A Touch Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2) Page 29

  He stopped pacing and walked up to me. Loomed above me. Looking down and searching my face. His was so still, so devoid of emotion, and yet I could tell he was drowning in it.

  Because I was.

  “How do you know it’s her?” he asked, quite reasonably, I thought.

  “I don’t. Not for sure. She hasn’t ever said a single thing.”

  “But you know.” Meaning my gut did.

  I looked him in the eye, heard Carl’s words inside my head.

  And said, “Yeah. I know.”

  Chapter 31

  “Gotta love a cop’s penchant for not mincing words.”

  CIB was deserted, save for the light on in Inspector Hart’s office. The Venetian blinds were angled, but still open, allowing light from within the glass walled room to filter out in horizontal stripes. Pierce’s jacket was draped over the back of his chair as we walked past it. Low voices hummed louder as we approached Hart’s partially open door.

  I knocked twice, but as the door wasn’t closed, walked in without waiting for an answer.

  “Afternoon, sir,” I said, interrupting whatever Pierce and Hart had been discussing. “Sarge,” I added, nodding towards Pierce.

  “You’ve come straight from the banquet?” Hart asked, moving to take a seat behind his desk. Damon walked in behind me, making Hart sit up straighter and a scowl to appear across his lips. “Michaels.”

  “Inspector.” Damon and Pierce shared a male chin lift.

  “Well, out with it then,” Hart grumbled. “Clearly this is an ambush.”

  I settled myself into one of the vacant chairs, determined to not show any emotion. The fact I had to do this dressed up to the nines in an out of date ball gown did not help matters. Thankfully, both Hart and Pierce were beyond office type jokes.

  Where to start? Pierce must have seen something on my face, because he spoke before I could.

  “Malcolm Francis Warren has provided a statement.” I grasped the diversion with relish.

  “And his assailant?”

  “Hooded.”

  “In a robe?” Damon asked.

  “The exact same robe worn by Irreverent Inferno members.”

  “Could he identify his attacker?” I pressed.

  “No,” Pierce offered. “At least, not willingly. But he did confirm he never completed his initiation.”

  “What about the NDA?” I asked.

  “Hadn’t made it to that part, apparently,” Hart provided. Which meant Warren dropped out before the third circle: Gluttony.

  “Did he give up anything else?”

  “He’s scared, that’s why he stalled on giving a statement,” Pierce said. “Hardly surprising considering the beating he got. But it was more than that.”

  I looked at Pierce, he was looking at Damon

  “Your sister was definitely at the Irreverent Inferno at the time of his introduction. Post limbo.”

  All the colour washed from Damon’s face; I was sure his legs were about to buckle. But he locked his knees, scrubbed a hand over his stubbled cheeks, and just nodded. Eyes wide and perhaps unseeing, but back straight as a rod. Both Pierce and Hart were impressed with his stoic control. I was melting on the inside.

  We all knew what it meant for Carole Michaels to be in that cavern when the initiates passed the limbo circle and tested themselves in lust. We’d all seen it. No one needed to say the words. But where was she now?

  “And afterwards?” I asked. Allowing us all to skip the whole second circle of Dante’s Hell.

  “He couldn’t confirm that, but she was there willingly.” Just like the woman draped in a flowing white dress that we’d seen on the Irreverent Inferno’s altar.

  Still, we had nothing. Other than confirmation that she was tied up in this mess and was in theory alive at midday today.

  “When did this happen?” I asked, Damon seemed incapable of questions.

  “Last Saturday night,” Hart provided. The night Damon had been in the Sweet Hell part of the building.

  He did sit down on those words. With his hands clasped knuckle white together, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. It reminded me of how I reacted to the knowledge my father collared a woman as his sexual pet. Stunned. Mortified. Worried.

  But Damon’s worry was for his sister, not for his reputation being harmed by her choices. I didn’t like what that made me.

  “You said there was more to his fear than just the beating he received?” I asked, wanting desperately for my own reasons to move on from Carole’s plight.

  I was a bad person, I knew it.

  “This is where it gets complicated,” Hart said, his eyes on Damon, just as Pierce’s were as well. I started to feel uncomfortable. “Warren says he passed the lust test in the cavern.”

  Oh, shit.

  “What?” Damon demanded. Both Hart and Pierce stilled. That readiness a cop gets before it all hits the fan and punches are thrown. My hand came out and rested on Damon’s arm in warning. Both detectives’ eyes glanced down at the move, but immediately raised them again to hold Damon’s angry stare.

  “You heard right,” Hart said carefully. “He was the initiate chosen by Carole Michaels whilst she was in the lust circle.”

  Oh, fuck. Gotta love a cop’s penchant for not mincing words. Hart was a hard-nosed bastard, but he also respected Damon in a warped kind of way. He wasn’t pussy-footing around, because Damon wouldn’t have wanted it that way.

  “So he passed the lust circle test?” I asked. Damon just sat statue still beside me. I couldn’t begin to fathom what he was thinking, processing. I gave him his space to work through it the only way I knew how. By asking the questions he’d be thinking, but was unable to voice aloud.

  “He passed,” Pierce offered. “And was beaten to a pulp because of it.”

  Silence.

  I leaned back in my chair and let out a slow breath of air.

  “What have you got, Keen?” Hart pressed, seeing the move for what it was. Clarity.

  “Why so many days afterwards?”

  “Don’t know,” Hart snapped. “What have you got?” he repeated.

  I flicked a glance towards Damon. He was watching me as well. Pain, worry, anger, fear. All of it was there in those dark eyes. He nodded. Just a small shift of his head. Enough to let me know he was ready.

  “I’ve been getting phone calls,” I said, thinking it was the best place to start. “A silent caller for the past week.”

  “And you didn’t report it?” Hart demanded.

  “I thought it was Carl.”

  “And now?”

  “I think it’s Carole.”

  “She give you anything to go on?” Hart asked, jotting a few words down on a pad. He didn’t question my theory, he rolled with it. It was an acceptance I hadn’t been sure I’d still get.

  “Nothing, but I did pick up a higher pitch in gasp yesterday when I called her Carl. Made me realise then it wasn’t, but I still didn’t put it together until today. I’m not sure why.” My eyes flicked to Damon’s again. The words were woefully inadequate as an apology.

  “And today?”

  “She was scared.”

  “That’s it?” Hart demanded.

  “This is all connected,” I explained. “Damon saw an ex-boyfriend of Carole’s at the banquet.” Pierce let out a whistle, recognising the significance before I’d even gone on. “Not his usual scene. But he was there. Why? Cawfield’s informant set him on Damon. The bomb at his house is linked through the accelerant to the HEAT arson attacks. Carole was the lure. The Irreverent Inferno was the web. And the murder occurred across the street from Sweet Hell.”

  “We still going with coincidence not being a part of this?” Hart asked, it seemed a genuine query.

  “Definitely not,” I said with conviction.

  Both Pierce and Hart sat up straighter. Somehow my words meant something.

  “Then walk us through it, Keen.”

  I stood up. I worked better when I p
aced. All three men turned so they could watch me as I moved.

  “We’ve always suspected the HEAT attacks have been revenge based,” I started. “Dragging Carole back into that lifestyle is definitely vengeful. Not to her. But to Damon. He worked hard to get her out of it. So hard, in fact, he destroyed his relationships.”

  Damon slowly closed his eyes, but didn’t show any further signs of emotion. They were steady when he looked back at me.

  “This arsonist is fucking with Damon. Why?” I asked. I was answering before anyone else could. “Because Damon took Carole from him and locked her away.”

  “The name of the ex-boyfriend?” Hart demanded, looking at Damon with his pen poised. Pierce had his cellphone out, ready to act on the identity immediately.

  “Andrew Falkner,” Damon supplied.

  “Don’t know him,” Pierce said, tapping away on his screen. “Name’s not in the Wanganui.” The Wanganui Computer was the National Law Enforcement System.

  “Could be an alias,” Hart suggested.

  “More than likely,” Damon concurred. “He dealt in drugs.”

  Pierce lowered his cellphone at the exact same moment Hart lowered his pen. Dead end.

  “And this connects to the murder, how?” Hart asked, eyes back on me.

  This was where the dots started straying.

  “David Gordon is a dominant sexual predator, but otherwise not a good fit for this,” I said, picking up my pacing again.

  I noticed Hart leaning back in his chair, no longer straight backed, ready for me to blow him apart with my detecting skills. He’d picked up on the shift. Either in my tone of voice or general confidence.

  “Superintendent Keen…” I stopped. I hadn’t even discussed this with Damon. But he’d seen the jewel studded chain that was undoubtedly a collar. He’d figured out who my father was with behind those curtains. He’d even tried to converse with the strangely mute Haydee. But discussing this with Inspector Hart and Ryan Pierce was too much.

  Even for an ice princess like me.

  “Superintendent Keen?” Hart pressed, even though his tone was careful, not forceful.

  “Superintendent Keen has provided an alibi, sir,” I pointed out. “Even though it took him twenty four hours to do so. It still stands.”

  Silence. Hart didn’t trust my father’s alibi. I’d already suspected this, otherwise he wouldn’t have been pushing for me to get more. I hadn’t seen the alibi, but I was betting it involved Haydee; his pet.

  Was she or was she not a strong alibi?

  “He did confirm he was a member of the Irreverent Inferno, but I don’t like him for this crime,” I added in an extremely lame display of detecting skills. “Kyan Marcroft, however, is a superb actor,” I went on. “And I can’t make out what exactly he is hiding. But he is hiding something. And Nathaniel Marcroft is a psychopath somehow managing to function in normal society.”

  “Anything solid?” Hart asked, voice level.

  “Not a damn thing,” I admitted.

  “Your gut?” Pierce pushed.

  “If I had to pick one?” Both men nodded. I shook my head. “I’m happy to rule out Gordon and Keen…”

  “Why Keen?” Hart finally pressed. “I need more, Detective.” He really hadn’t liked my father coming into CIB and throwing his weight around.

  “His life is the law,” I said, staring off into the distance. “His world is controlling himself within it.”

  “Even though he’s confirmed his involvement in the Irreverent Inferno?” Hart asked.

  “Yes, sir. His coping mechanisms aren’t the same as ours.”

  Silence again.

  I’d realised something today, watching my father hide his anger behind an icy shield. I’d realised that whatever had made him into who he had become after my mother had died, had been because of rage. A fury so large he lashed himself down with exquisite control. Cutting himself off from all triggers. Me. Anyone who looked or dressed or acted like my mother. The Irreverent Inferno was his stage, but not his cover.

  The murderer was using Sweet Hell’s darker side to hide what he had done.

  “The Irreverent Inferno is the murderer’s protection, his screen,” I added. “My father uses it as his platform. He is not hiding behind it, he’s employing it to help strengthen his control.”

  That was as good as they were going to get out of me. If they wanted more, they could do what my father had initially suggested and have Hart question him. Privately.

  I had no obligation to protect my father. He’d been absent from my life for six long years. And even before that, he’d been an icicle that split my world in two. Before my mother died and afterwards. I owed him nothing.

  But I still couldn’t sell his secrets in order to satisfy my superior’s demands.

  I was awash in grey and I’d chosen to be, purposefully.

  “OK, so how do the HEAT arsonist and the Marcrofts fit together?” Pierce asked, once again coming to my rescue. If we made it out of this fiasco and I still had a job in CIB, I was asking to team up with this man. Permanently.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “But a guess would be one is using the other. The HEAT arsonist, let’s just call him Falkner for now. His intention has been to get back at Damon all along. What better way than lure his sister into that hell. Then make Damon follow her there. The murder happened unexpectedly, at least for Falkner, but this is a guy who’s not afraid to use whatever comes to hand to help him out. He chose to set Cawfield onto Damon by implicating him in Samantha Hayes’ death. Just to fuck with him. But whether Falkner knows who did it, I can’t be sure.”

  “This does raise one pertinent question, however,” Hart added. Every eye turned to him. “Where exactly were you when the victim was killed?” His eyes were on Damon.

  I couldn’t believe it. After everything we’d been through we were still going back to this. Damon had left my house at four, and had arrived at HEAT after five a.m. He didn’t have an alibi.

  “I was driving to work,” Damon announced.

  “It took you an hour from Keen’s house to Pitt Street?” Hart pressed.

  Damon shrugged. “I drove around for a while.”

  “Why?” I asked, having not heard this before.

  “Looking for Carole.”

  “K Road,” I said, understanding dawning.

  He nodded. “I went in search of Eagle.”

  “But you didn’t find him.”

  “No.”

  “So, no alibi,” Hart concluded.

  “And no doubt picked up on CCTV footage in your distinctive HEAT vehicle on the road where the murder occurred at around the time it did as well,” Pierce offered, sounding pissed off. For Damon? Or because Damon had just landed himself back in the hot seat complicating our suspects list?

  “Look, this is all irrelevant, because Damon didn’t do it,” I pointed out.

  “Jesus, Keen,” Pierce muttered as Hart said, voice hard, “And yet he’s now a suspect. Again.”

  That’s it. I’d had enough. I stood up from my chair, making Pierce rise as well in preparation to hold me back, no doubt. But Hart just crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down, unperturbed.

  “He’s being framed by Falkner!”

  “No one’s framing him, he chose to go to Karangahape Road in search of one of your informants at exactly the same time Samantha Hayes was killed,” Hart explained succinctly.

  “Coincidence!” I growled and silence met my outburst.

  “Look,” Hart said eventually. “I’m with you on the Marcrofts possibly being tangled up in this. I even believe you’re on to something with the HEAT arsonist motives and Carole Michaels involvement. But I can’t overlook this avenue either. I just can’t.”

  “Are you arresting me?” Damon asked, reasonably. Too reasonably.

  “Not yet,” Hart snapped. “But don’t go too far.”

  “Very well,” Damon replied, standing from his seat and straightening his dinner jacket. He looked
immaculate. He looked stunning. He didn’t look like a fireman or a fire investigator. But unfortunately murder does not distinguish itself by fashion. “I’ll advise my lawyer you may be in touch.”

  He turned and walked to the door.

  “Damon, hold on,” I said, starting after him.

  “Let him go, Keen,” Hart ordered, halting my feet in their track.

  “Sir?”

  “I said, let him go.”

  Damon’s eyes caught mine as he turned to close the door after him. Understanding, which broke my heart, in the deep brown that looked back.

  The door clicked closed and I still stood there.

  “We need to discuss whether to bring in the Marcrofts or try for more evidence first,” Hart announced.

  “We’ve only identified three of the hooded figures, that Michaels pictured the other night,” Pierce advised, “and none of them have offered anything up that could aid us. That NDA is silencing them good.”

  I saw Pierce, out of the corner of my eye, watching me as he spoke. But my focus was really on that closed door.

  “How’s your relationship holding up with the son?” Hart asked. “Kyan Marcroft,” he added, the question clearly for me.

  “Not good,” I said, my answer automatic. My back still to Hart, my eyes on the door.

  “Maybe you could approach him in a neutral setting,” Hart offered.

  “The banquet was neutral,” Pierce pointed out.

  “No, that was a room full of all the suspects in a very public environment,” Hart argued, ignoring my statue-like performance completely.

  “So, a coffee?” Pierce queried. “You think that will work?”

  “Worth a try,” Hart replied.

  “On it,” I said and sprang for the door.

  I didn’t look back. And I didn’t pause long enough to close the door. So I heard Hart’s words clearly.

  “Not even two full minutes,” he mused. “I’d pegged her running after five.”

  “Things have changed,” Pierce replied before I made the far side of CIB. “Keen’s all grown up now, boss.”

  “Don’t call me boss,” was the last grumble I heard as I hurtled down the hallway after Damon.