‘It’s a complete departure from his previous killings.’ I take another look at the body. ‘She’s not as bruised and battered as Corinne was either.’
‘No,’ Foxworthy agrees.
‘It never made sense that Miller could do what he did when he was only a few metres away from so many passersby. But if he had an accomplice…’
‘…it would make it a hell of a lot easier.’
I press the base of my hands into my eyes until it hurts. ‘There are two of them. Miller had a fucking companion.’
‘Yeah. And he’s obviously not ready to stop killing.’
‘It’s not over,’ I whisper. I cast my eyes around the high, craggy walls of the quarry. It feels like I’m stuck in some hell pit, surrounded by suffocating darkness. High above, the moving light of a plane crosses the sky. My eyes track it until it disappears. ‘We need to go back to Corinne.’
Foxworthy squeezes my arm. ‘We’ll catch him, Bo.’
I look at him balefully. ‘Promise?’
He doesn’t answer. We start to walk away, the hard dirt crunching under our feet. Up above, at the lip of the quarry, I see the silhouette of a man struggling with two others.
‘I want to see her!’ he yells. ‘I want see Fiona!’
‘Her boyfriend?’ I ask quietly. Foxworthy nods. ‘Why don’t you let him down?’
‘Because then the last thing he’ll remember is his girlfriend smeared in blood and pinned to the ground. He won’t remember the times they laughed or made love or what she looked like when the sun caught her hair. He’ll just remember her sightless eyes and her broken body.’
Fiona’s boyfriend starts sobbing and the sound echoes around the quarry. I might be able to close my eyes but I can’t close my ears. His grief and anguish pierce my chest.
‘We jumped to conclusions,’ I mutter. ‘If we’d thought about it more, we might have realised there were two of them. Fiona Lane could still be alive.’
Foxworthy is more pragmatic. ‘There wasn’t any evidence to suggest that. And it’s incredibly rare for killers to work in pairs.’
I nod slowly. ‘How would they meet? We already know Miller was a loner.’
‘We’re going back through his life. There has to be some kind of clue.’
I mull it over. It’s not as if you’d get chatting to someone and casually reveal that you’re on your way to do a spot of rape and murder. Even using the internet to find a serial-killer buddy seems unlikely.
‘They had to know each other very well, and probably from a very young age. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’ My foot slips on a section of scree and I pause to regain my balance. ‘Did anything come from looking at the first victim?’
‘There was little to go on. Her family cleared out all her belongings last year. We tracked down some friends but,’ he shrugs, ‘they had little to say.’
‘Can you give me her details?’
Foxworthy doesn’t seem too happy. ‘We checked her out. You may not have a very high opinion of the police but we know what we’re doing. Your buddy Arzo came along too. He agreed with us.’
‘I think the police do a great job. I just want to get a feel for her myself.’
‘The family may not want to talk to a bloodguzzler,’ he warns.
‘Nothing new there.’
‘I’ll email you with what we have when I get back to the station. Maybe the Red Angel can shed some new light on the situation.’
‘Piss off.’
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Tree
It’s nice to be trusted. This time Foxworthy lets me walk unfettered into Corinne Matheson’s room. The guard is no longer in attendance outside, no doubt because it seemed pointless after we apparently got our man. That’s not the case any more.
‘Shouldn’t there be someone on the door?’
Foxworthy frowns. ‘There should be.’ He pulls out his phone, jabs in a number and mutters angrily before hanging up and looking at me. ‘They’ll be here soon.’
Corinne is lying flat on her back with her eyes closed. Her eyes are puffy; now that her bruises are healing, she looks even worse than before. Her face is a horrifying mishmash of colours, from dark purple to blue to tinges of fading yellow. Her bandaged hands lie motionless on her stomach. The dressings look fresh but blood is starting to seep through one of them. I wince. That can’t be good. Still, there’s a gentle snore indicating that at least Corinne is getting some rest. A nurse hovering near her bed wags a warning finger in our direction. I nod although I’m wishing I could shake her awake.
I pull up a chair and settle down. It’s the middle of the night; Corinne could be out for hours. The nurse changes the bag on Corinne’s IV line and departs.
‘This could take all night,’ I hiss at Foxworthy. ‘We might not have time to spare.’
He looks outside the door for a second. ‘The nurse has gone. We can try waking her.’
Corinne’s face is peaceful. I gnaw on my bottom lip. ‘It wouldn’t be fair. She needs as much sleep as she can get. We can come back in the morning.’
‘In daylight?’
‘Before. It won’t get light until just before eight.’ I look him up and down. ‘You’re dead on your feet. You should go home and rest.’
I can tell from the way his spine stiffens that he doesn’t think much of my suggestion but he’ll be no good to anyone if he’s too tired to function.
‘What will you do?’
‘I’ll wait here for an hour or two in case she wakes up then I’ll head out either to Miller’s house of hell, or to see what I can dig up about the other victims. It’s night time.’ I give a self-deprecating grin. ‘I do my best work when the sun is down.’
Corinne moans softly in her sleep and both of us whip round. Her hands jerk and one leg kicks. I place a hand on her forehead to soothe her. She relaxes slightly and snores again.
‘We can’t wake her,’ I reiterate, glancing at Foxworthy’s exhausted face.
He nods reluctantly and checks his watch. ‘I’ll be back before seven.’
‘Take longer if you need it. Without proper rest, you’ll be useless.’
‘I’m not taking advice from a damned bloodguzzler!’
I wink. He rolls his eyes, straightens his posture and strides out of the room as if to prove that he’s not as weary as I think. I smile after him. We have more in common than we realised.
I stand up and stretch, looking around the room. Other than a bunch of flowers on the table near Corinne’s head, it’s exactly the same as the last time as I was here. I search around for a card, wondering who sent them. There’s nothing there. The flowers can’t be more than a couple of days old but they’re already looking worse for wear. A large daisy droops dejectedly; I reach out and try to prop it back up but only succeed in knocking off several petals. I give up and lean back in my chair, watching Corinne’s chest steadily rise and fall.
After a while, my phone buzzes. I frown at the screen: it’s the details of Joy Palazzi, the first identified victim. Foxworthy. He must have taken a detour via the station before going home. Much as I appreciate the information, the man just doesn’t know when to take a break. I juggle the phone from hand to hand while I decide whether to stay with Corinne or venture out. Then there’s a knock on the door and I almost drop the damned thing.
It’s another nurse. He looks at me nervously. ‘You’re the one who was on the news.’
I shove the phone away. ‘Yes.’ Come on, Bo, I urge myself. Be nice to the human. I stand up and stick out my hand. The nurse can decide whether to lean over and shake it; if I go near him, he’ll take fright and run a mile.
Instead of shaking my hand, he places something in it. I look down in surprise. It’s a blood bag. ‘I thought you might be hungry,’ he whispers.
Words
fail me and I gape at him like an idiot.
‘She doesn’t have anything to do with those daemons you’re after, does she?’
I shake my head, still holding the blood. ‘No. And you don’t have to give me this. I’m not going to attack anyone and drink their blood. Even a new vampire like me has self-control.’
The nurse looks alarmed. ‘Oh! No, I didn’t think you would. I just thought, you know, that maybe you’d need the energy…’ His voice trails off and he shuffles his feet. Maybe my newfound status as a heroine has some benefits after all.
I thrust the bag back at him. ‘You guys probably need this more than I do,’ I say, trying to be kind.
‘We had a lot of donors after the Agathos attack. There’s plenty going spare.’
‘Please. I insist.’
He swallows and takes it back. ‘Okay.’ I try to ignore his worried look as he wonders whether he’s offended me.
‘But thank you,’ I tell him. ‘It was a really lovely thought.’
He smiles. He’s really a sweet guy. If I was human… I push the thought away.
‘Will you take this instead?’ he asks, anxiously. As well as the blood, he’s holding a badge that says ‘I love London General’.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask doubtfully. ‘If people think you have vampires roaming the corridors wearing the hospital’s seal of approval, it may not do you any favours.’
He grins. ‘But you’re not just any vampire. You’re the Red Angel.’
I smile weakly and take it, pinning it to my t-shirt. It hangs lopsidedly. I guess I can remove it as soon as I leave.
‘She probably won’t wake for a while, you know,’ the nurse says. ‘We have her on strong painkillers.’
I look at Corinne. As if in response to his words, she moans again. I nod. ‘I might come back later.’
‘My shift doesn’t finish for another six hours. If I’m still here when you return, I can get you some more blood then.’
I feel a rush of warmth for him. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He blushes slightly and leaves.
I pat Corinne’s arm. ‘I’ll be back,’ I promise her as another face looks into the room. I give her new guard a businesslike nod and head out after the nurse.
*
Matt meets me in the quiet cul-de-sac where Joy Palazzi grew up. It’s sickeningly close to both the park where she was attacked and the street where she was run over. I reflect on the irony of her first name. Regardless of what her formative years were like, no one would suggest her life was joyful, not when it was cut short so brutally.
I stare up and down the street. It’s a typical, middle-class suburban area. The gardens are well-kept, the cars are big and shiny and Neighbourhood Watch signs abound.
‘What are we doing here?’ Matt asks loudly.
I hush him. It is already after midnight and the residents are clearly all in bed and asleep. Red Angel or not, I doubt they’d take too kindly to being woken up by a vampire, even if I have a good reason to be here.
‘I just want to look around.’ I point to the nearest house. ‘That’s where Joy lived.’
He looks it over. ‘Nice.’
At first glance, he’s right. The detached house is a good size with a pretty red-brick exterior and large bay windows. It’s south facing so the sun must stream in during the day. There’s an apple tree in the garden and a path leading towards the back. All in all, a good place to grow up in.
On closer inspection, things aren’t quite so rosy. There’s a rusting lawnmower hidden by the trunk of the tree. The grass has grown up around it. There are clumps of weeds all over the lawn. The front door, which was once probably very grand, now has peeling paint. All the curtains are drawn – and they look as if they’ve seen better days. I think of Mrs Lamb. Terence Miller and his accomplice are responsible for the destruction of so many lives.
I walk to the neighbouring house. This garden is better kept. I can see ornaments in the window sill and I guess that an older couple live here. Miller was in his late twenties; I’m convinced his murdering buddy will be about the same age. I walk from house to house, working out what I can about the occupants. I have no way of knowing whether these people were around when Joy was attacked but the housing market has been iffy, to say the least, over recent years so maybe they were. I decide that the family across the road has small children and several pets and mentally cross them out. Another one seems to belong to an elderly lady.
Matt, bored with my wandering, sits on a garden swing and starts to hum. I ignore him and keep searching. I know I’m not going to find a house with a sign in it saying ‘Hi! I’m your friendly local serial killer!’, but in my bones I’m certain that Miller’s accomplice came from this area. Maybe he saw Joy going to school every day. Maybe he went to school with her.
‘Matt!’ I hiss. He’s staring out over the rooftops and doesn’t hear me. I try again. ‘Matt!’
He blinks then gives me a lazy smile and ambles over. ‘Yeah?’
‘Did you find a list of addresses for Miller?’
‘Yes.’
I wait impatiently. Somewhat flummoxed, he gazes at me vacantly.
‘Well? Did he live anywhere near here?’
Matt taps his mouth, thinking. ‘No. But there were a few gaps when he was in temporary accommodation.’
Damn. I’m still convinced that Miller and the prick who is still at large have known each other for years and that one of them at least knew Joy in person. Foxworthy said that Miller had been bounced around different foster homes. Granted, none of them were near here but…
‘Do you think we could get one of those?’ Matt asks suddenly.
‘A swing?’ Maybe bringing along my fellow vampire recruit was a mistake. Matt often has insights to share but right now he seems more preoccupied with children’s playthings than anything else.
‘No, silly. A tree house.’
I sigh, exasperated. ‘Matt, we work in the centre of London. There aren’t any suitable trees.’
‘I live at the Montserrat mansion,’ he reminds. ‘There are lots of good trees in that garden. You know that. You’ve climbed some of them.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Come on. This is a waste of time.’ I start back to the motorbike. Maybe Miller’s house will yield more secrets.
‘I particularly like the big one in the corner,’ Matt continues. ‘Do you know, if you climb to the top of it you can see right into the girls’ bedrooms?’
I stop. ‘What did you say?’
Matt’s eyes dart from side to side. ‘I … er … nothing! I didn’t mean to do it! Well, I did but I didn’t really see anything. Bo, I’m sorry.’ He drops his head in shame.
‘Where’s the tree house, Matt? The one you were talking about before.’
Without looking up, he points a finger. I follow it, eventually spotting the rickety planks. They’re so well concealed by foliage that I’d never have noticed them.
‘Come on,’ I breathe. I make a beeline for it.
I’m forced to scale several garden fences. In the last one, a dog starts barking. I’m torn between willing it to shut up and thinking of poor Kimchi. Matt, following at my heels, opens his mouth. With a sudden premonition, I clamp my hand over it. ‘No barking back at the dog,’ I tell him sternly. He pouts.
Leaping over the last fence, I see a strip of land between two rows of back gardens that face each other. A small stream runs down the middle and trees, some only just starting to shed their leaves with the onset of autumn, line the way. I check my bearings then pick my way down, twigs snapping under my feet. Matt jumps into the water and splashes along next to me.
‘There’s a rope swing,’ he says, awestruck.
I see that he’s right. It’s frayed and old; it’d be a miracle if it cou
ld bear anyone’s weight these days, even a child’s. I hold Matt back, frowning at him.
‘Can’t I just have a little go?’
‘No, you’ll end up falling. It’s been here too long.’
I’m surprised it’s not been cut down. Then again, considering the undergrowth and lack of recent trails, this area has probably been off limits to local children for years. Probably since Joy’s abduction. Besides, who needs rope swings and tree houses when you’ve got Playstations and XBoxes?
I continue to the tree in question. It’s a large imposing oak with branches that extend far across the night sky. The tree house is several feet up. I stare at it doubtfully, not sure it’ll hold my weight, then I walk round the trunk, judging its girth. At one side, although the soil is heavily compacted, the ground feels unusually uneven. I press it with my foot. Something’s not right.
Bending down, I scrape away the loose soil. Someone has been digging here. Not recently, but then I’m not looking for recent.
I glance up at Matt and his muscle-bound body. ‘You’re too heavy to climb up. See if you can dig out this earth. There might be something there.’
Matt looks disappointed but nods. I skirt back to the tree-house opening. If there was a ladder here it’s long gone, so I jump upwards, pulling myself onto the nearest branch. It snaps under my weight and I’m forced to leap back to the trunk, my arms and legs encircling it as if I’m giving it a big hug. I shimmy upwards like an island dweller on the hunt for coconuts – except that this is no pretty palm tree. The bark is damp and rotting in places and it’s hard for my short arms and legs to grip round it. With a sloppy technique, I push up as quickly as possible then squeeze into a gap between the tree house and the actual tree. I stand up, wary of the creaking, unsteady planks under my feet. One big storm and this entire structure will tumble down.
The moon leaks in from the gaps in the roof, illuminating the small area. I step forward gingerly to peer out of the window-shaped hole at the front. The tree house protests loudly. Gritting my teeth, I edge over: from here to Joy Palazzi’s house, there’s a clear line of sight. At least there would be, if there wasn’t an overhanging branch in front of me. I wonder if she ever came here.