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

‘Enchanted teddy bears?’ Lukas scoffed.

‘Keep an open mind,’ I told him.

‘There are limits.’

‘I know but—’ I stopped talking and gazed at the screen.

‘Bugbear.’ Lukas sounded grim as he read the same words that I was reading. ‘Not just an annoying habit but a supernatural creature that feeds on children.’

We both looked at each other.

‘Our killer doesn’t only kill children,’ I said quietly.

‘True,’ Lukas conceded. He returned his attention to the screen. ‘This email is almost two days old. Why haven’t you looked at it before now?’

‘I’ve been busy with other leads,’ I said, shame-faced. ‘And the theory that a bear supe was involved no longer seemed viable.’ I told him about the overly obvious footprints in the park. ‘It seemed more likely that it was a human deliberately trying to look like a supe.’

Lukas grunted. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’ His irises seemed to grow even blacker. ‘There is another possibility, of course.’

‘What?’

‘The first victim here was Patrick Lacey,’ Lukas said. ‘And Patrick Lacey is on record as being the person who found you next to your parents’ bodies. That’s an immediate connection between you and him.’

My brow creased. ‘I wasn’t aware of that connection to begin with,’ I said, ‘but the killer wouldn’t have known that.’

Lukas nodded, warming to his subject. ‘Neither of us have heard of any kind of supe with bear-like characteristics. If such a supernatural creature does exist, they’ve taken great pains to hide their existence.’ He paused. ‘Until now, that is. They made no attempt to conceal what they were when they killed Lacey and Mackintosh. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ He pointed at me. ‘You’re the only Supe Squad detective in the country – at least, you were until last week. If someone wanted to draw you out, all they would have to do is commit a supe-related crime. After what happened at the Talismanic Bank last month, you and your abilities are an open secret.’

‘Perhaps the killer merely over-played their hand with the footprints at the park,’ I said thoughtfully.

‘Or it was a double bluff. He wanted to separate you from the official police investigation and ensure his real identity as a supe was kept secret. You were getting close to the truth, so he used some clever misdirection to mislead you. Let’s face it, the only time he messed up was today when that teenager stumbled across him.’

I met his eyes. ‘You really think that all this is about me? That Patrick Lacey and Julie Mackintosh were murdered because of me?’ Nausea rose from the pit of my belly.

‘You were murdered too,’ Lukas reminded me gently. ‘Twice, if we include when you were a child as well as what happened with that bastard hiding in the wardrobe. Think about the voice you heard at the cottage and what was written on that police file. You got away twenty-five years ago because you became the phoenix and resurrected in fire and brimstone. Whoever killed you is pissed off about that and wants revenge.’

My fingers reached for my throat. ‘What if it was a test?’ I whispered. ‘What if my second murder here was to test to see if I would be reborn again? I was strangled, not slashed or bitten like Patrick and Julie.’

Lukas paced up and down the small room. ‘What’s the end game?’ he muttered. ‘You can’t die – and the killer knows that. So what are they trying to achieve?’

Julie’s friendly face flashed into my mind. ‘Fear.’ My voice was barely audible. ‘Chaos. Confusion. They want to punish me for living.’ My fingers smoothed the rumpled duvet cover. ‘And they’re doing a good job.’ I gazed at Lukas. ‘But you’re wrong about one thing. The bastard hasn’t made one mistake. He’s made two.’

Lukas gave me a questioning look. ‘What’s the second?’

There was one unopened email remaining in my inbox. ‘Samuel Beswick,’ I said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Archibald Jenkins was running scared. To have a prisoner under his care who might be about to be declared innocent of all charges at the same time that he was almost killed had encouraged him to send through any information that he could get hold of. He wanted to be seen as cooperating fully with the police and to absolve himself of any culpability in the attack on Samuel Beswick.

I checked the time stamp on the email. ‘As of two hours ago,’ I said, ‘Beswick was still alive. Frederick Parris, the prisoner who attacked him, is no longer talking.’

I tapped on the first file, opening up a list of people who’d visited Parris over the last year: Margaret Parris, his mother; Linda Adkins, his fiancée; Simon Gato, his solicitor. I gazed at the photos taken when they’d been in the visitors’ holding area at Galloway. None of them looked familiar, and none of their names matched witness statements or interviews from Barchapel. Fuck.

I muttered a vexed curse under my breath. Jenkins had attached links to hours upon hours of CCTV footage. It would take half a lifetime to go through it all.

I gritted my teeth; I had to start somewhere. I opened up the first clip, which was of the attack itself. The video was a wide shot, the lens looking down at the prison cafeteria from overhead. I located Samuel Beswick sitting in one corner of the room, then I pressed play and held my breath as another figure stood up and approached him. There: that was Frederick Parris. I pointed him out to Lukas and we both watched as, almost in slow motion, he grabbed Beswick by the scruff of the neck and smacked him round the head with his food tray. Then he spun Beswick round and jabbed him in the stomach several times with the home-made weapon. I rewound and watched again.

‘There’s no provocation,’ Lukas said. ‘No obvious reason for the attack. Not on the video, anyway.’

I shook my head grimly. ‘No.’ Almost as soon as Parris started stabbing