“We’ll find him,” I said softly.
And then we’ll arrest him.
Her focus fell on the window again, her thoughts seemingly wandering.
“You’re going riding?” I asked.
“The horses still need to be exercised.”
“Who takes care of them when you’re away?”
“A local stable.”
“You have quite a bit of land.”
“Ten acres.” She looked annoyed. “He’s not here, inspector, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“Lady Hauville,” I said, “it would never be my intention to cause you any more distress than you’re already going through.”
She relaxed a little.
Still, if she wasn’t here during the week I might take a hike around the grounds later, explore the property for any sign that Hauville might still be here.
“Will there be anything else?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Thank you for your time. If you do hear from your husband, please call us immediately.”
“Inspector,” she said. “As both my husband and our attorneys have told you, you have our full cooperation. I want to put this behind us.”
I gave a nod of acknowledgment.
And I want to know more about that girl.
CHAPTER 5
I flipped through the files in my in-tray.
The first was a domestic abuse case, the wife having withdrawn her complaint against her husband who’d threatened her life. Despite me spending over an hour in the interview room with her, trying to persuade her he’d do it again, Mrs. Summers had insisted she was the one in the wrong. Next, the case of Regency High School’s vandalism, where the school’s security system had caught our culprit, thirteen-year-old Bryce Arnold, red handed. The parents had lawyered up and the trial was set for the end of the month. The next file made the last two look interesting: a family in Highgate had placed a complaint against their neighbor’s Chihuahua, who allegedly kept digging up their flower beds.
I shoved a Malteser in my mouth to soothe the irksomeness of that one. The calming taste of chocolate melting on my tongue delivered on its promise and eased up my tension a notch. My hand went for another malt ball when there was a knock at the door. I hid the packet back in the drawer.
Sgt. Miller entered. “Hey, ma’am.”
I gestured for him to sit and he took the seat opposite.
“Ingrid, are you comfortable with merely tracking the counterfeit activity?” he said.
His use of my first name hinted his need for the conversation to leave formality behind.
“We don’t seem to have much choice.”
He let out a sigh. “No ping on his BlackBerry yet?”
“Not yet. The crime lab is tracking the footage from the CCTV cameras. Hopefully they’ll find evidence of him leaving the Ritz.”
“That photo of that young girl. What do you make of it?”
“As you know, the internet is strewn with photos like that,” I said. “It’s hard to decipher what we’re really looking at. Still, it certainly deserves our attention. S C & O have his computer now. Hopefully their analysts will turn up more. They should have a report for us soon.”
“Well, we have all the counterfeit evidence tagged and documented, so our end of the investigation is pretty much wrapped up.”
My attention fell on the in-tray and its threat of dissolving precious time I didn’t have. A duck quacked from Miller’s left jacket pocket.
He cringed and pulled out his cell. “Sorry, ma’am. Teenage daughters. They must have changed my ringtone at breakfast.”
I gave a smile at their mischievousness and wondered if they looked like him.
“They may be teenagers,” he said, shoving it back in. “But they’re still my little girls. That photo was disturbing. She just looked so young, so...”
“Haunting,” I said. “I’ve got a gut feeling about her too.”
He looked reassured. “My leave pass. I left it in your bottom left drawer.”
I slid open the drawer and froze, seeing a print out of the photograph from Hauville’s computer. The shocking image of the girl I thought I’d lost to S C & O. Miller had printed it out and by doing so he’d breached protocol.
He pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you, ma’am. I knew I could count on you.” He headed for the door. “Constable Nobel wants to accompany me when I interview Hauville’s secretary. That okay?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll hopefully have something more for you.”
Constable Nobel appeared in the doorway. “Ma’am, do you have a minute?” Helena was carrying a velvet wrapped box.
“Of course. We were just talking about you accompanying Sgt. Miller to interview Lord Hauville’s secretary.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “I’d like that.”
With Miller’s exit, she closed the door and sat opposite. She placed the box on my desk. “How did the meeting with Chief Inspector Brooks go?”
“Considering our counterfeit case has been upgraded to a possible kidnapping, he was a little distracted. These type of cases tend to be high profile.”
What Helena couldn’t know was that a Gothica would have no one to report her missing, other than the vampire whom she served, and the underworld would never use law enforcement to find her. It made me wonder if that was why Orpheus was at Hauville’s. Perhaps he too was trying to find that girl from the photo. Orpheus certainly seemed to know an awful lot about my case.
“So we’re waiting on Interpol to do its thing?” Helena said, snapping me back into the room.
“Yes, but we’re bearing in mind Hauville could still be in the U.K.,” I said. “Which would mean an awful waste of time for ICPO. He owns Ballumbie Castle, so he could be hiding out there. Scottish police are checking on that.”
“And the photo of that girl? We don’t know if it’s recent or whether Hauville even took it himself?”
“Not yet. We merely have the date the file appeared on his hard drive. Which was three weeks ago.”
“Ma’am, why didn’t you mention the photo to his wife?”
“Imogen’s been through so much already. Once we know for sure it’s not just a file Hauville saved from the internet that he uses to get off...”
“She had an interesting tattoo,” she said. “The one on her inner arm. It looked so simple. I googled it.”
“Oh?”
Helena nibbled on a fingernail. “A circle represents infinity.”
My mind drifted to when I’d been marked with mine.
That dark chamber at Belshazzar’s, Orpheus’ club. The reassurance from the one who’d branded me with that red hot poker that this mark would keep me safe. Whispers telling me what it meant. That I now belonged to Orpheus. And no vampire dared to defy Orpheus.
Yet he’d kept his distance from me. Had it been Jadeon’s influence that had prevented Orpheus’ advances? His once obsession to make me his. His ability to let me leave his presence unscathed.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?” I said, shaken from my musing.
“What do you make of it?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m just encouraged that both you and Miller have picked up on this new detail on our case. I feel it too. Helena, are any of your friends working in S C & O?”
She looked thoughtful. “Kevin Simmons. We graduated together.” She realized what I was insinuating. “I’ll check in with him and see if he can keep us updated.”
“Discreetly.”
“Of course, ma’am. Aren’t you going to open it?”
That gift wrapped box was intriguing. Dangerously so.
“It’s addressed to you,” she said. “Want me to open it?”
“Who’s it from?”
“Someone dropped it off at reception for you.”
“Let me get some gloves.”
Helena already had the bow off, quickly followed by the velvet wrapping, then she breached the seal of the hardwood box.
“You’re contaminating evidence,” I scolded her playfully.
She giggled. “If it’s chocolates can I have one?”
“As long as you don’t mind being poisoned.”
She looked horrified.
“I assume the worst.”
“I’m taking a leaf out of your book, ma’am.” She reached in and raised a small metal object out, turning it around in her hands. “You have a reputation for taking risks and getting things done.”
“Not sure that’s a good thing.”
She peered closer at it. “What is it?”
“I have no idea.”
The orange-sized object was intricately designed, but was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It had no obvious purpose. I whisked a tissue out of its box and covered my forefinger with it before giving one of the spikes a prod. The metal rod gave slightly. This thing had moving parts. My fingers itched for time alone with it.
The door opened wider and Dr. Riley Russell appeared—our resident coroner. When I’d first met him I’d guessed his age at around thirty, but he dressed older and acted even older than that. He had a kind, intelligent face—one you could trust. When he saw Helena his face wrinkled into a smile.
“Dr. Russell.” I motioned for him to come in. “How are you?”
“Very well,” he said in a crisp Oxford accent.
“They let you out of the lab then?” I grinned.
“I escaped.” Riley sat on the edge of the desk. “Got your message, Ingrid. I’ve reviewed our records of deceased females that came through over the last year. All aged sixteen to thirty. None of them had a circular tattoo.”
“More likely a brand,” I said.
He shook his head. “No markings like that on any of them.”
“Are you saying that girl was branded like a cow?” Helena asked, astonished.
“I’m considering every possibility,” I said.
“You’ve seen it before haven’t you, ma’am?” Helena said.
I resisted the urge to caress my shirt over my own brand.
“Ma’am?” Helena said.
“It’s vaguely familiar.”
Helena scrunched up her nose. Clearly my attempt to throw her off the scent wasn’t working.
“Constable Nobel,” Dr. Russell said. “Bridge? My office at lunch time?”
Her face lit up. “Dr. Russell’s teaching me how to play bridge.”
“Really,” I said, pointing upward. “Have you cleared this extra-curricular activity with the brass?”
Dr. Russell smiled as he put on his metal-rimmed spectacles. He peered down at my desk. “An object de art?”
“You recognize it?” I said.
“No, but it looks antique. What is it?”
“We don’t know.” Helena’s eyes widened with intrigue.
“Constable Nobel, please get it finger printed.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t forget to tell the lab yours will be on it.”
“What do you think it is?” she asked.
“Well if anyone can work it out it’s the inspector,” Dr. Russell said.
“Ma’am, open the card,” she said. “Look, it came in this beautifully wrapped box with Inspector Jansen’s name on it.”
I peered down at the pristine envelope.
Dr. Russell chuckled. “Watch the inspector’s process. She starts like this and then, wham, she has it.”
“What does the card say?” Helena tore the seal.
“Helena!” I said. “There could be ricin in there, for goodness sake.”
“Statistically it’s unlikely,” Dr. Russell said.
“Don’t encourage her,” I said. “You know protocol.”
He shrugged. “Still.”
I caressed my brow, sensing Helena had been around me too long. She removed the note card from the envelope and turned it around for me to read. Beneath my name and written in an italic hand was a cuneiform script.
“It’s written in Sumerian,” I said, unable to interpret the pictographs.
“Now that is impressive,” Dr. Russell said.
“What does it mean?” Helena said.
“The note’s written in an ancient language,” I said. “From an ancient civilization.” I peered up at Helena. “Fourth millennium B.C.”
Dr. Russell added, “Someone’s been watching too much history channel. Someone needs to get out more and have a life.” He raised his hands in defense. “Just saying.”
“Someone needs to stop being such a cheeky bugger and climb back into their hole in the basement.” I raised my hands in defense, mimicking him. “Just saying.”
Dr. Russell chuckled, his attention falling once more onto Helena.
Studying the illegible note, and then the metal object, I knew they came from an immortal. The pressing question was from whom? I’d been rebuffed by those within the underworld and was no longer welcome. So why this and why now?
“Do you know what it says?” Helena said.
I gave her my answer with a smile.
“Looks like a clue.” Dr. Russell headed for the door. “Someone knows you very well, inspector.”
I sat back. “How do you mean?”
“If there’s one thing that does it for you, Ingrid, it’s a clue.” He closed the door behind him.
“Who’d be able to read that?” Helena said.
“Oh, you’d be surprised.”
CHAPTER 6
The British Museum was even creepier at night.
Particularly the Egyptian exhibition. It didn’t take a lot to heighten the spookiness of its vast collection of mummies showcased in glass coffins. Numerous smaller cases held the shriveled body parts of birds, cats, and dogs. These animals were mummified by their masters to ensure their entrance into the afterlife, much like humans.
The elaborately wrapped kittens caught my eye, reminding me of the time I’d spent with Professor Lucas Azir, renowned Egyptologist and close friend of Orpheus. Lucas had shared with me that kittens were associated with the goddess Bastet, and during their time on earth had been worshiped. His level of knowledge had even impressed the curators here. A result of him having personally lived through the ages, I assumed. Lucas was a vampire. Though unlike Orpheus, he was sweet and kind and oozed an old world charm. Our friendship had gone the same way as the others; a recent casualty of my ban from all things immortal.
Being back in this fabulous museum brought back memories of adventures Lucas and I had shared. I yearned for those days when I’d naively believed these friendships would endure. Would I ever get used to not having them around?
On my way home from the Yard, I’d had a flash of inspiration to visit here, despite my gnawing hunger. I couldn’t resist taking a detour on the tube and coming to the only place I knew that housed experts who might be able to determine what this metal object was. My curiosity was at a fever pitch, and no doubt whoever had given it to me knew it too. Just as Dr. Russell had suggested, the one who gifted this probably knew me.
Having been escorted by the bored looking security guard to Dr. Amy Hanson’s office, I now waited patiently for her to appear. I’d called on ahead and she’d agreed to give me a few minutes of her time.
Despite her title as senior curator, her office was small, tucked away in the lower recesses of the building. I wondered how she could bare its stuffiness. Still, she’d made the space homey with several photographs of her family. In one, she smiled beside her studious looking husband, and before them posed their two young children. All so normal. A far cry from the surrounding books on ancient cities and their artifacts. Beyond this room sat a collection numbering eight million works, which crowned this museum as one of the largest in the world.
The last time I’d been here was a few months ago and I’d promised myself I’d return and soak in all this culture. Yet work had encroached on my life as it so often did, stealing precious time and forcing me to break that vow.
It felt good to be here now, even if this visit was brief.
&nb
sp; Dr. Amy Hanson appeared in the doorway in a flurry of scholarly focus and dust covered white shirt and khakis, which no doubt matched what she’d wear on a dig. Salt and pepper hair and spectacles aged her forty-something years. Her tall, slim frame gave away that she, like me, often got sidetracked and forgot to eat.
“Inspector Jansen,” she warmly greeted me.
I held out my hand and felt the firm grip of hers. “Always a pleasure, Dr. Hanson.”
“You must excuse this.” She gestured to her stained shirt and khakis “A new exhibit arrived this morning from Iraq and I’m knee deep in artifacts.” She flashed her smile, hinting that her exhilaration broke through her exhaustion.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m well,” she said. “Tired, but everything’s fine.”
“How’s the family?”
“Children are growing fast.” She raised her brows. “Too fast. Eating us out of house and home.” She gave my arm a pat. “You look well since the last time I saw you.”
“I’m fine too, thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time. There’s something I’d like you to take a look at.” I removed the metal object from my handbag. “Maybe you have a colleague here who might be able to identify it?”
She peered down at the object in my hands. “Medieval period. Where did you find it?”
“It was sent to me anonymously. It came with this.” I rummaged inside my bag for the note and handed it to her. “Both came with no fingerprints. I had forensics sweep it before I left work.”
“Forensics?” She looked puzzled.
“I’m overly cautious. There’s no crime associated with it.”
“A gift?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“It was your astuteness that proved invaluable in helping us with the museum’s theft.” She smiled. “You’ll be happy to hear no more excitement on that front.”
The thought of anyone violating what felt like a sacred place wrenched deeper than most crimes.
“Cuneiform?” She studied the note. “This doesn’t match the date of the artifact. The note’s 30th century BC, and that,” she peered at the object, “late middle ages.”
“So few people read cuneiform, apparently.”
“Why don’t you ask Professor Azir?” she said. “Surely he’s more suited to deciphering this?”
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