She turned and headed to a vacant table, calling “You coming?” over her shoulder.
Frankie watched him closely as he sat opposite her. He was just shy of 6 feet tall, long wavy brown hair that sat on his collar. He was handsome, she supposed, surprised that she even made such observations any more, and he was charismatic. She felt drawn to him without really knowing why.
With a little dismay she realised he was dressed almost identically to her, in black jeans and a dark shirt.
Until now Alex hadn't been able to get a clear look at the stranger's face. But when he sat across from the table and he finally got to see her eyes he was momentarily stunned. She hid it well, but he could see all the pain she carried and he had a sudden overwhelming need to protect her. He pushed that thought aside. Now wasn’t the time for distractions.
She met his gaze, challenging it almost, and even in this poor light she could see his irises change from light blue to dark. She could feel the calm that washed over her and relaxed her. It felt nice, comforting.
“What are you?” he asked. His voice was rich but his accent completely neutral, without any regional or class inflections she could discern.
Frankie wanted to answer him but part of her knew she shouldn’t, remembered that he was a threat to her. She blinked a few times. “Oh no! You do not pull that Jedi mind shit with me!” she snarled, waving a finger at him, her anger covering her fear that she had almost succumbed to it.
Contrary to what she expected, he laughed as though she’d told him a joke.
“Jedi mind shit?” he asked. When Frankie didn’t reply he continued. “I’ve never heard it called that before. I think I like it.”
“I’m so pleased.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Are you always this charming?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow. He should be angry that she could defy him, instead he felt thrilled. She was different, and when you’d been around as long as Alex had, different was good.
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I will never understand modern women.”
“Did you understand old fashioned women then?”
“I suppose not.” He grinned. “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private, where we can speak freely?”
To anyone else, Alex noted, she would appear perfectly calm, but his eyes could pick up the tension in her jaw, the twitch in her fingers as she stopped herself balling them into fists. He could also see her desire in her eyes. She was interested in him, but cautious. Very cautious. He would have to handle her with kid gloves.
“I’ve heard that one before.”
He shook his head. “So cynical,” he mused sadly, hailing a passing waitress. “Sarah, we’re going up to my office, if we aren’t back in thirty minutes please call 999 and tell them a young woman is being attacked in my office.”
The waitress laughed and Frankie saw his eyes darken, though he didn’t look upset. “Sarah,” he began again. Even if his mind tricks didn’t work on her, his masterful tone would almost be enough to make her want to do his bidding. “If Miss…” He turned to Frankie expectantly.
“Wright,” she supplied.
“If Miss Wright isn’t back here in thirty minutes, you will phone the police, understood?”
When he was finished Sarah blinked a couple of times as she was released from his spell. “Um, yes, of course. I’ll phone if she isn’t back. ”
“Thank you.” Alex stood and held his hand out for Frankie. She ignored the proffered hand, shuddering at the thought of memories she’d be forced to watch if she touched him.
“Lead the way,” she told him standing.
Alex led her to the staircase and up to the first floor landing and his office. Once the door was closed the noise of the club was reduced to a deep hum.
She looked around her, noting the door was the only exit. The office was spacious and contained a large desk, an L-shaped sofa and a double bed, draped in satin sheets. Frankie couldn’t help the wry smile that pulled at her lips; what a cliché.
“Can I get you a drink, Miss Wright?” Alex asked, gesturing to a small bar.
“Water, if you have it.”
While he poured her drink Frankie sat on the sofa, choosing the side closest to the door. While his back was turned she took her gloves from her handbag and pulled them on.
Alex handed her a glass of water and sat on the other arm of the sofa.
“Thank you.” She took the glass, surreptitiously looking for any signs that it might have been drugged.
“So, you know what I am?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“It’s a gift.” She answered.
He accepted her evasion for now. “And what are you?”
“I’m a private investigator.” When her heartbeat jumped, Alex knew that was a lie. Besides, he hadn't meant her profession.
Frankie put her glass down on the table and pulled Kerry’s picture from her bag holding it up for him to see. “I was hired by this girl’s parents.”
“Ah yes. Kerry was a sweet girl. She worked here for two years until she left university. I was sorry to hear of her death.”
“How well did you know her?” she asked.
“Are you asking if we had a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“We didn’t. I don’t have relationships with staff.”
“Why not?”
“Too messy. And, of course, these days employees have a lot more protection than they used to.”
“Too many sexual harassment claims?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
“I’ve never had one. I don’t need to pay those I sleep with, Miss Wright.”
Cocky son of a bitch, she thought, “And after she left your employ?”
“She was seeing someone. Evan something.”
“Someone from here?”
“No, she met him through her job at the museum, although she brought him here a time or two.”
He seemed genuine. The other staff had confirmed this, but he might already know that. “Do you have any idea what killed her?” she asked.
“None. I notice you say ‘what,’ rather than ‘who’ killed her.”
“I’m not sure it was a ‘who’.”
“Interesting.” Alex sat back and considered that statement. “What makes you think that?”
“Lots of reasons.”
He smiled. “You don’t trust me yet, that’s understandable.” He hesitated a moment then leaned towards her, conspiratorially. “I’m going to lay my cards on the table, Miss Wright.”
“Fine by me.”
“So far there have been two killings connected to my club. You may not be the police but it’s only a matter of time before they make that same connection. My identification is legitimate, of course, but my life still doesn’t bear close scrutiny. In short, I need this killer found before there is another murder and before the police take too much interest in me.”
Frankie played his speech over in her mind before she replied. “You want to hire me too?”
Alex smiled. “Come now, Miss Wright, you aren’t a private detective.”
Frankie licked her lips. Not only was she trained to lie effectively, she was good at hiding things. You had to be good at concealing things if you had a gift like hers, which meant Alex was an expert in reading people. She ignored that for the moment. “Okay, then what are you suggesting?”
“We help each other. You believe the murderer to be something other than human and while you obviously know something of the supernatural, you cannot hope to have amassed the knowledge I have over the years.”
He had a point and so far he’d been nothing but polite. Well, except for trying to vamp her down in the bar. And he was still a vampire, she mustn’t forget that.
“You also have to consider,” he continued, “that when we find whatever is killing these girls, it might not go quietly. Depending on what sort of creature it is, you may need my strength.”
�
�The killer is probably a customer of yours,” she pointed out.
“And with the owner on side, you’ll have complete access to the club.”
Frankie pulled her camera from her handbag, deciding to test him. “What do you make of these?” she asked, showing him the photos she’d taken of the symbols on the walls.
Alex took the camera and flicked through the images. The screen wasn’t huge but with his improved eyesight he could still make everything out.
“Symbols are often subjective,” he mused.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they have different significance to different people. The circle here can represent unity, the goddess, the element of fire, the feminine spirit or force, the cosmos or a serpent eating its own tail, a sign of Satan.”
“So there’s no way to know what these symbols mean?” she asked. She had expected he would be evasive but found she was disappointed that she was being proven right.
“There’s no way to know what significance they have to our killer, no. This swastika, for example,” he held it up and Frankie moved closer to get a better look. “It could either be an ancient symbol for the sun, or we could have a Neo Nazi on our hands. However…” his words tailed off as he looked through a few more pictures.
Frankie found herself leaning towards him, trying to see what he was seeing. “However?” she encouraged.
He looked up, as though he’d forgotten she was there. “I think it’s safe to say he is an occultist. There are certain symbols here,” he showed her one of a crescent moon and star. “If this was witchcraft, the pentagram, the star, would be pointing up and the moon would face the other way.” He searched for another image and showed it to her. “This is a veve, a voodoo symbol to summon Baron Samdi. Not one of the nicer voodoo saints.”
“So he’s a voodoo occultist?” she asked.
Alex shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t know much of voodoo practices but I know enough to say most of these symbols have no place in voodoo rituals.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Alex handed the camera back to her. “I think there are two possibilities. These symbols have been drawn to inspire fear or we have a multi faith occultist on our hands.”
“Multi faith?”
“Yes, one who draws on various belief systems. There were also Eastern, Native American and Hindi symbols in there.”
Frankie had met some witches through her job, usually they were like the ones she had encountered in Aberdeen. They had been a new coven that had played pranks by levitating gas lamps and causing a spate of UFO sightings. They were harmless, just having fun and had agreed to tone their antics down. However, for all her acceptance that magic was real, she’d never thought about how or why it worked. She’d also never met a black magic practitioner before.
“So you can mix and match magic?” she asked him.
Alex could see she was beginning to trust him and he found himself enjoying that trust. He didn’t think she gave it easily. “Strictly speaking, magic doesn’t need any spells or symbols to work, only the belief in magic and force of will is required.”
“Then why use spells?”
“Because spells focus the mind. You could memorise which months only have thirty days, but isn’t it easier to use the mnemonic rhyme?”
“So it doesn’t matter which brand of witchcraft you use, as long as you believe it?”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “You can even use prayer.”
“Wait, you’re telling me miracles are just magic?”
“Oh dear,” he teased. “Have I shattered your faith in miracles?”
She took it in good humour. “I didn’t actually believe in miracles, I thought they were mass hysteria and gross exaggerations.” Frankie frowned and thought over everything he’d told her. “So you think these symbols are just window dressing for this guy?”
“Yes,”
“That means we’ve got a witch who’s figured out how magic works.”
“Yes.”
“And that makes him more dangerous than the average witch.”
“Yes.”
“So is he an occultist or Satanist?”
“He may worship the devil but magic itself is neither good nor evil, only used for good or evil.”
Frankie hadn't thought she’d be in a theological discussion tonight or she’d have brushed up on her subject. “Then what is magic?”
“Basically just energy or power. My very existence can be called magical, as can what you called your gift. Human life force itself could be called magical.”
“You mean the soul?”
“That’s one name for it.” Although he didn’t want to, Alex checked his watch. “And our half hour is nearly up, Miss Wright. As much as I would like to prolong things, you and I will have some difficult questions to answer if we aren’t downstairs soon.”
“You’re sure she’ll call?”
Alex smiled. “My suggestions are hard to resist.”
Frankie’s thoughts were too chaotic to formulate a plan beyond going home. She stood up.
Alex stood up with her. “I’ll see you out, I assume you’re finished here?”
“Yes.”
Alex guided her outside, making sure Sarah saw them on their way out.
“Do you need a cab?” he asked.
“I drove,” she turned to him “Thank you for your time. You were very helpful.”
He could see her barriers were back in place, although they weren’t as strong as they were before. “That’s rather final. I thought we were working together.”
“Thank you for the offer but I work best alone.”
He had a feeling persuasion would only push her further away and so he simply handed her his card. “If you change your mind, call me.”
Frankie looked down at the card. It was a business card but his mobile phone number was written on the back. “Thank-” he was already gone. She hadn't even heard him leave. Feeling a sudden chill, she jogged the short distance to her car.
Chapter Three
By the time she was home the experience had taken on an unreal air. She couldn’t believe she’d not only had a civilised conversation with a vampire, she had actually liked him. Not only was he helpful and courteous he was very charming.
She mentally shook herself. Warm fuzzy thoughts about undead monsters was a sure way to end up dead.
As she made notes on their conversation she wished she knew more about vampires but the files MI5 kept on their habits and behaviours were mainly conjecture since vampires really didn’t like drawing attention to themselves. Of course she had seen for herself tonight that their powers of hypnotism weren’t a myth. She also realised that had an agent ever run across a vampire, they likely would have been stripped of that memory before they could report the encounter.
There were a thousand and one myths about the undead. Everything from their ability to turn into smoke and bats to warding them off by sprinkling mustard seed on the roof.
What were the important questions? She wondered.
Were they killers? Almost certainly.
Cold blooded killers? Undecided. Until tonight she would have said ‘yes’ or ‘probably’ but now…
She moved on before that thought could complete itself.
Why didn’t his mental powers work on her? Most likely her gift saved her. It was the biggest difference between her and other people, after all.
However, the most important question was, did she trust him and his information?
And the answer was yes and yes. “I am such an idiot,” she muttered to herself as she made herself a bowl of cereal. She sat down at her computer to read over the day’s police reports. There was nothing useful; she’d call Will in the morning and see if he would meet her. There was probably a lot of information that hadn't been put onto the system - some of it might even be helpful.
Finally she emailed her observations and photos through to a psychologist on MI5’s payroll wi
th a request for a preliminary profile as soon as possible.
With that decided, she turned the TV on and settled down in front of an old movie but she wasn’t really watching it, she was playing the evening's events over and over in her mind. She pulled out his business card and looked over it properly. It had been too dark to see properly earlier. Printed across the centre in gold writing on a black background was his name, Alexander McNabb. She couldn’t believe she hadn't thought to ask him his name.
Getting into the first apartment had been easy since the police presence there was long gone. Here it was only slightly more difficult. There was still a police presence, but only a small one. He gained access to the block by scaling the building and entering through the roof hatch which led to the stairwell. There was one policeman at the door to the flat but he was soon vamped into granting him access and then forgetting that Alex had ever been there.
Once inside, Alex took a deep breath. At the first crime scene he’d noticed a faint scent of decay still clung to the apartment. Here it was stronger, more recent.
Alex knelt down by the bloodstains and inhaled. He didn’t expect them to be the source of the decay just as they hadn't been in the first apartment, which begged the question - what was?
A spell perhaps, one that required rotting meat? The scent was definitely animal, not vegetable in origin. The problem with that theory was that there were no other signs of spell work. No smoke, incense, herbs, candles or ceremonial circles.
The symbols on the walls were too random and chaotic to be part of any spell.
Rather than disturb the policeman again he exited through the bedroom window, jumping to the ground and leaving through the bushes at the end of the communal garden. His car was parked a block away and he made his way to it and back to the club.
It was closing time by the time he pulled up at the back of the club and he could hear the staff cleaning up inside.
Past Due Page 3