Page 27

Chapter

Nineteen

S imon Campbell lived in a modern tenement building in the far reaches of Coldstream.

The location said a lot; although it was a well-kept building, and several passersby smiled at Thane and me, it wasn’t the sort of place where anyone with great magical or financial endowments would choose to live.

The natural ground enchantments were so weak that I could barely detect them.

Whoever Simon Campbell was, he hadn’t possessed much power.

We clomped up the stone stairs to Simon’s third-floor flat. His name was neatly printed on the front door beneath the doorbell. Thane stepped forward and rang it; unsurprisingly, nobody answered.

I flipped over the doormat, but there was no spare key handily hidden underneath. I stepped back and glanced around on the off-chance Simon Campbell might have used another spot. I could easily pick the lock but there was no point in doing that if there was a simpler way to get inside.

‘Stand back.’ Thane braced his body. ‘I’ve got this.’

I stared at him. ‘What are you doing? ’

‘Kicking the door down.’ He grinned at me. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

‘I don’t care how strong you are. We just spent the night in a cell, so I’m not about to do anything that will get us arrested again. Break down that door and every person in this building will hear us and call the MET!’

He frowned. ‘You used to be an assassin, Kit. Since when did you have respect for the law?’

‘I was an assassin who never got caught,’ I told him haughtily. I took my keys from my pocket, unscrewed the fob and produced my very small, very trusty lockpick.

Understanding dawned. ‘You’re saying there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’

‘I hate that idiom,’ I hissed. It should hardly have been a surprise that I wasn’t a fan of feline taxidermy.

‘Fair enough.’ Thane paused. ‘How about “there’s more than one way to seduce a werewolf”?’

I gave him a long look and he winked.

Hunkering down, I squinted. My brass lockpick had been charmed by a skilled witch to work with many different types of locks.

It wasn’t perfect – for one thing, it wasn’t indestructible and its magic wasn’t eternal, so it would only function for a certain number of lockpicking attempts – but it was an old tool of my trade and I was fond of it.

It didn’t work on warded doors or magically enhanced keyholes, but there was no sign of those even though Simon Campbell had been a witch.

I hesitated, listening for any sound that suggested a neighbour might be approaching.

When I was sure the coast was clear, I inserted the pick and wiggled it.

It only took a moment before there was a satisfying click and the door swung open.

I gave Thane a triumphant glance but he wasn’t watching me and admiring my prowess.

He was staring open-mouthed at the interior of Simon Campbell’s flat.

The place was a mess. Not the sort of ‘I can’t be bothered to clean up after myself mess’, but more of a ‘stampeding ogres had a riot in my home when they were on a mission to break everything I own’ mess. It had been ransacked.

Thane let out a low whistle. ‘Fuck. If Simon Campbell is our Rory Taggert, his killer must have come here afterwards.’

I nodded. ‘There were no keys found on the body and that lock hadn’t been tampered with. Somebody was searching for something – they probably killed Campbell, took his keys and came here to find it.’

We both gazed at the devastation. ‘Daniel fucking Jackson,’ Thane muttered.

I nodded. There was a nasty taste in my mouth that I did my best to swallow.

We didn’t spend long looking around; if there’d been anything here to find, there was little chance that it was still around. I picked up a smashed photo frame and turned it over to reveal a picture of four smiling faces.

I immediately recognised Knox Thunderstick.

Next to him was a smirking troll and a nymph, probably Ian and Adrienne, his other two friends.

My gaze slid past them with disinterest because I was certain that the figure at the end had to be Simon Campbell.

He was grinning, his right hand resting protectively on the gold buckle of his belt, his left hand slung around the nymph’s shoulders.

His features matched those of the body recovered from the River Tweed. Yeah, this was my John Doe.

Rory Taggert had probably never existed; Fetch Jackson must have created a character using Simon Campbell’s photos to stop the likes of me from delving too deeply into the case.

I held the photo out to Thane. ‘It’s definitely John Doe.’

He nodded slowly, unsurprised. ‘I think we might have a motive of sorts as well. Look at this place.’ He picked up a small gold box from the floor.

‘A garden-variety burglar would have stolen this, and there are other valuables still lying around. Whoever created this mess wasn’t interested in thieving, they were searching for something specific.

I reckon Simon Campbell had something that Daniel Jackson wanted.

The Fetch killed him, then came here to get it.

’ His eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘From the way he’s turned over every inch of this flat, it doesn’t look like he found it. ’

‘Maybe that’s why Knox was tortured,’ I said quietly. ‘Perhaps Jackson thought that Simon Campbell had given it to his friend to look after.’

‘What could be so valuable that a respectable council witch would murder two people?’

‘Financial gain is a common motive for murder,’ I mused.

‘But you’re right – a double murder of this sort would have to bring an enormous reward.

The payoff would need to be worth the risk, and I can’t imagine what Knox or Campbell could have owned that would justify this.

Neither of them were wealthy or particularly powerful. ’

Thane tapped the photo, indicating the frozen smiles of Adrienne the nymph and Ian the troll. ‘If we can locate these two, we might find out. Let’s hope that Jackson is in custody by now and he hasn’t already paid them a visit.’

I glanced again at the photo – and my jaw dropped. Oh shit. Thane immediately registered my expression. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is it?’

I didn’t look up: my gaze was fixed on the troll and his drooping moustache. It didn’t suit him, but that wasn’t what was bothering me. ‘The troll, Ian,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve seen him before.’

‘Where?’

I swallowed. ‘He’s in one of the lockers at the Mathers Street mortuary. He’s dead, too.’

We were both sweating and breathing heavily by the time we got back to Pork Pies. There were no signs of life behind the frosted glass. I rattled the doorknob but it was locked, and a sign stuck to the door stated that the café was closed for the foreseeable future.

‘Where would Harriet have gone?’ Thane asked.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘No.’

‘We have to find Adrienne. If the nymph isn’t already dead, she could be in real trouble.’

I gritted my teeth. ‘I know.’

‘If Montgomery hasn’t arrested Daniel Jackson, he could be on his way to kill her.’

For fuck’s sake. ‘ I know .’ I looked at Thane; his nostrils were flared and his body was tense. ‘Don’t panic.’ I spoke the words aloud for myself as much as for him. ‘We have to stay calm and think logically.’

He grimaced. ‘You’re right.’

I looked at the deserted café. ‘Go back to the MET, find Montgomery and see if he’s found Jackson. And ask if he can help track down Adrienne.’

‘What are you going to do?’

I pointed through the glass. ‘There’s someone else in there who might be able to help. I’ll catch you up. I won’t be more than ten minutes behind.’

‘Kit…’

‘Do you trust me?’ I asked.

He didn’t hesitate. ‘Always.’

I gave him a little nudge. ‘Then go.’

As Thane took off, sprinting down the street in the direction of the MET, I dug out my lockpick for a second time.

A couple were strolling towards me, hand in hand, but I didn’t wait until they’d passed by – I simply picked the lock in full view.

I was no longer in the mood for trying to hide my actions now there were lives at stake.

My only attempt at fooling them was to give them a dotty cat-lady glance and mutter about losing my keys. My old boss would have been horrified; if I’d had time to stop and think, I’d have been horrified, too.

I burst into the café and the door banged behind me.

No alarm squealed and there was no magic to prevent my entry; with a Cursed Portrait in residence, there wasn’t any need for them.

Lady Augusta had already begun to shriek.

‘Alert! Alert!’ Her cut-glass voice was incredibly piercing. ‘Intruder alert!’

I careened into the back room. ‘Stop yelling. I need you to be quiet and focus. This is important. Knox’s friend, the nymph called Adrienne – do you know where she is?’

‘Intruder! Thief! Fire! Help!’

I marched up to the portrait and braced my hands on either side of the picture frame. Lady Augusta’s eyes widened and genuine fear flashed across her painted features. Good: I needed her to be scared.

‘I’ve already told you to be quiet.’ I didn’t raise my voice: words spoken quietly were often far, far scarier than the most screechy of shouts.

‘I’m not here to hurt you – I don’t care about you.

I’m trying to help Harriet and stop anyone else from getting killed.

The nymph, Adrienne.’ I held up the photo that I’d nabbed from Simon Campbell’s flat. ‘Where can I find her?’

Lady Augusta pouted sulkily but her eyes swung to the photo. ‘I have never seen that girl before.’

Damn it. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ She tossed her head. ‘I don’t like nymphs. They’re too airy-fairy. ’

This was Coldstream: half the city was airy-fairy. Lady Augusta, however, had no reason to lie. I’d have to find Adrienne by other means. ‘What about Harriet?’ I asked. ‘Where has she gone?’

This time Lady Augusta only stared at me. I stared back then allowed a beat to pass before I softened my voice and tried again. ‘She trusts me, you know that. You need to trust me, too. I’m on Harriet’s side. Tell me where she is. Please.’

Lady Augusta blinked then sighed, and I knew I had her. ‘Apparently somebody has been arrested for Knox’s murder. She has gone to the Magical Enforcement Team to find out who.’

I was already half out of the door. Thank goodness Thane was already on his way there. ‘That’s it?’ Lady Augusta yelled after me. ‘You’re just going to run off again?’

Dave’s scowling face flashed into my head and I came to a stuttering halt. ‘Thank you,’ I called. ‘Thank you for your help.’

As I left, I heard a final mutter from the Cursed Portrait. ‘You’re fucking welcome.’