Mari stopped in his tracks, perplexed by this. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he had no idea what was going on. It was not a feeling he wanted to get used to.
“Don’t you start blaming me for everything as well, Jake Chivis,” he warned, raising his voice, since Jake hadn’t stopped walking. “If you didn’t want me there, you shouldn’t have called me. Don’t feed me half a story then stomp off like it doesn’t matter.”
Mari broke into an automatic trot to keep up with Jake because it was that or shout to be heard, but he stopped again, cursing under his breath. After Barcelona, he had promised himself that he wouldn’t go chasing after guys who strung him along, yet here he was again. Only with Jake, he had let himself hope it could be different.
Damn it! It had been different. What on earth was wrong? His temper was piqued, though.
“Cordiline says if you play up like that again, you’re sacked!” he yelled at Jake’s retreating back. “I’m going home, to bed. We have to be at the cop shop by eight o’clock!”
Then he turned and stalked off the way he had come. There would be no trains at this unholy hour and it was going to be a long walk if he couldn’t find a cab.
Chapter Twenty
Jake knew he should go after Mari, explain, or at least apologize for barking at him. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. Instead he headed home to change, then went to the gym. There was no way any amount of talk could help him calm down. This was one of those rages where he needed to pound something until he couldn’t move, then afterward he might be able to think.
It had been many years since he’d needed to do that. The fact that it was Mustatti who’d driven him to that point only fueled his anger. The gym was almost full, all the early birds getting their workout done before heading off to their day jobs. Even so, most of them took one look at Jake’s dark scowl and gave him a wide berth.
After he had lifted enough weights and done enough pull-ups to make his arms ache, he beat the heavy bag until his knuckles were raw and bloody and he was drenched in sweat. There was just enough time left to shower and change before heading to the station.
Jake was calmer, having burned off most of his angry energy, but it hadn’t helped clear his head any. He was going to have to tell Mari what Aled had done to him. Even if Mari didn’t push him for an answer, the evasion would settle between them like an uncomfortable wedge otherwise.
First, they needed to deal with Cordiline and whatever Mari had unearthed. Jake knew his lover well enough to guess he wouldn’t have gone back to bed. Mari had probably figured out more about the girl in five minutes than Cordiline’s crew had found in two hours.
Jake was prepared for a dressing down as soon as he set eyes on John’s stormy face. Mari already sat across from the DI, one knee crossed over the other, his expression composed. Jake took the empty seat next to him and braced himself.
“Mustatti decided he didn’t want to press charges,” Cordiline said without preamble.
Jake nodded.
“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, Chivis, because I think he deserved what he got and more, but I’m sticking my neck out for you and I’d damn well appreciate it if you’d remember that.”
“Understood,” Jake said.
“Good.” Cordiline turned his attention to Mari. “What have you got for us, Dr. Gale?”
Mari’s limpid eyes were still on Jake and he mouthed one word. “Okay?”
Jake gave him a nod, torn again by the combination of worry and frustration in that gaze. He knew Cordiline would have kept his secret, more so the harder Mari pushed him for the truth. There were no fears there, but he hated the concern it put in Mari’s eyes.
To all intents satisfied—if not happy—with his response, Mari returned his attention to the slim tablet in his left hand. He tapped the screen with his index finger.
“Christina Jayne Burns, aged nineteen, Scottish father, half-Italian mother. Youngest of five children. The only girl. She had lived in London for eighteen months—the rest of her kin are in the North East. Her brothers are already stirring things up online, so the family has presumably been notified.” He looked at Cordiline, who confirmed it with a grim nod. It was every cop’s least favorite job, informing the next of kin. At least John Cordiline had been spared that task by lack of proximity.
Mari dropped his gaze to the screen with a wry, humorless twist of his lips. “Christa was another student. She wanted to be a fashion designer but she modeled on the side, for extra money, and worked for a supermarket in Earl’s Court. Her modeling assignments were interesting. Some of the photos are on her social media pages.”
He tapped the screen again and showed them a montage of images, most of which showed a small, pretty girl, half-dressed or naked—it was often hard to tell—and smeared in mud. Or paint designed to look like mud. That was also difficult to distinguish from the photographs.
“Do you know who took these?” Cordiline inquired.
“The photographer is someone she calls ‘Stella May’.” Mari frowned.
“That could be a name and a date?” Cordiline suggested.
“Maybe?” Mari didn’t sound too sure, though. He scrolled through the photographs. There were a lot of them. At last he hit a particular image. “This one is shared from another source but the original webpage doesn’t exist anymore.”
He tilted the tablet again to show an image of Christina with wet hair, dressed only in a purple bath towel. The image seemed artistically blurry until Cordiline, astute as ever, remarked, “That looks like someone snapped it through her bathroom window on a long lens.”
“Ten points to Kentish Town,” Mari told him, without looking up. “Christa shared it with her friend by private message before it went public. She thought that a guy across the courtyard from her flat was spying on her. She found this posted on one of his social media pages. I think she re-posted it on her page to shame him.”
“If it was the killer, he may have taken it as a challenge or a sign that she was interested instead,” Cordiline mused, casting a speculative glance at Jake. “We’ve already pulled in a team to question the occupants of the flats where she lived.”
“In that case, you should get them to check out flat four-oh-four,” Mari said darkly.
They both turned toward him. Mari tapped his screen again and showed them.
“I’ve been running in and out of all the hits on her various pages all morning and one of the hits came from a user that called himself variously Sep, SG, Grace and one spooky-looking thing that just has a crux decussata—that’s ah, a saltire or St. Andrew’s Cross, you would say over here—with nails in it as his profile name. He appears to have been stalking her online. He uses different identities, as I said, but they all tie back to the same ISP. He never talks but he likes her pictures—especially the nude ones. He’s been in and out, viewing them more than a few times.”
“You presume the stalker is male,” Cordiline said.
“His profiles claim he’s male,” Mari clarified. “In any case, I checked out some of his online presence and ran a trace to his phone company. He lives in Christa’s block. Number four-oh-four—it’s a bedsit apartment rented in the name of Joseph St. Andrews. Joseph has been registered as a student at Central St. Martin’s for three years. He has a work permit and has been employed as a bartender and casual garden maintenance worker. He also draws an online cartoon that you both should see.”
He gave the screen a final tap, turned it around and handed it to Cordiline with a sigh of disgust. For several moments, Jake and Cordiline studied the webcomic. The content depicted a number of women being stalked individually by a shadowy character. On every page the stalking led to a graphic rape scene, then finally to the women each being buried alive and struggling to escape the grave, all done with a keen sexualized horror.
“Considering that these were drawn by someone that lives across from a girl that was raped and buried alive, I’d say that’s pretty damning,”
Jake murmured.
“We’ll bring him in. Thank you. Both of you, for your help on this case,” Cordiline said.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Well, that was a surprise,” Mari said, as Jake slid an arm through his on the way down to the street. “Do you think that the other girls were practice for him? Was he building up for the attack on his neighbor the whole time?”
“I don’t know, it’s possible,” Jake said. “I suppose they will find out, once they have him in custody.”
Jake fell quiet again until they were outside. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.”
Mari tugged him closer to his side and turned his head to snatch a quick kiss.
“It doesn’t matter. He riled you up. I understand. I just wish I knew why you let him get to you. Normally, you’re laid back about everything, borderline horizontal.”
They walked down the pavement together and Jake silently mulled over what he wanted to say for a few moments. Steeling himself, he said, “The experiment with EQ10 wasn’t the only experiment Birthright was doing.”
Mari frowned at the apparent non sequitur and Jake went on.
“After their first attempts with the drug failed, they decided that if they couldn’t get a viable subject without the person eventually bursting into flame, that perhaps the enhanced abilities could be passed on through genetics. They were planning to breed a bunch of enhanced Fire Elementals.”
Mari stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and incredulous. “I thought you told them that you weren’t interested in women.”
“I did.” Jake wanted to look away but Mari’s gaze had him pinned like a deer in the headlights. His expression slowly changed and Jake could almost see the cogs turning.
“That didn’t matter to him, did it? He just wanted you to…donate? Is that why you’re so mad at him?”
“Mari…when I came to from the sedatives they gave me, I was tied to a bed. Mustatti had his hands down my pants and was scooping my semen into a collection cup. That what he was talking about. That’s why he makes me sick,” Jake said plainly.
Mari blinked at him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me this? I would have held him down for you to kick, and Cordiline and the cops could go screw themselves. I’m the only guy that gets to play in your pants.”
He slid his arms around Jake and pulled him closer, planting a lingering kiss on his mouth.
“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t worth telling. There was nothing that could be done to change it. I just wanted to forget about it. And I would have never thought of it again if I hadn’t had to see him.”
“Does he know?” Mari looked back in the direction of the police station and Jake didn’t have to ask who he meant.
“I didn’t tell him what happened, but yes. He was the lead detective that processed the crime scene. He asked if I wanted to press charges for the sexual assault and I said no. That was the end of it.”
Mari looked perplexed. “Why?”
“If there’s no charge, the police won’t proceed,” Jake said, keeping his voice patient.
“No. I mean, why didn’t you press charges?” Mari persisted. “He molested you.”
Jake just shrugged. “There are a lot of reasons, Mari. I’m gay, so I might not be believed. I’m male, so does it matter if another guy comes on to me? It would have been a circus and it was already that. It didn’t seem worth it to go through the hassle when he was already on his way to prison.”
“I want to hurt him,” Mari growled, “and not in a good way.”
Jake put his arm around Mari’s waist. “Yeah. That’s another reason I didn’t tell you.”
Mari leaned against him so that their heads rested together for a moment. “I hate that I have to go to work. I want to take you home to your place and comfort you.”
Jake slid his hand up to the nape of Mari’s neck, kneading there with gentle fingers for a moment.
“You can comfort me later.” He gave him a brief, tender kiss. “You did good work today, Mari. If the neighbor is our guy, though, you might have to eat a bit of crow over Solana.”
“There is that.” Mari pulled a face. “I think I may have to eat the whole fucking crow, actually. Damn it!”
“It’s part of the job. You get used to it after a while.”
“I’m not sure I want to get used to it.” Mari linked arms with him again and they walked on for a time. “I did a bad thing, Jake. I know you told me not to be an asshole, but I was worried. I told Solana I didn’t want her to treat my mother. And Mama called me out on it. She kind of ripped me a new hole and said she’d do what the heck she wanted. I am going to have to swallow an awful lot of humble pie with her, and she is not going to let me forget it.”
He looked crestfallen and rather lost, in spite of his more recent success.
“Yes, you will. But Anni doesn’t seem the type to gloat, not for long anyway. I’m sure she’ll be relieved enough that she won’t take it out on you too badly.”
“Maybe not, but Solana will. You can bet your life. She is going to love every minute.” Mari ground his teeth with an irritable scowl.
“You’re going to tell her that you’re sorry?” Jake asked.
“By the time the real story gets out, I don’t see that I’m going to have much choice. It’s that or emigrate,” Mari conceded.
“Chalk it up to a lesson learned, babe. Don’t point a finger at someone until you’re sure you’re pointing in the right direction.”
“How did I get myself such a smart, handsome man?” Mari wondered aloud, in a rueful tone. “I love you, Detective Chivis.”
Mari went in to work after his meeting with Jake and Cordiline but he found it hard to pay attention to the job in hand. His concentration finally failed him at half past eleven when he received a call from Jake telling him that the raid on flat four-oh-four had failed to net their suspect. The property was empty. Their bird had fled. St. Andrews had quit the university and his Municipal garden maintenance job the week before.
At lunchtime, Mari signed out for the remainder of the day, telling Ghislaine that his mother had a medical appointment. He grabbed a coffee and texted Jake to say that he wasn’t working. In his favorite booth at the British Library, he hacked into Holmes 2, again and ran a search for Joseph St. Andrews, the name on the lease for flat four-o-four Horrocks West Court. It came up empty. Tapping the edge of his laptop screen, he decided on a different approach and ran a search through the university lists of foreign students. There was every chance that Sep was either lying about being a student or he was a British National, but the search would be easier if he could narrow it down. There was no student on the list named St. Andrews, but there was a Josep Sant Andreu Garcés, who had come over from Viladecans in Spain eighteen months earlier to study art and design.
That tied in pretty neatly with Christina Burns’ course in fashion. There was every possibility that he knew her through their college. More interesting was that surname, because it wasn’t the first time he’d come across it. Sant Andreu was the surname of Tomas Arregui’s late mother, Elodie.
Mari closed his eyes and touched the screen of his tablet, interfacing with Josep’s file at the university, and from there, backward through any online document that might give him some genealogy on their suspect. When he reached the young man’s passport, he knew that he’d hit gold. His mother, Arantxa, was listed as his next of kin. He went from there to the Spanish college files on Josep and discovered that he had been a student at the Universitat de Catalunya in Barcelona, the same institution where Mari had once been employed, and where Tomas Arregui still worked. Reaching further still, he found the sponsorship documents enabling Josep to come to England to study, under a grant from the UC. His sponsor was Tomas Sant Andreu Garcés Arregui.
Mari came up gasping from the prolonged interface and blinked for a couple of moments as his body reoriented and he remembered where he was. An old man in a nearby booth looked across and frowned at him and Mari lowere
d his head, staring at the screen in front of him. He was shaking. Tomas had a younger sister named Arantxa. He had taken Mari with him once to a family wedding in Sant Cugat, brazenly telling his distant kin that Mari was a cousin of his wife’s. Isabel had refused to go, as she was not on speaking terms with most of Tomas’ kin. Arantxa had been the talk of the wedding because she was pregnant, again, and refusing to name the father of her latest baby, though she already had two other children out of wedlock to different fathers.
That much fitted in with what he knew about Josep. In all the documentation he’d found so far, there was no mention of a father. Was that why Tomas had turned up here in London? He’d claimed he was here on business, but Mari knew how Tomas Arregui worked things. It would not have taken much effort on his part to negotiate a working trip to London to see how the English were using their Elementals. That had always been his brainchild, in Barca. He was their expert on Elementals.
You fool! He put his head in his hands. You thought he was here chasing after you and all the time he was checking up on his sister’s kid. Jake is right. You think far too much of yourself, Ilmarinen Gale.
He closed his laptop and put his equipment away. If anyone knew where Sep St. Andrews had vanished to, it was his uncle, Tomas.
“You bastard,” Mari exhaled as he fished out his phone and called the number Tomas had given him a few days ago. “You knew I would wind up doing this, didn’t you?”
The line rang out three, four times and just as Mari was beginning to think it would go to voice mail, Tomas answered it.
“Ilmarinen. It’s good to hear from you. Did you change your mind about lunch?”
Mari swallowed twice before he could speak. Tomas always had that effect on him and he hated it. His mouth was too dry and he found himself short of breath, an anxious intern again, desperate to please.
“I need to talk to you about something,” he began, keeping things formal.
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