Past Due (2 page)

Then there was the question of who had painted those symbols. It was clear that whoever had painted them had done so with bare hands because she could see fingerprints in the blood, but she had gotten no impressions off them when she touched them.

Frankie had been both blessed and cursed with a gift; she was psychic. Nothing helpful, like seeing the future, but she could see impressions left by people’s souls. Every time you touch something, you leave an impression and Frankie could read those. Stronger emotions leave a bigger impression and considering that the killer had just brutally murdered someone, he should have been rather emotional.

So what did that mean? Could a ghost have killed her? Most ghosts were nothing more than a strong impression themselves - they couldn’t harm anyone - and trapped souls, which did have the power to harm would surely leave an impression themselves. Plus she doubted souls had fingerprints.

Then there was Will. He was lead investigator on this and his involvement would only make things more difficult for her.

Frankie met Will in her last year of university. He was perfect; handsome, charming and very good to her, but Frankie had been fooling herself that she could have a relationship with anyone. Will had been her last ditch attempt.

Her gift also allowed her to read the people around her, meaning she could see into Will’s past, both his actions and his thoughts. Frankie hated that, hated knowing peoples' secrets, and of course not everyone’s thoughts were particularly nice.

Two totally naked bodies in almost total contact overwhelmed her gift. Not only did she see more than she ever wanted to; it hurt. Before meeting Will, Frankie had only had sex twice, and both times she’d had to be totally drunk. The alcohol dimmed the edges but not enough.

For four months she had kept Will waiting, kissing him only occasionally and as briefly as possible. He respected her boundaries and waited for her to be ready but she had felt him beginning to pull away. Not wanting to lose him she had made their relationship physical.

She'd tried getting drunk but Will hadn't liked that. She tried valium but Will noticed that too. Anyway, neither helped very much so she finally tried sex while stone cold sober. It had been awful.

By this point he knew something was wrong with her and put it down to abuse suffered in her childhood. Frankie knew that was what he thought because she could see those thoughts for herself. She considered telling him the truth but she didn’t want him thinking she was a freak, just like everyone else she’d ever told. She had loved him too much to bear seeing that look in his eyes.

So she left, heading back to England to accept the job offer from MI5. She didn’t discuss it with him and he was furious with her. They had the fight to end all fights. Frankie used a lot of the stuff she’d seen in his head against him, he called her all sorts of foul names before finally slamming the door on his way out.

Frankie had left the next day.

Now she realised that not only did she still care for him, until she’d found this occultist she’d likely be running into him quite often.

At half past three she decided to call it a night and start again tomorrow. She wasn’t thinking clearly and she’d been up since 7a.m. Maybe some sleep would help her focus.

Alexander McNabb frowned at his computer screen. According to the BBC news site there had been a second murder. Unfortunately no name had been released yet.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, wondering what his next move should be. It wasn’t necessarily bad news. The first girl, Kerry, had been a patron of his club but there was nothing to say this latest victim was.

He heard the door open and looked up to see Kate standing there.

“
Here’s tonight’s takings,” she handed him the bag of cash. “I’m off, boss.”

“
Everywhere locked?”

Kate nodded. “You look beat, you need an early night.”

He smiled. “Maybe. Good night Kate.”

“
Night.”

As the door closed behind her, Alex got to his feet. He needed to find out who this second victim was. The article didn’t give an address but it did list an area. Surely the area would still be swimming with police; it wouldn’t be hard to find.

In the end it was the news vans that gave the location away and Alex pulled up close to them. Although the risk of being recognised was low, he decided to question the news teams before the police. They often had more information than they put in their reports.

He struck up a casual conversation with the camera man from STV, Pete, and sympathised with him about the cold. When he was sure they weren’t being watched he caught the cameraman's gaze.

Pete found himself unable to look away and watched in amazement as the cool blue eyes grew darker. By the time they were midnight blue he felt calm and relaxed.

“
Do you know the name of the woman who was killed tonight?” Alex asked softly.

Pete knew he shouldn’t tell a member of the public her name, but this guy was alright, he was trustworthy. Pete would stake his life on that. “Sylvia Fornham.”

He name didn’t mean anything to Alex, but considering how busy his club was, he couldn’t know all the patrons by name. “Do you have a photograph of her?”

Pete nodded. “But we can’t release it until the family have been informed.”

“
Of course, I understand. Could I see that photograph?”

“
Sure.” Pete stepped up into the van and pulled the image up on one of the screens.

Alex’s expression showed no reaction but his fists clenched.

“
Look at me.” Pete did as he was told. “You will only remember our conversation as a friendly chat. You will not remember my face, my asking about the victim or showing me this photograph, do you understand?”

“
Yes.”

Alex released his hold on Pete’s mind and disappeared before Pete had even blinked.

Pete wondered why he was back inside the van. He shook his head, thinking he was getting old before his time. Mind you, a full night sleep now and again would probably improve things, but he needed the money right now.

He sighed and wondered if he could take the van and find a Costa Coffee. He badly needed a double espresso right now.

Alex might not know the names of everyone who visited his club, but he did know faces and Sylvia Fornham was a face he knew.

He drove much faster than the speed limits allowed, knowing that he could use mind control on any policeman who dared stop him. He would have liked to go faster but these roads didn’t allow for the kind of speed that would help ease his anger.

Someone was killing people from his club. This alone would be enough to anger him but by choosing girls from his club, the killer was drawing attention onto Alex. Alex’s life didn’t bear scrutiny.

He wondered how long he had before the police discovered both girls had his club in common. Sylvia hadn't been a frequent visitor so maybe it would take them a while to make the link. He hoped so because his only option was to find the killer first and the more time he had, the better.

Alex’s car screeched to a stop just inches from the back wall of the club and he sat there for a few moments. Now that he had a plan he felt a little better. Of course the one flaw in his plan was that he had absolutely no idea exactly how one went about finding a killer.

Frankie roused herself from bed at 10 the next morning and quickly made a strong coffee before logging back onto her computer. Using MI5’s access she read the latest police reports. Not a lot had changed but there were more forensic details, the same fibres, prints and hair found at the second scene as the first. Things were about to get difficult for her but she had an idea. Noting from the reports that he’d risen quickly through he ranks, she called his station and asked the switchboard operator for Detective Chief Inspector William Campbell.

“
Campbell,” he sounded distracted.

“
Wright,” she teased. No one else she knew could answer a phone so briskly yet not sound rude.

“
Frankie,” she could hear he was pleased to hear from her. “I’m really sorry but-“

She cut him off. “I have a suggestion for you. Just hear me out, okay? I want to help you with this case. I don’t have a lot on it; I have access to resources you don’t and I can cut through a lot of red tape for you.”

“
I do not want M.I. bloody 5 running roughshod though this!” he hissed, keeping his voice low.

“
They won’t, Will, just me. Come on, I can help you. Imagine it, I can search suspects houses and call in an anonymous tip that will get you a warrant.”

“
We won’t get a warrant based on a tip,”

“
You don’t know the judges that we do.”

His silence told her he was mad.

“
Look, do you really want another terrorist attack because we couldn’t get a warrant for a wiretap?”

He sighed. “Of course not.”

“
Then face reality and realise we have sympathetic judges helping us.”

“
Frankie…” there was a whining quality to his voice she recognised. She was winning.

“
Look, it doesn’t matter how much of a golden boy you are there, the chances are that if there’s another murder your bosses are going to take over your case and take all the glory.” She let that sink in for a moment. “Come on, just say yes. You know you want to.”

“
Okay, but on a couple of conditions.”

“
Fine.”

“
One, you check with me before doing anything.”

“
Fine.” Yeah, right!

“
And two, no funny spy stuff.”

“
Agreed.” She wondered what counted as funny spy stuff. Chasing occultists?

“
Great. Tell the guys at the crime scene I’m coming. Tell them I’m a psychologist and I'm doing a profile. Don’t worry, I’ll get you a real profile of the scum bag but it’s a good cover.”

“
They’ll need to see ID.”

“
Will, I’m a spy for Christ sake.” Sometimes he could be a little slow on the uptake.

“
Fine. I’ll let them know you’re coming. Are you at least using your own name?”

“
No, Francine Williams.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I’ll speak to you later.” He hung up.

Frankie glared at her receiver. “Thanks for the help, Frankie. Anytime, Will, what are friends for?” She slammed the received down. “Men!”

The second murder had been committed across town from the first. Serial killers usually stayed in a comfort zone and Frankie wondered if there was any significance to the locations.

The murder had taken place in a flat on the Broomhouse Estate, a council estate that had seen better days. The officers watching the door let her through easily enough and she began taking pictures of the scene. The victim this time had fallen in the hallway, on her way to the kitchen. It looked like both victims had been running away from the front door.

Once again the killer had finger painted pagan symbols on the walls in the victims’ blood. She took a lot of pictures of them. She would also have to return to the first crime scene as she’d been unable to get pictures last night.

She pulled off her glove and touched one of the symbols with the back of her fingers. Once again she got nothing. She closed her eyes and tried again, concentrating harder on picking something up.

There was something. It was very faint, like she’d feel if she were wearing thick marigold gloves to insulate her when she touched something.

But that made no sense, there were fingerprints in the blood, someone had touched the wall, presumably while in an aroused emotional state. She should be getting a flood of images.

She knelt by the bloodstains on the floor and touched one. Like last night’s victim she felt pain and fear, but there was disbelief in there too. Frankie clenched her jaw, trying to sift through the images and emotions.

A pale face, glimpsed over her shoulder. Too pale, something was wrong. Her attacker looked clammy, sick. Frankie replayed the memory, but it was just a glimpse and she could make out no more details. Sylvia had fallen face first towards the kitchen and she hadn't had a chance to look back again.

Frankie wiped the moisture away from her eyes, then pulled her glove back on and stood up. She hated having to touch crime scenes; the onslaught of emotions always left her feeling raw and weak. But she was used to it, so she swallowed her feelings down and headed into the kitchen.

A lot of the information on Sylvia was still being compiled, it would take a few days before a full picture of her life was built up. In the meantime, Frankie could build a fairly complete picture with her gift.

The first thing she looked for was a notice board. Jotted messages, cards pinned up, and photographs would all help her build up a picture. Unfortunately Sylvia didn’t have a message board, or fridge magnets. The next best thing was the kitchen junk drawer, which sure enough Sylvia had.

It was overflowing. Frankie pulled off her gloves and took each item out one by one. The take away menus mainly had memories of her boyfriend, except for the Chinese menu which she ordered from when her friend Sasha came round. There were some business cards, a plumber (flooded kitchen) a herbalist shop (health kick, only lasted a month) matches from a nightclub (dark, loud, Sylvia had enjoyed it) her work ID (she didn’t want to be a secretary all her life) gas, electric and council tax bills (money was tight) a list of night classes (she wanted to study English, hoped to become a teacher one day) pens and pencils, an assortment of shopping lists, phone messages, Christmas and birthday cards.