A satyr? In a werewolf club? I was already interested. I nodded my thanks and strolled through.
It was immediately apparent that this was a hangout for young people. I didn’t think of myself as old but, in comparison to the handful of punters in Crystal, I felt ancient. I wondered how Tony had managed, then I gave a wry smile. From what little I knew of him, he’d have loved every minute. Sadness twinged at me. It would have been nice to get to know him better.
I sighed and glanced along the long oak-topped bar. At the far end there was a man wearing a leather biker’s jacket. He looked as out of place as I felt. This, I decided, had to be Kennedy. When I drew closer and saw his long ears and snub nose, I knew I was right.
I walked up, motioning to the stool beside him. ‘Is this seat taken?’
He didn’t glance at me. ‘It’s a free country.’
I hopped up. ‘I’m Emma.’ I lifted the crossbow and placed it on the bar. This time his head turned, and he registered my weapon. ‘Detective Emma, I presume.’
‘Not quite yet,’ I answered. ‘But close.’
He reached for his drink and raised it. ‘To Tony. He was a better man than he was allowed to be.’ He drained the glass and motioned at the barman for another. ‘What would you like?’
I deliberately misunderstood his question. ‘To talk to you about Tony,’ I said. ‘You’re Kennedy?’
‘That’s what Tony called me.’ He swivelled to face me. ‘My real name is Lee Oswald.’ He smiled humourlessly. ‘No middle name, though, and I don’t tend to visit book depositories.’
Ah.
‘You can try and compel me with it, if you wish. I don’t care.’
‘I’m not a supe,’ I said. ‘And I’m not powerful. I doubt it would work, even if I wanted it to.’
‘That’s not what I’ve been hearing.’ The barman placed another drink in front of him and Kennedy raised his hand in thanks. ‘Tell me, why is Lord Horvath so fascinated by you?’
I stared at him. Kennedy or Lee Oswald or whatever he wanted to be called might look like a well-worn barfly, but he didn’t miss a trick. ‘That I can’t tell you.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Does it matter?’
He gazed down at his drink. ‘I suppose not.’ He took a sip and savoured it. ‘Well, Detective Emma, what do you want to know?’
‘When did you last see Tony?’
‘Here,’ he said. ‘Sunday night. He was looking for a wolf. Girl from the Sullivan clan.’
‘Did he find her?’ I asked.
‘Nope. I don’t know why he was bothering. All he had to do was wait until this weekend.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Patience was never Tony’s strong suit.’
‘This weekend?’
He gave me a long look that suggested I was very dim. ‘It’s the full moon.’
‘I know that. What difference does the full moon make?’
‘Wolves are an honourable bunch and they follow the rules. They can’t control the change during the full moon. It doesn’t matter who they are or what state they’re in, they all go to St James’s Park. I’ve seen a werewolf riddled with cancer pull himself there. A grieving widow walked there from her husband’s funeral just before sunset.’ He snorted. ‘Hell, there was one guy who’d been in a car crash and had his leg amputated in the morning. By the evening, he was with all the others. He was delirious with pain meds, but he was still there. Every wolf in the city gets to St James’s on the night of the full moon. It’s coded in their DNA.’
‘Sometimes a werewolf must not be able get there. Or refuses to go.’
His response was gruff. ‘It never happens.’
‘If it did?’
‘It doesn’t.’
