“Not the ground, Inspector. Women. Women are being held somewhere subterranean. That, sir, would make it sound like the earth was crying.”
Birmingham stared at him.
“Gentlemen,” Cheyenne interrupted. “More people are coming, and they’re all staring at us. We’re at a strip club. I suggest we leave, or go in. And my idea is that we go in since we’re here.”
They both looked at her, then each other, and nodded.
When they turned, Birmingham opened the door, allowing Cheyenne and Andre entry first, then he followed.
The hostess looked a little concerned initially. But both men were stoic, and Cheyenne cheerfully asked for a table in back closer to the bar.
“Do you need to see a friend?” Cheyenne asked Birmingham. “You were with someone.”
He glanced around. “She’s headed back to get ready for the show.” He lowered his voice. “I was talking to her about Mark Bower. Took me a while to get her to believe I wasn’t after her to charge her with anything in any way. She told me his money is good—she just has to let him tie her up.”
“Sounds like the man made a drastic change,” Andre said.
Birmingham shrugged. “Maybe. But we don’t really know about his life before. And the thing is, he may be a little on the kinkier side as far as his desires go, but—”
“Many are,” Andre finished.
“And if every man who went to strip clubs—or every woman, for that matter—came under suspicion, we’d never finish with the list of suspects,” Birmingham said.
Cheyenne nodded. “But you are watching Mark Bower.”
“And trying to see if this club is the link. Look, the young woman you just saw has been here a long time. She’s careful—she doesn’t want the place closed. She knows I’m a cop hunting a murderer, but she’s the only one around here who does. I trust her—as far as anyone can be trusted. A lot of the girls here go with customers—not from the club, but they make arrangements to meet them.”
“Hiring prostitutes doesn’t make a man a killer,” Cheyenne said.
“No. But…”
Once again, Birmingham looked pained.
“I don’t want to hurt the young woman,” he said. “If…she’s alive.”
“What young woman?” Cheyenne asked.
“Edith. Edith Greenbriar,” Birmingham said. He stared at them, one after the other. “Ah, bloody hell. I believe she came here, possibly looking for work.”
“What?” Cheyenne raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I thought she had money.”
“Doesn’t mean she didn’t want to live a little on the wild side,” Birmingham said. “I showed her picture to Annie—Anne Connor—the woman you saw me with at the bar. I showed her all the victims and Edith Greenbriar. She said she thought Edith had been here before, but she couldn’t be sure. It’s still…a straw. And, yes, I’m grasping at them.” He pulled out his phone as he spoke and then put through a call to his superior, asking that tunnels and any possible underground locations surrounding the cemetery be searched.
She heard a protest over the line, but Birmingham said, “Please. Yes, some of our witnesses have been bloody bats, but they might have heard something. Like screams of distress from those about to be murdered.”
On the other end, someone spoke again. Birmingham glanced up at Andre and Cheyenne.
“Yes, I’m with them right now,” he said. Then he ended the call. “We’re in luck, mates. Some superior in the U.S. has spoken to someone here, and… I’m to help you in any way I can. And if you were part of the suggestion to search…well, then, it was a good one. Not sure if I resent that or if I’m grateful.”
“We’re only trying to help,” Cheyenne said awkwardly.
“Right. I know,” Birmingham said. “All right, I’m ready for a whiskey. What shall I get you? Something with a cherry on top, Special Agent Donegal?”
Andre laughed. “You can get me something with a cherry on top. Like a soda. I’m driving on the wrong side of the street. Cheyenne could probably use a whiskey.”
“I think I should go with the soda, too.”
“You’re going to make me drink by myself?” Birmingham asked. “Just one. I drove out here alone.”
“Then I’ll have a whiskey,” Cheyenne said.
He went for the drinks and returned.
His friend, Annie, went on stage in a feathery outfit that she quickly began to shed as she did calisthenics around the pole.
She was a beautiful young woman, coordinated, lithe, and sexy.
She smiled, lowering her head. Both men watched her. Of course.
Cheyenne assumed that was why she was the first to notice the man who came in and stared at the stage, oblivious to the hostess, who spoke to him for a moment.
“Don’t look now,” Cheyenne began softly.
“Bower?” Andre said.
“No, it’s our man of optimism and faith and hope. Clark Brighton.”
They both turned to look.
“What happened to don’t look now?” Cheyenne asked.
“Doesn’t matter. He’ll recognize us,” Birmingham said.
And, of course, he did. He motioned to the hostess that he just wanted to go to the bar. As he headed that way, he nearly tripped over their table in his effort to keep his gaze on Annie where she worked the pole on the stage.
“Hello, there,” he said, apparently not dismayed to see them. “Enjoying our more modern London sights, eh, my friends? Inspector Birmingham.”
“Didn’t know you came out here, Mr. Brighton,” Birmingham said.
“Clark, if you will!” He gave a little laugh, then joined them—without an invitation to do so. “Is there anything to give you more faith in life than the sight of a young woman at the height of her beauty?” He smiled at Cheyenne. “Sorry there are no men. Unless, my dear, you enjoy beauty in everyone.”
“Ah, yes, beauty. She is beautiful,” Cheyenne said.
“Spoken by a woman of beauty herself, I do say!” Brighton applauded. “No reason for jealousy, you are well-aware of your own loveliness. Anyway, I shall grab a drink and join you again. I am surprised to see you all together. Inspector, forgive me, but earlier, I dare say it seemed as if you didn’t want us speaking with the…foreigners.”
“That’s changed, Mr. Brighton,” Inspector Birmingham motioned to the table. “As you can see, we’re having a lovely time together.”
“Ah! He is more than an inspector. He is also a great tour guide!”
Brighton rose and headed to the bar. As Cheyenne watched him go, she glanced at the entry again.
Mark Bower had arrived, as well. He saw the table with their grouping and walked straight to it. “Inspector, you told me not to talk to these two, and now…liars and hypocrites, all of you. You’ll never catch the killer.”
“We’re all watching you now, Bower,” Inspector Birmingham said.
“Watching me…do what? You’re going to arrest me for coming to a club?”
Bower turned to leave, telling them what they should all do with themselves in succinct terms—all perfectly pronounced with his elite London accent.
“Well, I guess tonight was…a waste of time.” Birmingham turned back to his drink and the view of the stage.
“You never know,” Andre said. “You weren’t aware that good old Clark Brighton was a customer here until tonight, were you?”
“True,” Birmingham admitted. He stood, looking at Andre and Cheyenne. “I’m going to get back and hope our search yields something.”
“I guess we’ll head back, too.” Andre stood. “Inspector, a minute?”
“Yes?”
“Why was suspicion cast so heavily on Eric and Emily?”
“We always look at ex-boyfriends. I’m sure you and your group look for motives in murder cases, too. Eric might well have been afraid of what Sheila could do. Emily might have been jealous.”
“You think a woman would have the strength to do this?” Cheyenne asked.
Birmingham leaned against the table for a minute. “What if they were working together, Special Agent Donegal? Every killer has relatives. But I do ask that you forgive me.”
Cheyenne shook her head, meeting his eyes with a level stare. “No, you needn’t apologize. You’re doing your job. Please, keep doing it. But one more thing, if I may.”
“Yes?”
“We’re not the enemy.”
The inspector smiled. “Several units are out scouring every conceivable piece of the underground. I do not see you as the enemy. I promise.”
She nodded. With a quick return nod, he left.
Andre watched him go. “I think we should get back, too. Maybe ask if we can help.”
“We’re not going to catch him now,” Cheyenne said.
“No. But let’s head back.”
“Okay.”
Cheyenne noted that Annie was off the stage, and a pretty redhead with a well-endowed chest had taken over on the pole.
They started out, only to be stopped by Father Faith, who had arrived without them noticing.
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m afraid so,” Andre said.
“And here I thought we might have a lovely chat.”
“Well, sir, exhaustion got the better of us,” Cheyenne added. “Anyway, you have a good evening.”
“Oh, I will!”
He slid into the seat she had vacated. “Drive safely, my friends.”
“We will, thank you,” Andre assured him.
They made it out the door, only to be stopped by Annie Connor, who followed quickly in their wake, now wearing a tan trench coat over what remained of her clothing.
“You were with Claude. Claude Birmingham, right?” she asked anxiously.
“Yes,” Andre said.
“It was Edith who was here,” she said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell him. He showed me a picture, and I thought it was her, but we did a silly video together, and I just brought it up. The picture he showed me didn’t do her justice. But it was definitely Edith. Please…she’s a lovely girl. Yes, she wanted to be a stripper, but that doesn’t make a lass bad. I—”
“Please, Annie,” Cheyenne interrupted. “We are not judging anyone. And no, of course, it doesn’t make anyone bad.”
“You have to find her.”
“We will do our best,” Andre promised. “I swear to you, we’ll do everything in our power, and I know Inspector Birmingham will, too.”
“She’s still alive. I…I want to believe so badly she’s still alive. I know you’re American, and this is Britain, but you were with Claude. If you can help him…”
“We will do everything we can,” Cheyenne assured her. She smiled. “And that includes getting back so we can help.”
“Of course, of course. I’m so sorry! Go. And…thank you.”
“Thank you,” Andre told her.
They managed to head down the street to the car.
“If Edith Greenbriar is still alive, she won’t be for long,” Cheyenne said.
“He’s draining them…but slowly. Hanging them up with just those marks…and then letting their blood drain out, bit by bit.” He looked at her. “There’s a chance, but…he killed Sheila right away. He may not keep Edith long at all.”
“Birmingham may well be a good cop.” Cheyenne thought about the inspector’s motivations and decided to cut the guy some slack. “I mean, we can’t really blame him for not trusting us.”
“He met us, and he didn’t let up on the farce,” Andre said.
“True, but maybe he meant to and didn’t get around to it.”
He glanced her way, and she knew he was still bitter about being deceived. But could they really blame Birmingham? They weren’t from here, had no connections to him, and might very well appear to be taking over in his eyes. She could understand the inspector’s caution. But it seemed that he genuinely did want to solve the case and find the murderer. She just had to convince Andre to see it that way.
“Hey, he started a search.”
“Because Adam Harrison called someone who called someone,” Andre argued.
“I don’t care how or why it happened. It’s being done.”
“You’re right,” Andre murmured.
She looked ahead as he drove, wondering why she felt discomfited. Something said that night had bothered her, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
“You okay?” Andre asked.
She shook her head. “I feel like I should be seeing something, but whatever it is…it’s just beyond my grasp.”
“It’ll come to you,” he said softly.
“And you? Anything?”
“Yeah. Mark Bower is one of the biggest jerks I’ve ever come across.”
She smiled. “But—”
“That doesn’t make him a murderer,” Andre finished.
“And,” she added, grinning, “Clark Brighton likes strip clubs.”
“But that doesn’t make him a murderer, either.”
“No. So…?”
“We get back, and we join the search,” Andre said.
“If Birmingham allows it.”
“He will,” Andre said with assurance. She was relieved to hear it. “He will.”
Chapter 10
They found Inspector Birmingham was more than happy to let them trail around after his officers, if they chose.
He was in the middle of Swain’s Lane when they found him. Inspector Michael Adair was nearby and looked as if he’d been awakened from a deep sleep, but he was quick to inform them about the search thus far.
The tunnel that connected the cemeteries had been searched. They’d come up with nothing. Now, they were going through every possible vault and catacomb.
“I see you met up with your tour guide again,” Adair said, grimacing.
“He’s a good tour guide,” Andre said lightly.
“Did you want to join any of the searchers?”
“If it’s all right, we’re going to take a walk along Swain’s Lane and see if we see anything that might be…I don’t know. Anything that might suggest another tunnel.”
“Go for it,” Adair told him.
“Thanks.” Andre studied the lane in both directions.
“We’re in the middle. Down to up, or up to down?” Cheyenne asked.
“Let’s check in with your cousin. I think I see a light that way. Then we’ll go down, and then all the way up again. Lots of walking…you up for it?”
She glared at him, her hands on her hips.
He put his arms up in surrender. “Right, right. You’re up for anything.”
“I’m just afraid, Andre. I mean, we haven’t found her, and this killer doesn’t mind his victims being found. So, we have a chance to save her.”
He nodded. “Let’s move, then.”
There were indeed lights on at Emily and Eric’s house—the two were obviously still awake. And some sense must have told Emily that they were coming because she stood at the door.
“Anything?” she asked anxiously.
“We got police help on the search,” Cheyenne told her. “And that’s good. We’re heading back out, but we thought we should check in here first.”
“That’s sweet of you. We’re doing fine. In fact, Eric is on fire. Come see what he’s done!” Emily motioned for them to follow her inside.
Eric was at his laptop, which he’d set up on the dining room table. He looked up at the two of them as they arrived to see his work.
“Thank you, this is magnificent! You’ve got to see what I’ve gotten set up so far. This is really great. Bank ATM cameras only record so far. Business security systems are just for businesses. But, look! You bought the best equipment, come see what I can see!”
Cheyenne and Andre leaned over Eric’s shoulders.
“You did all that with the system we bought?” Andre asked.
“Yes,” Eric said. “And I was even able to activate the system’s add-on night-vision capabilities without any additional equip
ment.”
It was amazing. Eric’s screen was split into boxes showing eight images. The video covered the front of the house, the back of the house, the sides, and two more angles—and then showed shots of Swain’s Lane, both uphill and down.
Birmingham had gotten his superiors to call for a search, and while the street had been blocked off, just Inspector Michael Adair remained at the moment, as if he were a central point for the searchers who had gone out in all different directions.
“Wow, good work,” Andre said. “I’m amazed you set all that up with what we bought.”
“He is a computer whiz,” Emily said proudly.
“Indeed,” Andre agreed. He straightened and looked at the two of them. “We’re going to head back out. I think the killer will be aware the hunt has gotten massive tonight. It could make him nervous or careless or more determined. So, please, keep yourselves locked in tight.”
“We will,” Emily promised, looking grim. She managed something of a smile, encouraging them to continue. “Eric has a nerd’s dream here with his new toys. We will be very, very careful.”
They left the house, but Cheyenne paused on the porch for a minute, waiting to hear the bolt sliding home from inside.
Andre’s head was lowered, and she thought he was hiding a small smile. “Hey, you do it to me all the time—wait to see that the door is locked,” she chided him.
“And the brightest people in the world sometimes get going in their heads and forget simple safety measures.” He followed her to the street. “So, down and then up, right? Of course, we will be tired later. It might be easier to do up and then down.”
“Nope. The house is closer to up. We’ll start with down.”
They headed down the lane and then back up. They didn’t speak much as they watched their steps on the steep terrain.
But after they had passed Michael Adair, still standing like a sentinel, the central point for everyone out searching, Andre began to muse aloud.
“Father Faith seemed like a good guy.”
“He did,” Cheyenne said, fingering the little cross he had given her with the blade inside.
“But—?”
“We don’t know. Benjamin Turner, charming and popular. And he cared about Sheila.”
Blood Night Page 9