Red Angel

by Helen Harper

  They’re both in the kitchen, lying flat on their backs and staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. One of them – for some reason I decide it’s Wyatt – has vomit trickling from his mouth. The other is clutching his stomach.

  The plain-clothed police arrive ten seconds later. ‘What are you doing?’

  I stand up and turn away. They’ve been dead for at least two hours; there’s no point attempting resuscitation. ‘Creed and Wyatt are a dead end,’ I murmur, thinking of the strange white card that Drechlin handed me. ‘Ha. Ha.’

  The first policeman mutters something into his radio while the second looks at me, confused. ‘How did you know?’ she asks. ‘You’re the Red Angel and I know you’ve got powers but how did you know they’re dead?’

  ‘Hemlock,’ I said simply. ‘They ate hemlock.’

  The pizza sauce wasn’t laced with basil and the salad leaves weren’t spinach. Creed and Wyatt were poisoned and whoever sent me the card was responsible.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Justice Will Be Served

  I’m forced to endure another round of questioning and statement giving. Forget the Red Angel, I should be re-named ‘Key Witness Number One’. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem likely that I’ll ever give evidence in a courtroom, not when there are no suspects to hand.

  ‘I had to pull a few strings to set up that stake-out,’ Foxworthy tells me when he finally appears. ‘Suddenly I’m being inundated with orders to investigate all this more thoroughly.’

  ‘You should send a team back to that warehouse. They must have done something with the ear and the gun before they were arrested.’

  ‘It’s already in motion.’ He looks at me shrewdly. ‘Does it feel good to be right?’

  I rub my forehead. ‘Not particularly. Even with the stake-out, they still died. The food could have come from anywhere. Maybe it was planted in Creed’s fridge.’

  ‘If we’d kept them locked up, they’d still be alive,’ Foxworthy says

  I look away. ‘Yeah,’ I admit. ‘I guess they would have been. Now all we have is some leftover food and two useless corpses who can’t tell us a bloody thing.’

  Foxworthy squeezes my shoulder then leaves without saying any more. I’m not sure what else there is to say right now.

  ‘I spend more time inside police stations now that I’m a super sleuth than I did when I was a criminal,’ O’Shea complains when I meet him and Connor outside. He throws Connor a panicked look and hastily backtracks. ‘Not that I was an evil criminal or anything…’

  I sigh. ‘That’s another lead down the damn drain. Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Actually,’ O’Shea whispers, ‘that’s not true.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. I recognise it as the charity envelope from Creed’s rubbish. O’Shea checks over his shoulder then waves it at me. ‘I took this before the police came and bagged everything up,’ he says in a conspiratorial undertone.

  I’m confused. ‘So?’

  ‘I must be the only super sleuth around here. What’s the charity?’

  I read it. ‘Checkers Children’s Charity.’ I’m none the wiser.

  ‘Bo, Bo, Bo.’ He shakes his head in dismay.

  Connor thumps his arm. ‘He didn’t get it either. It was me who pointed it out.’

  ‘Pointed what out?’

  ‘That charity. It’s been out of business for decades. And…’

  ‘Oh God,’ I breathe. ‘It’s the one that was named in Tobias Renfrew’s will.’

  ‘Should we tell the police?’

  I think about it. Even with Foxworthy on my side and my reputation as heroine of the hour, the police still let Creed and Wyatt go – and look what happened to them. I reckon we can probably manage better on our own.

  *

  We race back to New Order. It’s time for some old-fashioned research. We need to find out what Matt and Dahlia came up with from the pile of stolen books and we need to learn everything we can about the charity. Rather than being holed up inside poring over information, however, Matt is outside on the street throwing a ball to Kimchi.

  He waves enthusiastically at the three of us. Kimchi isn’t interested; the ball is clearly more alluring. I’d be offended if I didn’t know that it’s one of those doggy contraptions that contains a hidden snack.

  ‘Why aren’t you inside?’ I think about Dahlia and wonder what the hell is going on.

  Matt shrugs. ‘They told me to take a walk.’

  My eyes narrow. They? I open the main door then walk upstairs, keeping my footsteps light. More than half the staff are vampires so they’ll all have preternatural hearing; that doesn’t I mean I want to be obvious though.

  When I reach New Order’s door, my hand hovers over the knob for a moment then I push it open. Arzo and Dahlia spring apart. He wheels back his chair with such force that it clunks heavily against a desk. Sodding hell.

  I give Arzo a look filled with dismay. It’s not that his return to Dahlia is unexpected but I’m still disappointed. At least he has the grace to appear embarrassed.

  ‘Bo,’ Dahlia begins, ‘it’s not what you think.’

  I ignore her. ‘How could you?’ I ask Arzo. ‘After everything she did to you? And you know she’s probably still working for Medici.’

  ‘She’s not, Bo.’

  ‘You don’t know that!’

  ‘He forced me to become a vampire against my will. I hate him,’ Dahlia interjects.

  ‘You mean like you forced Arzo to become a vampire?’

  ‘I’m Sanguine,’ he says calmly.

  ‘Only through a quirk of fate!’ I shoot back. ‘We can’t trust her.’

  Dahlia steps forward. ‘I understand why you feel like that, Bo…’

  ‘Do you?’ I snarl. ‘Really? Do you? I was there when your beloved husband was blown to smithereens. I know what he was like as a person and I know what you’re like as a person. You’re a user. A bitch who…’

  ‘That’s enough, Bo.’ Arzo’s voice is quiet but filled with menace. His fists are clenched and there’s anger written across his face.

  ‘You’re making a mistake.’

  He meets my eyes. ‘It’s my life,’ he says simply. ‘It’s my mistake to make.’

  I falter. How can I argue with that? My shoulders droop; I reach inside my pocket and pull out my white pebble. I stare at it in the palm of my hand, then curl my fingers round it and squeeze. ‘We need to work,’ I tell them both coldly. ‘You want to shag each other silly then get a room.’

  ‘It’s really not like that.’

  I hold up my hand. ‘I don’t care.’

  We stand there for a moment, the uncomfortable silence growing. Eventually, Arzo speaks. ‘We will leave you to it then.’ He wheels himself out. Dahlia, white-faced, looks at me nervously then follows him. I sink into the nearest chair and press the base of my palms into my eyes.

  ‘Bo?’ It’s Matt.

  I look up at him, smiling weakly at his worried expression. ‘It’s alright,’ I tell him. ‘Everything’s alright.’

  ‘They deserve a chance to be happy.’

  ‘She can’t be trusted.’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t know why he can’t see that.’

  ‘Redemption should always be possible. For everyone.’

  I bite my bottom lip so hard I draw blood. ‘Maybe you’re right. It is the premise behind all the Families’ recruitment policies, isn’t it?’ I sigh. ‘Maybe I’m the bitch.’

  He takes my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. ‘You’re worried about your friend. He’ll be fine. Arzo can look after himself. Besides, Dahlia came up with the goods with that stuff you wanted.’

  ‘The books?’

  Matt nods. ‘The bathroom suite in the murder room is the original one. That’s not what’s interesting though.’ He beams at me. ‘You’ll like this.’

  He pulls over a chair and sits next to me. Connor and O’Shea tiptoe into the room. I notice that they stand very close to
each other. I smile at them and beckon them over.

  Opening three of the books to marked pages, Matt points to the first highlighted area. ‘Here.’

  ‘“Although Tobias Renfrew never married, he was in a relationship at the time of his disappearance,”’ I read aloud. ‘I never heard that before. Who was she?’

  Matt grins. ‘Look here.’

  It’s a black-and-white photo in a restaurant. Renfrew is sitting across from a well-dressed human woman, holding her hand across the table. The caption simply reads ‘Tobias Renfrew and companion’. It’s dated three days before his disappearance.

  ‘And this one,’ Matt says.

  This is a list of forensics from the murder scene. I read the highlighted area. ‘One of the victims had a birth mark on their arm.’

  ‘Check the photo again.’

  I flick back. The mysterious woman’s short-sleeved dress displays reveals a long thin mark. ‘He killed his own girlfriend?’

  ‘Or someone killed her for him.’

  We look at each other. ‘Why would someone do that?’ Connor asks.

  ‘That’s easy,’ O’Shea shrugs. ‘Money.’

  I agree. ‘If he was seriously involved with someone, the beneficiaries of his will would be most likely to get pissed off.’

  ‘Because a serious relationship might mean he’d change his will in her favour.’

  Connor’s eyes widen. ‘And the original beneficiaries were...’

  ‘Checkers Children’s Charity,’ I finish.

  We absorb the information. ‘We need to find out who worked for the charity and where they are now,’ I say finally.

  Kimchi appears in the doorway, the mangled ball in his mouth. He drops it on the floor and barks, wagging his tail. In that moment, I think we all feel the same frisson of excitement. We might actually be getting somewhere.

  *

  In less than an hour we have the names of five triber daemons and two humans who were trustees of the charity. Three of them are dead – old age, cancer and a car accident respectively. Of the remaining four, one emigrated to Australia. Helpfully, the others still live in London. We’re about to start confirming their addresses when Lars, the Gully representative, lopes in.

  ‘What are you guys up to?’

  We exchange glances. In theory we’re all part of the same team; he works for New Order now just like us. But the investigation into Tobias Renfrew and the severed ears isn’t really a vampire matter. By dint of silent agreement, we decide to play dumb. It’s not a matter of trust – Lars isn’t Dahlia – I guess it’s more because we find it hard to believe that we have some actual leads and we don’t want to share them. Or maybe it’s because we’re a tight-knit little group that traditional bloodguzzlers like Lars can never quite be a part of. Either way, there’s considerable humming and hawing. Fortunately, Lars is more than keen to talk about his night tracking down the bastards who killed Bergman Stuart to notice.

  ‘So I’ve spent every night checking their known acquaintances,’ he says, ‘and either no one knows or no one’s talking.’

  I feel guilty about not doing more, even though it’s at my grandfather’s behest. ‘They obviously spent a lot of time at that night club,’ I say to him, trying to be helpful. ‘Maybe you need to check out similar clubs.’

  ‘That’ll be like finding a needle in a haystack,’ Lars complains. ‘Do you know how many clubs there are in this city?’

  ‘Good investigating involves a lot of legwork.’ I hope I don’t sound too patronising. After my confrontation with Arzo and Dahlia, I don’t want to piss off anyone else. I’m still smarting from the implication that I was trying to tell Arzo how to live his life. ‘X never marks the spot. You need to go searching.’

  He grumbles slightly but doesn’t appear offended. ‘By the way,’ he tells me, ‘I think those journalists are back again.’

  I frown. ‘Really? I thought they’d got tired of hanging around out here.’

  Lars shrugs. ‘There’s a mysterious car outside. When I passed it, a guy got out and asked me about you.’

  I sigh. Being followed around isn’t what I need right now. If I’m going to visit the high and mighty of Checkers Children’s Charity tomorrow, to find out whether they’re responsible for the brutal murder of at least five people, it’s going to be difficult to get them to talk with half the city’s press in tow. I can disguise myself enough to move around the streets but if I try to sneak out of the premises, I’m asking for trouble. It’ll be easier if they’re not hanging around and waiting for me. I mutter that I’m going to deal with them and head out.

  I spot the car immediately. It’s black and unshowy but it seems remarkably expensive for a journalist. As I squint, trying to work out whether there’s anyone inside or not, a dark figure steps from the shadows.

  ‘You know, Bo, sometimes X does mark the spot.’

  I glare at the Kakos daemon. He’s wearing his smoothly handsome human persona but I know what lurks underneath his skin. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Oh,’ he drawls, ‘come, come. Surely you can be more welcoming than that? After all, I’ve been a good friend to you. More than a friend, in fact. Look at the PR I got for you.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to get involved,’ I hiss.

  X smiles. ‘How many times have you come to me for help in the past? You should be more grateful.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’ I turn on my heel, ready to walk back inside.

  ‘You still owe me a favour,’ he says. His voice is casual but I stiffen.

  I slowly turn. ‘You’re coming to collect?’

  He shrugs. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘I’m kind of busy right now. Can it wait a few days?’

  ‘You mean your ridiculous Renfrew crusade? Who cares? It’s all ancient history now.’ There’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he thinks otherwise. I feel my gut tighten. X’s mindreading skills mean that he knows far more than he ought to. I’m not asking him for help again though. I’ve damned myself enough as it is by getting involved with him.

  ‘Come with me, Bo,’ he says smoothly, gesturing towards the car. ‘We have much to discuss. Renfrew’s waited this long. A few more hours won’t hurt.’

  Every atom in my body screams at me to say no. I should walk – no, run – away. But much as I’d like to forget it, I do owe X. In return for not slaughtering Rogu3 or Connor or anyone else smart enough to realise that I turned Rogu3 into a vampire and back again, X made me promise to fulfil one favour. I’m a woman of my word. And if I tried to make a dash for it, he’d probably rip out my heart.

  ‘Good girl,’ he says, obviously reading my mind.

  I get into the passenger seat. The moment X gets into the car and the tinted windows conceal him from the rest of the world, he lets out tiny moan and cricks his neck. His glamour vanishes, revealing the twisting tattoos and ever-present daemonic aura.

  ‘That feels so good!’ he exclaims. ‘It’s good to be free, you know? To live your life the way you want to live it.’

  My eyes narrow. Was he listening in to what happened with Arzo and Dahlia?

  ‘No,’ he tells me. ‘As surprising as it may seem to you, I don’t spend my life running around after you and eavesdropping.’ I snort. He could have fooled me. ‘But,’ he continues, ‘it’s screaming out from your conscience. You, Bo Blackman, feel bad about it.’

  I shift in my seat. I don’t need to examine the inner workings of my mind. ‘Should I trust Dahlia?’

  X laughs. ‘How should I know? I’ve not met the woman.’

  ‘You know of her though. Her husband worked for you.’

  He puts the car into gear and drives off. ‘Water under the bridge. If you like, I can go after her and…’

  ‘No.’ My voice is flat. ‘It’s fine.’

  He laughs again. ‘As you wish.’

  I fold my arms and stare resolutely ahead. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Not far.’

  ‘Because the others
back at New Order will wonder where I’ve gone. And it’ll be daylight soon.’

  ‘Don’t worry, little Bo. I’ll have you back and tucked up safely in bed before the sun rises.’ There’s such amusement in his tone that I look away and button my lips. I’m not going head to head with X, not even with banter. Unfortunately, my refusal to engage him any further seems to amuse him even more.

  He was right when he said we weren’t going far. We pull up outside a familiar building. Wary, I stay where I am; I’ve done enough breaking and entering lately.

  X walks round to my door, opens it and gives me a little bow. ‘I had no idea you were such a lady,’ he comments. ‘It’s just as well I chose this location for our … rendezvous.’

  ‘I am not breaking into Harrods in the middle of the night.’

  He smiles. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ve got the keys. Follow me.’

  Against my better judgment I step heavily out of the car. X is already at the door. ‘Aren’t you worried about CCTV?’ I ask. ‘You’re still you.’

  X chuckles. ‘I’m touched that you’re so concerned about me.’ He opens the door with a flourish and bows again. ‘Ladies first.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not going in there.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ His eyes glitter. ‘I’ve cleared it with the owner.’ When I don’t move, he raises his eyebrows. ‘If you don’t come inside, you won’t get your present.’

  Oh God. Nausea squirms in my belly. This could be really bad.

  ‘You’ll like it, Bo.’ He grins broadly. ‘I promise.’

  I close my eyes briefly, dreading to think what’s waiting for me. Until the events at the television studio, I’d felt an odd amity with the daemon despite my terror of him. Now my instinct to run away is all I can think about. With a deep sense of foreboding, I enter the famous store. X closes the door behind us and walks ahead to show me the way.

  He leads me to the food hall. He is obviously aware of my fear because he seems to be taking perverse pleasure in goading me. ‘I put your present here,’ he says. ‘I wanted to keep them fresh.’

  Them? I swallow and stop in my tracks. ‘Listen, X,’ I say, aware of the tremor in my voice. ‘I know I owe you. Believe me, I’m not about to forget. But you promised the favour wouldn’t involve anything illegal. I appreciate that you thought killing Marcus Lanscombe was a good thing to do but there were other avenues that could have been explored. The police…’