I sighed. How would they ever prove who did this? “Does that mean Ryan won’t try to kill himself again?”
“It looks that way. Will said Ryan confirmed the urge had disappeared. We have an agent covering him, just in case, but Ma’am and Will dropped him off at home, Ma’am wiping his memories of that night just before he got out of the car. They told him they’d found him wandering near a pub, and he told them where he lived. He bought it, apparently.”
I put my indicator on and turned left. “So now what?”
“We’re interviewing the other victims’ families, just to confirm whether they’d had plastic surgery and where. Once we do that, we’ll have to get a warrant and obtain their patient records, then put this thing together, provided it’s the same plastic surgeon. The first three victims had all been to the same one.”
“Interesting. But why would they kill their patients? Wouldn’t you think they’d want them to live and come back again for something else?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t. The alternative is that someone hates the surgeon and is killing his patients out of spite, or maybe someone has some weird hatred towards plastic surgery in general. Hmm, it could even be a competing surgeon. Too many options.”
“Nothing would surprise me, unfortunately. But that doesn’t help the people who are dying.” We drove in silence for the last few minutes of the trip. “Ooh, here it is. Bardwell House. It looks like a normal house to me. Do a lot of people name their houses here?”
“You could say that. Or, rather, they’re already named. The original owners, one, two, or three hundred years ago would have named their houses, and I guess people with more modern houses like the idea of it.”
“Fair enough.” There was nowhere to park on the street, so I pulled into the driveway and drove up to the garage door of the single-storey bungalow.
“I didn’t think to ask, but do you want me to be your assistant, rather than cast a no-notice spell on the contents of your car? Is the client a witch?”
“Ah, good question. I have no idea if she’s a witch or not. You may as well come in. I could always do with an extra pair of hands.” I smiled.
Imani helped me get everything out and carry it to the front door. Before I could knock, a woman with short, curly grey hair opened the door. She was about my height and wore a short-sleeved shirt, long tartan skirt, long socks pulled up, and lace-up black flats, which kind of looked like school shoes. “You must be Lily. I’m Fern. Please come in.” I utilised my other sight, just to check her status. Non-witch. Fine.
“Lovely to meet you, Fern, and thanks. This is my assistant, Imani.”
Imani gave her a nod and smile, and Fern stood back to let us through. She wrinkled her brow. “I didn’t realise you were bringing someone, but that’s fine. You can take your things into the next room, through that door.” She followed us to a sparsely furnished living room. An armchair with footstool, small TV, side table, and plush-style pink cat house huddled on one side. The other side was bare, except for a couple of country scenes on the wall. “You can set up just there, sweetie.”
“Okay. That would be perfect. I have a backdrop I can use.” I got to work setting things up and directed Imani as she helped. When we were done, Fern called in the star.
She momentarily left the room. Her voice filtered in, coming closer. “Miss Periwinkle, darling. Come on, precious.” She made kissy noises, then appeared, a Siamese cat following, and I swear, she had a supermodel strut.
“What a gorgeous cat.” I crouched and made kissy noises of my own. “Hello, pretty girl. You have the most amazing blue eyes.”
Fern beamed. “She’s been best in show the last five we’ve entered. At the last national cat show, a talent scout was there, and that’s why we need the photos now. She might be in a very big movie soon.”
“How wonderful,” I said. Imani stood to the side, a small smile playing on her face. She wasn’t much of an animal person, not that she disliked animals, but she likely thought this scenario quite amusing. I slowly stood, so as not to startle Miss Periwinkle. “Let’s get started.”
Miss Periwinkle was an obedient cat, which made my job so much easier. We were done within forty-five minutes. I showed Fern some of the photos and explained how I would retouch them.
“Do you think you could have them ready tomorrow?”
I knew they were urgent but talk about pressure. I supposed I had time this afternoon to edit them. “Yes, sure.”
She beamed. “Thank you so much, Lily! Oh, and here’s your money.” She handed me an envelope, which brought back memories of the night before my birthday, when the father of the bride gave me a tip for a job well done. He’d been the first casualty I’d seen through my lens when he’d appeared see-through, only to die the next day. That had been the last time I’d been happily ignorant of witches. Not that I wasn’t happy now, but there was something to be said for a simpler life.
Despite the awkwardness, I counted the money. I hated this part of it. At least with direct debits, I didn’t have to call the client’s honesty into question by counting things out. “Thank you, Fern. It’s all there. I’ll make sure you get those photos later tonight.”
“You’re a doll. Thank you.”
Imani and I packed up and left. Yay for an easy day. By the time we returned home, I’d forgotten all about the weird being-watched creepiness, and I edited the photos and sent them to Fern by dinner time.
My instincts were rarely wrong. One day I’d get it right. One day.
Chapter 14
The next day at twelve, we were called to a meeting with Ma’am at the PIB. This must have been the slot Imani had thought she was free. Luckily we did the photography job yesterday.
As per normal, Ma’am sat at the head of the table. Her grey bun was tight, clothes so neat, you’d think she’d just bought them. I looked down at my own black jeans and red jumper, then blew some hair that was tickling my nose away from my face. I was so not agent material. Oh, crap, was that a spot of coffee on my jumper? Yes. Yes it was. Why was I even surprised? Okay, to be honest, I wasn’t.
I sat between Liv and Will. Beren and Imani sat opposite. James still wasn’t back at work, and I knew Mill was grateful he was there to help with things. He was doing all the housework and getting up to bottle feed once a night. My brother was awesome.
Ma’am cleared her throat to get our attention. “Good morning, team. As you know, Agents Jawara and Blakesley completed many interviews yesterday and this morning. We now have a clear lead: Dr Joe Ezekal. Every suicide we’re investigating had some kind of surgery or cosmetic enhancement at his practice. Most had it in his London surgery before he moved here.”
I sat up straight. “Oh my God. He’s the guy that had the open day.” I turned to Liv. “Remember on Saturday, and they wouldn’t let us in?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right.”
Ma’am eyed me. “Next time, Lily, please put up your hand if you want to interrupt.” I clenched my teeth as I tried to resist an eye-roll. Oops, failed. Ma’am raised a brow and increased the disapproval in her stare. I put up my hand. “Yes, Lily?”
“They had an open day on Saturday at Westerham Hall. We went past to check it out, and they wouldn’t let us in.”
“Did they say why?”
“It was only one woman, really, but she said they only worked with people who really needed it, and none of us needed it. I’d usually say awesome ethics, but I don’t believe that for a minute. It’s rare that any business would knock back money.”
“Well, dear, I do agree with this woman that none of you are in need of it, but I also agree with your latter assumption. So there must be another reason, the clue to which lies in our victims.” Huh? I didn’t get where she was going, which probably wasn’t unusual. I was the amateur after all. I imagined she got paid the big bucks for untangling these messes before others.
Will leaned forward. “I agree.” He turned to me. “And before you get up
set that you’re out of the loop, I’ll fill you in.” Alas, poor Will, he knew me well. “All our victims are non-witches.”
“Do you think they’re only killing their non-witch victims because they don’t like them? Kind of like, take their money, then eliminate them?” That didn’t sound right, but the snake group was all about hurting non-witches. “Are they linked to RP?”
Will shook his head. “I don’t think so, and I don’t think they hate non-witches, but we don’t know the doctor. We’ll need to investigate further. It could also be someone else, someone who’s trying to ruin the doctor’s practice, and maybe that person hates non-witches. Still, there is that matter of them not wanting to deal with us. We have to assume it’s because we’re witches, which discounts the theory that someone outside of the doctor’s sphere is hurting these people.”
A piece of paper appeared in Ma’am’s hand. “Here’s the warrant to search the doctor’s premises. I also want you to take him in for questioning, please, Agent Blakesley. Take Agent DuPree with you.”
Will and Beren stood, and Will said, “We’ll get right on that, Ma’am.” He took the piece of paper from her and looked at it, then showed it to Beren. “Coordinates are on there.”
“Thanks.” Beren handed the paper back to Will. “Handy. The surgery is two minutes’ walk from our landing spot. See you there.” They both made their doorways and left.
Ma’am rested her forearms on the table and looked at Imani. “I have another case that we’re close to an arrest on, but my team could do with the assistance. I want you to relieve Agent Parker for the rest of your shift. Here are the coordinates.” Nothing happened, except a tingle of her magic, so she must’ve transmitted them via mind picture.
Imani stood. “Will do, Ma’am.” She nodded at us. “See you later, ladies.” Then she was gone.
Ma’am turned to us. “Liv, how are you going with those research items I gave you on the Morrison case?”
“I’ll need another three hours or so. There are a couple of things I’m waiting for from our contacts at the police.”
“Okay, good. If you can have them to me tomorrow, I’d appreciate it. If there are any delays, let me know.”
Liv smiled. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Ma’am asked her about a few more things, so I zoned out and stared at the shiny tabletop. It was so clean. Did it have a spell on it so it would never get dirty? Hmm, maybe I should invent that kind of spell, although, if it existed, then maybe the spell wouldn’t let anything sit on the table, and that would be silly.
Ma’am’s phone rang, and I started. Maybe I needed to concentrate on an anti-jumpy spell. I certainly needed one.
Ma’am answered it and frowned. “Why are you calling me so soon?” She listened. “You’re sure?” She heavy sighed. “Right, well, come back. I’ll have to think about this.” She hung up.
I risked getting in trouble, but I asked anyway. “Was that Will?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?” I tensed, waiting for the rebuke to mind my own business.
“There’s been an unfortunate turn of events. The good doctor and his employees are all non-witches.”
Liv’s eyes widened. “What? But how could that be?”
Ma’am looked at her hands for a moment, then back at Liv, but didn’t answer. I put up my hand. “Yes, Lily? And by the way, if I’m not already talking, you don’t need to do that.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake, I couldn’t win. As far as I was concerned, better to be safe than sorry, so she was getting the raised hand from now on. “But what if they hired a witch to do their dirty work? Can’t you at least question them?”
“It’s too risky, dear. Maybe they’re the target of someone else. We can’t investigate because they’re non-witches. It’s not in our jurisdiction. And at this stage, we have nothing tying the magic to them, or even a particular witch.”
“But the victims are tied to them. And we know there’s been some magic use.”
Ma’am shook her head. “Yes, but we haven’t linked magic use to every victim. I’m going to have to hand this over to the regular police, although, I’m going to give us twenty-four hours to find the link before I do.”
“So now what?” Liv asked.
Ma’am fixed her predatory gaze on me. “We need to deploy our secret weapon.”
And I bet I could guess what… or who that was.
Me.
Chapter 15
Just before 5:00 p.m., Will and I snuck into the London Orthodontic Clinic. It was a four-storey building within a row of terraces. How could this be a medical practice? It looked more like a home. London couldn’t help but be stylish. In Sydney, the building would have been a modern glass and steel structure—cold, new, sterile. Although, I supposed you wanted sterile when you were having surgery, but the old buildings spoke of knowledge, wisdom, and skill.
We hid in the toilets, cloaked by no-notice spells, waiting for the place to be locked up. This was the building Dr Ezekal’s practice had been in before he’d moved to Westerham. Now it housed, as the name suggested, an orthodontic clinic. The tongue-tingling scent of fluoride saturated the air. I shuddered. I’d had two fillings in my life, and whilst not the worst experience ever, the remembered drill vibrations and horrible tastes made me cringe.
I looked at my phone: 5:15 p.m. I glanced at Will with a “Do you want to check out there now?” look. He shrugged, motioned for me to stay, then crept to the bathroom door before disappearing into the hallway. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and waited, straining my ears for any sounds of confrontation.
After what seemed like forever, he returned, speaking quietly. “I’ve swept the whole building. Everyone’s left for the day, and I’ve magically disabled the surveillance system. We’re good to go.”
I whispered, “So why do we have to speak quietly?”
“Habit. It’s best to uphold these precautions, just in case. It would be bad to accidentally break it at the wrong time.” He made a good point. Once an agent, always an agent.
He led me into the hallway and around the ground floor. “There are storage and consultation rooms. We don’t have to worry about the storage areas, of course. We’ll start with the consultation rooms before going upstairs where there was a surgery and some recovery rooms. The recovery rooms have been converted to dentists’ rooms now. Don’t let that throw you off.”
“Don’t worry. Not much throws my magic off. I just ask it for favours, and it does the rest.” The process was so easy, too easy, in fact, and gave no hint of the consequences I often experienced after seeing things I didn’t really want to see.
We entered the first consultation room, a carpeted space with a large, shiny mahogany desk, and black leather chair. In front of the desk were three white-fabric chairs with yellow daisy motifs. When I lifted my camera to my face and asked to see Emily Armond, the scene changed. A smaller desk had replaced the current one, and the chair became white rather than black. Only two chairs sat in front of the table, and they were green. Sitting in one of the green chairs, her back to me, was Emily Armond, the French woman who was our first known victim. Sitting behind the desk, a kindly smile on his face, was Dr Ezekal.
I wandered around the desk, taking shots from different angles. The hope on Emily’s face at whatever the doctor was saying flooded me with sadness. If not for this, she’d probably still be alive. Why had all these people ended up dead?
I lowered my camera, then brought it back to my face. “Show me what kind of plastic surgery Emily got.” The scene changed. It was the same day—they both wore the same things—and the doctor was showing her boob implants. He held one in each hand, maybe showing her different size options? I took a couple of photos and lowered my camera. I lifted it again. “Show me Alice Baker and why she was here.”
This time the doctor was sitting on the edge of his desk, leaning towards Alice, who had on another outfit that was a riot of colour. Toucans happily fluttered across her short-sleeved, loos
e-fitting dress. She’d paired it with bright-yellow sandals. Her head was angled up, and Dr Ezekal held her chin in place whilst drawing on her Roman nose with a purple marker. I hoped he had something to get that off with because it didn’t look like he was about to operate.
I walked around and photographed Alice from the other side. Her nose was normal size, and certainly nothing you’d worry enough about to cut into. Letting my camera hang from the neck strap, I turned to Will. “Alice Baker, the woman with the colourful clothing—she had a super small, overly pointy nose, didn’t she?” I was pretty sure I remembered it correctly, but I wanted Will’s confirmation.
“She did. Why?” I brought up the photos and handed him the camera. His brows drew down. “This looks like he was only supposed to fix the bump. Why did he make the tip ridiculously small?”
“I don’t know. I’m wondering if we should check to see if she ever complained. Should I look for files?”
He handed the Nikon back. “Yes, but I’ll call Olivia too. See if she can unearth any complaints to the medical board. If there are none, we may have to assume she was happy with the job.”
I found that very hard to believe—that she’d be happy. Her nose when she died looked like you could stab people with it, and how did she breathe out of such tiny nostrils? I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and lifted the camera. Show me evidence of Alice Baker’s complaint over her nose.
Nothing changed. Damn. Time to move onto our next potential victim.
Our first male victim, Andrew Porter, was next on my list. I asked my magic to show me why he’d been here. This time, Andrew stood next to the doctor as he pointed to a drawing he’d pinned up on the screen behind and just to the left of his desk. The drawing of a torso had areas circled: pecs, biceps, six-pack area. My mouth dropped open. He wanted implants there? I shuddered as I clicked off some shots, the icky sensation of having foreign bodies under my skin creeping me out. The lengths people would go to, to change their appearance. I shook my head and handed Will the camera. He looked at the images, shook his head, and handed the camera back to me.
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