Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  Standing here, staring down the dirty hallway, was a very strange experience. It was almost as if the past had suddenly come to life.

  More in wonder than in sorrow, I tiptoed forward on the balls of my feet as if walking normally would disturb more ghosts than I could deal with. I swung my head from left to right, marvelling at the flood of images that were running through my mind like a film. The door frame to the small living room caught my attention and I paused to crouch down and check it. There, etched into the paint with a marker pen, were tiny notches, each one rising just that little bit higher. Twelve months, fifteen months, eighteen months, all the way up to five years old. I brushed my fingertips against each one. I had been loved by my parents, of that much I was sure.

  I spent some time wandering from room to room and allowing myself to enjoy what memories I could dredge up. It was only when I felt wholly ready that I entered the kitchen. This was where they’d died; this was where I’d been found wailing loudly in a pool of blood next to their bodies.

  I didn’t remember any of it, but I’d read the coroner’s report and the news clippings that my uncle had cut out and secreted in the old box in his attic, together with the rest of the things he’d kept from that time. None of it had been easy reading. Stepping into the room where my parents had been murdered and my life had changed wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either.

  I tried to maintain a clinical, professional eye. I was no forensic technician but I’d been trained in the basics of crime-scene investigation at the Academy. Plus, I knew enough details of the crime to know what had happened. My parents had been sitting at the kitchen table and I’d probably been asleep in the next room. Samuel Beswick had entered, brandishing his knife. He’d gone for my mother first, using her as a weapon to keep my father back.

  I tried to imagine where each person had been, I tried to think like a detective, but the blood was my undoing. Even now, after all these years, traces of it were still visible. No longer vivid red but a murky shade of brown, it was barely recognisable against twenty-five years of dust and grime, but I knew what it was. It arced across the walls and kitchen cupboards in a macabre dance.

  I gazed in sickened horror. My parents’ blood was everywhere.

  From somewhere, there came a strange low moan. It took a moment before I realised that I was making that sound. It wasn’t fair. Why could I live through several deaths and resurrect, and they couldn’t manage even one? Why should I be special?

  I choked, my breath ragged and pained. The horror and fear and agony they must have felt. The sheer amount of their blood…

  I couldn’t breathe. My chest was tight and there was a loud roaring in my ears. Calm down, Emma. Calm down. I dropped to my knees and placed my palms flat against the grimy linoleum.

  I was already older than they had been when they’d died. How could that be real? How could Samuel Beswick have walked in here and done that to them? I should have attacked him in the prison when I had the chance. I’d go back. I’d speak to him again. And this time I wouldn’t let him get away. Fuck the consequences.

  I stood up, realising that my jeans and my hands were filthy. My nose twitched. I’d need to go to the Bird and Bush, change and get out of Barchapel. I could be in London before dinnertime. Then…

  I jerked. That smell. Oh my God. That smell.

  With trembling hands, I raised my fingers to my nose and sniffed. My mouth went dry. I wasn’t imagining it. I sniffed again then let out a cry and collapsed again, only this time it wasn’t out of grief or pain but confusion.

  I scrabbled at the floor, brushing away as much of the debris and dust as I could. There were the old bloodstains but that wasn’t all – there was a darker stain too. It wasn’t brown and it didn’t look like old blood; it seemed to be a scorch mark.

  Something had burned here, something sulphurous and strong. I stared at the mark. There was only one explanation and I should have considered it earlier. I’d accepted what I’d been told as the gospel truth and hadn’t questioned it further, but I had to question it now.

  It wasn’t only my parents who had died here. It looked like I had died too.

  Chapter Five

  Lukas answered the phone on the second ring. ‘D’Artagnan. Is everything alright?’

  I opened my mouth to answer and suddenly realised that I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Emma?’ He sounded more concerned. ‘Emma?’

  I drew in a shaky breath. ‘I’m here. Sorry. I’m here. I just…’ I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘I needed to hear your voice.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  I found the words and gave him a brief rundown of what I’d discovered in the cottage. In my childhood home.

  ‘I have to admit,’ he said, ‘it had crossed my mind that’s what had happened.’

  ‘You should have said something.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s obvious the thought hadn’t occurred to you, and I didn’t want to plant ideas that might cause you more pain. You’ve clearly put a lot of effort into putting the events of your childhood behind you, and you take care not to dwell on the past. I’m not only talking about your parents.’

  ‘You mean Jeremy too,’ I said flatly, referring to my ex-boyfriend who’d murdered me. Twice.

  ‘It didn’t seem wise to stir up old ghosts when you’d found your own way of coping.’ He hesitated. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? You don’t have to stay in Barchapel, you know. I can pick you up and get you back to London right now.’

  I shook my head, for my benefit rather than his. ‘I’ve started this,’ I said softly. ‘I have to finish.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I liked that he didn’t try to persuade me otherwise or to ask whether I was sure. Lukas took my answer at face value, respected how I felt and acted accordingly. He wasn’t all big bad vampire Lord.

  ‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours,’ he continued.

  Whoa. ‘No,’ I said. ‘You told me you’ve got business to take care of.’

  ‘I can delegate.’ His voice was brisk. ‘You need me more.’

  ‘I don’t. You have your own responsibilities and I’m okay. Now that I’ve spoken to you I feel much better.’ I wasn’t even lying. I added more softly, ‘Don’t give me more things to feel guilty about. There’s nothing for you to do here and a million things for you take care of in London. Not to mention a thousand vampires. I’ll see you on Thursday like we planned.’

  ‘Emma…’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. Besides, I’m on my way to the local police station to find out more about this other murder. There’s no point in you heading here and then cooling your heels because I’m too busy doing my job to worry about anything else.’

  ‘If you change your mind,’ Lukas said, ‘all you have to do is say the word. I’ll drop everything and come running in a heartbeat.’

  The lump in my throat was making a return. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  I started walking down the country lane and into Barchapel. The sun was still shining, its warm cheerful rays at odds with my turbulent thoughts. As I turned the corner, my eyes narrowed when I saw the crow sitting on the low hanging branch of an oak tree nearby. I glared at it and it cawed once before flapping off. I sniffed. It probably wasn’t the same bird I’d seen earlier but its departure gave me some satisfaction.

  I reached for my phone once more. Lukas had given me the emotional support I needed but now I wanted more practical assistance. Fortunately, I knew the perfect forensic pathologist to help me out.

  ‘Emma!’ Laura greeted my call, upbeat as usual. ‘How’s my favourite zombie?’

  ‘Very funny,’ I told her. ‘But I don’t want to eat your brains so much as pick them.’

  Laura must have heard something in my voice because she immediately grew serious. ‘What is it?’

  I plucked at an invisible speck of lint on my sleeve. ‘I don’t suppose you ever took samples of the – er – residue that’s left over whe
n I resurrect?’

  ‘What kind of death scientist do you take me for? Of course I did. Testing the stuff that you leave behind when you die and come back to life again is my new hobby. Not that I’ve got anywhere with the results, beyond working out that there’s a mixture of dead skin cells, elemental sulphur and nondescript ashes.’ She paused. ‘Why?’

  I bit my lip. ‘If I sent you an old sample from a historic crime scene, could you compare the two?’

  ‘It would depend how old we’re talking.’ She sounded excited. ‘Why? Is there someone else who’s a phoenix? Have you found evidence of someone like you?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s me – old me. It’s possible that I died and was re-born when I was a little kid.’

  I could almost hear the cogs turning in Laura’s brain. ‘I’m confused. When did this happen? Why didn’t anyone notice that you’d died?’

  I’d never told her about what had happened to my parents; I’d never spoken about it in detail to anyone other than Lukas. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’

  ‘Most things with you tend to be,’ she said drily. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘A place called Barchapel in Kent. It’s about thirty minutes’ drive from Appledore.’

  ‘Uh huh. And do you have a proper sample kit with you? Because if you don’t, there’ll potentially be too much cross-contamination, especially with such an old scene. It’ll be dodgy trying to take proper readings without the proper equipment.’

  I grimaced. ‘I don’t have anything like that. I’m on my way to have a chat with the local police, though. I can get a sample kit from them.’

  Laura sniffed. ‘I know there’s been a brutal murder in Barchapel because yesterday evening there was a request for a locum pathologist to help with the investigation. I imagine the local constabulary already have their hands full and won’t be impressed by a city dweller like you sauntering in and making demands about investigating decades-old crime scenes. I have some holidays saved up. I’ll be there by this evening. I’ll take the samples myself and test them straight away.’

  ‘That’s really not necessary, Laura. You don’t have to—’

  She interrupted. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how important is this to you, Emma?’

  Eleven. ‘Important,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Then shut up. Dean and the others can hold the fort here. Where are you staying?’

  I didn’t deserve friends like her. ‘At a pub called the Bird and Bush.’

  ‘I’ll be there by nine tonight. Make sure to have a pint of ale waiting for me.’

  Frankly, that was the least I could do.

  It wasn’t difficult to locate the small police station – it was a stone’s throw away from the bus stop where I’d arrived. I did my utmost to put my discoveries at the cottage to the back of my mind and present my best game face. Regardless of my own concerns, the Kent police were working on an active murder case.

  There was a small front desk with a tired-looking uniformed policeman sitting behind it. No doubt this was the local bobby. DCI Boateng and the rest of the murder squad would be visiting temporarily from Maidstone while the investigation into Patrick Lacey’s killing was underway. For all I knew, they were also staying at the Bird and Bush. I supposed I’d find out soon enough.

  I smiled at the young officer and tried to look friendly. He probably hadn’t had much rest over the past few days; a brutal murder would be well out of his usual remit of petty burglaries and complaints about noise from local residents.

  ‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Emma Bellamy. I’m here to see DCI Harris Boateng, if he’s available.’

  ‘PC Robert Rothsay,’ the man said, managing a nod of acknowledgment. ‘Do you have your warrant card?’

  I passed it over and watched his expression as he glanced at it.

  ‘You’re with Supernatural Squad?’ He blinked. ‘Does that mean—?’

  I held up my hands. ‘I’m not here in any official capacity. It’s doubtful that supes had anything to do with your murder. This is a courtesy call more than anything, although I think DCI Boateng is expecting me.’

  Rothsay half turned and picked up the phone to inform Boateng of my presence. When he was done, he looked back at me. I raised my eyebrows and waited. ‘Do you know any vampires?’ he asked finally.

  It was just as well that Lukas was still in London. Even the suggestion of supes by association was more than enough for the people here. ‘I do. A lot of them,’ I told him.

  He flinched and I saw his hand go to his neck involuntarily. He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘does garlic work against werewolves as well as vampires?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  He hooked a finger under his collar and drew out a piece of string. Attached to it were several wrinkled cloves of garlic. Oh dear. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t,’ I said. ‘And as I’ve already mentioned, it’s highly improbable that Patrick Lacey was killed by a supe.’

  Rothsay gave me a disbelieving look. ‘I saw his body,’ he said, with a note of dark horror. ‘No human could have done that.’

  The spatters of old blood in the cottage kitchen flashed into my mind. ‘Humans are capable of just about anything,’ I told him sadly.

  The door beside the front desk opened and a man in his early fifties stepped out. His face was weather beaten; there were laughter lines around his eyes and only a few strands of hair on his head. He immediately reminded me of Tony, the detective at Supe Squad who’d been my mentor for little more than a day. It wasn’t so much his appearance or his age but the expression in his brown eyes – knowing, cynical, but also warm.

  ‘DC Emma Bellamy.’ He put out his hand. ‘I’m DCI Boateng. It’s good to meet you at last. Thank you for coming all this way.’

  I took his hand and shook it, pleased by his firm, confident grip. I doubted I’d be batting away any daft questions about garlic from him. ‘It’s my pleasure, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me,’ Boateng asked, ‘my wife was nipped by our Chihuahua yesterday morning. Should I be worried that she’s going to turn into a werewolf?’

  I took an involuntary step back then realised that Boateng’s eyes were twinkling. He must have overheard PC Rothsay through the door. I laughed. ‘I think she’ll be alright.’

  He grinned at me and glanced over at Rothsay. I instantly felt sorry for the younger man, whose face was suffused with red. ‘Alright, alright,’ he muttered. ‘I get it. But we’ve not had a murder here for a quarter of a century.’ He looked at Boateng defiantly. ‘And you can’t tell me that it doesn’t look as if supes are involved. It doesn’t pay to be too careful.’

  Instantly contrite, I gave him a quick smile. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. And there’s no such thing as a stupid question. If there’s anything you want to know about supes – anything at all – don’t be afraid to ask. Not long ago I wasn’t all that different to you and I didn’t know a damned thing about them. Sometimes I get so immersed in my work that I forget that.’

  Rothsay nodded while Boateng gave me a surprised look of approval. ‘I will add my own apologies. That was uncalled for on my part. There’s a time and a place for banter and this isn’t it.’ He gestured to the door. ‘Why don’t you come through, Emma, then I can show you why both Robert and myself are so convinced that supes are involved? I hope it’s not the case, but the evidence certainly points towards the supernatural.’

  More concerned now, I nodded soberly and followed him.

  Chapter Six

  The Barchapel police station might have been very small but it was bustling with activity. As I walked behind Boateng, I saw the evidence board plastered with a photo of Patrick Lacey and various details about both his life and death. As I became aware of the serious expressions and buzz of concentration from the assembled police officers, I imagined that it would have been like this when my parents were killed. There wouldn’t have been laptops and smartphones, but the intensity would have been the same. Someth
ing about that thought was oddly reassuring.

  Boateng acknowledged various people but didn’t pause until we reached the small room he’d clearly commandeered as his office. He closed the door and sat down, gesturing at me to do the same. ‘You know, Emma,’ he said without any further preamble, ‘there’s no chance that the murder of Patrick Lacey is in any way related to the murder of your mother and father.’

  He was heading straight for the elephant in the room. I wasn’t surprised that he was aware of my connection to Barchapel; either DSI Barnes had told him or he’d looked into my background himself. I’d have done the same thing in his position. As far as he was concerned, I was an upstart stranger striding into the middle of his investigation with scant experience.

  I met his eyes and spoke as frankly as I could. ‘I’m not here to insert myself into your investigation, sir. I’m with the Metropolitan Police and I’m well aware that I have no official capacity or authority to investigate in Barchapel. I’m not particularly experienced as a detective, but I do know supes and I think I can offer some assistance in that regard. But if you’d prefer that I stay clear, I will fully understand. Officially, I’m only here on holiday.’

  Boateng leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘We both know you’re not here for a holiday. And while I agree that you don’t have a lot of experience in terms of time served, you’ve proved yourself as a detective. I’ve done my homework. You’ve produced incredible results over the last few months.’

  I inclined my head. ‘Thank you for that.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I can’t deny that the main reason I’m here is because of my parents, but their murderer is already behind bars. Samuel Beswick was arrested three days after he killed them and I have the police here to thank for that. Justice was served and—’ I suddenly stopped short.