Red Angel (13 page)

I hear a shout. One of the officers is grabbing O’Shea by his elbow, forcing him to his feet. I scramble to my knees and receive a bright light in my eyes and a muttered command to put my hands up for my trouble. As I’m hauled up, I squint to make out who exactly has decided that I’m suddenly the enemy.

‘Don’t move,’ a voice tells me in a tone that brooks no argument.

I open my mouth to speak but am forestalled by the crash of the warehouse door being blown open. The alarm peals out, ear-splittingly loud. I watch as the police enter the warehouse. There are shouts from within but at least no shots are fired.

Someone drags down my hands and fixes a pair of handcuffs round my wrists. ‘Sorry, Ms Blackman,’ he mutters. ‘Protocol.’

I don’t bother telling him that I could break out of these normal cuffs in about three seconds flat. Instead, I watch helplessly as the two killers from the mansion are dragged out and bundled into a waiting vehicle. For all their bluster back at the mansion, they don’t put up much a fight. Annoyingly, with the light shining in my eyes, I still don’t get a good look at their faces.

At last I hear a familiar voice. ‘What’s going on here?’ Foxworthy shouts.

I ignore my captor and stumble to my feet. ‘I told you to be quiet and stealthy! We needed to find out what they were doing to discover who they’re working for. Now they’ll lawyer up and we won’t get anywhere!’ My frustration is palpable.

‘This wasn’t me,’ he says, sounding surprised. ‘I don’t travel around with Special Forces in tow. I don’t even know why they’re here.’

The man holding the light in my face drops it to the ground and I finally make out a balaclava-covered head. Only a set of puzzled eyes are visible. ‘We got a call,’ he says.

‘Not from me, you didn’t.’

The man shakes his head. ‘Anonymous tip about an armed gang.’

‘There are only two of them,’ I scoff. ‘Not much of a gang.’

‘They’re not armed either,’ he says.

My eyes narrow. ‘But…’

He shrugs. ‘Just two guys playing cards inside an empty building. Looks like they’ve been here all night. We’ll release them to you for questioning, inspector.’

Foxworthy glances at me. ‘What’s going on, Bo?’ he asks softly.

I wipe my cheek, clearing it of the claggy mud that’s attached itself in chunks to my skin. ‘They killed someone,’ I answer. ‘Back at the mansion. They killed him and took his ear.’

The Special Forces guy looks doubtful. ‘Are you sure it was them?’

‘I…’ my voice trails away. ‘I thought I was.’

He grunts and shrugs. ‘Everyone makes mistakes.’ He gives me the once over. ‘You know, I kind of thought you’d be taller. Could I have your autograph?’

The nearest police station is in a new building that is all sleek lines and chrome finishes, as if the government has decided that London’s coppers need to work from a bizarre cross between a diner and
Blade Runner
. I give my statement to a blushing young constable who can barely look me in the eye then head out to the front to meet O’Shea and get the hell home before the sun comes up.

I’m surprised to see Connor’s smiling, freckled face in the waiting area. He waves at me and grins. ‘Hi Bo!’

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘Inspector Foxworthy thought you looked hungry. He gave me a ring and sent a car to pick me up and bring me here.’

I raise an eyebrow. The good inspector is growing more amenable to vampires than I’d have thought possible. ‘I am hungry,’ I admit. ‘I really appreciate you coming out all this way.’

There’s a flicker of relief in his eyes. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d want me. You know, because you’re drinking from other people nowadays.’ He seems uncomfortable with the idea, as if he preferred it when I only used him alone. The trouble was that ‘used’ was the key word. It wasn’t fair on him; in fact, it’s not fair on him to have been dragged out at this ungodly hour to satiate my blood lust. But beggars can’t be choosers.

‘If you don’t want to…’

‘I do! I do!’ He stretches out his neck, displaying his jugular in invitation.

I catch the wide-eyed stare of the desk sergeant. ‘Maybe we should go outside for this,’ I suggest.

We’re finishing up when O’Shea trips down the steps to meet us. ‘I’m not used to being on the right side of the law,’ he drawls. He catches sight of Connor. ‘But it’s good that I am!’ he declares. ‘Devlin O’Shea is a new man who enjoys helping out the police in all matters.’ He scratches his neck and looks away. I watch him, fascinated.

‘Hi, Devlin,’ Connor beams.

‘Oh hi,’ O’Shea mumbles. ‘I didn’t see you there. It’s Connor, isn’t it?’

‘We’ve met a few times.’

‘Yeah, yeah. So we have.’ He casts around. ‘Where’s Kimchi?’ he asks finally.

‘In the car. I took him for a walk while you guys were inside,’ Connor answers. ‘He really is a great dog.’

‘He’s the best,’ O’Shea agrees, before lapsing into an uncomfortable silence.

‘Thank you, Connor. You didn’t have to do that,’ I say. ‘I won’t have time to walk him properly.’

He grins. ‘You’re right. We should head back while it’s still dark. If we leave now, we should make it in time. Unless you want to hang around here? Maybe the police have a safe room you can stay in.’

It’s a nice idea because I don’t want to stray too far from my suspects. However, I’m not sure that, even with my status as hero, I’d trust the police to keep me safe while I slept. One stray shaft of sunlight and it would be
adios muchachos
. Home makes more sense.

I glance through the revolving glass and spot Foxworthy. He notices me and comes out. ‘What’s happening?’ I ask.

He grimaces. ‘They’re not saying a word until their counsel gets here.’

‘Did you find the ear?’

‘No.’ He seems troubled. ‘No ear and no guns. It is possible these aren’t the guys, Bo.’

I bite my lip. It is possible but it seems unlikely. ‘Do you have people at Renfrew’s mansion?’

‘It’s still too dark. As soon as first light hits, forensics will be out in force. Speaking of first light…’

I nod. ‘We’re just going. You’ll keep me updated?’

‘This isn’t my jurisdiction but the chief constable is an old mate. As soon as anything happens, he’ll tell me. And, yes, I’ll tell you.’

‘Great.’ We shake hands and he heads back inside. I watch him go. He’s warned me about getting too involved – but this isn’t his case and it’s still barely five o’clock in the morning. I’m not the only one with workaholic tendencies.

‘I’ll bring the car round,’ Connor interjects, clearly still eager to help out. ‘It’s kind of messy though. I’m not sure why you bought it. Maybe you should stick to the bike. I can clean out the car once we get home.’

I glance at O’Shea. Unbelievably, he is going red. He coughs. Deciding to rescue the daemon, I smile encouragingly at Connor and he bounds away.

‘What’s with you?’ I ask curiously.

O’Shea sounds defensive. ‘What do you mean?’

‘With Connor. It’s like you have a schoolboy crush or something.’ He doesn’t reply. ‘Devlin,’ I say, ‘he’s really young.’

‘He’s not a child, Bo. You think of him as young but he’s actually much more mature than you know.’

Perhaps he’s right. ‘This isn’t like you though. You’re normally more … confident with your conquests.’

O’Shea shuffles his feet. ‘So?’

Understanding dawns on me. ‘You really like him, don’t you? I mean,
really
like him.’

He shrugs. ‘He’s a nice guy. Is he…?’ His voice trails off.

‘Gay?’ I try to think. I’ve never seen Connor with any girls but I’ve never seen him with any guys either. ‘I don’t know,’ I say truthfully. ‘He’s a bit of an innocent, O’Shea. It wouldn’t be fair of you to corrupt him.’

‘Please! I wouldn’t corrupt him.’ A smirk appears as the real O’Shea returns. ‘Not much, anyway.’

I look at him assessingly. ‘I can find out his preferences,’ I offer. ‘But if he’s not interested then you have to promise to back off.’

‘No, don’t do that,’ he begs. ‘Let me keep my fantasies a little longer. I’ll speak to him when I’m ready.’

‘If you’re sure.’

He nods as Connor drives up and sticks his neck out of the window. ‘For all the mess, this car does have character,’ he says. ‘We should give it a name.’

I smile. ‘How about Barry?’

Connor grins back. ‘I like it! We could call it Baz for short!’

I button my lips and open the back door, pushing the clutter to one side so Kimchi and I can get in. O’Shea can ride shotgun this time.

*

I’m woken up much earlier than I should have been thanks to the incessant ringing of my phone. It’s particularly irritating because I’d been enjoying a rather racy dream about me, Michael (with a scowl that still confounds me) and a can of UHT cream. I fumble across the bedside table to grab it, disturbing Kimchi’s slumber in the process. He leaps to his feet in the mistaken belief that it’s feeding time.

‘Bo Blackman,’ I mumble.

‘I’m sorry for waking you,’ Foxworthy says, ‘but I thought you’d want to know straight away.’

I bolt upright. ‘Know what?’

‘Your two have walked.’

‘They’ve what?’ I screech.

‘There was nothing to hold them on. You couldn’t positively identify them from the scene. There wasn’t a single thing to suggest they’d been doing anything illegal.’

‘Were they properly questioned?’

‘Bo, that’s not fair.’

I rub my eyes. ‘I’m sure it was them. It has to have been them.’

‘There’s no body, no traces of blood. All we have is a broken window and a single bullet embedded in the gift shop wall. We can’t hold them on that evidence.’

‘No blood?’ How good is their damned clean-up crew? ‘What about their car?’ I ask desperately. ‘There must be some traces inside.’

‘We couldn’t examine it.’

‘Why the hell not?’

‘Their barrister got involved. We didn’t have a leg to stand on. He’s a canny bastard. And,’ Foxworthy pauses, ‘I believe he’s a friend of yours.’

My eyes narrow. He has to be kidding. ‘Harry D’Argneau.’

‘That’s him.’

Sodding hell. I’ll string him up when I find him. ‘Do you at least have an address for them?’ If the police are going to cut them loose I’ll have to deal with them myself.

‘I can’t give it to you, Bo.’

‘Foxworthy, come on. I’m not going to hurt them. I won’t even talk to them. But they need to be watched. They murdered someone in cold blood!’

‘Maybe. They
maybe
murdered someone.’

I shake my head in despair. ‘Please.’

‘I really can’t. But don’t worry, I’ve put a team onto them. Every move they make will be catalogued. If they are your killers, sooner or later we’ll know about it.’

The trouble is that it might end up too bloody late: they might kill again. Angry frustration gnaws at me. ‘At least you believe me,’ I say finally. ‘I appreciate that.’

‘Of course I believe you,’ he answers quietly.

‘Can you tell me their names?’ I plead in a last-ditch effort.

‘Sorry, Bo.’

I stalk into the bathroom and glare at myself in the mirror. Then I let out an inarticulate scream and punch the wall. Plaster flies off and my fist leaves an unsightly dent and several hairline cracks. Kimchi nudges my hand and whines softly.

‘Sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ I look at the phone in my hand, debating whether to call D’Argneau. I’m still too worked up; I can feel the hot anger coursing through my veins. If I can’t speak to him like a calm intelligent adult, I’ll never get anywhere. Besides, I want to look the slimy lawyer in the eyes.

*

I take Kimchi with me to D’Argneau’s offices. I’m certain that dogs aren’t allowed inside but I don’t care: let them try and stop me. It helps that I make no effort to conceal myself. I use public transport and keep my head and face uncovered. By the time I reach the gleaming façade, I’ve garnered a considerable following. I don’t ask any of the people behind me why they don’t have better things to do than wander around after me; neither am I bothered by the incessant questions from the few journalists who’ve decided to tag along. From time to time I reach into my pocket and touch my white pebble, then smile prettily for the cameras and allow my seething emotions to solidify into something very cold and very hard.

‘You can’t bring him in here,’ the doorman states firmly.

‘What if I told you he was a guide dog?’

‘He’s not.’

‘How do you know?’

He gazes at me helplessly. ‘Ms Blackman, you’re not blind. And I’ve seen the dog on television. He’s not trained. Not for anything.’

Sometimes this fame business works for me and sometimes it works against me. I glance at Kimchi who’s enjoying the attention. ‘I guess you’re as famous as I am.’ He wags his tail. ‘Why can’t I bring him in? He’s only a dog, he won’t hurt anyone.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s the rules. I don’t make them.’

I consider the matter. I don’t want the doorman to lose his job by bending the rules for me but I’m not leaving my dog behind. ‘Kimchi,’ I say in the sweetest tone I can muster, ‘attack.’

The guard’s eyes widen and he backs away. Kimchi requires no further encouragement. He bounds towards the man and leaps up, placing both paws on his chest. Then he starts to furiously lick at the buttons on his shirt. I stroll in.

When I reach the bank of lifts, I call Kimchi back to me. He runs over, his ears flapping. ‘You see?’ I say, raising my voice loud enough for the doorman to hear. ‘He is
very
well trained.’

Kimchi and I walk into the lift, leaving the poor man staring after us, covered in drool.

My presence in the building has clearly been publicised. By the time the lift arrives as D’Argneau’s floor, he’s already waiting. A woman wearing a very short skirt skitters over with a tray and a crystal glass containing blood. I raise my eyebrows. ‘The service around here has definitely improved.’

He gives me a professional smile. ‘We have many triber clients now, Bo, including several vampires. I told you about the Stuart Family, didn’t I? I’ve had to expand. We’ve taken on more than twenty new people.’

‘Good for you,’ I sniff. ‘But it’s not the vampires on your client list that interest me.’

‘Why don’t we go to my office? Your…’ he flicks a distasteful look at Kimchi ‘…animal can wait out here.’

‘The dog stays with me. And I don’t need to go to your office. I just want to know why you took on those two new clients last night.’

‘I don’t know who you mean,’ he replies smoothly.

I take a step towards him. The woman stiffens and backs away but D’Argneau doesn’t flinch. ‘Oh,’ I purr, ‘I think you do.’

‘Andrew Wyatt and Steven Creed, you mean?’

I file away their names. That was easier than I thought it would be. ‘Why?’ I demand. ‘Why take them on? They’re not tribers. Did they call you?’

‘Everyone deserves legal representation, Bo.’

‘Yes, but you’re a triber-hungry megalomaniac. You wouldn’t sign them up unless there was something in it for you. I want to know what.’

‘My office?’ His face takes on a strained quality. ‘Please? You can bring the, er, dog.’

I mull it over then acquiesce gracefully. I was enjoying having it out with him in front of all his employees. If it means he gives me more information, however, I can switch to privacy.

D’Argneau smiles in relief then gestures at me to follow. We pass row upon row of cubicles and glass-fronted rooms. I’m watched from every single one. I relax my shoulders and wave, like I’m the Queen.