As Storm drives to the address, Leo reads out loud the information that Monroe has sent them.
Charles Blair is twenty-five years old, his road to success paved with the private education his parents’ money had bought him and the contacts his parents’ friendships had brought him. But according to his social media profiles, he is a risk taker who likes to burn the candle that both ends. He parties hard. He spends a lot of money on gambling and drinking and dining out. And on holidays and skiing and his luxury fully-serviced apartment in Hoxton. His clothes and his cars and his girls are always the best.
It seems that India Lawrenson is not his first foray into the ‘dark side’ as he calls it in his social media profiles, where he has boasted about the succubae he has dated. India Lawrenson appears to be his first werewolf conquest. Had he dated one before, no doubt he would have boasted about that too.
Storm and Leo arrive at Charles Blair’s place of work, a newly built billion pound glass tower that spikes into the London skyline. The ground floor receptionist puts Storm on the line to Charles’s team secretary who is forced to call Charles out of a meeting at Storm’s insistence. Charles Blair is not happy to see them.
When he joins them in a meeting room, he says impatiently, “Couldn’t this have waited until the evening? I’m in the middle of an important pitch.”
“Your girlfriend’s in the middle of a life or death crisis,” says Leo acerbically. He had been contemplating the view from the thirtieth floor window, but now turns to face Charles.
The young man has the grace to blush. It does not look like an expression that frequently occupies his haughty features, currently tanned from his recent long weekend away in Saint-Tropez, a break that had not included India Lawrenson according to the photographs on his social media.
“Can we make this quick?” he says shortly. “I’ve got work to do.”
Charles refuses to take a seat. He pulls down all of the blinds in the glass-walled office. Clearly he does not want his colleagues witnessing this meeting.
“Is our presence embarrassing you?” says Leo. “We can take you down to Agency Headquarters if you like.”
“No, that’s fine,” says Charles quickly. He finally sits down, and puts a bland smile on his face, making an effort at affability. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Mr Blair, are you aware that your girlfriend is missing?” asks Storm.
“Charlie please. Mr Blair is my dad. And yes, of course I know that she is missing.”
“And yet you did not file a missing person report? Weren’t you worried?”
“Look, we went out on Friday night and had a good time. It was her buddy Rachel’s birthday. We had a blast. India was supposed to come to mine on Saturday for lunch, but she didn’t turn up. I just thought she was hung over and she had decided to stay with Rachel for the whole birthday weekend.”
“You weren’t concerned that India didn’t call you all weekend?”
“We weren’t attached at the hip. She can do what she wants. She’s an independent woman.”
“Was it normal for her to not call you on a weekend?”
“Yeah. No. Maybe.”
“Which of those is it?” says Storm.
“Sometimes she doesn’t.”
“Is that what we will find if we check your phone records?”
“Don’t you need a warrant to do that?”
“Only if you don’t want to show us. Do you have a reason to not want to show us that information, Mr Blair?”
“You can see my phone records if you like,” Charles says, his face now red. “I’ve got no problem with it. It’s ridiculous if you think I’m a suspect. Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you think you need one? Why did you not come forward to speak to us when you found out your girlfriend was missing and her best friend had been killed?”
“I was busy, okay?” Charles rubs the sides of his face, looking worried now. “I know I should have come but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. India’s a werewolf you know. I thought maybe her lot did it.”
“Her lot?” Storm says. “What do you mean by that?”
It seems to occur to Charles that Storm might be otherkind. His face goes even redder, more out of anger than embarrassment. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
Now that Charles is thoroughly unsettled, Storm gives him a bland cop’s smile. “We’re here to talk to you about what happened on Friday night. We’d like to understand the chain of events that led to Rachel Garrett’s death.”
“Sure, whatever I can do to help.”
“Talk us through what happened that evening.”
Charles Blair leans back in his seat and runs his fingers through his artfully arranged blond hair, which has been molded into a neat quiff with so much styling product that it retains its shape through the mauling of his frustrated fingers. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is talk about Friday evening.
He crosses his arms over his chest like a sulky schoolboy. “India wanted to go out for Rachel’s birthday. She practically begged me. I said we could do a bar crawl. We ended up at The Half Moon for last drinks. It was nearly 2 o’clock in the morning. I went to settle up the bill. She and Rachel went outside, and they never came back. That’s all I know.”
He says it as if he has rehearsed it in his head.
“Did you go to look for them?” asks Leo.
“Yeah I looked for them. They weren’t outside the bar. I figured they must have walked off and got a cab or something.”
“Had you and India argued that night?”
“No! We all had fun. You can ask anyone. Ask my buddies. They’ll tell you. I can give you their names.”
“Weren’t you worried when India and Rachel left the bar alone?”
“Why would I be? They were together, weren’t they?”
“Not even with the Wolf-Claw Killer on the loose?” says Leo. “I’d have been worried if my girlfriend was out late at night.”
“No one would have to be worried if you guys did your job and had caught him already,” Charlie snaps. “And anyway, India is already a werewolf. Why would the killer attack her? I thought they’d be safe together.”
Charlie’s sulky and defensive attitude does not do enough to hide the guilt that he is clearly feeling. Storm can see it in his body language. But whether the guilt is from the fear of being blamed for what has happened to the girls or for a more sinister reason is not yet clear.
“And what did you do after you couldn’t find them?” Storm asks.
Charlie shrugs. “I was trashed. I went home and passed out.” He says this scathingly, as if it should be obvious what he did.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Did you get a cab?”
“I wish I’d got a cab. Then I’d have a bloody alibi, wouldn’t I? I walked. I don’t live far from the bar.”
“So you’re familiar with Shoreditch?” says Storm.
“So?”
“Why aren’t you helping with the search for your girlfriend?”
“Why is it any of your business?” says Charles, his smart mouth running away with him despite his clear intention to seem cooperative. He seems to regret it. “Look, you don’t know my job, okay? What was I supposed to tell my boss? That some werewolf girl I’m dating might have killed someone? And now she is missing and I have to go look for her? We’re crazy-busy with this pitch. I wasn’t going to be able to take a day off, was I?”
“How did you get along with Rachel?” Leo asks.
Charlie shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”
“Do you know whether she was having problems with anyone lately?”
“How would I know that? India didn’t say anything about it.”
“And were she and India getting along?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t they?”
“Being cramped up together all the time in that small apartment must get complicated,” says Storm. “We understand that Rachel was paying all
of the rent and the bills. Did they argue about money?”
Charlie’s legs start shaking under the table, with frustration and impatience. “I helped India out with money, But Rachel didn’t like that. So why should Rachel complain that she was paying for everything? India never said that Rachel had a problem with India living with her.”
“Do you know of any reason why anyone would have wanted to hurt either of them?”
“No. Rachel was boring. Always talking about her work. Who would want to hurt her?”
“And India?”
“India’s India. She’s fun. She runs her mouth sometimes, but she’s harmless really. Why are you here questioning me when you should be out there looking for her?”
“Rachel’s parents said that you and Rachel didn’t get along.”
“That’s bullshit. Rachel liked me well enough. Believe me.”
“Did Rachel have a reason to dislike you?”
“I told you that she liked me just fine.”
“Were you violent?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.
“Was India taking wolfsbane regularly to reduce her strength?”
“So what if she was?”
“Did you make her do that?”
“No. She was already doing it. And damn right she should be. It’s up to werewolves to make sure they’re going to be safe if they’re running around in our society. She knew that.”
“Did you ever hit India? Is that why Rachel never liked you?”
“I never laid a finger on India,” he explodes.
“That’s quite the temper,” Leo observes. “India was dosing up. She was the perfect target. You sure you never hit her?”
“The hell I did.”
“Did Rachel try to cause problems between you and India?” says Storm.
“Everything was fine with me and India!” he says heatedly. “Why would she want to move in with me if things weren’t good? I asked her to move in with me that night, and she said yes. Ask my buddy Jacob. He was there.”
“How many of your buddies were there?”
“Seven.” He lists them. “Two with their girlfriends.”
“Did you see all of your buddies leave the bar?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did any of them leave alone?”
“Probably.”
“Did any of them leave around the time that India and Rachel left?”
Charlie shrugs. “I really don’t know man. You’ll have to ask them.”
Chapter 9
DIANA
As evening grows closer, my nerves ratchet tighter and tighter. When Remi calls the search off at 9.15 in the evening, she insists that the volunteers must meet at the starting point for a debrief. I hope none of them will show up, but nearly all of them do.
Around twenty-five of them are civilian volunteers, one of whom might be a murderer who felt the need to involve him or herself in this search according to Remi’s theory.
As Remi takes a roll call and makes a note of anyone who hasn’t stayed, my nerves stretch to breaking point. My brain scrambles for ideas, but I am now too panicked to think of what to say to them all. Even if my psychic powers had been on point, I would have struggled to address this many people. Without them I am going to fail miserably.
This day is about to go from bad to pathetic. It is going to be a farce. They are going to think I am making a mockery of them.
I try to concentrate on what Remi is saying in case she has called me up. She is still debriefing each team. None of the volunteers report seeing any signs that India has been to any of the locations they covered. Remi ticks off the properties which have been completed, and I stand at her side feeling completely useless.
I can feel DI Zael’s eyes on me. He and his officers are standing off to the side of the crowd, their arms crossed over their chests, waiting for the moment when I will have to prove myself. He seems to be eagerly anticipating the moment I am going to flop.
I know how I would have started if I had my powers. I would have spoken to each of the volunteers in turn. I would touch their hands. I would try to get a sense of their involvement in this case from what they said, or any flashes of their memories that might pass through my mind when I touch them.
I don’t know how my gift works, just that it does. Did. Randomly. In unexpected ways that sometimes didn’t seem to mean anything until they suddenly made sense.
It is only since it has been gone that I had realized how much I had relied on it in my everyday life.
The only way I can describe it was that it was like there used to be an invisible web all around me that some other sense of mine was attuned to, and which could guide me in the direction of things that I needed or away from any danger or unpleasantness. It was so subtle I never knew it was there. I had been able to trust my instincts on whether to trust a person or distrust them. Or I had known exactly how much time I had to run to a bus stop before the next bus might arrive without needing to check a timetable. It had helped guide me in all of the little things that I would do or say to someone every day. And then suddenly it was gone.
And now I have to navigate the world blind of this extra sense, so I am constantly bumping into problems, tiny problems, that I might have completely unconsciously avoided before. It is as if my happy luck, my serendipity, has gone. Not that I had thought I was lucky when I actually had it. Not that I ever felt it had brought me any happiness.
No wonder DI Zael had referred to it as mumbo jumbo. It sounds like mumbo jumbo even to me.
Despite all that, there is a tiny mote of certainty inside me insisting that if my psychic gift had been active right now, and there was a clue to be found that would lead me towards India, then I would have found that clue.
I may not have known what the clue was, but maybe my subconscious psychic mind would have followed it, and trusted it, and then maybe India would have been all right in the end. Somehow I could have helped her.
But now that it is gone I feel humbled and helpless. It horrifies me, the idea that one of these people gathered here before me might have something to do with what happened to India and Rachel, and that I have simply no idea and no way of knowing.
It almost makes me want to throw the amulet that Theo gave me into the bin. But if I do that I will have a worse problem.
I remember the insidious words of the little voice, and how she would mutter and whinge and beguile, guiding me in my everyday life towards decisions that would benefit her, which I was never aware of. And now that I know she is capable of murdering, of killing in cold blood, how can I possibly justify letting her out?
I cannot do that, because all it would take is one slip up on my part for her to do something terrible that I can never undo. That would turn me into a murderer. I cannot take off the amulet until I find some other way of keeping her in check, or of getting rid of her for good.
Knowing this does not make my current task easier. Remi gives me a glance, checking if I am ready to talk to the gathered crowd. Not just the civilians, but the Agency officers and police officers who had also taken part in the search are watching me.
Every one of them looks expectant. They have reached the end of a grueling and disappointing day. They are hoping I will perform a magic trick and fix it. They are hoping there is still a chance for us to go home victorious.
Well, some of them are. Not DI Zael. Nothing would make his day brighter than for me to fail.
“This is Diana Bellona,” Remi says, introducing me to the crowd. “She’s assisting us in this search, and she is going to ask you a few questions. I’d like you to cooperate with her.”
Thankfully she did not tell them I was a psychic. She didn’t have to. Zael has already sown those seeds. I don’t want Remi to have to look a fool when I fail.
I take a deep breath and force myself to look into the eyes of every single person in the crowd. The evening has brought a chilly breeze. Some of them are shivering slightly, having left thei
r jackets at home. They are impatient to be gone. Their good deed is done. There is no need for them to come back tomorrow. Many won’t. No wonder Remi wanted me to seize this chance to catch anyone dodgy.
I have never ever spoken to such a large group of people before. Inside I am shaking. I don’t know if my voice will come out without trembling. I’m surprised that I’m not shaking on the outside too.
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