by Helen Harper
‘I’m actually pretty busy,’ I tell her. ‘I don’t have time for chit chat.’
Her face falls at the same time as I catch a movement on the pavement opposite. I’m just in time to see a man with a short haircut duck into a nearby doorway. I frown and scan further down the street. Sure enough, another one is sitting in a car. Well, well, well. It appears that Colonel Arbuckle – or her superiors – don’t trust me.
‘Sorry, Dahlia,’ I amend, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude. It would be lovely to have you along.’
Her surprise is obvious. Rather than wait to hear her simpered reply, I continue walking down the street. Kimchi takes his time sniffing at every car, post and wall. I don’t look behind again, I don’t need to – those army types will be on my tail.
Dahlia trots by my side. ‘He’s a cute dog.’
He’s a slathering rotund beast. ‘Yes.’
‘He doesn’t seem to like me very much.’
He has very good instincts. And bags of intelligence. ‘Mmm.’
‘You don’t like me very much either.’ It’s not a question.
‘I hardly know you, Dahlia.’
‘It’s OK,’ she says softly. ‘I understand. You want to protect Arzo. I’m not going to hurt him though.’
‘You already did,’ I tell her, tugging at Kimchi’s leash so we can cross the road.
‘I know what I did was wrong.’
I pause in mid-step. ‘What did you do, Dahlia? Spell out for me what you did.’ I want to see if she realises the extent of her actions.
She drops her eyes. ‘I betrayed him. I know I did.’
‘You ran off with his best friend,’ I grind out. ‘Not only that, but you made him think you’d been recruited so he would turn vamp and be out of your hair for ever. You destroyed his life.’
‘I fell in love. I couldn’t help that.’
‘You didn’t need to send Arzo to the Montserrat Family though, did you? You could have sent him a Dear John letter.’ It’s hard not to keep the anger I feel on Arzo’s behalf out of my voice.
‘Yes, I could have done. I was young and not thinking straight. Arzo was … obsessive. He’d never have left me alone. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time.’
‘He could have died. Do you know the statistics for newbie vampires?’ I shake my head in disgust. ‘You could have killed him.’
She looks at me, oddly desperate. ‘Haven’t you ever made a mistake, Bo? Done something you will spend the rest of your life wishing you could undo?’
I don’t answer her but carry on walking, holding myself stiffly upright.
‘I’m paying for it now, aren’t I?’ she calls out, before catching me up. ‘I didn’t ask to be turned into a vampire either. My husband didn’t ask to be blown up.’
I try not to snort. ‘He shouldn’t have messed with the Triads then.’
‘I’m going to make it up to Arzo, you know. And to New Order for taking me in. I’ll spend the rest of my life paying for my mistakes if that’s what it takes.’
‘And how are we supposed to know whether you’re telling the truth?’ I ask calmly. ‘How do we know that Lord Medici hasn’t sent you here to spy on us?’
She’s silent for a moment before answering. ‘I can see why you’d think that. He didn’t though. I hate him.’ The venom in her tone almost makes me believe her. ‘I’m going to get you to trust me, Bo. Everyone respects you, not just because of this Red Angel thing. I respect you too. One day you’ll see that I’m not your enemy. We could be friends.’
‘I don’t need your respect. And I have enough friends.’
Dahlia’s head droops and I squash a flicker of sympathy. ‘I tell you what,’ I say, against my better judgment, ‘you can start out by doing me a favour.’
Her chin jerks up. ‘What?’
‘There are two guys following me, one in a car and one on foot. I need you to distract them so I can get some peace and quiet.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Why are they following you?’
‘Does it matter?’
She shakes her head rapidly. ‘No, no. What do they look like?’
‘Crewcuts. Muscles. They walk like they have rods jammed up their arses.’
‘Soldiers?’
When I glance at her, she blushes slightly. ‘I know the type.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ I mutter. ‘Just delay them for a few minutes so I can get away.’
She nods vigorously. ‘Yes. I can do that.’ She touches my arm. ‘Thank you, Bo.’
I flinch slightly and she drops her hand. Without giving her another glance, I speed up and leave her to divert them. Right now I don’t care whether she’s successful or not. The army can’t clap me in irons for visiting a friend.
*
I find Foxworthy in Stallworthy’s, an old-fashioned pub frequented by members of the police force. When I make my entrance, the punters’ reaction is almost comical. Their conversations stop and every head turns in my direction. I wouldn’t be surprised if the balls on the pool table also froze.
Foxworthy raises his pint in my direction. ‘Bo Blackman! Why are you darkening my door?’ His tone encourages the others to relax although I still receive several wary glances as if they’re afraid I will start biting jugulars just because I can. It helps that Kimchi bounds enthusiastically towards the gruff policeman and slobbers over his feet. Dog lovers, even vampire dog lovers, can’t be all bad, right?
I join him at his table. His companion mutters something about getting another drink and scoots off to the bar.
‘So,’ Foxworthy says, ‘I see you’ve been a busy girl.’
I guess he’s referring to my well-publicised exploits at La Maison. I shrug. ‘It wasn’t quite how it looks.’
‘It never is,’ he responds cheerfully. ‘Why are you here?’
I don’t waste his time with a long preamble. ‘The ear,’ I say. ‘The one that isn’t Tobias Renfrew’s. What do you know about it?’
He takes a sip of his drink. ‘I know it isn’t Tobias Renfrew’s.’
‘The man who had it initially…?’
‘The one your little daemon mate stole it from, you mean?’
‘He didn’t exactly steal it,’ I say, doing what I can to defend O’Shea’s dubious honour. ‘He, um, found it.’
‘And took it without permission.’
‘Wouldn’t you?’
Foxworthy purses his lips. ‘Perhaps. Either way, by the time we knew about him, there was no trace. Whoever he was, he disappeared,’ he clicks his fingers, ‘into the night.’
‘Did you find out anything about him?’
He looks at me over the rim of his glass. ‘Believe me Bo, no stone was left unturned with that investigation. We are talking about terrorists who attacked the Agathos Court and a school disco. Nothing was found. Of course, there’s the three who went to Venezuela and the government is still negotiating for their extradition. We all know it’s merely lip service, though. They’re not coming back unless it’s in body bags.’
‘So the guy who initially had the ear vanished, like Renfrew,’ I muse.
‘Bo, Tobias Renfrew is dead.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask softly.
Foxworthy gestures in frustration. ‘He has to be.’
‘Everyone seems to think that.’
‘Because it’s the only thing that makes any sense. He had his fingers in lots of pies. He pissed off the wrong person and ended up at the bottom of the bloody ocean or in some deep grave. If you’re looking into him then you’re chasing ghosts and wasting your time.’
‘What about the ear? It has to have something to do with him. You can’t tell me that trying to find out what happened with that is a waste of time. We don’t know if there’s more to it than those bastards in Venezuela. What if they try something again?’
Kimchi whines as my voice rises. I reach down to pat his head in reassurance, my free hand searching inside my pocket for the white pebble. I roll it across my fingers and
remind myself to breathe.
‘Then we’ll stop them like we did last time,’ Foxworthy says. His expression is calm but he seems concerned about me. ‘You’re not the only person looking into this, Bo. And it’s not your responsibility to find the mastermind behind the attacks. You can’t take the weight of the world on your shoulders, much as you might want to.’
I laugh humourlessly. ‘Is that how you feel about your cases, inspector? That they’re not solely your responsibility and if you don’t solve them it doesn’t matter because someone else will?’
A ghost of smile lights his face. ‘Just because I understand the sentiment doesn’t mean I think it’s healthy. I know very well how chasing after dead ends can take over your life.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I tell him. ‘There are no dead ends, just lots and lots of questions. And I’m going to find out the answers.’
He looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and dismay. ‘Don’t let the questions destroy you, Bo. Because if you let them, they will.’
CHAPTER NINE: Breaking and Entering
O’Shea pitches up in a battered Volkswagen Beetle. I give it the once over. Despite its cratered bodywork and scratches, it seems remarkably sound. I pat its bonnet approvingly while O’Shea pops his head out of the window.
‘Are you bringing that thing along?’ he asks, frowning dubiously at Kimchi. ‘I don’t want my upholstery ruined.’
I peer inside the dusty windows. The back seat is littered with rubbish and I’m sure I spot a box of Tampax peeping out from underneath a crisp packet. ‘Your upholstery?’
‘I’m not quite sure what you’re implying, Bo,’ he says, affronted. ‘I bought Barry fair and square from a woman I know in Soho. I’ve just not had time to clear out her stuff yet.’
‘Barry?’
‘Barry to you,’ he says with a flick of his fingers. ‘When you become better acquainted, you might get to call him Baz.’
Kimchi sniffs at Barry’s wheel then glances back at me with an expression on his face that suggests he’d rather gnaw off his own tail than get in. ‘Were you followed?’ I ask O’Shea. Surprisingly, I’ve not seen any sign of my square-headed followers since I left Dahlia to deal with them. It doesn’t mean there aren’t others, though.
‘Oh, yes,’ he responds cheerfully. ‘There were two of them waiting outside my flat.’
‘And?’
He grins. ‘And a rather large friend of mine who enjoys dressing up as Tallulah at the weekends helped distract them for me. I’m clean.’
I nod at Kimchi. ‘Sorry, buster. We’re climbing on board.’ He cocks his leg in response, urinating on the rear tyre.
O’Shea leans further out. ‘What’s that dog doing?’
‘Nothing.’ I open the back-seat door and Kimchi jumps in, immediately sniffing the litter in case there are any stray crumbs. I go round to the passenger side and get in next to O’Shea. Unfortunately it’s a bucket seat that’s seen better days; when I sit down it groans loudly and there’s a rush of air. My bottom sinks until I can only just see over the dashboard.
‘I have a great recipe for a growth spell,’ O’Shea tells me.
I stick out my tongue. ‘Just drive.’
*
Renfrew’s mansion sits at the far side of a leafy suburb on the outskirts of the city. It’s well signposted, confirming my grandfather’s information that it’s a tourist hotspot. I think there’s something macabre about wandering around the scene of a mass murder on a jolly family day out; that thought solidifies when I spy the gift shop at the front. O’Shea cups his hands against the glass and squints inside.
‘Books, keychains, mugs…’ he announces. ‘Nothing useful here.’
‘Did you think there would be?’
‘I was hoping for a Cornetto. I’m rather peckish.’
Kimchi barks. I wag my finger in his direction. ‘There’s no way you’re getting an ice-cream,’ I tell him sternly. A trail of drool droops from the corner of his mouth.
‘Don’t mention F-O-O-D when the dog’s around, O’Shea.’
He eyes Kimchi thoughtfully. ‘There’s quite a lot of meat on him, isn’t there? He’d keep me going for a while. Is that why you’re fattening him up?’
‘You’re hilarious.’
‘And I’m here all week, ladies and gentlemen.’
A beam of torch light appears from the far corner of the house. I tap O’Shea on the shoulder. ‘Torch,’ I grunt. ‘Must be a security guard doing the rounds.’
O’Shea points to Kimchi. ‘He was the one making all the noise.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Come on. Let’s head round the back before they get here.’
The three of us move in the opposite direction, past a row of darkened windows surrounded by sandstone. It’s hard to believe that this vast building was all for one triber. I can’t imagine what on earth he did with all the space.
It’s an odd experience when we make it to the far side. Even with the absence of lights, it’s such a familiar vista that déjà vu momentarily overcomes me. I’ve seen this spot in so many old photographs that it’s weird being here. Clearly, I’m not alone in this sentiment. O’Shea squeaks and dashes forward.
‘This is the spot, Bo,’ he calls out in a low, reverent tone. ‘There’s even a plaque.’
I look down. He’s right: a small blue tile marks the very place where Renfrew was standing when he vanished all those years ago. ‘He was on a platform though,’ I say, attempting to be pragmatic even though a slight shiver runs down my spine. I gaze across the shadowed garden, trying to picture what it was like on that night. All the people and the noise and the music … it must have been a sight to behold.
‘It’s a damn shame that we can’t create a time bubble here,’ O’Shea murmurs
I agree. There aren’t many places in the world where there’s such a strong sense of history. ‘Shall we?’ I say eventually, jabbing my thumb in the direction of the house.
O’Shea’s eyes gleam in the darkness. ‘Let’s.’
I turn my back on the plaque and the gardens and head for the nearest window. It helps that the building has been preserved for posterity; the old-fashioned sash window is easy to jemmy open. O’Shea and I pause nervously in case an alarm shrieks and alerts the security guards to our presence. When all remains quiet, we squeeze our way inside.
We are in a large sitting room. There’s a grand fireplace at one end and a collection of matching furniture. O’Shea examines a chair. ‘Chippendale,’ he declares. ‘Only the best for elusive billionaires.’
‘Not that it did him much good in the end,’ I point out, dragging Kimchi away before he can start gnawing on a priceless chair leg. ‘We need to head upstairs.’
‘To the scene of the crime?’
‘Indeed.’
I open the door carefully, wincing as it creaks. I needn’t have worried; it’s so silent and still inside that it’s apparent the guards only patrol the exterior of the mansion. We pad softly down the corridor until we reach a staircase. I motion to O’Shea and we ascend it.
Tempting as it is to explore the whole house, there’s only one room I really want to examine: the bathroom where the dismembered corpses were discovered. It’s not that I’m expecting to come across any clues – every inch of the room has probably been studied and pored over – but I want to get a feel for it. Old photographs are no substitute for the real thing.
Despite the mansion’s size, the room is easy to locate thanks to the signposts that help eager tourists find their way there. ‘Only fifty feet to go!’ one proclaims with some photo-shopped blood spatter for effect. I purse my lips in disapproval. It seems to me that there’s a considerable lack of respect for the five victims. They died horribly – and most probably at Renfrew’s hand – but the public can’t get enough of celebrities and death. The only deference to the crime is that when we finally reach the bathroom, it’s roped off to prevent people from traipsing around inside.
Kimchi sits down
by my feet, his tongue lolling out and his nose twitching. I wonder if he can smell the traces of decades’-old blood. Even my vampire nose can’t pick anything up, although that’s hardly surprising considering how long ago the deaths took place and how vigorously the room was probably cleaned afterwards. Little yellow markers are laid out, lurid against the white marble, pointing to where the different body parts were discovered. Other than that, it’s nothing more than an opulent bathroom.
O’Shea licks his lips and glances at me wide-eyed. ‘Do we go in?’ he whispers.
As uncomfortable as it makes me feel, I nod and duck beneath the barrier. I step gingerly into the middle of the room, taking care not to knock over any of the markers.
There’s a shaft of moonlight from a small window set high in the far wall which bounces off the white tiles on the floor. A large claw-footed bathtub sits against one side of the room. I edge over and peer inside; it smells faintly of bleach. I crouch down to see if there’s anything noteworthy underneath but before I get right down, I hear a whine and a muffled protest from O’Shea. Kimchi’s paws scrabble across the floor, knocking over several of the markers. Alarmed, I spring up as the dog sails over me and lands inside the bath.
‘Goddamnit!’ I hiss. ‘Kimchi, get out of there!’
He wags his tail in delight as if this is some kind of game. His claws scrape loudly against the ceramic as I grab his collar and heave him out; the sound echoes around the room and makes me wince. I catch sight of O’Shea rolling his eyes as I yank Kimchi back outside, remonstrating with him all the while. Then I tie his lead round the leg of a side table and go back in to assess the damage.
The markers are all over the place. I try to stand them upright again, hoping I’m getting them in the right position. O’Shea stands over the bathtub, frowning down.
‘You could help, you know,’ I tell him in an irritated undertone.
‘Look at this, Bo,’ he says, ignoring me.
I prop up the last marker and join him. My stomach drops when I see what he’s staring at. Kimchi’s claws have managed to scratch the bath in several places. Even in this dim light, the marks are obvious. So much for being discreet.
