‘I’m not!’ Buffy interrupted. ‘I was twelve years old when all that shit happened. It’s hardly my fault!’
‘I mean the whole supe community is to blame,’ Lukas said. ‘Everyone looked into Simon and Adele’s murders – the wolves and the vamps, not to mention a bunch of others. I don’t remember anything about the dating agency coming up and I’ve been back through the files. You can see them for yourself. There’s nothing there.’ His mouth thinned. ‘But there should have been.’
Buffy folded her arms. ‘It’s still notmyfault.’
‘Candace,’ I said to Lukas, ignoring her pout. ‘The vampire who was Quincy’s girlfriend for a while. You were going to ask her to speak to Grace and Fred.’
He jerked his head in agreement. ‘I contacted her, but I don’t think she managed to get to them before the accident. I’ll track her down now and find out what she has to say. Maybe she remembers something about Quincy’s dating agency.’
I glanced at Buffy, who still retained the expression of a recalcitrant teenager. ‘Can you speak to the Carr Clan? Find out if anyone who knew Simon Carr back then remembers if he was a client as well?’
‘I’m not interested in Simon Carr. I’m not even interested in Quincy Carmichael.’ Her voice was rising. ‘I’m interested in who hurt my Freddie!’
I touched the back of her hand to try and calm her. ‘They’re probably the same person. If we can find the murderer from thirteen years ago, we can find the bastard who burned down Supe Squad and tried to kill Fred and Grace.’
‘And,’ Lukas added with a dark growl, ‘framed you for murder.’
I nodded. ‘That too.’
Buffy sniffed. ‘What are you going to do while we’re doing the scutwork?’
‘More scutwork,’ I answered without missing a beat. ‘I’m going to hit the streets and find out everything I can about Quincy Carmichael.’
I checked my watch. It was already well past lunchtime and the hours were ticking away. As soon as the DNA check came back on those strands of hair found, I could find myself behind bars. As long I was free, I was going to fight – but time was definitely of the essence.
At least now, however, we had some leads.
* * *
Despite my snarkyresponse to Buffy, I only had a vague idea where to start. I wanted to know more about Quincy Carmichael because I was convinced that the answer to everything lay with him, but it was thirteen years since he’d been seen on any London streets. The trail wasn’t simply cold, it was frozen. It was just as well I liked a challenge.
I headed to Dorset Street. From what I remembered of the now-destroyed files, Quincy had maintained an office there, which he’d used during each of his failed businesses. It was a good location, nestled between Soho and Lisson Grove and close to the smaller enclaves where communities such as the pixies and the goblins often congregated.
I found a parking space at the far end and started to walk, noting the small businesses and shops that still dotted the street. As I moved, I felt several people gaze at me with unashamed curiosity and their stares made my skin prickle. Yeah. Dead woman walking. Shamed detective. Impending disaster. That was me.
I’d just passed a tiny store selling electronic goods when I spotted the cluster of teenagers laughing at the bus stop on the opposite side of the road. They sounded raucous and were clearly enjoying themselves, but their laughter halted abruptly when they noticed me. I resisted the temptation to wave at them and continued on my way.
I didn’t get far before one of them called out, ‘Oy! Detective!’
I didn’t answer to Oy, and right now I couldn’t call myself a detective. I kept walking, wondering at what point in this mess I’d allowed my turbulent emotions to get the better of me when it came to dealing with the public.
I nodded at a wizened pixie who was waiting for her tiny Jack Russell terrier to finish sniffing at a lamp post – and that was when I felt someone grip my shoulder.
Instinct took over. I whirled around, clenching my hands into fists and preparing to swing at whoever was about to assault me. When I saw one of the teens blinking at me in white-faced fear, I just managed to pull back my punch in time. ‘Creeping up on someone is not a good idea,’ I snarled with more force than was necessary.
The teenage boy, who on closer inspection was a goblin, held up his hands and backed away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I called out to you first.’
I was far too fucking jumpy; that was what happened when your entire existence and some of your best friends were targeted by a murderous bastard who was intent on ruining you.
I dropped my shoulders and relaxed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’msorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’
I looked his gangly body up and down. His complexion didn’t yet have the lustrous golden sheen that adult goblins possessed. Presumably it didn’t matter which line of the supe divide you were born into; when you were a teenager you always suffered from bad skin. A faint line of fuzz lined his upper lip, indicating that he was already well into the latter stages of puberty, and his shining eyes were very earnest.
He shuffled his feet, clearly nervous, especially after I’d yelled at him. ‘I just wanted to say that I was sorry to hear about your friends,’ he mumbled.
Well, shit. Now I felt even worse.
‘And about the building too,’ he added. ‘My mum works at the Talismanic Bank and she told me that they’re putting together a fund to help you rebuild it. Everyone’s contributing, not just the goblins.’
