Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  ‘He told Devereau Webb that he has to move to Lisson Grove within seven days or he’ll arrest him,’ she interrupted.

  I winced. I doubted that had gone down well. I was starting to get the feeling that I’d have a lot of mopping up to do when I finally returned to London. ‘It’ll take DS Grace a while to get used to supes. I’m sure he’ll become more diplomatic as time goes on.’

  ‘You’re talking out your sweet arse, Detective Constable Bellamy,’ Liza said.

  Yeah. Probably. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m calling with a question. You know those paw prints I sent you yesterday?’

  ‘The prints that aren’t from any kind of werewolf?’

  ‘Those are the ones. It’s been suggested that they were made by a bear – uh, a werebear.’

  Liza didn’t say anything.

  ‘Liza?’

  ‘Is this some kind of joke? A werebear? What the hell?’

  ‘You’ve never heard of such a creature?’

  ‘Of course not! You’re losing it, Emma. All that dying has messed with your head.’ Lisa snorted. ‘A werebear. As if.’

  I didn’t take offence at her tone. ‘I’m only saying that this is what the evidence is pointing towards. Do you know of any supe like that?’

  ‘No.’ Her derision was clear, but then her tone changed slightly. ‘But I looked into those prints you sent me and I couldn’t find any other supe that might have made them. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of strange prank?’

  I pursed my lips. It could be. It seemed odd that Patrick Lacey’s footprints were smudged and difficult to read whilst the perp’s prints were so clear. ‘I’m not discounting anything at this point,’ I said honestly.

  ‘Don’t let a bunch of country yokels fool you into thinking that there are monsters where there are none.’

  ‘Country yokels? You do realise that I’m from Barchapel too?’

  ‘Enough said.’ Liza sniffed. ‘I’ll do some research into werebears, but I can already tell you that they don’t exist.’

  ‘Thanks, Liza.’

  ‘Just hurry up and get back here before DS Grace decides to organise Secret Santa or something.’

  ‘It’s July, Liza.’

  ‘Exactly.’ She drew in a breath and put on a silly voice. ‘Thank you for calling Supernatural Squad. Your enquiry has been noted and we will make every effort to address it as quickly as possible.’ Then she clicked her tongue in exasperation and hung up.

  There was no point in worrying about what trouble DS Grace was creating at Supe Squad. For one thing I wasn’t there and, even if I had been, there was nothing I could do about it. He was ranked higher than me. Besides, between my own recent murder and that of Patrick Lacey’s, my hands were full.

  ‘Well?’ PC Rothsay appeared in front of me. ‘What have you learnt? How many werebears are there? What can we do to stop them?’

  ‘I don’t have any information yet about what sort of creature might have killed Mr Lacey,’ I said. ‘And it’s still possible that—’

  ‘Silver,’ he said suddenly, interrupting my attempts to keep him calm. ‘It works against werewolves, right? It must work against werebears. I’ll get some silver. I’m sure my mother must have some. I’ll ask her.’

  Rothsay’s mum might have some silver jewellery but it was highly unlikely she had any silver bullets. ‘Stop it,’ I said sternly. ‘I know you’re afraid of supes, and I know that what happened to Patrick Lacey is horrifying, but there’s no precedent for this attack and we don’t know who or what is behind it. The majority of supernatural creatures are not cold-blooded murderers who patrol the Kentish countryside looking for victims.’

  I spotted a passer-by on the opposite side of the street, shopping bag in hand. She was watching us, wide-eyed and pale. I dropped my voice. ‘Our job is to protect the people of this country. Going into a blind panic at every hint of danger won’t help anyone. You’re better than this, PC Rothsay. Remember your training.’

  He sucked in a shaky breath. ‘Yes. You’re right.’ He bobbed his head. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ I patted him on the shoulder. ‘You should get yourself to the station and have a mug of tea. I’m going to call my boyfriend and see if he can help us.’ It sounded strange calling Lukas that. He wasn’t a boy. Or a friend. And I wasn’t really sure what label I could put on our relationship right now.

  ‘Why would your boyfriend be able to help us?’

  ‘Because,’ I said, ‘he’s Lord Horvath.’

  I hadn’t thought it would be possible for Rothsay to get any paler but he did. ‘But … but … but…’ he whispered, stepping back to put as much distance between the two of us as he could. ‘He’s a vampire.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  His eyes went immediately to my neck. ‘Are you a vampire?’

  ‘No,’ I replied calmly.

  ‘Does he drink your blood?’

  ‘Not if he can help it.’

  Rothsay took another step back. The poor man didn’t know what he was doing. He was torn between excitement at having a serious crime to investigate and outright terror at the ramifications of that crime. On the odd occasion when he wasn’t letting his fear of supes get the better of him, he’d proved to be calm and capable of thinking on his feet. I shook my head. The ignorance of the general population as far as supes were concerned had a lot to answer for.

  ‘You’ve helped me a great deal this morning,’ I told him. ‘Thank you for that. And don’t worry – whoever did this to Patrick Lacey will be caught. We’ll all see to that.’

  Rothsay didn’t say anything. He simply nodded, turned on his heel and fled.

  Lukas didn’t answer his phone so I left a quick message asking him to call me back, then I walked in the direction of the Bird and Bush. With any luck the manager would be in by now and I’d find out who’d been hanging around last night and could have gained access to my room.

  I didn’t get very far before I spotted a familiar face watching me darkly from the other side of the road. ‘What’s up, piggy?’ No Angel called. At least she was consistent in her contempt.

  I lifted up my head and walked over to her. ‘Not in school today?’ I asked.

  ‘Suspended, ain’t I?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Cos the head’s a Nazi.’

  I gave her a long look, laden with meaning.

  ‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘I got into a fight, alright? It wasn’t my fault but I got the blame. I always do.’ She nodded in the direction I’d come from. ‘You investigating Lacey’s death?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Vampire did it.’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It was a vamp.’ Her confidence was unwavering. ‘Changed into a bat and flew down then attacked him. It’s true. I know it is.’

  ‘Vampires can’t change into bats.’

  ‘Says who?’

  I sighed. ‘Me. Listen, I want to talk to you about the train yesterday. About the boy you were bullying.’

  No Angel’s eyes narrowed. ‘I ain’t a bully.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  Her cheeks flushed faintly red. ‘I ain’t!’

  ‘There were six of you being nasty to one boy. Very nasty. How else would you define bullying?’

  ‘I…’ Her voice faltered. Sometimes you needed someone to put a mirror up to your actions to become aware of them. ‘Shit.’ She kicked at a small pebble. ‘He’s rich. Lives in that big house. Thinks he’s better than the rest of us because he’s got money. Little Lord Fauntleroy.’ She kicked another pebble. ‘He ain’t better than me.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked gently.

  ‘I don’t have to tell you!’

  ‘No, you don’t.’ I put out my hand and she eyed it as if as it were a venomous snake. ‘I’m Emma.’

  No Angel’s bottom lip jutted out. ‘Chloe,’ she muttered. She shook my hand limply.

  I smiled. �
�Nice to meet you, Chloe.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing at my back and shifting the conversation away from herself.

  ‘A crossbow.’

  ‘Cool. Can I have a go with it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  We both knew that I didn’t have to explain why I couldn’t hand over a lethal weapon to a teenager. ‘Let’s continue our chat about what happened yesterday instead,’ I said.

  Chloe rolled her eyes. ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘We do.’ I paused. ‘Do you think that boy really believes he’s better than you? Because it seemed to me that he was just afraid. I’d be afraid if six people started taunting me.’

  ‘Albion’s not afraid. He’s just weird.’

  I tried not to let my triumph show on my face. So I’d been right, he was Miranda James’s son. ‘From what I’ve heard, things are pretty tough for him. Having money doesn’t always make your life easier. I expect he probably thinks he’d rather not have money if it meant he could take a trip into London without worrying about who he was going to meet on the way home and what they were likely to do to him. It’s easy to think bad things of others. It’s much harder to put yourself in their shoes and realise that they’re only human too.’

  Her face twisted into a snarl. ‘He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a hard life! He should put himself in my shoes!’

  ‘Maybe he should,’ I said, without altering either my tone or my expression. ‘Maybe we should all do that more.’

  Chloe looked at me suspiciously, as if I were trying to trick her with clever words. ‘S’alright for you, innit? Bet you come from a nice family. Bet you had it easy growing up. Bet you’ve got it easy now.’

  ‘Everyone has their own darkness and difficulties, Chloe.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ She looked away. Her expression didn’t yield much but I hoped I was getting through to her.

  ‘Did you know Patrick Lacey?’ I asked, changing tack.

  Chloe looked away. ‘A bit. He wasn’t as bad as people said. My mum knew him a little.’ She sniffed. ‘And I saw him get into a fight once. He had a good right hook.’ She said the words as if she’d heard them from someone else but didn’t really understand what they meant. ‘My mum said he was all messed up ’cos one time he walked in on another murder. Two people dead in their house.’ She leaned forward on the balls of her feet. ‘The house is still there. It’s all locked up and you can’t get in, but I can show you where it is if you like.’

  ‘I know where it is. But,’ I added quickly when her face dropped, ‘thanks for the offer.’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m busy anyway.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you.’ I hesitated. ‘You obviously have a lot going on, Chloe, but you’re bright and quick-witted and you don’t let anyone walk over you. I bet that underneath that tough façade you’re a lot more sensitive than you pretend to be. You don’t have to attack everyone to win at life. You don’t have to put others down or bully them to make yourself feel better. It won’t make you feel good. Be the best version of yourself that you possibly can be, and there are no limits to what you can achieve.’

  Chloe’s mouth turned down and she waved a derisive hand. ‘What if this is the best version of me already?’ The sudden vulnerability in her voice was heart-rending.

  ‘It’s not,’ I told her. ‘I know it’s not.’

  Unfortunately, Chloe simply snorted and turned away.

  Chapter Eleven

  The bar in the Bird and Bush was surprisingly busy for a Monday. There were more people than there had been yesterday afternoon, and the hum of chatter combined with the aroma of hearty pub grub created a convivial atmosphere.

  While the happy crowd might be good for the pub’s tills, I wasn’t convinced their presence would help my cause. I needed to speak to the manager without fear of interruption, and I suspected he’d be rather busy. As soon as I caught the barman’s eye, however, he nodded in understanding and called through to the back.

  A moment later an unfamiliar man appeared wearing a short-sleeved shirt that was open at the neck just enough to display a veritable bush of curly hair. He didn’t smile. I dropped my gaze to his feet. He was wearing battered trainers, not heavy boots.

  ‘I’m the manager here. I heard you wanted to talk to me,’ he said. His eyes drifted to the crossbow strapped to my back. He was more nervous than he wanted me to realise.

  If I was going to get anywhere with my questions, I’d have to find a way to put him at ease. ‘Yes!’ I beamed. ‘Thank you so much for taking the time. You’re obviously very busy.’

  ‘It’s summer.’ He scratched the back of his neck. ‘The schools might not be on holiday yet, but we still get a lot of visitors at this time of year.’

  ‘I can see why,’ I said warmly. ‘This is a lovely pub.’

  He shot me a confused look. He’d been expecting a strongly voiced complaint rather than a compliment. He glanced round, checking that no other customers were in earshot. ‘There are police upstairs in your room. I believe you think someone broke in.’

  ‘Someone did break in,’ I said. ‘Some important files were stolen from my bag. I’m with the police too, and those files are very sensitive. This is a serious matter.’

  The manager held himself stiffly. ‘There’s no sign of any tampering with the lock. If you’re suggesting that it was a member of staff…’

  I seriously doubted my murderer worked here. ‘No,’ I told him. ‘I’m not.’ I raised my chin and spoke frankly. ‘I’m sure you’re aware of what happened to Patrick Lacey on Friday night, Mr…?’

  ‘Smith,’ he said. ‘Clive Smith. And, yes, I am.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’

  ‘I banned Patrick Lacey from here about six months ago. He caused too many problems and there was one fight too many. From what I heard, he ended up drinking at the Royal across the square. It was only a matter of time before they banned him from there too – if he hadn’t been killed, it would have happened before the month was out. The man was a menace. I can’t say that I’m weeping over his death.’ Another thought seemed to occur to him and he hastily added, ‘I didn’t wish him dead, though. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I certainly didn’t have anything to do with what happened to him.’

  ‘I understand. I appreciate your honesty, Mr Smith.’ I smiled at him to indicate that I had no reason to suspect him of murder. ‘The thing is, there’s good reason to believe that whoever broke into my room upstairs also killed Mr Lacey.’

  Clive Smith sucked in a sharp breath and turned pale. He hadn’t been anticipating that.

  ‘That’s why there are people up there looking for any scraps of evidence that the culprit might have left behind,’ I continued. ‘Do you have CCTV here?’

  ‘The other police asked that,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve given them a copy of the footage from the last twenty-four hours. Would you like one too? I can give you whatever you need, but I’ve had a look through myself and there’s nothing suspicious.’

  I hadn’t expected Smith to be quite so keen to pass over the footage to anyone who asked, but he was no doubt desperate to keep the Bird and Bush’s name out of the dirt. If anyone got wind that a vicious murderer was breaking into guest rooms, nobody would ever stay here again. A theft was bad enough; murder was on an entirely different level.

  I nodded enthusiastically, indicating that the CCTV would be helpful. Smith appeared relieved. That suggested he really had looked through the footage and was confident that none of his employees were up to anything suspicious.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he said, wringing his hands. ‘I’ll have you moved to another room. We’re very security conscious. To be honest, I can’t believe it has happened.’

  This time I didn’t smile reassuringly. ‘We’re dealing with a nasty criminal, Mr Smith, someone who will stop at nothing. Can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Patrick Lacey?’

  ‘Only half of Barchapel, but I don’t
know anyone capable of murder.’

  ‘Okay. Can you provide me with a list of all the guests who were staying here last night? And a list of your regular customers?’

  ‘I can do both,’ he answered instantly. ‘Although all the overnight guests at the moment are police in from Maidstone.’

  ‘Everyone needs to be checked out. You’d be surprised what sort of people are capable of murder,’ I said.

  Smith’s eyes met mine. ‘I know who you are,’ he whispered suddenly. ‘Everyone was talking about it last night. You’re Emma. Your parents were the Bellamys.’

  I eyed him. He didn’t look much older than me so I doubted he’d known my mum and dad, but I asked the question anyway. ‘Were you here back then? Do you remember it happening?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I only moved here about ten years ago.’ He laughed humourlessly. ‘I came from London with my wife because we wanted to be somewhere that felt safer.’ He shook his head. ‘What a joke.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s a lovely place to live and it’s normally very safe. Bad things can happen anywhere.’

  The manager pulled a grim face.

  ‘I have one more question, Mr Smith,’ I said. ‘I need you to answer it honestly.’

  He jerked. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Is there anyone living in Barchapel who you either know or suspect of being a supe?’

  ‘A supe?’ Smith looked flabbergasted. ‘But supes have to live in London. They’re not allowed to live here!’

  ‘As I’m sure you know, not everyone follows the letter of the law.’ I pressed on. ‘Is there anyone you can think of?’

  ‘No. God, no.’ He was horrified at the idea. He stared at me. ‘Is there a supe here? Did a fucking supe kill Lacey?’ He blinked as he realised belatedly that he’d sworn. ‘Mind my French.’ He blinked some more. ‘Are we talking vampire? Or werewolf? There’s old Mrs Timpson out by Killock Farm. She’s really short – maybe she’s a pixie. But no, she couldn’t have killed anyone. Not unless she ran over them with her mobility scooter. Is there really a supe here? In Barchapel?’