Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (top non fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

‘I was round there a lot. I liked your mum. She was a friend with my girlfriend at the time.’

Miranda. I pinched off a headache. ‘Their blood was found on your clothes.’

He sounded sad. ‘I don’t know why that was. I couldn’t explain it. I still can’t.’

‘What about Miranda?’ I demanded. ‘And Patrick? Why did they believe you were innocent when nobody else did?’ He didn’t answer. ‘Samuel?’

There was a sigh. ‘I saw them. When I got off the bus. They were … together. Miranda looked upset – so did Patrick, for that matter. I followed them. They were walking quickly towards the cottage where your parents lived. Miranda spotted me and gave me a hug and told me to go home.’

I sucked in a breath. ‘Are you saying that you think they’re the ones who—’

‘No! They didn’t kill your parents.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just know. Neither of them is a killer. I believed it then and I believe it now. They didn’t do it. I don’t know who did, but I know it wasn’t them.’

‘But—’

‘The guard is waving at me. I think we have to wrap this up, detective.’

Goddamnit.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘For what?’

‘You’re the first person in a long time who has believed that I’m innocent. You’ve no idea what that means to me, especially because it’s you. I’m so sorry, Em. I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.’

‘You’re in prison for a crime you didn’t commit.’

‘Them’s the breaks,’ he said, sounding like a man who’d long since accepted his fate.

There was a loud beep. ‘Your time is up,’ Jenkins said. ‘I hope you got what you needed.’

‘Not even close.’

‘Well, prison routines are more important than you might think. If you want to continue your conversation, I can arrange a visit for tomorrow. But it’s late now and—’

‘Fine,’ I said. I’d return to London for a couple of hours so I could see Beswick and find out more. I had to look him in the eye and go through what happened in more detail. There had to be something, some clue, that would help. I certainly couldn’t leave things the way they were.

‘Two o’clock?’ That would give me time to check in with Boateng, work on Julie and Patrick’s murders and meet with Miranda James again. Could she be my parents’ killer? Did Patrick Lacey help her? It seemed barely credible but it was a question I had to ask.

‘Very well,’ Jenkins said curtly. ‘Good night.’ And then the phone went dead.

Chapter Seventeen

I remained where I was for several minutes. The air was far cooler now but I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t really feel anything. The damned crow continued to hop around, poking at the ground. ‘Don’t you sleep?’ I asked it eventually.

It paused in its search for a juicy worm and looked up at me.

‘What are you?’ I asked.

The bird dipped its head and returned its attention to the ground.

A long drawn-out whisper broke the silence. ‘Emmmmmmma.’ I jerked. ‘Little Emmmmmmmma.’

I grabbed my crossbow. ‘Who is that?’ I demanded. ‘Who’s there?’

The crow squawked. It flapped up into the air, sailing over my head and out to the road beyond.

‘Emmmmmmmma.’

Fucking hell. Where was that coming from? One minute it seemed to be from beyond the cottage, the next it was over by the copse of woods.

‘I have a crossbow,’ I called out. ‘And I will use it.’ I held it up, pointing its tip from one corner of the garden to another. From over the hedgerow, there was a loud caw. It was followed immediately by a low, mocking laugh. An involuntary shudder ran down my spine.

The crow cawed again. Was it the damned bird calling my name? No. That was stupid. My eyes narrowed. ‘Who’s there? Who are you?’

There was nothing but silence. I held myself very still. I possessed supernatural hearing; it wasn’t as good as a werewolf’s, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t rely on it. I sniffed the air and smelled nothing but dewy earth and the faint scent of honeysuckle.

I squinted through the gloom but I couldn’t see anything beyond the shadows. I walked to one side of the garden, beyond the wall of the cottage, then I walked to the other. Nothing. No more freaky whispers. No sign of any living being. Even the crow had vanished.

I gritted my teeth and waited for several moments. There were no more strange sounds. I was alone and, I had to admit, I was scared. Eventually, with the crossbow in front of me and ready to fire at any moment, I left.

I was on edge all the way back to the Bird and Bush. I jumped at every shadow and constantly looked over my shoulder. I’d felt like this before in those initial days and weeks after my boyfriend, Jeremy, had killed me. I’d felt this sort of fear. Given what I’d learned about my supernatural abilities, I hadn’t expected to feel this way again. And yet here I was again. Hello darkness, my old friend.

My tension eased a fraction once the pub came into sight. The streets were quieter than before; while there was still a heavy police presence, the patrolling uniformed officers were obviously there to reassure the Barchapel residents and visitors rather than question them.

I recognised several faces and nodded as I passed. I was tempted to drop in on Boateng at the station and see if there had been any developments, but I was certain from the police officers’ grim expressions that nothing useful had been found. At this point I’d only get in the way, not to mention that my presence would cement my lack of usefulness now the investigation pointed towards a human suspect.

I swung round the corner towards the pub’s low entrance. As I drew closer, I realised that someone was there. My hand tightened on my crossbow and then relaxed. ‘Albion,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it a little late