I had stayed with Remi’s team. It had quickly become obvious to me that Remi had high hopes about my psychic skills aiding the search.
She had run the maps past me, the lists of all the properties, the buildings’ names. I’d scrutinized each one, I’d said their names out loud, all to no avail. Remi had driven us around all the likely spots this morning hoping it might spark a vision for me. She had taken me to the original crime scene in case I picked up a trail from there. I had touched Rachel’s blood now dried on the tarmac. I had retraced her last few steps. I had smelled the bin she had been found under.
When none of that had given me a result, Remi had refused to be discouraged.
She and I had joined the search proper, arriving at an old theater complex that had been shut down five years ago due to lack of funding. We had painstakingly searched each floor, each room, every old toilet and broom cupboard and roof-space and overgrown outdoors area.
The team had found nothing. I found nothing.
“How do you even know India is in this area?” I ask.
“We found a car abandoned not far from here. It was completely burned out. But there was a smudge of blood on the pavement near it. India’s. So we know she was injured and bleeding. And the blood contained wolfsbane remnants. We think she was a regular user. Enough to impair her physical abilities. She can’t have gone far.”
“Why would she use wolfsbane outside of full moon?”
“She’s dating a human. Some werewolves use it to tone down their strength to more human levels.”
“I can’t understand why she would want to do that.”
Remi sighs. “Female werewolves almost never date humans. Their pack dynamics simply do not allow it. But in instances where it does happen it isn't uncommon for them to use wolfsbane in that way. Either because their partner insists on it, or because they prefer it themselves.”
“You said she was injured. Do you think it was bad?”
“No way to tell.”
“But the fact she was bleeding means that she was also attacked, right?”
“Not necessarily. The brutality of the attack on Rachel shows her attacker was frenzied and may have injured themselves with the blade also.”
Her attacker. She means that India could have injured herself while attacking Rachel. This bothers me. I turn it over in my mind, wanting to find a flaw in the logic.
We move on to the next building, an empty office building that had formerly been leased to a bank. The tables and chairs and office furniture are all still in here. Posters and signs are still on the walls. A person has even left a framed family portrait on their desk. It gives the place a ghostly feel as if it is haunted by the spirits of everyone who ever worked here.
We had started today’s search at 6:00 am, an hour after sunrise. It is now the afternoon. Sunset is due at 9:18 pm, and as we are searching unlit outdoors spaces and some abandoned buildings that have been disconnected from the power grid, the search is due to end when it gets dark. For safety reasons Remi says. Our safety, not India’s.
“Do you think she’s here somewhere imprisoned, or do you think she’s here injured and hiding?” I ask Remi.
“I’m more interested in what you think. Do you get a sense of which it is?”
She looks so hopeful that I feel another horrid twinge of guilt.
Of all of Storm’s team Remi is the one who has always been most encouraging and embracing of the clues my psychic abilities have given us in past cases. How can I possibly tell her they’re gone? That I’m operating blind? I feel like a fraud. I had been hoping that today would spark something but I’ve not had a single twinge or sense of premonition or unexplained compulsion to go a certain way. Nothing at all.
I can’t tell Remi any of this. I don’t doubt her friendship, but nor do I doubt her fierce loyalty to Storm. She will want to tell him.
I can’t afford for Storm to know yet. Not until I know what the problem is and how I can solve it. Because there has to be a way of solving it. In the meantime, what can it hurt for me to join the case? I am as useful as any other pair of eyes surely?
It is hard to persuade myself this is true when Remi had spent half the day driving me around. We should have spent that time searching.
“Do you think India is guilty or innocent?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter to the search.”
“It does,” I insist. “People’s mind-frames affect their attitude to a search and where they think she might be hiding or hidden. Or maybe they want to be seen to be helping but they don’t really care because they think she is guilty. Or maybe they’re scared of her so they’ll skip all the dark areas or the hard to get to spots.”
My frustration must show in my voice because Remi pats my shoulder. “You’re worried because you’re convinced she didn’t do it,” she observes with some sympathy.
“She can’t have done it. She couldn’t even afford to buy wolfsbane potion for herself but she bought two birthday gifts for Rachel. Expensive ones. She cared about her a lot. I don't think she did this. It matters to me whether you do.”
“It could be either,” Remi says, refusing to be anything other than honest. “I need to keep an open mind.”
We trudge down a stairwell to the next level. We had started at the top of the office building. The stairwell is completely dark, there being no windows here. We use special flashlights to guide the way. They are magical assisted and provide a glow as bright as daylight in a five meter diameter.
Next to the stairwell are some men’s toilets and women’s toilets. We go into the men’s and are greeted by the smell of stale urine and a hint of sewage. Taking opposite ends, we push open each cubicle door to check inside.
“Do you always search like this?” I ask. “It must be impossible in this big city.”
“It’s impractical,” Remi agrees. “Our resources would likely be better utilized elsewhere. But now the press have linked this to the Wolf-Claw Killer case, there’s been pressure from higher ups for us to do a thorough ground search. DI Zael’s boss is particularly insistent. Whether India is a victim or the killer, they want her found.”
“Why didn't Storm push back if he thinks this approach is not going to work?”
“It could work,” says Remi. “Especially now we’ve got you on board.”
That makes me feel awful. I wish I could tell her that right now I am as blind as any non-psychic. I’m no help at all if that’s what she wants from me.
“What if it doesn't?” I persist. “Will Storm order us to stop searching?”
“I don’t know. The Met Police are pushing this search hard. They want to be seen to be doing something. They wanted to lead the search, but Storm insisted the Agency would organize it.”
“He doesn't think much of DI Zael, does he?”
Remi gives a brief chuckle. “You noticed, huh? I’ve had Detective Chief Inspector Sandra Greydon-Reid call me three times already today. Zael’s boss. She wants a result today come hell or high water, she said. Whatever that means.”
Leaving the bathrooms, we work through the various large open-plan office spaces on this level, making sure to check beneath each desk and keep an eye out for any large cupboards or store rooms.
It is 4:00 pm by the time we complete the search of this complex of office buildings. All of the small teams that had been spread across the various buildings and floors gather outside so that Remi can allocate them to the next property.
Remi had called some Agency officers earlier to instruct them to bring refreshments. They arrive with tea and cookies. While these are distributed Remi gives instructions to every pair or trio of volunteers.
A police car pulls up and DI Zael and a police officer emerge from it. Remi gives them an enquiring glance. DI Zael had been leading the search effort in some vacant properties a block away. DI Zael is clearly in a pugnacious mood. He stands beside his car and waves his arm abruptly, motioning to Remi that he wants her to come over and speak to him.
She ignores it. Clearly she thinks he can come to her if he wants to say something.
Remi’s phone rings. She answers it curtly. I can see that DI Zael is also on his phone. Clearly he is ringing her. She hangs up and rolls her eyes. “Apparently he wants a private word,” she says.
I go with her as she walks over to him. He immediately demands to know whether we have found anything.
When Remi tells him we have had no luck he scoffs. “Not even with your psychic here, huh?”
I stiffen, but do not defend myself. I’m beginning to wonder if he is right. Even if my psychic abilities had been working, would they have been of any use in this case? It is beginning to feel like my psychic powers were just a dream. Some trick my mind had played on me. Now that I no longer have them, it is hard to persuade myself that they had ever really been real.
Remi has no such doubts. “Ms Bellona’s help has been invaluable to us on previous cases,” she says. “And I have no doubt they will be in this case.”
It is weird to hear her refer to me as Ms Bellona, as if I am some sort of professional.
“I’m glad that you have no doubts,” Zael huffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it. And I have seen nothing so far. It seems nothing but a hocus pocus distraction to me. I’d say useless if I didn’t think you’d be a snowflake about it.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve said exactly what you wanted to say,” says Remi, deadpan.
“I’m just pointing out that you’ve wasted half the day driving her around and you’ve nothing to show for it,” says DI Zael. “Imagine what the papers will say when they get wind of it.”
“Thank you for your concern,” says Remi in a tone that makes it clear that she is not thankful at all.
DI Zael turns to me. “Neat little trick you’ve got making money out of thin air,” he taunts.
“I’ve not been hired on this case,” I tell him coldly. “I’m here to help India.”
“Got some other psychic tricks up your sleeve, have you?” he demands. “You seem to be having a bad day as far as I can tell.”
Normally I would have given him a lecture on how it works, but right now words escape me. I feel like a fraud, and I feel like he knows it. DI Zael smirks in satisfaction.
Remi is having none of it. An idea seems to occur to her. “Why don’t we gather all the volunteers together at the end of the day?” she says. “And Diana will see if she gets a sense of anything useful off them.”
“What is that going to prove?” scoffs DI Zael. “Is she going to spout some mumbo jumbo magic to see if any of the volunteers have touched on a lead today?” He and his officer turn to each other and laugh.
Remi looks at them coolly. “In cases like this the killers sometimes like to involve themselves with the search parties,” she says. “There may be someone here who knows something. If there is, Diana will know.”
My stomach jolts. Remi gives me a confident smile and it is all I can do to return it. I wish that the earth would open up and swallow me.
I don't say anything to correct her in front of him. She thinks I am going to solve the case for them. She thinks my psychic powers are infallible. How the heck am I supposed to tell her that she couldn’t be more wrong?
Chapter 8
STORM
Even with no surname to go on it had taken Monroe less than half an hour to track down the identity of Charles Blair, India Lawrenson’s boyfriend. His social media photos showed a puffed up young man with a shiny bright smile and expensive hair. Locating his current whereabouts had proved somewhat more difficult.
Charles Blair’s online professional information showed that he was a management consultant who is currently working in the cutthroat world of Financial trading. However, his firm had refused to give out the name of his current project or client site.
Monroe had obtained the desired information by managing to contact one of his more readily available friends, a recruitment specialist, who had divulged that Charles’s current project was based at a highly prestigious American bank in Bishopsgate, a road in the city that is home to many top-end banking institutions.
As Storm drives to the address, Leo reads out loud the information that Monroe has sent them.
Charles Blair is twenty-five years old, his road to success paved with the private education his parents’ money had bought him and the contacts his parents’ friendships had brought him. But according to his social media profiles, he is a risk taker who likes to burn the candle that both ends. He parties hard. He spends a lot of money on gambling and drinking and dining out. And on holidays and skiing and his luxury fully-serviced apartment in Hoxton. His clothes and his cars and his girls are always the best.
It seems that India Lawrenson is not his first foray into the ‘dark side’ as he calls it in his social media profiles, where he has boasted about the succubae he has dated. India Lawrenson appears to be his first werewolf conquest. Had he dated one before, no doubt he would have boasted about that too.
Storm and Leo arrive at Charles Blair’s place of work, a newly built billion pound glass tower that spikes into the London skyline. The ground floor receptionist puts Storm on the line to Charles’s team secretary who is forced to call Charles out of a meeting at Storm’s insistence. Charles Blair is not happy to see them.
When he joins them in a meeting room, he says impatiently, “Couldn’t this have waited until the evening? I’m in the middle of an important pitch.”
“Your girlfriend’s in the middle of a life or death crisis,” says Leo acerbically. He had been contemplating the view from the thirtieth floor window, but now turns to face Charles.
The young man has the grace to blush. It does not look like an expression that frequently occupies his haughty features, currently tanned from his recent long weekend away in Saint-Tropez, a break that had not included India Lawrenson according to the photographs on his social media.
“Can we make this quick?” he says shortly. “I’ve got work to do.”
Charles refuses to take a seat. He pulls down all of the blinds in the glass-walled office. Clearly he does not want his colleagues witnessing this meeting.
“Is our presence embarrassing you?” says Leo. “We can take you down to Agency Headquarters if you like.”
“No, that’s fine,” says Charles quickly. He finally sits down, and puts a bland smile on his face, making an effort at affability. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Mr Blair, are you aware that your girlfriend is missing?” asks Storm.
“Charlie please. Mr Blair is my dad. And yes, of course I know that she is missing.”
“And yet you did not file a missing person report? Weren’t you worried?”
“Look, we went out on Friday night and had a good time. It was her buddy Rachel’s birthday. We had a blast. India was supposed to come to mine on Saturday for lunch, but she didn’t turn up. I just thought she was hung over and she had decided to stay with Rachel for the whole birthday weekend.”
“You weren’t concerned that India didn’t call you all weekend?”
“We weren’t attached at the hip. She can do what she wants. She’s an independent woman.”
“Was it normal for her to not call you on a weekend?”
“Yeah. No. Maybe.”
“Which of those is it?” says Storm.
“Sometimes she doesn’t.”
“Is that what we will find if we check your phone records?”
“Don’t you need a warrant to do that?”
“Only if you don’t want to show us. Do you have a reason to not want to show us that information, Mr Blair?”
“You can see my phone records if you like,” Charles says, his face now red. “I’ve got no problem with it. It’s ridiculous if you think I’m a suspect. Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you think you need one? Why did you not come forward to speak to us when you found out your girlfriend was missing and her best friend had been killed?”
“I w
as busy, okay?” Charles rubs the sides of his face, looking worried now. “I know I should have come but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. India’s a werewolf you know. I thought maybe her lot did it.”
“Her lot?” Storm says. “What do you mean by that?”
It seems to occur to Charles that Storm might be otherkind. His face goes even redder, more out of anger than embarrassment. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
Now that Charles is thoroughly unsettled, Storm gives him a bland cop’s smile. “We’re here to talk to you about what happened on Friday night. We’d like to understand the chain of events that led to Rachel Garrett’s death.”
Psychic for Hire Series Box Set Page 53
