really was with the police, I wouldn’t get close to Devereau, so I’d save that piece of information until I was face to face with the man himself. ‘I will tell The Shepherd who I am,’ I said calmly. ‘He’s the man I’m here to see.’
She leaned in, her stale, tobacco-tinged breath clouding in my face. ‘No-one sees him without my say-so.’
I went in hard. I reckoned it was the only way to get the woman’s respect. ‘Listen up,’ I said. ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. I’m here to see The Shepherd and I won’t take no for an answer.’
Unfortunately, my approach was a mistake. I knew it as soon as she smirked. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Window?’ Gaz asked, his earlier antagonism with the woman forgotten. He pocketed his phone.
‘Yeah.’ She smiled nastily. ‘Window it is.’
Uh-oh. That sounded ominous. I had a dilemma: if I told them I was a detective, it would be a million times harder to get to Devereau Webb. They would simply toss me out on my ear unless I could produce a warrant. But if I didn’t tell them I was a police detective, they’d have no qualms about using violence.
As it was, I didn’t have any time to say anything at all. Gaz lunged at me with surprising speed for a man of his size.
I leapt to the side to avoid him. In theory that was all very well, but the stairwell was narrow and there wasn’t much room to manoeuvre. It didn’t help that the freckled kid who’d raised the alarm had drawn more of the Flock. Others were coming up the stairs behind me. I was trapped between the two in front and the several behind.
Gaz lunged again, this time managing to grab hold of my right wrist. His large fingers curled round it and his dirty fingernails dug into my flesh. He yanked me forward. ‘Come here, bitch,’ he snarled.
The woman jabbed him in the ribs. ‘Don’t use that word! I’ve told you before and I won’t fucking tell you again.’ She was a politically correct henchwoman, then. That was good to know.
I took advantage of the situation and wrenched myself free. Get to Devereau, I decided. It was the only way out of this.
I spun and started to launch myself up the stairs. Gaz, the woman, and the others followed. I pelted up eight steps, then turned a 180 degrees and threw myself over their heads, aiming my body behind the furious group. My landing was undignified, but it worked. While the members of the Flock cursed and tried to re-group, turning round to get hold of me again, I threw myself through the fire door and into the ninth-floor corridor.
I slammed the door shut behind me. Now all I needed was to find something that would jam it and keep it closed. I pulled on it hard, doing what I could to prevent Gaz or whoever from yanking it open from the other side, while my eyes scanned round for anything I could use. I was out of luck.
I heard a grunt, followed by a wheeze and several mutters. I had the strength to hold the door against two or three of them, but I’d never manage once several of them tried to force it open. A second later that’s exactly what they did. The fire door burst open, despite my best efforts to keep it closed. I twisted and pelted down the hallway – and the Flock threw themselves after me.
There were at least a dozen doors leading into flats and there was no way of telling which one led to The Shepherd. I gritted my teeth. This was a very bad mistake. I should have told them who I was at the beginning. In front of me was a dead end, behind me were several angry gang members, and I had no clue where their leader could possibly be. Unless…
I gazed down at the carpeted floor as I passed door after door. No. No. No. There was a roar from behind me. The Flock were still coming.
No.
Yes.
I whirled right, jerked on the door handle and fell into the flat beyond. In the middle of the room, stood a well-dressed man in his early thir
ties with blond hair so carefully styled that it looked like it belonged on a Ken doll. Despite his immaculate appearance and the cup of tea in his hand, there was a hardness behind his eyes that belied his mild facade. This was Devereau Webb. It had to be.
I gasped and straightened. Gaz and others barrelled in behind me. I felt one of them reach for me but Devereau held up his hand and they instantly moved back. ‘She’s with the police,’ he said, without a trace of rancour.
‘I told you!’ exclaimed a furious voice.
I glanced round, noting the young girl who’d raised the alarm. She was standing in the corridor, barely visible behind the dozen or so others who’d come after me. She looked mightily pleased with herself. She was the only one who did.
‘Detective Constable Bellamy,’ I said. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Webb.’
He strode forward, still with the cup in his hand, and examined me in a detached, curious fashion. ‘So much for our early warning system,’ he murmured. ‘This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen.’
I couldn’t see the expressions on Gaz, the woman or the others’ faces but I suspected they were all wincing.
‘Tell me,’ Webb said, ‘how did you know I was inside this particular flat?’
I had nothing to gain by not telling him. ‘The carpet,’ I said with a shrug. ‘It was more worn outside this door than the others. I expect you receive more traffic than your innocent neighbours.’
Devereau took a sip of his tea. ‘Bravo, DC Bellamy. That was very observant of you. Although I’m not sure anyone is truly innocent.’
I chose to ignore that remark. ‘How did you know that I’m with the police?’
‘Your car,’ he said without preamble. ‘Its reputation precedes you. You, DC Bellamy, are with Supe Squad.’
I tried not to look too surprised. While every supe in London would recognise Tallulah, most humans didn’t have a clue. Devereau Webb was very well informed. The assembled Flock gazed at me with renewed interest.
