Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4)

by Helen Harper

  All I could do was appeal to his better nature. ‘If a human murderer is trying to pin a series of brutal crimes on a supe, it’s important that I remain involved, even if only slightly. All I’m asking for is a little forbearance.’

  ‘Hmm.’ His gaze narrowed slightly. ‘I heard on the grapevine that a certain vampire is in town. Does his presence have anything to do with these new suppositions?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. As I’ve already told you, Samuel Beswick was viciously attacked and—’

  He held up his hands. ‘You don’t need to repeat yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘Very well. You can look around Lacey’s home, but you’re not to remove anything. Do you understand me?’

  I nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘I’ll send Robert Rothsay with you.’

  ‘I don’t need a babysitter. You don’t need to waste valuable manpower.’

  Boateng blinked patiently. ‘He’s not your babysitter. He’s going to join you so that he can learn the value of avoiding a wild goose chase.’

  DCI Boateng was dubious, but I was convinced that Patrick Lacey was no random victim. His murder had something to do with what had happened to my parents. I knew better than to belabour the point, however. ‘Thank you,’ I said simply. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Boateng grunted. ‘Don’t make me regret this.’

  ‘Of course not. Have you found any suspects?’ I wasn’t sure whether he would tell me, but I had to ask the question.

  His mouth twisted. ‘Unfortunately, I’m beginning to feel like we’re also on a wild goose chase.’

  I nibbled my bottom lip. ‘There is something else I should probably mention.’

  Boateng looked wary. ‘Go on.’

  I drew in a deep breath and told him about the strange voice I’d heard in the garden of my parents’ cottage.

  ‘It could have been kids,’ he said. ‘By now the whole village knows who you are and the teenagers here are bored enough to play tricks on you.’

  ‘I don’t think it was kids.’

  ‘What are you saying? Do you think Patrick Lacey and Julie Mackintosh’s murderer is stalking you because you didn’t die like they did?’

  It was reasonable conjecture, although I had little proof to back it up. ‘I don’t have any theories,’ I said honestly, ‘but I thought I should bring it up.’

  Boateng rubbed a hand tiredly over his head. ‘I’ll get someone to look round the place as soon as there’s time. It’s the best I can do.’

  Whoever had whispered at me was long gone, but there was nothing I could say except, ‘Okay. Thanks again.’

  Boateng waved at me. ‘Yeah, yeah. Be careful, Emma. Jumping to conclusions is tempting but you have to go where the evidence leads. We need facts, not daydreams.’

  I dipped my head in acknowledgment. Noted.

  As the local bobby, Rothsay knew exactly where Patrick Lacey’s house was. He had, he informed me, been to it on several occasions to deal with Lacey’s various indiscretions.

  ‘Patrick Lacey needed help,’ I said. ‘Not jail time.’

  Rothsay snorted derisively. He still possessed the self-assurance of the young, where right was right and wrong was wrong. He didn’t know what I did about Lacey’s past. ‘You could say that about anyone who’s committed any crime. He was a victim of a brutal murder, but that doesn’t make him an angel.’

  No, but committing a crime didn’t make him any less of a person either. I could well imagine Lacey’s knowledge of Samuel Beswick’s innocence had eaten away at him. No wonder he’d been so angry. I felt fucking furious.

  Rothsay cut the police tape on Patrick Lacey’s door and opened it. It was the height of summer, yet the interior of the house felt chilly and desolate as I walked inside. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I was certain that I’d know it when I found it. If I found it.

  The walls of every room had been whitewashed; this was interior design by someone who couldn’t care less about interior design. There were odd personal touches here and there, including a few interesting ornaments based on fantasy characters that had probably been bought from somewhere like the Forbidden Planet. Whether Lacey had bought them for himself or they’d been given to him, I didn’t know.

  I flicked through the stacks of books in the living room and the first-floor spare bedroom. He’d been a prolific reader with eclectic tastes. From the mass of bottles in the kitchen, it appeared he’d also been a prolific drinker. I gazed at the opened bottles of whisky and vodka and tequila and rum and thought of the shaking young man who’d been interviewed twenty-five years ago. Consequences upon consequences. I sighed.

  The bed in Lacey’s bedroom was unmade, the sheets marked with sweat stains. Although he remained silent, Rothsay’s nose wrinkled in disgust. I went to the heavy old wardrobe in the corner, opened it and gazed at the clothes hanging there before squinting down at its clawed legs. I gave the wardrobe a shake; it was surprisingly wobbly for such a large piece of furniture, as if it were not balanced properly. Perhaps something was wedged underneath it.

  I prepared to drag it out from its corner so I could check. Rothsay immediately hopped over to my side. ‘What do you need?’

  As a result of my supernatural strength, I was more than strong enough to pull the wardrobe away from the wall. Given how supes made Rothsay nervous, however, it would probably be better if he believed I was a normal human with normal muscles. ‘Er, give me a hand with this, will you?’

  He nodded eagerly, and together we shoved the heavy wardrobe a foot forward. I looked behind it and spotted a wad of folded paper that had been setting the wardrobe off balance. I opened it up. If I’d been expecting a fabulous clue that would lead me to Lacey’s murderer, I would have been sorely disappointed; it was nothing more than an old electricity bill. It looked like Boateng was right and there was nothing to be found here.

  I left the wardrobe where it was and got down on all fours to check underneath the bed. There was nothing but dust bunnies. I got up again and opened the top drawer on the bedside cabinet to reveal a dog-eared paperback, a balled-up tissue and several condoms still in their foil packets. I pursed my lips and closed the drawer. Then I opened it again.

  ‘What is it?’ Rothsay asked.

  My hands encased in latex gloves, I picked up one of the condoms and held it up so Rothsay could see it.

  ‘So?’ he asked.

  ‘Patrick Lacey was having sex.’

  Rothsay smirked. ‘Yeah. It beggars belief that someone would agree to shag the likes of him.’

  I sent him a nasty glare and he looked down. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. Then his head shot up again. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘If Patrick Lacey was having sex, who was it with? Was it a recent one-night-stand thing? Or something more serious?’

  ‘Ask around,’ I told him. ‘Find out who it was.’

  ‘If it was serious, someone would have said something by now. We’ve spoken to almost everyone in Barchapel and nobody mentioned Lacey being in any kind of relationship.’

  ‘Maybe you weren’t asking the right questions,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Patrick Lacey was the village bad boy. Maybe he was involved with someone who wanted their relationship kept a secret because of his reputation.’

  Rothsay looked dubious. I didn’t care. ‘Just find out who it might have been.’

  Painfully aware that Lukas was ill because of my actions, I left Rothsay and went back to the Bird and Bush. With any luck, Jenkins would have already sent through the information and CCTV footage I needed. Maybe, I pondered, I should go and visit Julie’s house. She’d had some sort of relationship with Samuel Beswick so she also had a connection to that time, even though it was more tenuous than Patrick Lacey’s. I’d wait to see what information Jenkins uncovered first and then approach Boateng again.

  As I crossed the street and rounded the corner, the familiar shape of the Bird and Bush came into sight. I picked up speed, anxious to check on Lukas, then I froze in mid-step and tilted my
head. I’d heard something. What was it?

  I listened harder. I was sure that… It was muffled and it was coming from some distance away, but it definitely sounded like a scream. Not a playful scream or a joyous one but a scream filled with fear.

  I didn’t waste any time. I spun round and sprinted towards where the noise had come from, reaching for my crossbow and undoing the straps as I ran. The scream sounded like it had come from somewhere in the vicinity of my parents’ old cottage.

  I flew down the road, my feet pounding against the tarmac. Run, Emma. Move faster. The buildings around me became a blur as I focused on whatever was ahead. I swerved round several parked cars, ignored the gaping pedestrians and thundered on until the last of the houses gave way to fields and trees. The road veered left but the dirt track heading to the cottage was on my right. I made a beeline for it, puffs of dirt clouding up from my feet.

  The gate was closed but I vaulted over it into the overgrown garden. I whipped my head around, ignoring the lengthening shadows and searching for any signs of human movement. I heard a scuffle from somewhere round the back. My heart rate slowed. I lifted the tip of the crossbow and squinted to aim.

  Come out, come out, whoever you are.

  There was a rustle of leaves. I held my breath…

  And then I jerked the crossbow upwards and away. ‘Bloody hell, Chloe! What do you think you’re doing?’ My burst of anger evaporated as soon as I registered her pale face and trembling body.

  ‘Has it gone?’ she asked shakily.

  ‘Has what gone? I’ve not seen anything.’ I took on a more urgent tone. ‘What is it? What did you see?’

  She put her hand to her mouth and looked around, her gaze fearful. This Chloe was a million miles away from the brash teenager I’d encountered on the train. ‘A bear,’ she whispered. ‘I saw a bear.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I knew that she wasn’t lying; she was too scared for that. I drew her away from the cottage and walked with her back towards Barchapel. We stopped when we reached a small bench. ‘Let’s sit down and take a moment,’ I said. ‘Get your breath back.’

  My stomach was churning. I’d been so sure when I’d gazed at the marks in the earth at Roselands that the theory of some kind of supe bear was completely wrong.

  Chloe perched on the edge of the narrow wooden bench, prepared to flee at the slightest hint of danger. That wasn’t a bad thing; we all need decent survival instincts, and fleeing is far more sensible than fighting in most circumstances.

  I needed to get her to start talking quickly before the logical part of her brain kicked in and she started questioning herself. I wanted the details before self-doubt took over. ‘I need you to tell me everything. It’s best if we go to the police station and—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted, shaking her head fearfully. ‘Not there. Please. Can’t I just tell you here?’

  If she felt more comfortable here, that was fine by me. I slid out my phone. ‘I’m going to record this. It’s only so that I don’t miss anything or have to ask you again. Okay?’ She nodded. ‘Start from the beginning,’ I advised. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was at Roselands,’ she said. At my expression, she amended, ‘I heard about what happened yesterday and went there to take a look.’

  She wasn’t the only Barchapel resident with a morbid curiosity about the latest death. ‘Okay.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Do you know who it was? Do you know who was killed there? I heard someone say they thought it was Julie Mackintosh.’ She looked at me anxiously. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, unwilling to hedge round the dark truth. ‘It was her.’

  Chloe looked down at her lap. ‘She was always nice to me. Most adults aren’t. I see them looking at me as if I’m scum, but Julie wasn’t like that. She didn’t cross the street to get away from me. She used to say hello and ask me how I was doing.’

  For all Chloe’s swaggering front, she was incredibly sensitive. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was talking to her on my first night here and she was nice to me, too.’

  She twisted her fingers together. ‘Was it a bear? Did a bear kill Patrick Lacey too?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ I smiled at her, trying to reassure her. ‘What happened? After you went to Roselands?’

  Chloe shrugged. ‘There wasn’t much to see. And after a while it felt kinda stupid, you know? Other people were there and everyone was gawking at the park and gossiping about what had happened.’ She shuddered. ‘I thought about going home, but then I overheard what a few people were saying.’ She raised faintly accusing eyes. ‘You didn’t tell me who you really are.’

  ‘I told you my name.’

  ‘Yeah, but you didn’t tell me you were that Emma. When I was at Roselands, I heard Mary who runs the corner shop talking about you. She said this village was cursed and that you coming back proves it.’ Chloe scowled. ‘I offered to take you to the cottage. You should have told me that it was you, that it was your parents who were murdered there.’ She crossed her arms. ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘Do you remember what I said? That everyone has their own darkness and difficulties?’

  Her gaze dropped again. ‘Yeah,’ she mumbled. ‘But I thought you meant Albion. Not you.’

  My voice was gentle. ‘I was talking about everyone. Me, Albion, you. Mary at the corner shop. The Queen.’ I let a beat pass. ‘Kim Kardashian.’

  ‘Did you say Kim Kardashian ’cos you’re trying to get down with the kids?’

  I smiled slightly. ‘Did it work?’

  ‘No.’ But a tiny smile flashed across her face before she grew morose again. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘after I heard that about you, I thought I’d go to the cottage. I’ve been loads of times before. It used to be a dare to visit it in the dark. I was never scared. I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  ‘Good for you,’ I told her.

  She looked pleased, then her tone changed. ‘It’s different when you know the people who were involved. After I knew it was you—’ Her gaze shifted away. ‘I dunno. I just wanted to see it again. I can’t explain it.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I’m sorry that happened to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Chloe.’

  She sniffed. ‘I’m not always a bitch and a bully. Sometimes I can be nice.’

  ‘I bet that you’re nice most of the time.’

  She shrugged. ‘No. Not really.’ She said it matter-of-factly, but I suspected that there was a whole lot more going on underneath her blithe answer.

  ‘So what happened?’ I asked gently. ‘What happened when you got to the cottage?’

  A car drove by, music blaring out of its windows. Chloe jumped at the sound and I put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I wanted to try and get inside but it was locked. Someone had been there, though. There was a new lock. I went round the back to see if I could break one of the windows and climb in. That’s when I heard the voice.’

  I stilled. ‘Go on.’

  ‘It sounded like a man. He was laughing. A lot,’ she added darkly. ‘I thought he was another pig – your lot are everywhere. I didn’t want to get in trouble for hanging around the cottage, so I tried to hide. But I stepped on some broken glass and he heard me.’ Her body shuddered. ‘He came after me.’

  Chloe’s eyes widened in fear again as she re-lived the experience. ‘There was nowhere to go. I climbed up onto the cottage roof and then … and then … and then…’

  ‘Take your time, Chloe. There’s no rush.’

  She nodded jerkily and took a moment to regain her composure before speaking again. ‘I saw him, and he wasn’t a man at all. I’m not lying,’ she whispered. ‘I promise I’m not. He was covered in black hair from head to toe. Like … all over.’ She gestured with her hands. ‘He had a long nose and his ears—’ She shook her head.

  ‘He was a bear – he looked like a bear, anyway. He looked up and saw me and his mouth opened like he was going to bite. He started trying t
o climb up after me and he had these claws and,’ her words were coming thick and fast, running into each other as her panic returned, ‘and … and … and … he had this look in his eye. I knew. I knew he was about to kill me. I don’t know why, I just knew.’ She gulped back a sob.

  ‘It’s okay. You’re safe now. Have a break for a few minutes and gather your thoughts.’

  She shook her head, determined to get to the end of her story. ‘The bear jumped and swung at me but he missed. He looked like he was going to try again but I screamed again as loud as I could and … and … and … and…’ She gulped again.

  ‘Shhh. Take a breath.’

  ‘I’m not lying,’ she said again.

  ‘Yeah.’ I gazed at her as the heavy dullness in my chest returned. ‘I know.’

  In the end, DCI Boateng came to us, rather than the other way around. It was easier than trying to persuade Chloe to go to the station. I watched him as he listened to her story, his face growing darker with every word. Despite his obvious unhappiness, he was good with her; he didn’t treat her like a child or patronise her and the extra detail he managed to coax out of her could prove invaluable.

  ‘You said you heard laughing but you heard a voice too,’ Boateng said gently. ‘Close your eyes, Chloe. Remember that voice. What accent was it?’

  ‘English,’ she answered instantly. ‘Definitely English.’

  ‘London? Scouse? Geordie?’

  She shook her head. ‘From round here.’

  Boateng’s gaze remained firmly fixed on Chloe but I could see him tense. ‘You’re sure?’

  She nodded. ‘It wasn’t just his voice. He was complaining about the cheese-bugs.’

  His brow creased in confusion while a sudden memory came unbidden into my mind. My mum warning me to leave the cheese-bugs in peace and that they didn’t want me to build them a house. Woodlice: cheese-bug was a local term for woodlice. I swallowed and nodded. It wasn’t a term I’d heard anyone use outside Kent.