Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4), Helen Harper [free ereaders .txt] 📗

photocopied files relating to the evidence they’d gathered so far. Equally helpfully, Boateng suggested that PC Rothsay escort me to the scene of the crime first thing in the morning, once I’d had time to read the reports.

For my part, I sent text messages containing the image of the paw prints to the three werewolf clan alphas. I also sent them to Lukas and Liza, both of whom obviously held no allegiance to the wolves and possessed more knowledge about the Others than I did.

There were any number of Others, ranging from pixies to ghouls to gremlins. Like the werewolves and the vampires, they were legally bound to live within a specific area in London covering Lisson Grove, Soho and several streets in between. I couldn’t think of any Other supes who made prints of the size and nature of those found at the scene of Lacey’s death, but that didn’t mean such supes didn’t exist.

As expected, the alphas messaged to say that the paw prints were not werewolf. Lady Sullivan went a step further and told me that I was a fool for suggesting such a thing, and that I should stop staring at feet and focus on dealing with the problem of Devereau Webb. I ignored that and read the messages from Liza and Lukas. Neither of them could offer any immediate answers. Lukas said he’d ask around and signed off with an X, which made my heart foolishly miss a beat. Liza texted with a baffled question mark and followed it up by telling me that DS Grace was an idiot. He hadn’t even lasted a full day before she’d pronounced judgment upon him. Oh dear. I told Boateng what I’d learned – which was precisely nothing – and texted them both back with notes of thanks. And an X of my own for Lukas.

Clutching the files tightly to my chest, I scurried to the Bird and Bush. Much as I might have wanted to use this trip to focus on my parents, it was obvious that Patrick Lacey’s killing would have to take precedence. Apart from newly appointed DS Owen Grace, I was the country’s sole Supe Squad detective, and this certainly looked like a supe murder. For the good of the innocent supe community and any further potential victims, not to mention poor Patrick Lacey, I had to alter my focus. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t spend a bit of time finding out about my mum and dad.

The bar area was far more crowded now, with a late Sunday tea-time crowd clustered round tables and perched on stools. There was little doubt in my mind that most of them were locals. There was no better way to find out more about Patrick Lacey than talking to people who might have known him, so I deposited the files in my room. I cursed the absence of a room safe and squeezed them into my suitcase instead, zipped it up and clipped on a small padlock as insurance. After carefully locking the door, I hurried down to the bar and ordered an orange juice. It was time to get to work.

Sidling up to an old guy wearing a flat cap and sitting on his own at the end of the bar, I made my opening gambit. It wasn’t the most eloquent of beginnings. ‘Hi there! I’m Emma.’

He didn’t even look in my direction; all he did was grunt and take a sip of his beer.

I took a deep breath. ‘It’s possible,’ I said, wishing I didn’t have to use my parents’ deaths in this way, ‘that you knew my mum and dad.’ Two birds with one stone, I told myself, inwardly exulting when he turned towards me and looked me up and down. I would soften him up by telling him who I really was, then go in for the kill and learn what I could about Patrick Lacey while his guard was down.

‘Who are your parents?’ he asked.

‘They’re dead. But they were Mark and Diane Bellamy,’ I replied, pleased that there was no catch in my voice. ‘They lived in the old cottage on the edge of the village. The one that—’

‘I know which one you mean,’ he interrupted. His gaze was assessing. ‘So you’re their kid. I didn’t think we’d ever see you again.’

‘I joined the police.’ I managed a light shrug. ‘With the recent murder here, I thought this was my chance to come and see what I remembered as well as do some good.’

‘Bit gruesome, innit?’ he asked. ‘Coming back to the place where your parents were murdered to investigate a murder?’

‘Yeah,’ I answered honestly, ‘I suppose it is.’ I hesitated. ‘So did you know them? Did you know Mark and Diane?’

His reply was slow in coming. ‘I did. What happened to them rocked this place for years. Now we’re back where we started.’ He took a grim sip. ‘More death.’

A blonde woman in her mid-forties wandered over from a table in the corner to catch the barman’s attention. The man next to me called to her, ‘Guess who this is, Julie? Betchoo can’t guess.’

She glanced towards me. ‘You’ve got me there, Bill.’ Her voice was flat and disinterested. ‘I can’t guess.’ She ordered a gin and tonic and raised her eyebrows. ‘Go on. Who are you?’

‘She’s little Em,’ Bill said, speaking for me.

Julie stared at me. ‘You mean…?’

‘Yep.’

Her demeanour changed in an instant, transforming from tired exasperation to astonished excitement. ‘Oh my God. Oh. My. God.’ She leapt towards me and for one alarming moment I thought she was going to attack me. Then she grabbed hold of my shoulders and pulled me into a tight embrace. ‘Em. Little Em. What happened to you? Are you alright? I worried about you so often over the years.’ She squeezed me tighter, her floral perfume wrapping around me until I almost smothered.

‘You keep holding her like that, she ain’t gonna be breathing for much longer,’ Bill observed.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Julie released me and