by Helen Harper
‘Do you know why I’m here?’ I asked.
‘I believe I do.’ He placed his cup down on a nearby table. ‘Leave us,’ he said, without raising either his voice or his eyes.
Not one of the Flock hesitated, not even Gaz who’d been so desperate to gain a minute of his boss’s time. They all trooped out of the flat, leaving me alone with Devereau.
‘Close the door!’ he called. ‘This isn’t a barn!’
The girl who’d raised the alarm bounced back. With a cheeky grin in my direction, she pulled the door shut.
‘Please take a seat,’ Devereau said, waving at an incongruously flowered sofa.
I remained standing. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I’m fine.’
He appeared more amused than offended. ‘Suit yourself.’ He sat down and leaned against the cushions. ‘You know, you should have said who you were from the beginning. It would have made things far easier.’
‘I didn’t think you’d talk to me.’
Devereau raised an eyebrow. ‘I have no reason to hide from the police.’
Yeah, right. ‘I heard the word “window” mentioned.’
‘Ah.’ He smirked. ‘Allegedly, when intruders appear we hold them out of the nearest window by their ankles to show them the error of their ways.’
‘Allegedly?’
‘Of course. Nobody who works for me would ever do such a thing. That would be against the law.’
Deverau Webb was a scary, scary man. It wasn’t his words that sent a chill through me, it was the mild-mannered way he said them. I tried not to think too hard about whether I’d rise from the dead after I’d been splattered on the ground from nine storeys and got to the point. ‘There was an incident in Knightsbridge yesterday.’
‘The dead vampire.’
‘Indeed.’
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘And you think I had something to do with her death.’
‘It’s been suggested that your Flock operate out of that area.’
‘I can’t begin to imagine what you’re talking about, DC Bellamy.’
I had the feeling this was a dance we could do for a very long time. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m not here for you. I’m here because there’s a vampire who was attacked and who subsequently died from her injuries. We have CCTV footage of the incident. We know her death was an accident but her mugging was not.’ I gave him a meaningful look. ‘I don’t believe, Mr Webb, that you wish to make an enemy out of the vampires. Lord Horvath is not someone to be trifled with.’
There was a glint of anger in Devereau’s eyes. Ah-ha. Finally, I was penetrating his mask and getting to the man underneath. ‘Neither am I, DC Bellamy.’ He linked his fingers together. ‘The incident you’re referring to had nothing to do with either me or my Flock.’
He was denying it. What. A. Shock. ‘Mr Webb,’ I started.
He rose to his feet, stalling me. ‘However, despite our lack of involvement, it might surprise you to hear that I am willing to help you with your enquiries.’ He paused. ‘In return for a small favour.’
This time I kept my mouth shut and waited.
‘I have information that will help you find your mugger. I guarantee it. I will give you this information freely if you can arrange an audience for me with the clan alphas.’
The werewolves? I blinked at him. ‘I have no influence over the clans.’
‘That’s not true. Besides,’ he smiled, ‘I’m only requesting a meeting. Nothing more, nothing less.’
‘That’s not how this works, Mr Webb. I ask the questions and you answer them. End of. I don’t grant favours.’
He raised his shoulders in an elegant shrug. ‘Ask as many questions as you like, DC Bellamy. Until I get that meeting, I won’t answer a single one of them. And you can tell that to your Lord Horvath as well. Vampire or not, he doesn’t intimidate me. You might say,’ he added with a glint of humour, ‘that I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’
I looked into Devereau Webb’s eyes and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was telling the truth. The Shepherd, and by extension his Flock, wasn’t going to open his mouth unless I arranged that meeting.
‘The werewolves aren’t quite as fond of the night as the vampires are, but I won’t be able to contact any of them until after midday,’ I warned. Before noon, all meetings were strictly wolf only.
Webb’s expression didn’t alter a jot. ‘I can be patient, DC Bellamy.’ He paused. ‘The question is, can you?’
Chapter Ten
Nobody stopped me when I left Devereau Webb’s tower block. In fact, I didn’t glimpse so much as a shadow of a person, although I knew I was being watched every step of the way back to Tallulah.
Molly had told me that the Flock were solidly loyal, but I was only just beginning to grasp what that meant. I thought about the expressions on their faces when they realised they’d failed their boss by letting me get close to him. Except it wasn’t fear that drove the likes of Gaz, it was a genuine desire to please. They were more worried that they’d disappointed Devereau Webb than that he would punish them.
There was no doubt that The Shepherd was a career criminal. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was evil too. That was something I was still pondering when Kennedy and I walked into the weapons room for our next bout of crossbow training.
‘Stop it,’ he said, when I reached for the weapon.
I stared at him. ‘Stop what?’
‘Thinking.’
I must have frowned, because Kennedy sighed dramatically. ‘Thinking is dangerous. It doesn’t mix at all well with lethal weapons. Do you meditate?’
Uh…
He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course you don’t.’ He pointed at me. ‘You should start. You need to be able to empty your mind when you pick up a crossbow. The moment you start thinking, whether it’s about the bow or about whether you left the iron switched on, you’re too distracted to hit your target effectively.’
I bristled. ‘I’m not thinking about whether I left my damn iron on. I’m thinking about the nature of evil.’
Kennedy gave me a long look. ‘Don’t. Over-thinking is an anaesthetic for the soul. It should be conducted over a good whisky, or in a hot bath, or not at all. It shouldn’t be something you do when you hold the power of life and death in your hands.’
‘Surely that’s exactly when you should be thinking the most,’ I argued.
‘No.’ He tapped his temple. ‘If you’re in that moment and you take a shot, you do it because you know that’s what you have to do. There’s no need to stop and think about it. Become distracted by your own thoughts and you’ll miss your target – and quite possibly end up dead.’ Kennedy paused. ‘And that might be fine for you, but you don’t know what will happen to those around you who can only die once and who are counting on your protection.’
My eyes flew to his. ‘You know? About my … deaths?’
‘By now every supe knows,’ he said grimly. ‘Don’t make the mistake of believing what you have is a gift, Emma. It could very well end up being a curse.’
‘You know that I’m going to be thinking about that statement now?’
‘Don’t.’ He wagged his finger. ‘Don’t think.’
Easier said than done, but I understood what he was getting at. Thinking was a distraction; I had to be in the moment and I had to focus.
I grabbed the crossbow, cocked the string, loaded it with a bolt and fired at the practice dummy. The bolt flew out, skimming the top of the dummy’s head. ‘Hey!’ I exclaimed, delight skipping through me. ‘I almost hit it!’
‘That’s because you were still thinking,’ Kennedy muttered. ‘Almost is not good enough.’ He glared at me. ‘Again.’
I set my jaw. Okay, then, again it was. I’d show him. I would become the best markswoman this side of the Thames. Kennedy would grovel at my feet when he saw how good I could become. He would…
Kennedy roared. ‘Emma!’
I glanced at him. ‘Yes?’
‘Stop bloody thinkin
g!’
Oh, yeah.
***
By the time we were done, I had blisters on the bases of my thumbs and my fingers were starting to resemble raw mincemeat. On several occasions I’d let frustration get the better of me. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Kennedy’s exhortations, I’d have given up. Using a crossbow wasn’t hard, but using a crossbow to hit a target accurately –that was something else.
I waved goodbye to him, even managing to thank him for his time, and checked my watch. It was still a bit early for either Lady Carr or Lord Fairfax, and Lord McGuigan would ignore my calls until he felt he had no other choice. Lady Sullivan might respond, however.
I slid out my phone and jabbed in her number. It rang several times before anyone picked up. Caller display wasn’t always a useful tool – not when you had the likes of Lady Sullivan’s beta, Robert, to deal with. He did enjoy his little games of one-upmanship.
‘DC Bellamy,’ he said, when he finally answered. ‘To what does Clan Sullivan owe this honour?’
‘I need to speak to Lady Sullivan,’ I said. ‘Sooner rather than later.’
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘that is very fortuitous. She would like to speak to you, too.’
Unfortunately, I knew exactly what she wanted to speak to me about. And it wasn’t something I wanted to get into.
‘Why don’t you come round in the next hour?’ Robert suggested. ‘We’ll make you feel very welcome.’
That’s what I was afraid of. ‘I would very much appreciate it,’ I said, trying to be as polite as possible, ‘if you could put her on the phone right now.’
‘Put her on the phone? What kind of relationship do you think we have?’
I counted to ten in my head. ‘You know what I mean. I need to speak to her now.’
‘Come and see us, DC Bellamy. One hour.’ He hung up.
I gritted my teeth. Then I rang again.
‘Good afternoon,’ Robert purred. ‘You have reached Clan Sullivan. How may we help you?’
‘It’s DC Bellamy,’ I said. ‘As you well know. Let me speak to your boss.’
‘DC Bellamy! Didn’t we just make arrangements? Are you calling to cancel them already?’
I drummed my fingers on the table. ‘Tell you what, Robert,’ I said, ‘either put Lady Sullivan on the phone now, or I’ll refuse to answer any of her questions about what I am and what I can do. I will, however, provide a precise explanation to Lord Fairfax, Lord McGuigan and Lady Carr.’
There was a beat of silence. I knew I had him. The clan alphas continually jostled for position and superiority. Any of the alphas who gained knowledge that the others didn’t possess had an advantage. That was why Lady Sullivan wanted to talk to me – and why she wouldn’t want me to talk to the other alphas without her.
‘Wait a minute.’ The amused pleasure in his tone had been replaced with irritation. That was fine by me.
‘Emma.’ Lady Sullivan’s cut-glass voice filled the line. ‘I understand you wish to talk to me.’
‘Actually, Lady Sullivan,’ I said, ‘it’s Detective Constable Bellamy.’
‘If you insist, dear.’
She had the ability to patronise down to a fine art. ‘Lady Sullivan, I need to see you and the other clan alphas this afternoon. It’s regarding an important police matter, and I was hoping I could count on you to help me arrange it.’
‘Hmm. It’s Thursday.’
I frowned. ‘So?’
‘Fairfax is busy on Thursdays. Back, sack and crack.’
‘He gets waxed?’ I said, without thinking. The confidential informant I’d enlisted from the Fairfax clan liked to pass on gossip, but he’d never mentioned anything like beauty treatments. ‘But he’s a werewolf.’
‘Yes.’ She sighed dramatically. ‘The mind boggles. Meet with me, and I will pass on whatever you have to say to the others.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t work, Lady Sullivan. It has to be all four of you. In person. At the same time.’
‘You do demand rather a lot, DC Bellamy.’
I didn’t want to bring this up, but I would. While it would be an easy matter to ask Lukas to help me meet the werewolf alphas, especially as I was doing all this on his behalf, I wasn’t going to interrupt him today. Moira was probably being cremated at this very moment. ‘Well,’ I demurred, ‘the agreement we came to after one of your wolves murdered my predecessor does state that…’
‘Fine,’ Lady Sullivan snapped. ‘I’ll make the arrangements. But I expect something in return from you.’
Everyone did these days. ‘Go on, then.’
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘A DNA sample. A simple cotton swab whisked round your mouth. It won’t hurt and it won’t take long. I always knew there was something about you, DC Bellamy, and your antics outside Lady Carr’s house prove it. With a DNA test, I can get to the truth of what you are, and I don’t have to worry about any of your lies or misdirection during the process.’
Given I had no idea what I was, or how I repeatedly managed to cheat death, I had no lies or misdirection to offer. And I certainly wouldn’t call being shot to death ‘antics’. But Lady Sullivan’s demands might play into my own hands. If she could find out what manner of supernatural being I was, it would save me the trouble. Now that everyone knew what I was capable of, I didn’t have to keep it secret.
I didn’t want to agree too rapidly, however. A show of reluctance would go a long way. ‘You’re asking too much,’ I said. ‘To give you that sort of information freely would be foolish.’
‘You’ve seen our medical facilities. They are state of the art, and all our doctors adhere to strict data protection policies. I will not share what the lab discovers about you with anyone else.’
‘My private life shouldn’t be open to your scrutiny simply because I’m trying to do my job.’
‘Emma.’ Lady Sullivan clicked her tongue. ‘If you want my help in getting the alphas together at such short notice, this is what I require in return. You can trust me.’
I most definitely could not trust her, but right now our desires converged. I huffed loudly and then agreed. ‘If there’s no other way…’
‘There isn’t.’
‘Alright, then. Meeting first, however. I’ll give you what you need afterwards.’
‘Done. Robert will contact you with the time and place.’
I smiled to myself. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
As soon as I hung up, Fred popped his head round the door and waved a sheet of paper at me. There was a manic jerkiness about his movements; he’d been gulping down far too much Red Bull. ‘You’re going to want to see this, ma’am,’ he told me.
I stared at him. ‘You just ma’amed me.’
He grinned. ‘You’re the Supe Squad boss.’
‘You’ve never ma’amed me before.’
‘That’s a mistake I aim to make up for,’ Fred said airily.
My mouth flattened. Nope. I didn’t like it. ‘Please, Fred,’ I said, ‘call me Emma when it’s just us in the office.’
‘You know, you’re a lot like Tony. He hated us calling him sir. The two of you would have worked well together.’
I felt a tug at my heart. ‘Yeah,’ I said quietly. ‘I reckon we would have.’ I shook myself. ‘What have you got there?’
Fred beamed proudly. ‘They say that dead men tell no tales.’ He waved the paper again. ‘But they’re wrong. These guys have got plenty to say. I’ve spoken to Reverend Knight and I’ve been cross-referencing what he believes are ghoul incursions with burial dates.’
I steeled my stomach. ‘Go on.’
‘The one thing the church is good at is keeping records. St Erbin’s was established towards the end of the sixteenth century and, according to the parish records, graves were disturbed on a regular basis for almost two hundred years.’
I suppressed a shudder. Fred was too absorbed in revealing his discoveries to notice.
‘The ghouls were always blamed for the disturbances, but there are diff
erent patterns to the grave robbing. Sometimes it appeared that they were dug out from the surface and sometimes they seemed to be disturbed from underground. It was believed that the surface robbers were human and the underground ones were ghouls.’
That made sense. I nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘By the 1830s, almost all of that stopped. The government had cracked down on corpse donations to medical science. For nearly seventy years, the graveyard at St Erbin’s was left in peace.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘And after that?’
‘The ground started being disturbed again. Frequently.’
My suspicions about Albert Finnegan and his fellow ghouls stirred again. Had they merely decamped to other cemeteries and graveyards for their dietary requirements, and then returned to St Erbin in the twentieth century when they thought they could get away with their grim burglaries again?
‘In 1901,’ Fred continued, ‘St Erbin’s started to record more grave robbing. There were twenty instances in that year.’
I blinked. ‘Twenty?’
‘Yep.’ He beamed at me. ‘Even more the year after that. Records of ground disturbances from St Erbin’s increased year on year. On every occasion, ghouls were blamed. The church didn’t advertise any of it. After all, who’d want their loved ones laid to rest in such a place?’
‘Who indeed?’ I curled up my fists. Bloody Finnegan. So he’d been lying. I’d been too desperate to believe his protestations of innocence. Some hotshot police detective I was.
‘But,’ Fred told me, blithely unaware of my scowls, ‘there were a few years when all seemed quiet.’ He grinned proudly. ‘And you know what else happened in those years?’
‘No, Fred,’ I said. ‘I don’t.’
‘I found the old receipts. It all matches up.’ He jigged from side to side. ‘I can’t believe nobody spotted it before.’
I was beginning to wish he’d get to the point. ‘Spotted what?’
‘During the years when St Erbin reported decreased ghoul activity,’ he crowed, ‘they also paid local workers to undergo routine pest control.’
