by Tia Reed
Art, however, was not his aim. Genord reached for the boy’s trapped life force and whipped it into the wooden torso that lumbered in the water below. He was careful to leave a smidgeon to languish in the tomb, a power to draw upon should any dare to challenge him.
Chapter Twenty-one
29th October. Dawn.
WHEN ROB OPENED the interview room door, Romain was wringing his hands while pacing back and forth. Small noises of alarm escaped from him every few seconds. He stopped when he saw Ella outside, but began rubbing his face and whimpering when Rob closed the door. Sighing, Rob called Ella into the room.
“He seems to like you. Just leave the questions to me,” he told her.
“Hello, Romain,” Ella said, sitting at a table identical to the one in the other room.
Romain uncovered his face. “Bitter.”
“Yes. I admit it. But right now I’m more concerned about Adam. Do you know where he is?” she asked, ignoring Rob’s instruction.
The mason’s mouth turned down. “Ella know.”
Ella closed her eyes, nodded, then opened them again. A mental institution beckoned. Her voiced cracked as she said, “Yes, but Detective Hamlyn doesn’t.”
Rob pulled out a chair and Romain sat, crouching to accommodate his hunched back. “Where is he?”
“Safe.”
Rob opened the file. Glancing sideways at Ella, he slid out a photo of Cecily Williams.
Romain grimaced. “Cecily.”
“Yes. Do you know what happened to her?”
“Safe.”
Ella reached for Romain’s hand. He jerked it out of her grasp with a cry. “I’m sorry,” she said, drawing back.
Rob took out a picture of Caroline Jones.
Romain pulled it from his hand and placed it next to the one of Cecily. “Safe.” He did the same with a photo of Bekka Todd. “Safe.”
Rob’s hand trembled a little as he withdrew Alicia Moffat’s photo.
“What about Matt Hayes?” she asked before he could turn it toward the mason.
Romain’s breathing became heavy. “Dead,” he wailed. He started rocking as Rob pushed Alicia’s photo across. “Dead. Dead.”
“Bekka,” she breathed.
Romain stilled. “Bekka no know.”
“You kept it from her?”
“Bekka help.”
“But she can’t do that if she’s grieving,” Ella said softly.
Romain’s face contorted as he pulled at his hair. Melanie Denham’s photo brought a stronger response. Romain rose and paced, tearing at his hair. Ella could not blame him. The photo reminded her so much of the gruesome death, she felt sick.
“It wasn’t your fault, Romain.” Getting him to reveal what he knew was going to be a challenge but no way was she going to tell Rob the whole story unless it came from the mason first.
With a glance at her, Rob returned the last two girls’ photos to the file. Ella went to the mason, who was facing into a corner, rocking.
“Romain. Romain! You need to answer the detective’s questions so you can get back to the church and stop Genord.”
Romain huffed. “Church. Help. You help Romain. Romain help girls.”
“That’s right, Romain.” She placed a tentative hand on his arm, breathing a sigh of relief when he calmed and let her guide him back to the chair.
“We want to help the girls. We want to help you,” Rob said. “Where are they?”
“No. Cecily help you. Cecily, Caroline, Bekka, Adam, help you. Ella help me.”
Rob looked at her. Ella dug into her bag, felt a pang of longing as her fingers brushed the last square of a chocolate bar, and brought out her notebook and pen. She tore some pages out and pushed them across the table toward the unlikely suspect.
“Can you show Detective Hamlyn where Cecily is?” she asked.
Romain sat, took the pen and sketched, shading paper after paper. Trust him to stack each fresh page on top of the completed ones, preventing them from seeing his work. Ella tried to sneak a peek by leaning over his shoulder. Rob warned her off with a gesture.
“He might miss important details if you distract him.”
It felt like a new moon before Romain put the pen down. He held the papers in both hands and flashed the crooked tooth grimace she had come to understand was his twisted face’s version of a smile.
“May I see?” Rob asked without making any forward movement.
Romain held the papers to his chest, as though the pictures were his most precious possession. “Mine.”
“I only want to take a look.” Rob extended his arm. “Thank you,” he said when Romain offered the sketches. He spread them on the table. Simple but well done, they depicted the most familiar of the grotesques at the church. Rob tapped the picture of the eagle-headed grotesque whose wings ended in talons.
“That’s the grotesque the blood at the church came from,” Ella said quietly.
“Car-o-line,” Romain said with a little nod.
Rob took a sharp breath. “This one,” he said, indicating a winged mammalian animal.
“That’s the grotesque I stabbed at my house.”
“Cecily,” Romain said with a soft smile. “Ella hurt Cecily.”
“I didn’t know, Romain,” she said.
Rob’s only reaction was a blink. “Cecily,” he said, pushing the sketch toward Romain, who nodded. “And this one?” He indicated the sketch of a lizard.
“Bekka.”
Rob’s hand was unsteady as he lifted the top edge of the final sketch. Genord had been right. The squat, horned creature was ugly. A nervous laugh escaped her.
“Ella. Ella safe.”
“Is this creature Ella?”
“Yes. Ella. Ella. Ella.”
His expression bland, Rob pointed at her. “Who is this?” he asked.
“Ella.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Rob rose. “I’ll see if a psychiatrist can get anything more out of him.”
“He’s telling you the truth.” Rob stared at her. When he didn’t say anything, she went on. “Romain turned me into that grotesque. You were standing in front of me, on the roof. You said you would take the mason into the station for questioning because he might know something.” She recounted every detail of the conversation. When she had finished, he stared at her for a full minute.
“Genord must have drugged you and hidden you nearby,” he said at last. “I’m taking you to the hospital for a blood test.”
“Rob, I talked to them. You need to let Romain go. He’s the only one who can stop Genord.”
Rob blinked, raised his hands, dropped them, spluttered and took a deep breath. Then he ripped another page from her notepad. He was nowhere near as masterful as the mason, but his quick strokes produced the head and neck of a beast anyone who had witnessed the fight at the canal would recognise. He pushed it across the table.
Romain’s breathing turned shallow. “La Gargouille,” he said of the serpentine creature emerging from the water.
“What is this? Or should I ask who is this?”
The door to the interview room burst open. A woman whose appearance showed no concession to the ungodly hour walked in. Ella guessed who she was even before she opened her overeducated mouth.
“How dare you interview this man without a guardian or council present? I assume he is not under arrest. Anyone with a modicum of intelligence can see he does not have the mental capacity to orchestrate the crimes in question.”
In the corridor, Chief Inspector Roan was not looking hopeful.
“Mr Romain is merely helping us with our enquiries,” Rob said.
“If you are not going to charge him with an offence, I’m taking him home.” She marched to the other side of the table and took Romain’s arm. The gesture immediately sent Romain into a panic. He knocked her away and started scraping the pictures toward him.
“Your client does not like to be touched,” Rob said.
“Obviously.” She turned to Ro
main. “When you are ready.”
“Ms Jerome, did this man threaten you in any way?” Roan asked.
“As I told you, he saved my life twice.” She was not going to fail those girls again.
His only hope of holding his suspect dashed, Roan tensed so much she could see a pulse beat in the vein on his forehead.
“Romain, go and help the girls,” Rob said, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
The mason was still clutching the sketches. “Help Cecily.” He loped after the lawyer. One of the papers fluttered to the floor.
Rob picked the sketch up. It was the dragon.
“Do you believe us?” Ella asked.
“DNA evidence doesn’t lie.”
“So you’ll arrest Genord?”
“He did this?”
“Not exactly. Look Rob, if you send me to a psychiatrist I’m going to deny I ever said this but Romain turned the girls into grotesques to protect them from Genord, who was going to sacrifice them to that.” She waved at the sketch in his hand.
Inspector Roan came in and closed the door. “Do you want to fill me in, Detective Sergeant?”
Rob and Ella exchanged wary looks.
Rob caught himself tapping his thigh. “At this stage, all we have are a couple of rather improbable theories.”
“I’m going to surmise what Ms Jerome just said is a result of shock. Get a team of snipers, biologists, zoo personnel, whoever you need down to the Port River and shoot whatever is down there.”
“You can’t do that!” Ella blurted.
The Inspector, not bothering to hide his annoyance, rounded on her. “Do I need to remind you your involvement in this case is a privilege, Ms Jerome, because with the trouble you’ve caused us I am on the verge of locking you up for obstruction of justice.”
Ella shook her head. “Chief Inspector Roan, those grotesques are protecting us from the ravenous beast in that river.”
“You mean there’s something else down there?”
“This,” Rob said, passing him the sketch of the dragon. “And from its size, it’s probably what killed those girls.”
“What the hell is that?”
“A dragon.”
“Get back to the Informer, Ms Jerome. As for you, Detective Hamlyn, are you going to listen to someone whose faculties are not all intact?” Roan tossed the sketch onto the table.
“Our own observations actually, sir.”
“Goddammit. Five people are missing and three women are dead. We can’t take any more chances. Do as I say before I’m forced to suspend you.” He broke off and stared into the corridor. “Is that a bat?”
The warning was tardy. The disoriented bat dipped into the room and brushed Ella before she thought to duck.
GENORD EASED HIMSELF onto a rock at the mouth of the cave to better eye the chatty lad and his guardsman riding along the swampy path. Beside him the small dragon cavorted. Its fish scales gleamed blue in the sun as its bear talons scratched through the rock. It crouched as its hawk eyes spotted their prey. With the courage of a wolf and the aggression of a boar, it would not hesitate to strike, but it was yet vulnerable, no longer than his arm. He did not trust the cunning of the fox to outwit a man several times its size. It would grow in time. Until then he coveted for it the intelligence of a man. A shame he had not secured the monk’s spirit but the world provided. One of the sacrifices below had the fine garb of a nobleman. It was fitting, for the dragon was the noblest of beasts.
He thought about killing them from the safety of his cave, dead without knowing he was even here. But a furtive ambush did not become the future Lord of the Frankish Kingdoms. Confident of success, for had he not beaten the monk with his power of the cross, he jumped down the cliff and landed squarely in front of the pair.
“Hello,” the cheery youth said after his initial surprise.
“You appear the nobleman.”
“A nobleman’s youngest son. How can I assist?”
Genord smirked. “I’d like your homage.”
Brandishing a spear, the guard climbed off his horse onto the incline. “Be on your way before I run you through and bring sorrow to your mother.”
“Now, Vernon, the lad doesn’t have the look of a brigand.” The boy leaned forward to speak over the imbecile’s shoulder. “If you’ve fallen on hard times, I’ve money to spare.” He reached into a hidden purse, jangling coins.
Genord felt resentment well. This boy had no right to belittle him. Soon the entire Frankish Kingdoms would worship at his feet.
“You misunderstand,” he said. “Hard times are behind me. This is the beginning of my reign.”
He seized energy from the spirits within the dragon, the many that had blended into one. How easy it was to send it flying into the guard, to wrench his spear, and let the crude weapon tumble into the river below. Genord grunted. How much power it required to crumple the man beneath his horse’s hooves, to drop his head below the ledge so his body overbalanced and he plopped into the water.
Genord crossed his arms. The loss was of little consequence. The guard’s garb had been worse than his own pilfered tunic. “Your coin,” he demanded of the youth, struggling to hide the effort it was costing him to remain standing. Disposing of humans seemed to require more energy than his games with dumb beasts. He could feel the dragon reeling from the loss.
“Hi-yah!” The white-faced boy kicked his horse forward, forcing Genord flat against the rock face. Reining his horse in hard, he dug his heels into the flank. The steed kicked out. Genord scrambled up the cliff.
This upstart would not get the better of him. He dived, grabbed at the reins, and readied a fist. The lad raised his arm in defence, swung himself off the horse and under its neck. He ran down the path into the wood as Genord jumped onto the horse’s back. He sought to lash out but the dragon rebelled. By the time he had it under control, the lad was a blur among the trees. Deprived of time to concentrate, Genord could not seize the cowardly beating heart. He tossed a fragment of his spirits at a bush. It exploded, snagging the lad by the leg. Genord wanted to give chase and torture the cheer out of the voice. Too bad his dragon lay limp up in the cave. Shaking with rage, he climbed back to his post.
ELLA SWAYED. AS she recalled, lack of sleep could send people mad. She added it to low blood sugar as a reason why she did not need to speak to a psychiatrist.
“You’re getting that check-up,” Rob said, supporting her by the elbow and guiding her into the corridor.
She nodded, then baulked. Brendan Rhymes was marching toward them, a heavy man and brooding youth in tow.
“Just what we need,” Inspector Roan commented.
Ella shuffled from awkwardness and silently concurred. Fate was cruel. It had been arduous enough to face Doer in his house. Here, in the very place where the controlled leak of misinformation which had cost her reputation had originated, the task assumed monumental proportions. All her feelings of inadequacy came pouring back. She slunk toward the exit, hoping to avoid both the man and the visit to the doctor.
“Sir. Mr . . . Doer is here to report his son missing.” Brendan Rhymes bristled with self-importance. “From the Church of the Resurrection.”
Ella stopped mid-slide. Doer nodded in her direction before settling his cool appraisal on the Chief Inspector.
“When was this?” Rob asked.
“He went into the church at about four this morning.”
“Hamlyn,” Chief Inspector Roan cautioned.
Rob made a show of looking at his watch. It wasn’t like him to prevaricate but, from what Ella had seen of Brodie, the overworked detectives had probably surmised the delinquent was out raping a girl. “I’m sorry. As a missing person’s case, this falls under the Local Service Area jurisdiction until they determine otherwise.”
“Under the circumstances,” Rhymes protested, poaching her words, “don’t you think we should handle the investigation?”
Ella sidled back toward the group, where Rob and Doer were staring each other
down. Inside information on a lead story was worth a little personal discomfort. Struck by an idea, she bit her lip and moved between them. Considering they both stood over a head taller than her, it failed to have the desired effect.
“The police can’t ignore this. Brodie could provide the missing link between Genord and the murders,” she said.
Rob threw her a look that suggested she was going to atone many times over for that statement, but indicated Doer and the lad should take a seat in the empty interview room.
Ella tried to squeeze in before Rob closed the door. She was invoking a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. Doer was precisely what she needed.
“Ow,” she said as the door butted her foot.
“We’ll talk about your association with these lowlifes later,” Rob said.
“It’s purely business,” she replied, cursing the slip with Brodie’s name as the closing door edged her out.
“The reporter stays,” Doer said, calm if somewhat pale. “At least that way I know Ace and I will get a fair hearing. It will be all over the newspapers if we don’t, won’t it, Ella?”
She managed a weak smile. “What was Brodie doing at the church?” she asked, positioning herself next to Rob, who was seating himself opposite the boy. A disapproving glare and an earful from him later were tolerable if she got inside details.
Doer punched the youth on the arm. “The boys were out for a bit of fun.”
“Yeah.” The youth was slouched over the table. His lank, blonde hair fell across his face. “He got this note which said if he went to the church, he could do some business.”