Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  I kept my voice brisk and level. ‘This is an emergency, Mr Jenkins. Lives could be at stake.’

  ‘So I’m told. All the prisoners are already under lockdown for the night. Under any other circumstances, I would have to refuse your call.’

  I already knew there was a ‘but’. I smiled to myself.

  Jenkins sighed. ‘But here you go. I will have to limit you to no more than ten minutes. When you hear the beep, you will be connected with Samuel Beswick.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I began. Jenkins didn’t hear me; he’d already disconnected.

  A few seconds passed then a high-pitched note sounded. My body stilled as Samuel Beswick’s voice filled the line. He sounded uncertain. ‘Hello?’

  Keep it professional, Emma, I told myself. Hold yourself together. ‘This is Detective Constable Bellamy,’ I said. ‘We spoke the other day.’

  Beswick’s response was dry. ‘I haven’t forgotten, detective. What on earth could be so urgent that you have to drag me out of my cell at this hour?’

  ‘You lied to me,’ I said flatly.

  Beswick didn’t answer immediately. When he did speak, his words were slow. ‘I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to.’

  ‘You told me you murdered my parents, you admitted your guilt to my face. But you didn’t do it, did you? You didn’t kill them. Why did you lie? Are you covering for someone?’ I could hear the tension vibrating through my voice. ‘What are you trying to hide?’

  Beswick spoke quietly. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘That’s not relevant,’ I snapped.

  ‘Have you found evidence that exonerates me?’ Every word shook with desperate hope. Fuck. I couldn’t escape his question.

  ‘Not enough evidence to satisfy a court of law,’ I said truthfully. I heard him release an audible but unsurprised sigh. I lifted my chin. ‘But I will find it, I promise you that. First, I need to know why you lied. What purpose was that supposed to serve? And if you lie to me again, I’ll—’

  ‘It was you,’ he said, interrupting. ‘I lied because of you.’

  I blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You lost your parents.’

  ‘I didn’t lose them, Mr Beswick. They were murdered.’

  He sighed. ‘You needed peace. And closure. You needed to know that the right person had been punished. One look at your face told me that. I thought it would be better for you if you believed that justice had been served.’

  ‘But if you didn’t kill them, then justice has not been fucking served! Their killer is still out there!’

  Beswick’s answer was gentle. ‘I’ve been in prison for a quarter of a century. I will probably be here until the day I die. Nobody is going to find who really killed your parents, not after all this time.’

  What he was saying didn’t compute. ‘You were trying to be kind to me by telling me you murdered my mum and dad?’

  ‘I suppose I was. It seemed the right thing to do.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. ‘It wasn’t.’ My hand tightened around the phone. ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Tell me what really happened.’

  ‘Sometimes the lie is easier to cope with than the truth, detective.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I repeated. ‘Please.’

  A moment passed. ‘Fine. I spent the day in London. I got back to Barchapel that evening. I walked home. I heard the news the next day when I went to work, and I was arrested three days later. That’s it. That’s all there is.’

  ‘No.’ My voice was flat. ‘That’s not all there is. Your fingerprints were found at the scene.’

  ‘I was round there a lot. I liked your mum. She was a friend with my girlfriend at the time.’

  Miranda. I pinched off a headache. ‘Their blood was found on your clothes.’

  He sounded sad. ‘I don’t know why that was. I couldn’t explain it. I still can’t.’

  ‘What about Miranda?’ I demanded. ‘And Patrick? Why did they believe you were innocent when nobody else did?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Samuel?’

  There was a sigh. ‘I saw them. When I got off the bus. They were … together. Miranda looked upset – so did Patrick, for that matter. I followed them. They were walking quickly towards the cottage where your parents lived. Miranda spotted me and gave me a hug and told me to go home.’

  I sucked in a breath. ‘Are you saying that you think they’re the ones who—’

  ‘No! They didn’t kill your parents.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just know. Neither of them is a killer. I believed it then and I believe it now. They didn’t do it. I don’t know who did, but I know it wasn’t them.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The guard is waving at me. I think we have to wrap this up, detective.’

  Goddamnit.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘For what?’

  ‘You’re the first person in a long time who has believed that I’m innocent. You’ve no idea what that means to me, especially because it’s you. I’m so sorry, Em. I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.’

  ‘You’re in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.’

  ‘Them’s the breaks,’ he said, sounding like a man who’d long since accepted his fate.

  There was a loud beep. ‘Your time is up,’ Jenkins said. ‘I hope you got what you needed.’

  ‘Not even close.’

  ‘Well, prison routines are more important than you might think. If you want to continue your conversation, I can arrange a visit for tomorrow. But it’s late now and—’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. I’d return to London for a couple of hours so I could see Beswick and find out more. I had to look him in the eye and go through what happened in more detail. There had to be something, some clue, that would help. I certainly couldn’t leave things the way they were.

  ‘Two o’clock?’ That would give me time to check in with Boateng, work on Julie and Patrick’s murders and meet with Miranda James again. Could she be my parents’ killer? Did Patrick Lacey help her? It seemed barely credible but it was a question I had to ask.

  ‘Very well,’ Jenkins said curtly. ‘Good night.’ And then the phone went dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I remained where I was for several minutes. The air was far cooler now but I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t really feel anything. The damned crow continued to hop around, poking at the ground. ‘Don’t you sleep?’ I asked it eventually.

  It paused in its search for a juicy worm and looked up at me.

  ‘What are you?’ I asked.

  The bird dipped its head and returned its attention to the ground.

  A long drawn-out whisper broke the silence. ‘Emmmmmmma.’ I jerked. ‘Little Emmmmmmmma.’

  I grabbed my crossbow. ‘Who is that?’ I demanded. ‘Who’s there?’

  The crow squawked. It flapped up into the air, sailing over my head and out to the road beyond.

  ‘Emmmmmmmma.’

  Fucking hell. Where was that coming from? One minute it seemed to be from beyond the cottage, the next it was over by the copse of woods.

  ‘I have a crossbow,’ I called out. ‘And I will use it.’ I held it up, pointing its tip from one corner of the garden to another. From over the hedgerow, there was a loud caw. It was followed immediately by a low, mocking laugh. An involuntary shudder ran down my spine.

  The crow cawed again. Was it the damned bird calling my name? No. That was stupid. My eyes narrowed. ‘Who’s there? Who are you?’

  There was nothing but silence. I held myself very still. I possessed supernatural hearing; it wasn’t as good as a werewolf’s, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t rely on it. I sniffed the air and smelled nothing but dewy earth and the faint scent of honeysuckle.

  I squinted through the gloom but I couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows. I walked to one side of the garden, beyond the wall of the cottage, then I walked to the other. Nothing. No more freaky whispers. No sign of an
y living being. Even the crow had vanished.

  I gritted my teeth and waited for several moments. There were no more strange sounds. I was alone and, I had to admit, I was scared. Eventually, with the crossbow in front of me and ready to fire at any moment, I left.

  I was on edge all the way back to the Bird and Bush. I jumped at every shadow and constantly looked over my shoulder. I’d felt like this before in those initial days and weeks after my boyfriend, Jeremy, had killed me. I’d felt this sort of fear. Given what I’d learned about my supernatural abilities, I hadn’t expected to feel this way again. And yet here I was again. Hello darkness, my old friend.

  My tension eased a fraction once the pub came into sight. The streets were quieter than before; while there was still a heavy police presence, the patrolling uniformed officers were obviously there to reassure the Barchapel residents and visitors rather than question them.

  I recognised several faces and nodded as I passed. I was tempted to drop in on Boateng at the station and see if there had been any developments, but I was certain from the police officers’ grim expressions that nothing useful had been found. At this point I’d only get in the way, not to mention that my presence would cement my lack of usefulness now the investigation pointed towards a human suspect.

  I swung round the corner towards the pub’s low entrance. As I drew closer, I realised that someone was there. My hand tightened on my crossbow and then relaxed. ‘Albion,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it a little late for you to be out on a school night?’

  The teenager didn’t smile. ‘It’s Al. Not Albion.’ He pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards me. His hands were in his pockets but his body betrayed his tension. ‘And I’m not a kid. It’s not that late.’

  ‘There have been two brutal murders here in less than a week. You shouldn’t be out on the streets on your own.’

  ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ I reiterated.

  He glared at me. ‘I don’t care.’

  I chose not to pursue it. He was clearly here for a reason; the quicker I let him say what was on his mind, the quicker he’d go home. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, doing my best to keep my tone friendly. Unfortunately, my apprehension after the incident at the cottage got in the way and I sounded more stern that I’d intended.

  Albion stopped in front of me, inches from my face. Interesting. He didn’t strike me as the type to attempt an intimidating stance but here he was, squaring up to me. I knew he’d clocked the crossbow – it was hard not to notice it – but its presence didn’t deter him. ‘I want you to stay away from my mum.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘I can’t do that, Al. I’ve got questions that only she can answer.’

  His expression darkened. ‘She’s done more than enough for you already. She’s frailer than she looks and she gets sick when … when … when…’ He couldn’t finish his sentence. ‘She gets sick.’

  I dropped my shoulders, using my body language to convey that I wasn’t a threat. ‘I’m sorry to hear she’s not well,’ I said carefully. ‘And I can understand that you want to protect her.’

  ‘You don’t understand!’ he burst out. ‘You don’t understand at all!’ His cheeks flushed red.

  His determination to warn me off only stirred my curiosity further. ‘Then explain it to me,’ I said. ‘I’m more than prepared to listen.’

  ‘Just fucking stay away from her, alright? You should be worrying about the murders happening now, not those from before. I’m sorry about what happened but you can’t change the past. Asking questions about it only makes things worse.’

  ‘How? How does it do that?’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Stay away from us. Stay away from my mum.’ He shoved past me and marched off.

  I watched him go, then the images of Julie and Patrick’s corpses flashed before me. I sighed and trailed after him. Nothing untoward would happen to Albion James. Not tonight, and not on my watch.

  I followed Albion all the way home, keeping out of his line of sight to avoid another confrontation. When he reached the manor doorway at the top of the long driveway, I considered striding up to speak to Miranda but the house was in darkness. It was too late to start questioning her again.

  Instead, I waited until Albion was safely inside then turned on my heel and headed back to the pub. I pretended that the light wind whistling through the trees and the dancing shadows didn’t terrify me in the slightest. Enough of this; I needed to get some sleep so I could start afresh tomorrow.

  When I got to my room, I made a point of checking every nook and cranny. Nothing and nobody was in the wardrobe. There was nothing hiding behind the shower curtain and no monster underneath the bed. I peered out of the window but this room looked onto the street rather than the back garden and there was nobody out there. It was fine. I was safe.

  I didn’t know why I was allowing myself to get so damned jumpy. It wasn’t as if I should be afraid of dying. I brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face and climbed into bed. Everything would look better in the daylight. I was sure of it.

  I must have been more tired than I’d realised because I fell asleep almost instantly. When I woke up again, it was still dark. I stretched out, deciding that it wasn’t the urge to pee that had woken me but the unfamiliar surroundings and my unsettled thoughts. I checked the time, satisfied that there were hours to go before dawn, and closed my eyes again. And that was when I heard the creak outside my door.

  My eyes flew open. This was an old building, there were all sorts of creaks and groans. It was probably nothing.

  Then I heard it again.

  I reached down to the side of my bed, my fingers grasping the cold metal shaft of my trusty crossbow. With my heart beating faster, I checked it was loaded and thumbed off the safety before pointing it at the door.

  Breathing. I could hear someone breathing on the other side.

  In a flash, my fear was replaced by rage. Hadn’t I enough to deal with already? Who was the fucker who thought he could come here in the middle of the damned night and try to kill me again? I set my mouth into a grim line. Whoever he was, he’d regret the day he thought he could come up against me. I would end this, once and for all. I didn’t even care that it was illegal for me to fire my crossbow at a human. I would send a bolt into his damned heart.

  The doorknob started to twist. So it wasn’t some random insomniac wandering around out there. I narrowed my gaze. I was ready. The door was locked, but if that bastard tried to force it open, or even if he gave up and walked away, I would have him.

  There was the sound of something jangling, followed by the unmistakable scratch of a key entering the lock. So someone at the Bird and Bush was involved. I shouldn’t have assumed the staff were innocent. Nobody else could have got hold of a key to my room. I tensed and waited.

  The doorknob turned again – and this time it worked. The door opened a mere crack at first. Whoever was out there was doing a good job of keeping quiet, but they weren’t quiet enough.

  I squinted and took aim. As the door opened wider, I pressed down the trigger and fired.

  I heard a muffled grunt. I dropped the crossbow and it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Then I rushed forward, the blood draining from my face. ‘Lukas, you fucking idiot!’

  His pained black eyes glinted at me through the darkness. ‘Well, D’Artagnan,’ he managed, ‘your aim has certainly improved since the last time you tried to shoot me.’

  I got him onto the bed and turned on the light so I could see the damage. The bolt was protruding from his chest, less than two inches from his heart. I hissed, ‘You idiot! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming early?’

  He smiled crookedly. ‘I wanted to surprise you.’

  ‘You certainly did that,’ I huffed.

  ‘I had visions of you waking up in the morning with me beside you. I should have known better.’

  He could say that again. ‘How did you get inside the pub at this hour? And how did yo
u get a key to this room?’

  He groaned slightly when I undid his shirt so I could examine the wound. ‘I called ahead.’

  ‘And they gave you a key?’ My voice was rising. ‘At three o’clock in the fucking morning?’

  ‘Well,’ he demurred, ‘I think they were afraid of what I’d do if they didn’t. I am the Lord of all vampires, after all.’

  ‘Even more reason not to give you access to my room!’ I unpeeled his shirt from his arms, exposing his skin. Lukas winced.

  ‘Somebody met me at the front door because of who I am. Then I used my special powers of vampiric persuasion to get a spare key to your room because of what I am.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be that easy,’ I growled, thinking about the boot prints in the wardrobe in my last room and the strong hands that had encircled my neck.

  ‘I agree. They really ought to beef up their security. Especially with all these murders.’

  I gave him a long look. Lukas shrugged and then grimaced when the action clearly brought him more pain. Good. He damned well deserved it. ‘I could have killed you, Lukas.’

  ‘Fortunately,’ he managed, ‘you didn’t. Can you take the bolt out?’

  ‘I don’t know. We should probably go to a hospital.’

  ‘Not a chance. I have a reputation to uphold.’

  I gritted my teeth. ‘This is not the time to worry about your ego.’

  ‘Take out the bolt, Emma.’

  I cursed. ‘Fine.’ I grasped its shaft. ‘Brace yourself. On a count of three.’

  Lukas nodded. ‘Three. Got it,’

  ‘One.’ I yanked on the bolt, pulling it free from his flesh.

  ‘I knew you were going to do that,’ he muttered. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

  Chapter Eighteen