Page 54 of Fortune's Ashes
‘Did you set fire to the Supe Squad Building?’
‘No.’
‘Did you run Frederick Hackert and Owen Grace off the road and cause their vehicle to crash?’
My eyes hardened. ‘No.’
My solicitor intervened before my temper got the better of me. ‘Do you have any evidence at all that Emma Bellamy was involved in any of these incidents?’
‘She was at the scene when Cobain was killed.’
‘Outside the scene. Not at the scene.’
‘There was a phone call made to us that stated she’d been seen arguing with Cobain.’
‘An anonymous phone call, anuncorroboratedanonymous phone call, the details of which my client refutes,’ Barber stated. ‘She has already answered all these concerns. Do you have any real evidence that she is involved?’
I waited, wondering if Katling was going to mention the hairs that had been found. Given my friendship with Laura, Barnes had to assume that I knew about them. Neither of them said anything.
Barber straightened his tie. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘we are done here.’
DSI Barnes looked at me. ‘Sooner or later you are going to have to decide if you’re a supe or if you’re a detective.’
I met her eyes. ‘Until now, I’d always thought I was both,’ I answered quietly.
ChapterTwenty
There were many things on my to-do list, not least having a shower and getting a change of clothes, but first there was somebody I had to speak to. Given my circumstances I should have asked Buffy or Lukas to do it, but I felt strongly that Phileas Carmichael needed to hear it from me; I owed him that much.
I didn’t tell Jon Barber where I was going. The poor man didn’t have to know everything.
At first glance, Carmichael’s street looked the same as always. There were the same people – mostly supe – going about their day. The bin beside the bus stop was overflowing, the large pothole that had been in the road for months was unchanged, and the usual overzealous pigeons were pattering about the pavement looking for dubious treats.
Even Carmichael’s small office appeared no different but, when I glanced towards the flats opposite, the events of recent days were obvious. Two of the windows had been blown out and nothing but taped plastic sheeting was blocking out the worst of the weather. Although the window on the third window remained intact, the glass inside was covered with a sooty film. Crime-scene tape barred the ground-floor entrance.
Passers-by were giving the building a wide berth as if they could be contaminated by mere proximity, but those fears hadn’t stopped several other people laying flowers outside the building. I resisted the urge to go over and see what messages had been left. The investigators would be keeping an eye on them on the off-chance that the killer decided it would be funny to leave a note of condolence.
I was the main suspect for Cobain’s murder so staying as far from the scene as possible would be wise. I was risking a lot by coming here at all.
I turned away and faced Phileas Carmichael’s office. Normally, I’d have walked in and waited until he was free, but that didn’t seem right under these circumstances and I hesitated. I couldn’t see anybody through the window or the boarded-up door, so I pressed the intercom button. It didn’t take long for Phileas to answer. ‘The door is already open.’ His disembodied voice sounded irritated.
I hunched over the intercom. ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘It’s Emma Bellamy.’
I heard a crackle but no words.
I tried harder. ‘I need to talk to you. It’s not about Alan Cobain, Phileas. I won’t mention him at all. It’s about Quincy.’
There was a sigh. Then, ‘Come on in.’
I opened the door and stepped into the bright, sunny reception area. The faint scent of wolfsbane and verbena tickled my nostrils, causing unexpected tears to well up in my eyes. The smell was so evocative of the Supe Squad offices that it was hard to think of anything else. I gritted my teeth. The last thing Phileas Carmichael needed was my tears.
The interior door opened and the gremlin solicitor appeared, adjusting the cuffs on his perfectly tailored suit. We’d always had a good relationship, but there was no denying the angry, suspicious glare in his narrowed eyes. I wondered if he truly believed that I’d thrown petrol over Alan Cobain and set him alight – or if he had truly believed that Alan Cobain was a phoenix.
‘You’ve found him?’ he asked, not bothering to disguise his disdain. ‘Let me see if I can guess. Quincy has been found propping up a bar in the Costa del Sol while peddling drugs to stupid tourists.’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced at my face. ‘No? He’s serving ten years for fraud, then.’ He sniffed.
I shifted my weight. The easiest way to say it was to come right out with the news. ‘We’ve found a body.’
It took a moment for my words to sink in and at first I thought Phileas hadn’t heard me. Then the gremlin started to blink furiously. ‘A body? A dead body?’ His voice was rising. ‘Quincy’s body?’
