Raven (A Very British Witch Book 4)

by Isobella Crowley

  When eventually the door swung open, she stepped inside and the cleaner pushed the vacuum through the doorway.

  “I’ll be in here if you need me.” She opened the door of the adjacent flat and sat down on the sofa.

  After shoving the vacuum cannister further into Raven’s flat with her foot, Scarlett closed the heavy brown door behind her.

  The hallway was in an L shape, with a cupboard on the right-hand side and a row of doors around the corner. Straight ahead was the living room, at the end of which, a bay window stretched from one wall to the other. The sun lit up every part of the living room. It was plain to see why Raven liked it.

  The cupboard was too dark to see anything and there was no switch. She turned right, standing next to the bathroom, facing the bedroom door. Beside the bedroom door there stood a metal wastepaper basket, floundering under the weight of a bunch of dried out flowers.

  Placing the vacuum aside, she took the flowers from the basket, observing how the withered, bare heads were crushed and bent at the end. Taking a closer look, she concluded that they’d been shoved into the basket with some force before they’d died. Raven had obviously been pissed about something.

  Deciding she needed to get cleaning if she didn’t want to provoke suspicion in the cleaner woman, Scarlett set to work vacuuming Raven’s flat. She could investigate while she cleaned.

  For the next five minutes or so the flat was engulfed by the loud groaning noise that all vacuums make.

  Raven’s bedroom was perhaps the tidiest she’d ever seen. There was a single bed with a pink and white bedspread, and beside that a chest of drawers with some photos on the top. Scarlett hesitated before lifting the photos, feeling guilty for the way she was intruding on Raven’s life. However, as soon as she took hold of the silver photo frame, her eyes widened.

  In human form, Raven looked just like any normal woman that you see on the streets of Bicester every day. It was hard to believe that the person in the photo could be a secret witch. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned. How many more witches were there walking around that no-one knew about?

  After studying the photo long and hard, trying to take a mental print of Raven’s human appearance, Scarlett placed it back atop the drawers in the same position which she’d found it. She gave the carpet another going over, pushing the bed right to the wall, before leaving the room and closing the door.

  From the bedroom, she moved on to the living room. Scarlett loved this room. Glancing at the patterned sofa, she tried to picture Raven in her human form, lying in the sunshine, reading a book for hours on end.

  In front of the sofa stood a wooden coffee table. Something was on top, shining in the sunlight. She leaned over to get a good look and—oh my God. Scarlett’s jaw dropped.

  Holding her breath, hand trembling, she took out her phone and snapped a pic of a knife. The blade was smeared with dried blood.

  She tried to picture the medical report in her mind’s eye, reading the description of the murder weapon word for word. It was an exact match.

  “Hello! How’re you doing?”

  Scarlett jumped around, hoping the cleaner wouldn’t say she looked guilty and start asking a load of questions.

  “Oh, it looks nice in here. You’ve done a grand job. Thanks a lot.” The cleaner leaned right in and lowered her voice. “I err—don’t know what’s happened here, do you? You don’t know the girl, do you?”

  “Yes, she’s an old friend of mine.” Scarlett lowered her eyes. “I’m really worried about her.”

  “Oh well, not sure if the landlady knows or not. Still—I expect she’s happy as long as she gets her money at the end of each month.”

  Scarlett’s eyes widened. “I—I expect she will be, yes.”

  The cleaner observed her expression and chuckled. “People do pay rent you know, no-one lives here rent free. In my day, there would have been serious trouble, but today—well, everyone pays by direct debit don’t they?”

  Scarlett nodded.

  It was at this moment that the cleaner noticed the knife on the coffee table. “What’s that? Looks like blood.”

  She shook her head. “Most likely jam. Some people do that you know, sit and eat jam right from the jar.”

  “Oh well.” The cleaner screwed up her nose. “Eating jam out of a jar? I couldn’t be doing with that.”

  Scarlett smiled. “Each to their own I suppose.”

  The cleaner turned to face the door. “I’ve got to lock up, come on. Thank you very much for your help.”

  “Think I’ll stay here for a while, water the plants, give the windows a clean, take care of any other wayward dishes, that type of thing.”

  The cleaner was already halfway out the door. “No problem. Make sure you close the door properly when you leave.”

  It wasn’t until she was back on her own that Scarlett had time to think. For the moment, the rent was being paid on time, but the money wouldn’t last forever. Unless Raven could get some money into her account, it was only a matter of time before the landlady tried to trace her.

  And then there was the possible murder weapon. If Scarlett was going to get to the bottom of this, she needed evidence. She started documenting everything.

  +++

  Raven’s Flat, Launton

  Someone was snooping in Raven’s flat. That much she knew from the sound of the footsteps and the tell-tale clicking of a phone camera. Each time she’d hidden in the closet, Vixen hadn’t seen nor heard anyone besides the cleaner. And the cleaner had pounding footsteps, breathed heavily and constantly muttered under her breath. This person was different. Whoever it was, they had absolutely no right to be there. Vixen grinned. If only she had her cellphone, she could phone the police and land the intruder in serious trouble. How ironic would that be?

  She took in a whiff of the stale air that had that strange kind of smell only found in closets that are rarely used.

  Not for the first time, her thoughts flashed to Raven and she started plotting her revenge. It sometimes felt like it was only her anger that was preventing her from going insane. At some time or other, she was going to find Raven and teach her a lesson she’d never forget. Going ‘round stealing other people’s boyfriends. Just who does she think she is?

  All that time she’d been waiting for someone to come along and rescue her from a life that she loathed, and once she’d found him, Raven had stolen him from her. She thought back to the first time they’d met, that first night and the day after that. With hindsight, those few days were the only time in her life that she’d been truly happy. She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes.

  Of course, she had always feared that he was going to see through her, but it wouldn’t have come quite so quickly if it wasn’t for Raven. Raven had stolen her happiness.

  Feeling the embers of anger in her stomach set ablaze, making her eyes burn bright and her breaths long and deep, she glared at the door. If whoever was outside came snooping in the closet, she was going to have to be on her toes. But then, maybe she’d feel better if she found someone to unleash her anger on.

  The footsteps left the living room and grew louder, coming to a halt just outside the bedroom. Vixen went still as a statue, held her breath and placed an ear to the closet door. A scent drifted in, telling her that the intruder was female. Vixen scowled. Maybe he had another woman and he’d been two-timing both her and Raven. The idea of there being a third party made her feel somehow less angry.

  No sooner had the footsteps started again, than she heard a noise, way off in the distance, making her feel fearful and satisfied at the same time. The footsteps stopped. Whatever was coming their way, the intruder was just as worried as she was.

  A car engine approached outside, then turned the corner. The noise got louder, wailing, high pitched, but familiar. A sense of panic pervaded the closet. It was a police siren. Vixen swallowed hard and glanced around the tiny space for an escape route. Go on, go, she thought, concentrating on the presence near the bedroom
door.

  The intruder hesitated, then hurried to the front door and left the flat, just as the police car screeched to a halt outside.

  Vixen stepped out from the closet and glanced around. If she left down the main staircase, she’d be caught.

  The exterior door opened and a cavalcade of footsteps ascended the stairs. Vixen dashed into each room, seeking a way out, trying to remain calm, ignoring the voices outside the door to the flat. The handle lowered, the door opened. A split second later Vixen ran through the bedroom, put one foot on the radiator and jumped through the window.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Raven’s Flat, Launton

  Scarlett shot down the first flight of stairs, twisted around to descend the second and was stopped in her tracks.

  A uniformed policeman stood on the bottom step, holding a hand out in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She smiled politely and walked down the five steps towards him. “Oh, just come to see my friend, see how she’s doing. She hasn’t been around much lately.”

  “Why were you running?”

  “Was I? Hadn’t realized. I always go down the stairs like that.”

  “Your friend, eh? What’s she called, this friend of yours?”

  Scarlett examined her surroundings, hoping to find some kind of inspiration. She coughed, turned to glance through the window and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the blazing sun. In the end, there was only one name she could think of. She’d just have to live with the consequences. “Raven,” she squeaked.

  “Raven? Now that is interesting. And was she at home?”

  Scarlett shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.” She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have a clue where she might be, do you? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “Not so fast, I still don’t know who you are,” he gruffed, taking out a notepad. “Let me see some ID.”

  “Yes sir.” She whimpered, fumbled for her wallet, and pulled out her licence for him. “I really hope she’s ok, wherever she is, this just isn’t like her.”

  “Uh huh,” he grunted, as he copied down her details.

  “Do you have any idea what’s happened to her?”

  The policeman lost patience. “OK, turn around. Go on, you lead the way.”

  “Back to her flat, you mean?”

  “Yes, back to her flat.”

  Scarlett led them back up the stairs. The door to Raven’s flat was unlocked.

  The policeman quickened his pace. “What the—,” he said, shaking his head. “Looks like someone’s been in here recently.” He stepped inside, took a sniff around. “Looks like the cleaner’s been in recently.” He went into the bedroom. “Left the window open too. I shall have to be having words with the landlady about this.”

  Scarlett moved forward to stand beside him. “No, no, don’t do that. It wasn’t the cleaner. She was here earlier, but I was the last one to leave.”

  “Was it you that left the window wide open?”

  “No, I… it wasn’t,” said Scarlett slowly. “Had she left the window open?”

  The policeman scowled at her. “Well, was it or not?”

  “Oh yes,” said Scarlett. “I remember now. I left it open. It felt a bit stuffy in here.”

  “Okay.” He moved on into the living room, where he turned around to talk to one of his colleagues that had just arrived outside the door to the flat.

  Looking over his shoulder, Scarlett saw the murder weapon. “Excuse me.” She brushed past him.

  “Hey, what the—.”

  Scarlett jumped in front of him, obscuring his view of the coffee table. “I love it in here. I tell Raven that each time I come. There’s so much light!”

  The policeman glared at her, then turned to recommence his conversation with the other policeman at the doorway, who now had one foot inside the flat.

  Smiling, staring right through the window, she strolled across the room, pausing as her hand neared the knife. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The policeman was still deep in conversation. Indeed, it had now escalated into an argument about something or other. Holding her breath, she quietly took the plastic shopping bag she keeps for emergencies from her bag, fit it over her hand, subtly stooped to grab the knife, wrapped it, and dropped it into her bag.

  “Lovely day isn’t it?” Scarlett called out, stepping towards them.

  The policeman turned around. “Hold on.”

  She stopped in her tracks, trying not to let her eyes be drawn to the knife in her bag like metal to a magnet.

  The policeman walked over to her, coming to a stop just inches away. His breath smelt of coffee. “Tell me again, where do you know the occupant of this flat from?”

  “Knitting club.”

  The policeman sniggered. “Knitting club? Oh, do me a f— Oh okay then, you know her from knitting club. And what were you doing here?”

  “I was looking for her. I haven’t seen her for a while now and I was a bit worried, that’s all.”

  “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to let you go, but eventually, we might, no, we will need to ask you some questions.”

  “Questions? What kind of questions?”

  “Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but we have reason to suspect that she’s involved with a murder.”

  “What? I had no idea. What murder?”

  “That’s all I’m at liberty to tell you right now. We have this flat under surveillance, because she hasn’t been seen since the date of the crime. That’s why we came here today.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do… ”

  “Just answer our questions when we come calling. Go on, you head off home.”

  Scarlett got in her car, pulled out onto the road, and drove away without looking back until she reached a set of traffic lights, where she had a chance to think things over. She’d been lucky to get away with the murder weapon. Although she’d acted purely on instinct at the time, she now reflected that as long as she had it in her possession, not only would Raven be safe, but the police would be missing a vital piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

  +++

  Early Tuesday Afternoon

  Slater Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett placed a mug of coffee on the kitchen table and sat down, the sun shining into her left periphery. The chair to the right, the one nearest the cupboards was pulled out, her open bag on top of it.

  This was going to take a lot of sorting out. Each time she’d been digging, she’d discovered something incriminating about Raven. All she wanted was to find a single shred of evidence in her favor, but that, so far, had remained elusive. Sooner or later, she was going to have to face up to the facts and admit to herself that her friend was a murderer. And if that happened, what was she going to do about it? Was her sense of justice going to compel her to hand her friend in or would her sense of loyalty prevail?

  This was another decision that she couldn’t get her head around, so just as with her aunt and Tarquin, she decided to put things off until it was absolutely necessary. But what about Raven? Didn’t Scarlett have a duty to tell her everything she knew, to keep her one step ahead of the police?

  She glanced at the knife to her right. That had been a close shave. If she hadn’t thought on her feet and picked up the knife because her gut instinct told her to, she’d be in all sorts of trouble right now. She might even be locked up. Maybe this was a sign that she was starting to up her game, or it could point to the fact that she’d been too distracted to make decisions rationally. She’d gotten away with it this time, but in the future, it might not work out quite so well. It was with this thought in mind that she proceeded to scrutinize every last detail of the situation.

  The knife needed analyzing. She couldn’t confront Raven about it, not yet, so she had to find a way of gaining some inside information. Maybe if she did her own investigating, she could come up with something to help get Raven off the hook. She fired up her laptop and searched for some online labs tha
t might be able to give her the information she needed.

  A knock. A loud and confident rat a tat tat was coming from the front door. “Coming,” she called, shutting down her laptop. After taking two steps along the hallway, she turned back to fasten up her bag before continuing to open the door.

  “Tim! What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come in a moment?”

  “Of course,” said Scarlett stepping aside.

  She led him into the kitchen where she resumed her place at what some would call the head of the table, with her back to the sink.

  “This is a nice surprise, darling. Can I get you a drink?”

  “No, it’s OK. This won’t take long.”

  Her face fell. “Oh?”

  Tim’s face turned as serious as she’d ever seen it. “Listen, I’ve had a call from a friend in the police department.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  “I’m afraid, darling, that he’s recognized your name from the investigation I carried out a few months back.”

  Scarlett’s mind raced as she tried to predict what the consequences of this might be. “I see.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “Well, what else is there to say?” she replied, keeping an even tone.

  “It means, you have to remove yourself from this case. Let the pros get on with it.”

  Under normal circumstances, she’d have been annoyed at the insinuation, but she knew he was speaking from a place of concern. “Why should I do that?”

  “Darling, you have to. If you don’t, then you might end up in some hot water.”

  “Hot water? What do you mean?”

  “Ok, listen,” he leaned in.

  The light padding of feline footsteps descended the stairs and headed towards the kitchen. Scarlett had to find out what Tim had to say, but she couldn’t risk Raven overhearing. “No, not here.”

  Tim nodded. “Where then?”

  “Come on, let’s go down to the pub.”