Past Due

by Catherine Winchester

  He sat in his car for a few moments, wondering what to do next. Visiting the crime scenes had only raised more questions, not answered any.

  Right now his club was the only link between these girls and, much as he was loathe to think the killer was one of his customers, he supposed he should see what he could find here.

  Tracy was his favourite barmaid. She’d been working for him for a year and was very likeable - not to mention good at her job. She also had an innocence about her that was rare these days but she missed nothing that happened around her.

  “Tracy, could you come up to my office before you leave tonight, please? I have some things I need to ask you.”

  Tracy looked like a deer caught in the headlights but nodded. She hurried through the rest of her jobs and with a sinking feeling then climbed the steps to his office. In Tracy’s experience, those in power only noticed those under them when something was wrong and being called to the boss’s office was never a good sign. She knocked softly.

  “Come in,” he could smell her fear and gave her his most reassuring smile. As soon as she was seated he brought her mind under his control and began to question her.

  “Do you know of any witches or occultists among our patrons?”

  Her replies were softly spoken and slightly monotonous, lacking her usual inflection. “There’s a lot. Mostly wannabes, though.”

  “Anyone with real power, anyone who brags about his or her abilities?”

  Tracy searched her mind. “Brad. He’s… weird, you know?”

  “How so?”

  “He’s cocky. Too cocky, you know?”

  Alex hated the penchant young people had for saying ‘you know’. “Go on.”

  “He’s always saying strange things. Most guys here are pretty laid back and, like, happy with themselves. They’re freaks but they’re among freaks so it’s okay, you know? But Brad thinks he’s better than the rest of us. He thinks we’re just play acting and he’s always saying he’s going to show us one day, that we’ll see.”

  “Has he been in much recently?”

  “I haven’t seen him since last week.”

  “Do you know his surname, or where he lives?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anyone who might?”

  “He used to be close to Kerry, she sort of took pity on him, but I don’t think they were still friends when she… died.”

  “No one else who might know?”

  Tracy shook her head. Alex asked her to describe him but she was vague on any real details. Average height, black hair and pale could apply to most of his customers.

  “If you see Brad in this club again you will let me know, do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you go back downstairs, Tracy, you will not remember this conversation. You will remember that I asked you up here to commend you on your good work and ask if you were having any problems covering Kate’s work while she’s off.”

  Frankie was already waiting when Will got there. Although they were staying in the café he noticed she had a disposable cardboard mug rather than a ceramic one.

  “You did hear we’re trying to save the planet, right?”

  “Good morning to you too,” she replied, perhaps a little tartly. She didn’t like it when people noticed her odd behaviour.

  “You remembered I like black coffee,” he said, adding sugar to his mug.

  Frankie didn’t know what to say to that. Of course I remembered, I still think about you all the time? That was the truth but not something she wanted to admit.

  Will moved the conversation on for her. “So, do you have anything for me?”

  “Not much yet. I should have a preliminary profile by this evening. Don’t worry, it’s by a real psychologist and you can use him in court and all that. Other than that, my main finding has been on those symbols on the walls.”

  “What do they mean?” he asked sipping his coffee.

  “Nothing. Each symbol has a meaning - most have more than one - but in this instance they had nothing to do with the girls' murders.”

  “So these girls weren’t killed as part of a ritual or a sacrifice?”

  “They weren’t killed for a ritual but sacrifice is still a possibility.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that these symbols have nothing to do with the murder. The murder was the goal. The killer obviously knows magic, understands it but he wasn’t performing a spell when he killed these girls. Drawing the symbols afterwards is just theatrics.”

  “Then why?”

  “Either to scare you or to show you what a kick arse witch he is.”

  “So he’s a witch?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  Will groaned. “Oh come on, Frankie, don’t tell me you still believe in all this weird crap?”

  “Excuse me but I read two books on psychic interactions while we were together, and whether I believe it or not is irrelevant. Your killer believes he has magic powers; that’s the important point.”

  “So you don’t believe in magic?”

  “I believe most things have a rational explanation,” she evaded. After all when you’d seen magic first hand, there was no other rational answer but to believe in it.

  “So we should probably check out local wiccan groups. I don’t suppose they have a handy website or something?”

  Frankie smiled and handed him a printed sheet. “You’d be surprised how open witches can be when there’s no threat of being burnt at the stake.”

  “Wiccanweb.com, huh? I’ll run through these groups, see if any of them have a criminal record.”

  “Okay, if you want me to check some of them out, give me a call.”

  “Thanks, I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Do you have any other leads?”

  “Not a lot to go on. The press has started calling it Satanic Slayings and the killer the Satanic Slaughterer.”

  “Not the sort of headlines you need.”

  “No. Anyway, I’d better get back to work. Call me if you find anything else out.”

  “Will do.”

  He headed for the door, turning back just before he reached it. “Frankie.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Thank you.”

  Frankie forced a smile. Why did he have to be nice? It would only make her feel like an even bigger tool when she betrayed him.

  Just after lunch Will called with the name and address of a witch he wanted Frankie to interview for him. He didn’t have the manpower to spare an officer to follow up on a hunch and he thought Frankie’s interest in supernatural things might help the witch open up to her.

  Clara Covey was a beautiful young woman who looked like a school teacher, warm, homey and bright. Her home was neat and tidy and most of all, typical.

  “Hi, I’m Francis Wright, I’m working with the police on the recent killings, I wondered if I could have a word with you?” She handed over her forged psychologist’s identification.

  “They think I’m crazy?” Clara smiled, handing the ID back.

  “Not exactly. I believe the exact words were that I was more likely to get something out of you. The police can be rather close-minded when it comes to the supernatural.”

  “But you aren’t?”

  “I’ve seen too much not to believe.”

  Clara looked her over for a moment, before deciding to trust her. She stepped back from the doorway, inviting Frankie in.

  “You’ll have to excuse the mess, it’s laundry day.” Clara led her back into the kitchen at the rear of the house. “Would you like a coffee?”

  “Please. White, two sugars.”

  While Clara boiled the kettle Frankie looked around the room and her gaze settled on a photograph of two children, maybe five and six years old.

  “My monsters,” Clara explained affectionately. “Their Dad’s taken them to the cinema today.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  Clara blushed slightly an
d brought two coffees to the kitchen table. They sat opposite each other.

  “So what can I do for you?”

  “I’d like your advice more than anything. I'm sure you've seen the headlines about these satanic murders. There are details from the crime scenes that lead us to believe that whoever is killing these women is heavily into the dark arts. I was hoping you could point us in that direction.”

  Frankie knew immediately she’d said the wrong thing.

  “I have nothing to do with the dark arts! Please leave.”

  “Clara, please, I’m not suggesting you are involved at all but we’ve spoken to a few people in the magic community and they all say you are the person to ask. You’re well connected, well liked and respected. I know you don’t practice this sort of witchcraft yourself but that doesn’t mean word of what happens doesn’t make it back to you; or you might know of someone who has been seduced by the dark arts.”

  Clara sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I overreacted. You must understand, I have seen dark magic performed and it is something…”

  “It haunts you?”

  “Yes.” She sipped her tea. “The inhumanity I witnessed was enough but the spell itself…” she shuddered. “I’m sorry. Yes, I do hear rumours occasionally.”

  “Could you give me some names?”

  “There was one boy, about five years ago; he joined my coven. He was 17, had a natural talent and a real thirst to learn. I sort of took him under my wing. He was always chomping at the bit, wanting to try things he wasn’t ready for but I put it down to youth. Then he began asking me about black magic. I dismissed most of his queries, put it down to natural curiosity but one day I snapped. I told him what it had been like when I witnessed that dark ritual in my own youth. The sacrifice, the blood, the animal screams, I spared no detail. I wanted to scare him but when I finally came out of my own memory and looked into his eyes I saw something that chilled me. I thought I saw… excitement.” She sipped and swallowed her coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug as though to warm them.

  “What happened after that?”

  “He showed up for the next two meetings and then we didn’t hear from him again. I heard from a coven in Glasgow that he’d been there, asking more questions but he didn’t stay with them long.”

  “Ran off again?”

  “They kicked him out. He wanted to use blood to increase the potency of a spell and shedding blood, even our own, is a no-go for white witches. No good ever came from spilling blood.”

  “What kind of questions was he asking?”

  “They said he was looking for a grimoire, specifically the Munich Manual. It’s a 15 century grimoire focusing on demonology and necromancy.”

  Frankie frowned. “I’ve heard of that, it’s in the Munich Library. But wasn’t it reprinted a few years ago?”

  “It’s not on show, it’s heavily guarded and it wasn’t reprinted in its entirety. Specific portions were left out. Dangerous portions. He was after the original. Or an original. There’s a second hand written copy rumoured to have been changing hands on the black market for decades.”

  Frankie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A psycho with a grimoire was never good news.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Bradley. Bradley James.”

  Frankie paced her living room. She’d been through the income tax records, deed poll, voting register, council tax and census details from the last five years. Bradley James had disappeared from them all three years ago. She didn’t bother checking out his last known address. It had been sold after his parents were brutally slain by a presumed burglar. Bradley collecting the inheritance was the end of his paper trail, he’d converted his assets to cash and poof, disappeared.

  Currently she was running his name through the LDB, the List Database. MI5 keeps a record of any lists they can find, membership lists, mailing lists, blogs and websites, any list of names they found. It was a blunt tool but sometimes effective.

  Now she had two issues. The first was how much to tell Will. This was probably the easier of the two and she dialled his number.

  “Campbell.”

  “Will, it’s Frankie. I spoke to the witch and have a suspect for you, Bradley James.” She couldn’t risk lying in case he spoke to Clara himself.

  “She only gave you one name?”

  “It’s him, Will, I’d stake my career on it.”

  “Okay, I’ll run him down now.”

  “Not that easy. I’ve already checked and there’s no trace of this guy in the system. Any system.”

  “Did you check tax records?”

  “Yep. He’s a cipher.”

  “I can see why you like him for this. Of course that could mean he’s dead.”

  “Well, I’ve done what I can from my side. I’m sorry I couldn’t find more on him.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If he is the killer, we’ll catch up to him.”

  Not too quickly, she hoped. “Good luck with that.”

  After she hung up she faced the call that made her insides squirm. The simple fact was that both murder victims were linked to Dante’s which meant the killer likely was too.

  Of course it was only healthy to be hesitant of a vampire but Frankie had a feeling there was more to her reticence than simple fear.

  She checked her watch, Two hours until sunset. If she was going to call it was better to do so now while he was sleeping soundly. She rehearsed her message a couple of times then dialled his mobile number and waited for his voicemail to pick up.

  “Hello?”

  Crap! “Uh, is Alexander McNabb there?”

  “Speaking. Miss Wright?”

  Frankie closed her eyes and silently cursed. “The sun is still up, I was expecting to get your voicemail. You’re going to shatter all the vampire myths, aren’t you?”

  She could hear the pleasure in is voice. “Only the ridiculous ones. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a suspect and I wanted to know if you keep any records of your customers.”

  “Your suspect, he isn’t named Brad, is he?”

  Her shock made her speechless for a moment. “Yes. Well, Bradley.”

  “I’ve been making my own enquiries and one staff member remembers him as standing out.”

  “I’m coming down there.” She hung up and grabbed her coat.

  Chapter Four

  Alex smiled as he hung up the phone. He hadn't expected to hear from her so quickly. Of course the club didn’t open for another three hours but he could use that time to get to know her.

  His home occupied the floor above his office and as well as an external entrance he had stairs that opened into his office, though the entrance was well hidden from prying eyes. It was easier to work during the day if he didn’t have to go outside to get to work. He went down through his office and into the club. While he waited, he phoned Tracey, asking her to come in to work as soon as she could.

  He’d had the foresight to put awnings over the front and rear entrances to the club so he could let people into the club during daylight hours without getting burnt by the sun, though it was unnecessary this late in the day because the sun was safely hidden behind the surrounding buildings.

  It wasn’t long before he heard her car and he stood in the front doorway waiting for her.

  “I’m afraid you’ve beaten my staff here,” he told her. “But I can fill you in on what I’ve learned in the meantime.”

  Frankie approached the doorway slowly. She had rushed here but now felt hesitant. When he told her the staff weren’t there yet she felt foolish. She should have thought of that herself.

  Alex held the door open for her and she slipped past him into the club. The overhead lights were on now and she could appreciate the décor in a way she hadn't been able to last night. The whole club was decorated in shades of brown, from mahogany tables, brown leather sofas and chairs and biscuit coloured walls. It seemed a shame that the low lighting hid most of it from his customers.

 
The club was divided into sections. In the middle was a dance floor, to the right of that were the booths, in various sizes - from two people recesses to tables and booths that could easily sit eight people.

  On the left of the dance floor was the bar area. Immediately around the bar were tables and chairs and on the edge were sofas and armchairs.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, heading behind the bar.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Honestly, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. I wouldn’t drug you, it’s unnecessary and it taints the blood.”

  What was he, psychic? God, she hoped not. “I’m not thirsty, thank you.”

  “As you wish.” Hardly a second later he was at her side, having crossed ten metres in the blink of an eye.

  Her heart missed a beat and she swallowed down a frisson of fear. “Very impressive.”

  He gestured to the sofas beside them and they both sat down.

  “So who is your suspect?” she asked.

  “Brad is the only name I have right now, her description was rather generic so I can’t put a face to him.”

  “I haven’t been able to find a picture yet either. Who is “her”?”

  “Tracy, she works here. I’ve asked her to come in early so you can speak to her.”

  “Why do you suspect this Brad?”

  “Because he has an interest in witchcraft, stood out from the crowd, told people he was better than they were and that one day everyone would see.”

  “That’s too much of a coincidence, it’s got to be the same guy.” Frankie narrowed her gaze. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Ah, well, I did something that’s not exactly legal.”

  Frankie nodded. “Okay. You don’t strike me as the type to let a little thing like breaking the law get in your way so what’s the problem?”

  “You. I’m not saying you’re police, but you are in law enforcement, right?”

  “You’re good.” She considered how much to tell him. “You’re right, I am in law enforcement, in a manner of speaking, but my… department has been known to cut a few corners itself when necessary.”