Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (read books for money TXT) 📕

I’d never told her about what had happened to my parents; I’d never spoken about it in detail to anyone other than Lukas. ‘It’s kind of a long story.’

‘Most things with you tend to be,’ she said drily. ‘Where are you?’

‘A place called Barchapel in Kent. It’s about thirty minutes’ drive from Appledore.’

‘Uh huh. And do you have a proper sample kit with you? Because if you don’t, there’ll potentially be too much cross-contamination, especially with such an old scene. It’ll be dodgy trying to take proper readings without the proper equipment.’

I grimaced. ‘I don’t have anything like that. I’m on my way to have a chat with the local police, though. I can get a sample kit from them.’

Laura sniffed. ‘I know there’s been a brutal murder in Barchapel because yesterday evening there was a request for a locum pathologist to help with the investigation. I imagine the local constabulary already have their hands full and won’t be impressed by a city dweller like you sauntering in and making demands about investigating decades-old crime scenes. I have some holidays saved up. I’ll be there by this evening. I’ll take the samples myself and test them straight away.’

‘That’s really not necessary, Laura. You don’t have to—’

She interrupted. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how important is this to you, Emma?’

Eleven. ‘Important,’ I said quietly.

‘Then shut up. Dean and the others can hold the fort here. Where are you staying?’

I didn’t deserve friends like her. ‘At a pub called the Bird and Bush.’

‘I’ll be there by nine tonight. Make sure to have a pint of ale waiting for me.’

Frankly, that was the least I could do.

It wasn’t difficult to locate the small police station – it was a stone’s throw away from the bus stop where I’d arrived. I did my utmost to put my discoveries at the cottage to the back of my mind and present my best game face. Regardless of my own concerns, the Kent police were working on an active murder case.

There was a small front desk with a tired-looking uniformed policeman sitting behind it. No doubt this was the local bobby. DCI Boateng and the rest of the murder squad would be visiting temporarily from Maidstone while the investigation into Patrick Lacey’s killing was underway. For all I knew, they were also staying at the Bird and Bush. I supposed I’d find out soon enough.

I smiled at the young officer and tried to look friendly. He probably hadn’t had much rest over the past few days; a brutal murder would be well out of his usual remit of petty burglaries and complaints about noise from local residents.

‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Emma Bellamy. I’m here to see DCI Harris Boateng, if he’s available.’

‘PC Robert Rothsay,’ the man said, managing a nod of acknowledgment. ‘Do you have your warrant card?’

I passed it over and watched his expression as he glanced at it.

‘You’re with Supernatural Squad?’ He blinked. ‘Does that mean—?’

I held up my hands. ‘I’m not here in any official capacity. It’s doubtful that supes had anything to do with your murder. This is a courtesy call more than anything, although I think DCI Boateng is expecting me.’

Rothsay half turned and picked up the phone to inform Boateng of my presence. When he was done, he looked back at me. I raised my eyebrows and waited. ‘Do you know any vampires?’ he asked finally.

It was just as well that Lukas was still in London. Even the suggestion of supes by association was more than enough for the people here. ‘I do. A lot of them,’ I told him.

He flinched and I saw his hand go to his neck involuntarily. He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘does garlic work against werewolves as well as vampires?’

‘Pardon?’

He hooked a finger under his collar and drew out a piece of string. Attached to it were several wrinkled cloves of garlic. Oh dear. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t,’ I said. ‘And as I’ve already mentioned, it’s highly improbable that Patrick Lacey was killed by a supe.’

Rothsay gave me a disbelieving look. ‘I saw his body,’ he said, with a note of dark horror. ‘No human could have done that.’

The spatters of old blood in the cottage kitchen flashed into my mind. ‘Humans are capable of just about anything,’ I told him sadly.

The door beside the front desk opened and a man in his early fifties stepped out. His face was weather beaten; there were laughter lines around his eyes and only a few strands of hair on his head. He immediately reminded me of Tony, the detective at Supe Squad who’d been my mentor for little more than a day. It wasn’t so much his appearance or his age but the expression in his brown eyes – knowing, cynical, but also warm.

‘DC Emma Bellamy.’ He put out his hand. ‘I’m DCI Boateng. It’s good to meet you at last. Thank you for coming all this way.’

I took his hand and shook it, pleased by his firm, confident grip. I doubted I’d be batting away any daft questions about garlic from him. ‘It’s my pleasure, sir,’ I said.

‘Tell me,’ Boateng asked, ‘my wife was nipped by our Chihuahua yesterday morning. Should I be worried that she’s going to turn into a werewolf?’

I took an involuntary step back then realised that Boateng’s eyes were twinkling. He must have overheard PC Rothsay through the door. I laughed. ‘I think she’ll be alright.’

He grinned at me and glanced over at Rothsay. I instantly felt sorry for the younger man, whose face was suffused with red. ‘Alright, alright,’ he muttered. ‘I get it. But we’ve not had a murder here for a quarter of a century.’ He looked at Boateng defiantly. ‘And you can’t tell me that it doesn’t look as if supes are involved. It doesn’t pay to be too careful.’

Instantly contrite, I gave him a quick smile. ‘You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. And there’s no such thing