by Helen Harper
‘You think he did it then? He killed all of them?’
‘I don’t think, Ms Blackman. I know.’
‘Where’s the evidence then?’
‘His fingerprints were everywhere.’
I lift my eyes from the file. ‘It was his house. Of course they were.’
‘His prints were on the bodies too. What was left of them.’
‘There’s no motive.’
Her expression doesn’t change. ‘Isn’t being psychotic enough?’ She doesn’t wait for an answer, merely reaches over and starts turning more pages. I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of what’s in the file but her body blocks my sight line. She takes out one large photo and stands back as she studies it. Then she looks at me. ’Searching for Tobias Renfrew is a waste of time.’
I suddenly have a good idea what she’s holding in her hands. Nausea fills my stomach, although I can’t say whether it’s due to disappointment, rubber-necking excitement or the thought of seeing yet another body.
I wait until Arbuckle turns it over with a flourish. I’m right: it’s a photo of another corpse, in lurid Technicolor. The bright red ruby glitters in his earlobe, the colour mirroring the pool of blood around his head. His face is obscured partly because of the position of the body and partly because half of it seems to be have been blown off. His right hand is outstretched, one finger curled round the trigger of a gun.
‘He killed himself.’
Arbuckle nods. ‘As you see.’
‘But why?’
‘Who’s to say? Guilt perhaps, after the bloodbath at his house,’ she suggests. ‘Or maybe he knew the net was closing in and it was only a matter of time before he got caught. Either way,’ she says as she taps the corner of the photo, ‘by 1965, Tobias Renfrew was dead.’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘If you know this, when why don’t you tell people? Release the damn photo?’
‘I have already told you that we are not the Daily News, Ms Blackman.’
‘The amount of money that’s going into looking for him, though! The people who’ve searched! His family members! All that wealth…’
‘Indeed,’ Arbuckle comments, ‘all that wealth. If Renfrew is declared legally dead, who gets the money?’
‘His descendants, surely.’
Her eyes flicker. ‘They’re all thugs. A billion pounds in the hands of that lot? No one wants to see that happen.’
‘If you knew he was dead you could have done something back then. You could have let the charity take the money…’
‘That charity is defunct because they couldn’t manage their finances. They’d have frittered away the Renfrew millions in a heartbeat.’
‘If you can prove he really killed those people, then the Agathos Court can confiscate his wealth. Surely the army approves of that?’
‘There are some who believe the Court already has too much power.’ At my look, she shrugs. ‘Not only humans. There are high-ranking daemons who think the same.’
‘People should still know!’ I argue.
Arbuckle’s defence is simple. ‘Why? It doesn’t serve any purpose. Well,’ she amends, ‘not any purpose that serves the army.’
‘It’s not your decision to make,’ I protest.
‘And neither is it yours.’ She holds the photo up. ‘Classified. You can’t tell anyone.’
‘But…’
‘Even if you do, the army will deny it.’
I stare at Renfrew’s corpse. This is ridiculous. I open my mouth to argue further then I see something and change my mind. ‘Do you know where his body is now?’
‘An unmarked grave; I don’t know where. There are no records of the location and few people still living know its whereabouts.’
I lick my lips: they’re cracked and dry. I could really do with some O neg right about now. ‘What about the gun?’
‘It was buried with him.’ She replaces the photo in the file.
‘That makes sense if you want to hide all the evidence,’ I say slowly.
‘It does.’ Arbuckle straightens up. ‘I realise it looks like a cover-up to you but nobody benefits from knowing the truth. Revealing his death will only cause more problems. No one will win.’
I nod. ‘So what happens now?’ I ask. ‘To me, I mean? And O’Shea?’
‘I’ve spoken to high command. If you can keep your mouths shut we are willing to let you go. Assuming you don’t ever try and return.’ She smiles humourlessly. ‘We have some extensive video footage of your little romp that we’ll happily refer to if this ever comes to court.’
‘I think I’ve learnt my lesson,’ I whisper.
She fixes me with a cold-eyed glance. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She walks to the door and beckons a fresh-faced soldier inside. He moves behind me and starts undoing the knots that are keeping me in place. He’s obviously terrified, I can hear his rapid breathing in my ear, but I’m certain that it’s Arbuckle who scares him rather than me.
When I’m free, I stand up and rub my wrists. All my joints are sore. Arbuckle lead me down a strip-lighted corridor and into the freedom of the night. Both my bike and O’Shea are standing there, waiting.
‘I didn’t tell them a thing, Bo!’ he exclaims loudly as soon as he sees me.
‘That’s alright, Devlin,’ I say softly, throwing him a warning look. ‘They already know.’
‘I sincerely hope our paths don’t cross again, Ms Blackman,’ Arbuckle interjects as she throws me the bike keys. ‘You should use your time more wisely. Such as investing in a new wardrobe.’
I look down at the gaping rent in the black dress. It’s wide open, revealing my underwear. Thankfully, I manage not to blush. ‘Just out of interest,’ I say, ‘when did you know we were here? In the base, I mean?’
‘The second you left that thing in the trees.’ She nods towards the bike.
So much for all our ducking and diving. What Arbuckle doesn’t realise, however, is that now I know this little ‘adventure’ has been far from a waste of time.
O’Shea climbs on the bike and I get on behind him. He turns on the engine and looks in Arbuckle’s direction. ‘Colonel,’ he says, with a sloppy salute that will achieve no result other than pissing her off.
I jab him in the ribs. ‘Enough.’
He nods dutifully and takes off.
*
We’re followed all the way back to the outskirts of London. O’Shea sticks to the speed limit and we make no effort to lose our tail but I’m still relieved when the military vehicles finally peel away and leave us in peace.
I feel the prickle across my shoulder blades indicating that the new day isn’t far away. I’m not worried, however; I have far bigger things to occupy my mind.
When we pull up outside New Order, O’Shea turns to me with a low whistle. ‘That was some evening.’
‘It was.’ I consider the revelations of the night. ‘Did you know that even if we’d gotten hold of a time bubble, it would have been next to useless?’
He shakes his head. ‘I rather hoped I’d be able to use it to go back in time and re-live my greatest moments. Once, we’d finished with all this Renfrew business, of course,’ he adds hastily. ‘I guess that’s all done with now. There are some other avenues we can go down to find out who’s behind those pricks who tried to kill the kid.’
I look up at the last few remaining stars. ‘I’m not done with Renfrew. Not by a long shot.’
O’Shea’s eyes widen in alarm. ‘I don’t think the army would take too kindly to us continuing to investigate him.’
‘She showed me a photo,’ I tell him. ‘Of Renfrew’s corpse.’
He sucks in a breath. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Apparently since 1965. He committed suicide.’
‘No way.’ He watches my face. ‘You don’t believe it?’
‘Not for a second. There was another photo of Renfrew holding a pen. In his left hand.’
O’Shea nods. ‘He was left-handed. Lots of important famous bigwi
gs are. In fact,’ he adds, ‘so am I.’
‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Yeah. I can show you by trying to write with my right hand. It’s virtually illegible.’
I tut in exasperation. ‘I mean about Renfrew.’
‘I’m sure. I was the only leftie in my class at school. I made a point of researching other people who were too so I didn’t feel left out.’ There’s an odd note in his voice, revealing a vulnerability that I rarely see in him. I reach out and squeeze his hand. ‘Why does it matter?’ he asks.
‘Because in the photo Colonel Arbuckle showed me, the gun he used to blow his brains out was in his right hand.’
A slow smile spreads across O’Shea’s face. ‘The army killed him?’
‘Either that or it wasn’t even Renfrew in the photo because he’s still alive and they don’t want us to know it.’
‘I guess,’ he grins, ‘that our investigation is only just getting under way.’
‘You bet it is,’ I agree. Until now, Tobias Renfrew was a means to an end: I wanted to find the bastards who attacked the Agathos Court and Rogu3 so that I could make damn sure they never tried anything like it again. Now I want to discover the truth about the billionaire daemon as well. There’s nothing like a few blatant lies from highly placed officials for stirring up my interest.
CHAPTER EIGHT: Dodging the Truth
The stifling weight on my chest makes it difficult to breathe. For a moment I’m completely disorientated but when I receive a long lick down the side of my neck and hear a tiny whine, my muscles relax.
‘Bloody dog,’ I grunt, gently pushing off Kimchi. He seems determined not to leave the bed until I get up. His large soulful eyes hover over mine. ‘You still need to lose some weight,’ I tell him. I’m gifted with another lick.
Dragging myself to my feet, I pull on some clothes and pad into the small living room cum kitchen. I leap back half a metre in fright when I see I’m no longer alone.
‘Vampires have enhanced senses, Bo,’ my grandfather says, lifting a bushy eyebrow in my direction. ‘You should have known I was here.’
I scowl at him then I walk to the fridge, take out a bottle of blood and glug it down noisily. I can’t live off blood unless it’s fresh from the vein but it’s always handy to have some decanted for when I really need it. And I know the action will piss him off.
I’m really annoyed at myself, though. He’s right – I should have known he was here. I tell myself that I missed hearing him come in because I was focused on Kimchi. Although, speaking of Kimchi, he should have noticed too.
‘This is my flat,’ I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘You can’t barge in.’
‘Technically it belongs to New Order. Not you.’
I’m tempted to point out that I was part of our investigative firm before he was, but I have a sneaking suspicion he wants me to do just that so he can accuse me of being petty and childish. ‘It’s my home.’
‘We’re family. Share and share alike.’
I hold up the now almost empty bottle and offer it to him. ‘Well, in that case…’ His lip curls. ‘Suit yourself,’ I shrug. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
He tuts. ‘Yes.’
I’m confused. ‘Yes what?’
‘It’s not “yeah”. It’s “yes”. “Yes, I slept well. Thank you for asking”.’
‘Any time.’
He rolls his eyes and holds up a piece of black fabric. ‘Would you like to explain this?’
I stare at the tattered remains of my dress. Bugger it. I peeled it off and dropped it next to the sofa when I got home. I should have planned on having an unwelcome guest; I should always plan for that these days.
I look at Kimchi. ‘Did you do this?’ I demand. ‘Bad dog!’
He gives a very good impression of guilt, hanging his head and looking shame-faced. As bad as I feel for laying the blame on him, it’s a calculated move on the dog’s part: he knows I’ll make it up to him. I’m pretty sure I still have some of his favourite doggy treats lurking in the back of one of the cupboards. So much for the diet though.
My grandfather is unimpressed. ‘That dog is a liability.’
I stroke his ears. Actually, he’s very handy to have around whenever I need to avoid the truth. ‘He’s better than your cat,’ I say. ‘And you still haven’t told me why you’ve barged in.’
He tosses a newspaper disdainfully onto the coffee table. I unfold it. When I see the lead article, however, I wish I hadn’t bothered.
‘Oh,’ I mumble. I put it down. ‘That’s not really my fault.’ It’s not my better side either. My nose looks squashed against Medici’s and there’s a wide-eyed expression on my face which suggests I’m turned on by his kiss instead of surprised.
My grandfather sighs. ‘You were supposed to display your affection for Michael. Not him.’
‘Michael was there. It’s not my fault Medici showed up. In fact, I did a good job of defusing a fight between the pair of them. You should be impressed.’
His expression is stony. ‘Where did you go?’
‘Some swanky French place called La Maison.’ I sniff. ‘Apparently Lord Montserrat takes all his dates there.’
‘After that.’
Uh oh. ‘Back here,’ I squeak. Has Colonel Arbuckle already dobbed me in?
‘Then why was Kimchi in the hallway tearing strips off the wallpaper when Arzo arrived?’
I blink. Arzo got to work before I got home? He normally takes the day shift unless… ‘He was here early for Dahlia?’ She’s like me – too young to venture out during the daytime.
‘I told you he was keeping tabs on her work.’
I snort. ‘Are you sure that’s all he’s keeping tabs on?’
‘Stop evading the question, Bo. Where did you go?’
I breathe a silent sigh of relief that he doesn’t seem to know. As much as I trust him, he was the head of MI7; if he knew that I’d broken into an army base, he’d flip his lid. We are supposed to respect national peacekeepers (or warmongers, depending on your point of view).
‘Is it Medici? Did you confront him about this?’ he asks, pointing at the paper.
‘No.’
‘Then what?’
I look away. ‘Um … Tobias Renfrew,’ I hedge. I don’t have to mention Brigstone specifically.
My grandfather’s nose wrinkles. ‘Really, Bo?’
‘Rogu3 almost died because of him.’
‘Alistair Jones,’ he says sternly, refusing to use Rogu3’s hacker alias, ‘almost died because of his association with you. Besides, Renfrew is dead.’
I meet his eyes, tingles of dread threading through my veins. Was he part of the army’s cover-up too? Was MI7 working with them to fake that photograph? ‘How do you know?’ I ask, my voice sounding overly casual, even to my own ears.
‘Someone would have found him by now if he were alive,’ he says. ‘Countless people have tried. The only thing he can be is dead.’ He fixes me with a steely stare. ‘Don’t tell me that because you could enter his mansion without an invitation, you think that’s proof of life?’
Actually, visiting the scene of the crime is next on my list. The sudden knowledge that I’ll be able to go inside is particularly welcome. As is my grandfather’s assumption that Renfrew’s house is where I’d begin. ‘Erm…’ I prevaricate.
‘Honestly, Bo. I thought your investigating skills were better than that. What did they teach you at Dire Straits? It’s been open to the public for decades. It’s the only way to fund its upkeep.’ He tsks. ‘All that money locked away in bank accounts and no one’s allowed to touch it, not even to preserve such a national treasure.’
I’m confused. ‘You think Renfrew’s house is a national treasure?’
‘Not because of the daemon, I assure you. But the gardens were designed by Capability Brown. The building itself is a sixteenth-century masterpiece. That’s without mentioning th
e contents.’
He was a showy billionaire; I can imagine them. ‘Look,’ I say honestly, ‘investigating Renfrew is not going to prevent me from showing up to these dates with Michael. If you’re going to let me to complete assignments for New Order, I’ll stop because they will always take precedence. But I can’t just sit around and twiddle my thumbs. Have you ever watched late-night television?’ I shake my head. ‘I can’t take it.’
My grandfather looks exasperated. ‘You could take up a new hobby. Learn something.’
‘Like what?’
‘Flower arranging is very satisfying.’
I splutter. ‘Flower arranging? You have to be kidding me!’
‘The Japanese have turned it into quite an art form. Ikebana is not for the faint-hearted.’
‘Grandfather…’
He cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘You’re going to look into Renfrew no matter what I say. I just don’t want you to be disappointed when there’s nothing to reveal. What happened with the ear that Devlin found could have been caused by any number of things.’
‘Then why go to such trouble to get rid of anyone who knew about it?’
‘I don’t know. But there’s no way that Tobias Renfrew is still living and breathing. No way at all.’
*
My grandfather’s words are still ringing in my ears when I finally make my escape. It was a real daemon ear and it was made to look as if it belonged to Renfrew, even if the DNA testing proved otherwise. It has to be related to the billionaire somehow. The idea that these are two completely separate crimes is plausible but I reckon if I can solve one then I’ll solve the other too.
With Kimchi in tow, I decide not to take the motorbike. There are other ways to move around the city and I want to stop first within walking distance. Kimchi, delighted to be out and about, does a little doggy dance of delight then jerks me over to the nearest lamp-post. While I pause with him, I feel an uncomfortable prickle at the back of my neck. I half turn and see a pair of middle-aged women nudging each other and looking at me. They grin when they see I’ve noticed them. I sigh and smile back.
‘Bo! Wait up!’ Squeezing hurriedly out of the door, Dahlia waves. She runs over to me, ignoring the women, and beams. ‘I thought we could walk Kimchi together,’ she says brightly.