by Helen Harper
‘I’m a vampire. Of course I’m above the law.’
He doesn’t withdraw. ‘Some people say you’re evil.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Is that a challenge?’
‘No.’ He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a photo, tossing it in my direction. A pretty blonde woman beams out at me. ‘My daughter.’
‘Lisa.’
Something flickers across his expression. ‘You remember her name.’
‘No. Someone else reminded me about her. Is she dead?’
For the first time he appears nervous. ‘No!’
I run my tongue across my teeth. ‘So what’s the problem?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘She’s disappeared.’
‘She looks like an adult. Eighteen?’
‘Nineteen.’
I throw down the photo. ‘So maybe she’s just run off.’
He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Lisa wouldn’t do that. She’s a good girl.’
I sigh. ‘All parents think that about their children.’
‘She’s not a bad person,’ he says stubbornly. ‘And she wouldn’t run away.’
‘Okay.’ I don’t care enough to argue. ‘Why don’t you just go to the police?’
‘I have. I’ve been several times. They’ve put up a few posters but they’re not doing anything else.’ His shoulders stiffen and I catch a glimpse of his angry pain.
‘They know what they’re doing. She’ll turn up sooner or later.’ Even if it’s in a body bag.
‘You can find her.’
‘I don’t see how.’
He reaches out and takes my hands. I’ll admit I’m surprised at the physical contact. ‘Please. I’m desperate.’
‘Why would you want someone who’s evil to search for your daughter?’
‘Not everyone thinks that about you. The police are tied up in red tape and bureaucracy. You’re getting things done. Some people think you’re a hero.’
‘Some people think I’m a murderer.’ I lean forward. ‘What’s to stop me from locating your daughter, drinking every last drop of her blood and then leaving her empty shell of a corpse on your doorstep?’
He doesn’t drop his gaze and he doesn’t flinch. Impressive. ‘At least then I’d know where she is.’
He really is desperate. I retrieve my hands from his grasp. ‘Okay then.’ His face lights up with painful hope. I wag a finger at him. ‘Don’t. Don’t expect that I’ll find her. Don’t expect that I’ll find her alive. And if she doesn’t want to come back, I’m not going to make her.’
He nods vigorously. ‘Yes, yes. Thank you!’
‘Don’t thank me.’
My words don’t make any difference. His gratitude is pathetic; I should probably feel something other than vague irritation. I examine myself and realise I don’t. I’ve become colder than I realised.
I take all the details I need from him and walk back out. I swerve round the corner then halt in my tracks. Damn it. There’s a very good reason why I’ve been avoiding this part of town.
‘Sir, you can’t bring your dog here unless he’s on a lead.’ The guard’s voice has a definite tremor to it – he’s obviously aware that he’s talking to a vampire. He just doesn’t know very much about this particular vampire.
Matt’s shoulders droop. ‘The lead broke,’ he mumbles. He starts to turn away in a dejected slump.
Kimchi’s head jerks up in my direction and his tail starts to wag so violently that it slaps against the guard’s thigh. The dog barks several times and darts towards me. Matt lunges for him in panic, only just managing to grab his collar before he bounds at me. ‘What’s wrong, Kimchi? What is it?’
Shit. I duck out of sight just before Matt can look up. I can hear Kimchi’s barking getting even louder and more desperate. I cover my ears and walk quickly in the opposite direction. Time to go.
Chapter Three: The Crimson Wave
Blame London property prices for the fact that Jonesy lives so far away from his place of work. With my bike back at the flat, it takes some time to reach his neat terraced house. At least the sun has now fallen so I can move around without fear of frying.
There’s no garden to speak of and the house is nothing more than a typical two-up, two-down building but whoever lives here is house-proud. The windows are sparkly and gleaming with heavy brocade curtains just visible on the inside. There’s a light on, so his wife is at home. I hope for my sake that she’s not the nervous type.
I step up and ring the doorbell. It tootles a merry, chiming tune that’s entirely at odds with their family’s current situation. I adjust my cuffs and wait. Perhaps Jonesy’s wife won’t let me in. Then I can go off and find something more … bloody to occupy my time with.
Someone calls out. I wait another minute and then the door swings open. A plump woman with rosy cheeks gazes out at me. ‘Bo Blackman.’
I nod.
She grasps my hand and pumps it. ‘I’m Alison. Thank you so much for coming. We’re at our wits’ end. Please come in.’
I’m startled at her warm words and relieved expression. She doesn’t pause for a moment in allowing me access to her home. Doesn’t she realise what she’s just done? Now I can wander in whenever I want. A lock won’t keep me out. I frown at her lack of circumspection; she really should be more careful. Nonetheless, I step over the threshold and give my shoes a cursory wipe on the welcome mat. It’s a typical coir version – although this one is inexplicably covered in red hearts. The smell of baking bread rises up from deep inside the house. I must have raised my nose in the air to inhale it because she throws me a guilty look.
‘I know it’s silly to be baking when Lisa is missing but I have to do something to keep busy or I’ll simply go insane.’ She leads me through to a small sitting room and gestures at the sofa. I perch awkwardly on the edge. ‘It’s worse for Jonesy.’ She sighs. ‘It’s always the way, innit? Fathers and daughters.’
I clear my throat. ‘Is she your only child?’
Alison Johnson nods. ‘Yes. We always wanted more but it wasn’t to be.’ A rueful expression crosses her face. ‘I shouldn’t complain. We’re luckier than many others. Now, can I get you a drink?’
I somehow doubt she’ll be keen to offer me the kind of drink that I want but the woman surprises me. ‘I got an online delivery of blood a few days ago, just in case.’ She throws me an anxious look. ‘It’s O negative. I kept it in the fridge. I don’t know if that’s right or not.’
I blink. ‘Um, thanks but I’m not hungry. Don’t worry about it.’
Her face drops. ‘You don’t want any?’
It occurs to me that she probably went to considerable lengths to get hold of the blood. I don’t enjoy it when it’s chilled and if it’s already a couple of days old then there will be virtually no nutritional value. All the same, I find myself opening my mouth. ‘Actually, you’re right. Some blood would be lovely.’
Her relief is palpable. She beams at me and bustles away. I shake my head, bemused, and stand up. The mantelpiece is busy with framed photographs and I wander over to take a look. Almost every image contains all three of them: Jonesy, Alison and Lisa herself. They give every appearance of being a very happy family – but appearances are often deceptive.
I’m just replacing a holiday snap when Alison comes back in. ‘That one’s from Spain,’ she says with fondness. ‘Three years ago. We had such a wonderful time.’
I turn. She holds out a long-stemmed glass. There’s a plastic stirrer with a bright purple monkey on the end of it sticking out of the top. I can’t stop myself from staring.
Alison coughs. ‘Sorry. I thought you might want to stir it. Like tea.’ She laughs to herself. ‘It’s lucky I didn’t put one of those little umbrellas in. Lisa loves those umbrellas.’ Her expression drops. ‘Well, she used to anyway.’
I take the glass and give it a tentative sip. It tastes unpleasantly metallic and stale. I force a smile and gulp enough to be polite then put it down. ‘How long has she been mis
sing?’
‘Jonesy didn’t tell you?’
He did but I want to hear her version of events as well. I fold my hands together and wait.
‘Eight days now,’ she says quietly. ‘She was up at the college. She’s doing a catering course there. She called to say she’d be late coming home so we didn’t wait up. The next morning her bed wasn’t slept in.’ Alison presses her lips together. ‘We’ve not seen her since.’
‘Her friends?’
‘We’ve asked around. None of them know where she is.’
‘Boyfriends?’
‘There was a lad from round the corner but they split up in the summer. He was a nice boy but he wasn’t enough to hold my Lisa’s attention.’
I cock my head. ‘Why not?’
She twists the tarnished wedding ring on her finger. ‘She takes the world very seriously. Always going on protests and writing to our MP. She wants everyone to be happy. When they tried to close down the community centre at the end of the road, she organised a sit-in to stop the demolition.’
I frown. I hadn’t spotted any sort of building like that on my way here. ‘Did it work?’
Alison looks away. ‘No. People can only stay interested for so long. They have jobs and lives. Sooner or later all of them drifted away and the council swooped in.’
‘So this boyfriend…?’
She waves a hand in the air. ‘Adrian tried to support her but he wasn’t really interested. He liked his football and his friends and going to the pub but he just didn’t feel things the way that she did. She took the worries of the world on her shoulders. She was such a good girl.’
I watch her for a long moment. ‘You think she’s dead.’
She starts. ‘What? No!’
‘You used the past tense.’
She seems flustered. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ She turns away.
I nibble on my bottom lip. Either her subconscious is telling her things she doesn’t want to know, or good little Lisa had a change of heart and wasn’t always such an angel. It won’t be hard to find out. I consider pressing Alison for more information but something about the set of her shoulders changes my mind. Sympathy has nothing to do with it; if I’m going to get the truth that I need, I have to pick my moments.
I paste a smile on my mouth. ‘Can I see her room?’
‘Of course! I’ve not touched anything in there, it’s exactly the way she left it. The police came round and had a look. They took away a few things but they promised I’d get them back.’ Her voice takes on a fretful note. ‘I really want to get them back.’
‘The police will keep their word,’ I say drily. ‘They tend to do that.’
She nods then leads me out of the room and up the narrow staircase. There are more photos lining the walls. Each one tells the story of a happy life filled with love and laughter. I rather suspect that anyone with the desire to advertise their happiness probably isn’t quite as content as the rest of the world imagines: it smacks of trying too hard. Scratch the surface here and I bet there’s a bed of rotting, spitting vipers.
Lisa’s bedroom is the first room upstairs. Old stickers with flowers and unicorns adorn the door. Alison laughs awkwardly when she catches me staring at them. ‘She wanted to get rid of all those. Said she was too old for them. They’re stuck fast though and Jonesy never got around to getting the stripper out to get them all off.’
I nod like I’m interested. She opens the door for me and follows me inside. ‘Actually, it would be better if I could look around on my own.’
She deflates. ‘Really?’
I take pity on her. ‘I stay more focused when I’m alone.’ I lean in ever so slightly. ‘It’s a vampire thing.’
She blinks. ‘Of course. Her jewellery box is over there. She has some things in the bathroom – it’s next door if you want to have a look. There’s a box on top of the wardrobe. Can you see it? It’s only got old toys that she can’t bear to throw away but if you can reach it, you’re welcome to look. You’re quite short. Shall I fetch it down for you?’
‘Mrs Johnson … Alison, I’ll manage. Honestly.’
She nods. She is still reluctant to leave me alone. I think it’s less because of a lack of trust and more that she’s desperate to help. I take charge of the situation and gently propel her out of the room. ‘Thank you!’ I close the door after her and breathe out. Gods preserve me.
Lisa’s room is small. There’s a single bed with a frilly pink cover, the afore-mentioned wardrobe, a small vanity covered with make-up and bottles, and little else. It’s clean, neat and wholly unremarkable. I start with the bed. If I were a teenager – even one already in the bounds of legal adulthood – and I was looking to hide things from my over-protective parents, under the mattress would be a good option.
There’s nothing there. Admittedly, it’s difficult to tell what the police took away with them and I have no way of knowing how careful they were with their search. I’ll cross that bridge when I need to; right now, I want to get a feel for Lisa herself. Is she as good a girl as her parents are trying to make out?
I flip back the duvet. Nothing. Her pillows are plump and the sheets are clean. If Lisa has been concealing anything, it’s not here. I move over to the vanity and lift up various bottles. It’s all typical girlie paraphernalia; nothing is very expensive although she’s clearly someone who takes care of her possessions. There is a tube of lipstick which is almost down to the nub and a few clean brushes. Her perfume has a couple of millimetres left inside it. Lisa doesn’t like waste.
I open the drawer underneath. There are a couple of old postcards with nothing written on them and some scented notepaper. I take it out and rub my fingertips over the front of the pad. Several sheets are missing. Rummaging around in my inside pocket, I eventually retrieve a pencil. I shade in the top page, revealing Lisa’s last words: ‘Dear Gran, Thank you so much for the…’ I stop and return the pad to the drawer.
The wardrobe is as neat as everything else. An array of brightly coloured clothes hang there, each one ironed to within an inch of its life. Nothing is very revealing but the colours suggest that Lisa liked being noticed. I run my finger across them, occasionally stopping to examine a garment in more detail. There’s a pair of jeans crumpled at the foot of the wardrobe so I pull them out and check the pockets. I find a receipt for a café. Two teas and a coffee – none of this herbal tea or frothy latte malarkey either. It’s dated from two weeks ago. I pocket it, just in case.
Despite Alison’s concern, a quick jump makes it easy for me to grab the battered box on the top of the wardrobe and pull it down. There’s a bald Barbie, a well-loved teddy bear with worn fur, and various bits of plastic which no doubt hold some sort of sentimental value. I pick through it all. If there ever was anything here, either the police took it or Lisa disposed of it.
I leave the box where it is and sit on the bed, taking everything in. Other than the single pair of jeans from the wardrobe bottom, all of Lisa’s belongings are orderly. She’s thrifty, sends kind notes to her family to thank them for gifts, gets on well with her parents and appears to be nothing more than a nice, prepossessing young woman. I don’t believe any of it for a second. Everyone has secrets; I just need to find hers.
When I finally leave the bedroom, Alison Johnson is still hovering outside. I wonder if she’s been out here the entire time. I give her a reassuring smile. ‘She keeps her room very tidy.’
‘Oh yes, Lisa was always like that. Even as a child. A place for everything and everything in its place.’
‘Where is the bathroom?’
She points to a closed door to the right. ‘It’s there.’
I bob my head dutifully and wander in. It’s the kind of bathroom which has knitted covers for toilet rolls and embroidered towels. My mouth twitches. This family is like something out of a sitcom.
I open the medicine cabinet above the sink. There’s some old flu medication, paracetamol and a spare toothbrush. I rock back on my heels and try to t
hink. I’m missing something.
‘Alison?’ I call.
A heartbeat later she pops her head round the door. She’s still hovering. ‘Yes?’ Her expression is eager.
‘You mentioned the old boyfriend. Adrian.’
‘Adrian Leeman. He lives at number 38 on Bow Street.’
I nod. She’s remarkably keen to volunteer information about him. Maybe she disapproved of the relationship. It makes the next question rather awkward. Big deal. ‘I’m going to assume that they had a physical relationship. Did you and Lisa ever discuss contraception?’
Two high dots of colour appear on her cheeks. ‘We did. We had the talk when she was twelve. Some of my friends thought it was a bit too early but I wanted her to be prepared. You never know with girls these days. She was always such a good girl though. We never had any trouble.’ She catches my look. ‘She still is a good girl,’ she says firmly.
I murmur noncommittally and give her a little prod. ‘Contraception?’
‘Oh, yes! She was on the pill.’ She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Her father wasn’t very happy about it to start with but it did help with her monthly cramps. She used to suffer terribly.’
My brow furrows. Not only is there an absence of anything to indicate a sex life, there are also no feminine sanitary products. I look Alison over. She’s in her early fifties. ‘Have you been through the menopause?’
She’s taken aback by the question. Her blush intensifies and she looks away. ‘Is that relevant?’
‘It might be.’
She clears her throat. ‘Yes. I had quite a time of it. In fact, there were a few months when…’
I hold up my hand. ‘I don’t need the details.’ I gaze at the empty cabinet for a moment longer. ‘Who is Lisa’s doctor?’
‘Dr Bryant. She works at the clinic just down the street.’ There’s a flicker of alarm. ‘Why? You don’t think she was sick, do you?’
Past tense again. I don’t pull her up on it. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing but I’d appreciate it if you could call Dr Bryant and tell her I’ll be coming by with a few questions.’