Dark Tomorrow (Bo Blackman Book 6) (8 page)

‘As I said, my work is included in those papers so I don’t think confidentiality is an issue here.’

‘Yes, but you are a former employee. And that case is closed.’

My smile widens. ‘You have my photo on the wall.’ I pause. ‘Without my permission. If you’re taking advantage of me, Mr Berryhill, I feel I should get something in return.’

His gaze is flat. ‘I don’t appreciate intimidation or threat tactics,
Ms Blackman
.’

I’m the very picture of innocence. ‘Really? I worked for you. I know exactly what tactics you appreciate.’

Berryhill’s bonhomie is almost gone. ‘And bloodguzzlers are so perfect,’ he says sarcastically. ‘We help people through tragic circumstances beyond their control. You put them in those circumstances. The difference now is that you’re on your own.’ He shrugs. ‘Sure, you might be able to kill me but I have friends in high places. They’ll come after you. You don’t have the Families to hide behind any longer.’

‘I removed myself from the Families long ago,’ I tell him calmly. ‘I don’t need to hide behind anyone.’ I don’t take my eyes from his. ‘But I fear we’re getting off on the wrong foot. I don’t want to bother you and I don’t want to create a stink because you’re using my name to drum up more business. All I want is to see the files on Alice Goldman and then I’ll be out of your way.’ What I don’t state is the obvious: if he continues to block me, I’ll do a lot more than just grin at him. I display my fangs once more to make sure he gets the message.

He stares at me for a long moment. There’s considerable animosity here. ‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need something from you in return.’

I raise my eyebrows. Interesting. And brave. ‘What?’

‘A few well-placed attacks. You don’t have to kill anyone but it would be good if you could bring them to the brink, so to speak.’

My lip curls. ‘Good grief. You’re worried about your bottom line, aren’t you? How many people have cashed in their policies in the last week? With no vampires to worry about, there’s no need for anti-vampire life insurance, is there?’ I shake my head in mock dismay. ‘Tut tut.’

Berryhill glares but ignores my goading. ‘Children would be best.’

The man has no shame. I inspect my fingernails. ‘There’s an unconscious body downstairs.’ I curtsey. ‘You’re welcome.’

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. ‘That’s not enough.’

‘You need headlines.’ I eye him with distaste. ‘You could just create a new policy, one to guard against attacks by crazed religious groups.’ Berryhill doesn’t answer. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘You already have. Silly me.’

He sniffs. ‘That’s the deal.’

I consider his terms. ‘Very well. I will ensure that tomorrow’s front page has details of a vamp attack. That will have to do for now.’

‘Accepted. Come back tomorrow and I’ll get you what you need.’

I step back and look him over. His teeth have been whitened to within an inch of their life and, judging by his lack of facial expression, there’s definitely been some Botox action. I allow the silence to draw out. It’s not words that give people power – it’s control. I’ve got a damned sight more than Berryhill has. For one thing, I’m not worried about ageing. Not for a long time yet.

As I expected, he can’t stop himself filling the silence. ‘I can’t give you the files now,’ he says. ‘I’ve got no guarantee that you’ll do what you promise.’

‘Unless the Queen drops dead, you’ll get your front page. You have my word.’ I glance over his shoulder. The door behind him is open and there is a cluster of wide-eyed office bees staring through. ‘Otherwise, I’ll decimate your pretty little outfit here.’

Berryhill’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. There’s been enough stuff written about me recently that he believes I’m capable of it. There are some advantages to being psychotic. He mulls over his options and comes to a quick decision. ‘Very well,’ he snaps. ‘Follow me.’

He spins on his heel and heads back through the door. I shake my head at his stupidity. You should never turn your back on a dangerous animal. For now, however, I follow him meekly. The secretaries and insurance agents duck their heads as if to hide from me. It’s hard not to laugh.

Berryhill stalks through and points to a nearby office. ‘You can wait in there,’ he says stiffly.

‘Nope,’ I say cheerfully. ‘Not there.’ I look around then spot the room I need. ‘That one will do.’

His expression sours even further. ‘That’s my office.’

I beam. ‘Fabulous.’

He mutters something under his breath, obviously tempted to refuse. Eventually, however, he chooses the wiser of two options and nods stiffly. ‘As you wish.’ His breathing is barely controlled. ‘I shall retrieve the files.’

I clap him on the shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

I have no idea what Bruckheimer’s office looks like but Berryhill has certainly gone all out on his. The desk looks antique, even if the large chair behind it is ergonomically designed, and there’s a slim, expensive-looking laptop on top of it. On one wall there’s a huge flat screen displaying the day’s news. Yet again, the destruction of the five Families is leading the way. Irritated, I turn it off. I open a couple of desk drawers and peer inside, noting the various cards for escort services next to the tidy array of stationery. Then I wander over to the window. I have a perfect view all the way down to X’s place. Nobody is coming in or out. I cross my arms and study the darkened windows. Are you in there, X? Do you know I’m coming for you?

I remain where I am for a moment or two, then wheel round and grab Berryhill’s chair. I push it out from behind the desk and place it in front of the window just as the man himself returns.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Rearranging your furniture,’ I say, without looking round. ‘The energy in this space is all wrong.’

If I was expecting him to complain, I’m disappointed. He huffs slightly and walks up beside me, holding out the files as if he’s cradling a bomb. I take them then shoo him away dismissively. Berryhill’s jaw works as if he wants to say something. In the end, he gives in and leaves me to it.

‘I’ll come and find you when I’m done,’ I call out after him. Then I smile.

Keeping one eye on X’s building, I open up the first of the files. I’m confronted with a gap-toothed, smiling photo of Alice – the one that was broadcast on so many news programmes. Her eyes sparkle with mischief and she grins with so much childish optimism that I feel my heart ache. I quickly flip over to the first report.

The initial pages detail little more than what happened to Alice, although the language is cold.
The insured subject was last pinpointed at location blah blah blah.
That kind of thing. I understand that an insurance or a police report or anything of that ilk has to be dispassionate but there’s something very disheartening about reading it. This was a child – not a ‘subject’. I suppose I should congratulate myself on proving that I’m not completely heartless after all. When confronted with the stark facts of Alice’s abduction, though, there’s little congratulating to be done. I suppose things could be worse; I could still be working for these bastards.

Due to the high-profile nature of the case, Bruckheimer and Berryhill used several different investigators to ensure no stone was left unturned. I conjure up a vague sense of professional detachment as I examine their separate reports. It’s clear which investigators were trying to do their job as the insurance company saw it – namely finding any way possible to duck out of paying out on the policy. All they needed were a few suggestions that bloodguzzlers were responsible. However, as I read I realise I wasn’t the only one who did everything I could to force the company into paying up. I was just more successful because I had Rogu3 to hack into the Families’ systems and prove that vampires weren’t involved.

There’s little new information in the files although it’s helpful to see what bases have already been covered. The family friend who Alice was visiting was questioned at length. Even at seven years old, there’s a sense of tired exasperation in her words, as if she’d been interviewed so many times that she was repeating what had happened with little emotion. No, Alice had never expressed any interest in vampires, witches, or daemons. Yes, she was her normal self on the day she vanished. No, they hadn’t seen anyone strange lurking around the neighbourhood.

Bruckheimer and Berryhill didn’t just dispatch investigators to speak to those directly involved with Alice. They also sent at least two agents to speak to everyone in the neighbourhood, coaxing out details to suggest that there had been a vampire sighting in the area. The questions they asked were deliberately vague in order to incite equally vague answers. They didn’t want any flat denials. The mere suggestion that a bloodguzzler was hanging around the quiet suburb would cast enough doubt to get the insurance company out of paying. Unfortunately, several locals played along.

I take more time as I read their answers: one suggests that there was a dark-haired man with blood running from his mouth who transformed into a bat and flew away. Yeah, right. Another discusses a strange car that was seen in the area. Sadly for Bruckheimer and Berryhill, the police discounted that one fairly quickly as the car was caught on CCTV at the local petrol station and belonged to an estate agent scoping the area. I jot down notes from each of the statements. There’s no telling what could prove useful in the future. Even the crazy old man who is adamant that bug-eyed aliens took Alice off the street in front of his eyes gets a mention on my notepad.

Unfortunately, eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable – UFO sightings or otherwise. Ask ten people who witnessed the same event to describe what they saw and you’ll get ten different answers. The company concluded that the locals could ‘provide clues’ as to reasons for Alice’s disappearance that could help them avoid payment but, even with the varied stories, they couldn’t make any of them stick. Vampires might have been the easy target to blame, but there was no evidence to prove it.

I smile humourlessly. No doubt Berryhill and his buddy would have tried to bury the information from Rogu3’s hacking efforts if I hadn’t inadvertently let it slip to the local press. The simple truth was that the Families weren’t involved and everyone knew it. Even Medici wasn’t that much of an idiot.

I sigh and close the file, staring out of the window with my chin in my hands. Hundreds of people looked into Alice’s disappearance. Every scrap of evidence was pored over; if there was anything to find, it would have already turned up. The only person who can shed any new light on all this is Maria. Maybe she knows where Alice’s remains are buried so we can provide closure for the Goldmans. But if Alice ended up in the same place as Maria, I doubt there’s any information that will make her family feel better. I suppress the shudder that ripples through my body. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that I can’t change the past. All I can do is affect the future.

There’s still no sign of life from X’s building. Despite Foxworthy’s efforts, this address might not be current. I calculate how long I can wait before I break in and snoop around. The place looks unthreatening but it’s probably almost impregnable. I’m confident there will be a chink somewhere, though – there always is.

As far as I can tell, there’s only one entrance. I’ll be surprised if there’s a back door, although it probably merits checking out. My eyes flick from window to window, searching for vulnerabilities. I’d hesitate to scamper up the side of the building itself – there’s no telling what alarms that might trigger – but I could probably make the leap from the office block to the left. Maybe it’d be worth getting Rogu3 to leave off Hale for a couple of hours to see if he can seek out any building plans.

I massage my neck. Tempting as it is to storm through the front door and let the chips fall where they may, I’m only going to beat X if I’m smarter than him. Most people would say I’ve not got a snowball’s chance in hell, but I’m very, very motivated. I’ll find a way to get to him even if it kills me.

I continue to watch the street, losing myself in an elaborate fantasy of X at my feet begging for mercy before I blow off his head. I’m just getting to the good part when there’s a cough behind me. ‘What do you want, Berryhill?’ I ask, irritated. I turn and look at him. He’s loosened his tie but his eyes are harder than before. He’s had enough time to stew and he’s starting to regret our little ‘deal’. Tough.

‘There’s a phone call for you.’ He points to a phone on his desk. ‘I’ve had it diverted to this line.’

My eyes narrow in suspicion. No one knew I was coming here because, until I saw their listing downstairs, I didn’t know Bruckheimer and Berryhill were located in this building. ‘Who is it?’

‘How the fuck should I know?’ he snaps.

I point at him. ‘Don’t move.’ I receive a glare in response but he does as he’s told. I pick up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘This is Joe at reception,’ O’Shea’s voice trills out. ‘You should come down.’

My blood freezes. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘There’s a package for you to collect. You need to sign for it.’

It takes me a moment to understand. ‘You can’t talk freely.’

‘That’s correct,’ he answers breezily.

I lick my lips, ignoring the suddenly calculating look in Berryhill’s eyes. ‘Are you in immediate danger?’

‘No,’ O’Shea squeaks. Then he hangs up.

I swallow. This is most definitely not good. Berryhill snorts at my expression. ‘Oh dear. Trouble in paradise?’

I don’t have time for more verbal sparring. I toss down the phone and stride towards him. I’m less than a foot away when he realises the danger he’s in. ‘Hey!’ he protests. ‘You promised…’

I grab his arm and swing him towards me. After David, I’m not really hungry but this is about more than satiating my physical hunger. I hook one arm round Berryhill’s chest and drag him back to the lift; at the same time I sink my teeth into his neck. He tries to struggle but it’s futile. His blood fills my mouth, while his employees stare in shock. A few stand up as if they’re going to try to rescue him from my evil clutches but, as soon as I glance in their direction, they think better of it. With Berryhill moaning underneath me, I press the button for the lift and march over to my photo.

I release my teeth from his neck and use my index finger to dip into the fresh wound, then I smear Berryhill’s blood onto my picture, colouring my lips bright red. The effect is rather impressive. I push him back against the wall so his head is propped next to the picture, pull out my phone and snap a photo.

‘Sorry,’ I shrug. ‘I know there’s not much finesse but I need to get downstairs. This should do the trick, though. I did promise.’ With one tap, I send the photo off to the first journalist I find in my contacts.

I hear a murmured whisper as one of Berryhill’s braver employees calls 999. I nod grimly. That’ll help.

Just as the lift opens, I let Berryhill sink down into a heap. He’s not dead. Although perhaps he had it coming.

***

O’Shea is waiting beside the lift door as I emerge. When he catches sight of me, he hisses in alarm, ‘You’re covered in blood!’

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘Occupational hazard.’

‘Goddamnit, Bo. I know I insisted on coming along but the one thing you said was that we were going to be low profile. I don’t actually want to die today.’

He jerks his head across the lobby and my eyes follow the movement. The zombies from earlier have been replaced by some new ones but I still don’t see any imminent danger. I open my mouth to say so just as O’Shea elbows me sharply in the ribs. ‘Look harder.’

I frown and squint. Generic businessman in a generic cheap suit. Another one next to him, tapping his foot. A slick woman with hair so perfect it looks sprayed on is gesturing at reception with fluid movements. There’s something about the way she flicks her wrist that’s incredibly familiar. I suck in a breath. Oh bugger.

‘You see it, right?’

‘I see it,’ I reply grimly. There’s only one other person I know who moves in that kind of precise, almost lyrical manner. And he’s a Kakos daemon. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

There’s a groan from behind reception. David, still looking pale, staggers up. The woman quirks her manicured eyebrow in his direction. She doesn’t look worried – she looks amused.

‘Now,’ I whisper urgently. ‘There has to be a back door.’ I grab O’Shea’s arm and start walking quickly. I feel a strange pressure behind my eyes and I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not the time to start getting a bloody migraine.

David smiles weakly at me as we rush past him. ‘Sorry,’ I mouth. He gives me a half shrug.

I pick up speed but I’m waiting for the woman to yell out or to feel sudden pain as she springs towards us and rips my heart from my chest. We continue on unimpeded, however, and O’Shea flings open the nearest door. I shove him through before quickly following.

The second the door slams behind us we sprint down the narrow corridor towards the emergency exit at the other end. Nausea swells up through my stomach. Why did I think I could do this? Why did I think I could take on X?

‘How did you know?’ I gasp to O’Shea. ‘She’s in full glamour.’

‘I’m an Agathos daemon. Partly, anyway. And I’ve been known to use a bit of glamour myself,’ he pants. ‘But I wouldn’t have been able to tell if she hadn’t let her glamour slip. It was only for a half second. That was enough.’

I feel panic rise in my throat. I push down frantically on the bar to the emergency door and we burst out into bright sunlight.

‘Which way?’ O’Shea yells.

‘Right. No, wait.’ I point. ‘That way. Left.’

We run. My mind turns over the expression in her eyes. She didn’t once look directly at me but she knew I was there. It was written all over her face. And she’d been able to read both our minds. ‘This is a trap,’ I say suddenly. ‘We’re running into a damn trap. She wanted us to come this way. She let her glamour slip deliberately so that we’d do this.’

‘Why?’

There can only be one reason. ‘X.’ I fling my head round. ‘He’s here somewhere. He’s waiting for us.’ I slow down. ‘I wasn’t here for you!’ I yell. ‘I was here for Alice!’ Even to my own ears, the words sound flat as they echo off the walls around us.