I can say anything else.’
Gabriel swore. ‘Wasn’t me,’ he said fiercely, ‘whatever your precious Sergeant Datta thinks.’
‘Why would she think you had anything to do with it?’ Bakare asked blandly.
‘You’ll have to ask her,’ said Gabriel. ‘The unreasonable prejudices of the Met have always been a mystery to me.’ He glanced over his shoulder to highlight the way Datta was glaring at him with her lip curled. He grimaced and waved at her.
She sneered back at him, then frowned at James.
James stepped closer to Gabriel. ‘Let’s get home,’ he said.
Gabriel jammed his hands into his pockets and glared at the policeman. ‘You’re going to investigate this properly,’ he demanded more than asked, ‘you’re going to find out who killed these people. They weren’t nothing. They deserved better. They deserve an effort, at least.’
James thought that Bakare might be outraged at the smear on his professionalism, but the DI didn’t react. ‘I’ll do everything I can, Gabe. I promise.’
Gabriel nodded curtly then strode up the banks, away from the incoming tide. James cast a final glance back at the unfathomable Sergeant Datta, and followed his friend away from the bridge.
Chapter Six
James slid the needle smoothly under the woman’s skin and into the vein. He could smell the blood, and hear its steady whoosh in the circulatory system when he listened closely enough. Those abilities, along with his preternaturally steady hand, made him a favourite at the clinic for taking blood samples.
He filled the two vials and withdrew the needle. He surreptitiously licked his thumb and passed it over the small puncture wound, so that it began to heal up almost at once. The healing properties of vampire saliva were pretty much the only advantage he’d gained from the transition. Mrs Kapur tended to bruise easily, and this was a simple thing he could do for her comfort. She was 72, and a good- hearted soul, and he figured she deserved any consideration that was so easy for him to give.
‘That’s all, Mrs Kapur. We’ll be in touch with your results.’
Mrs Kapur patted his arm. ‘Lovely, thank you, Doctor Sharpe.’
Then she giggled. ‘That’s the wrong name for you. You should be Doctor Gentle. I never feel it when you’re using the needle.’
‘All part of the service,’ he said, smiling at her as she left. Once the door was shut, he labelled one vial then he pulled the stopper out of the second and drank it.
Thyroid function down, and I’ll need to up her heart medication. He scribbled a note to transfer later to Mrs Kapur’s computer records. First, he had to get to the police station to sign his statement from last night’s incident.
He straightened his suit and tie as he left the clinic. Gabriel was there, striding in rapid, agitated steps up the path to the entrance, brow furrowed unhappily. His leather jacket was drawn close around his body, and the dark green scarf he wore was wound firmly around his throat. It was like he had armoured himself in wool and attitude.
‘Everything okay?’
Gabriel shrugged jerkily. ‘I still need to give my statement.’
‘I thought you went in this morning.’
‘Bakare wasn’t in this morning. Datta was. I don’t talk to Datta. She acts like I murder people on Bank Holidays for a hobby.’
James’s hand flexed into a fist, then splayed out as he forced the tension out of his joints. ‘Let’s go find Bakare, then.’
Gabriel jammed his hands in his pockets. ‘Do you think she’s right?’
‘Of course she’s not bloody right. You’re no killer.’
‘How do you know?’
Takes one to know one. James quashed the notion. He had more factual reasons for knowing it to be true. He’d have smelled the blood on Gabriel, for a start. He’d have smelled the burned meat on him, if he’d killed Daryl Mulloway. That kind of stink took a long time to wash clean. He’d been to burned-out villages where the stench of firebombed homes lingered for months.
‘I’ve met killers.’
‘Feel free to be a character witness for me, then. Datta aims to pin something on me if she can.’ He fell into step beside James and they walked together towards the nearest bus stop.
‘Aren’t you going to ask why she doesn’t like me?’ Gabriel prompted.
Dinnae care, do ye, Jamie? Ye like the braw lad plenty for everybody.
‘I assume she’s fickle and deranged.’
The reminder of his words about the failed date washed the tension out of Gabriel. ‘Maybe. I’ve never understood it, otherwise.’
Fortunately, Bakare was in when they reached the station. Less fortunately, he was on his way out, Datta in his wake. ‘We’ve got another body,’ Bakare said through gritted teeth, ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow if you–’ Then he pulled up short. ‘This Ben Tiller you were looking for. Can you give me a description?’
‘Twenty-two. About James’s height. Dark hair, hazel eyes. He’s got a scar on his…’ Gabriel waved indicatively towards his own chin. ‘He was glassed by a gang of pricks in a park last year.’
‘Think you could ID him?’
Gabriel’s fists clenched. ‘Yes.’
‘Come with us, then.’ Bakare regarded James sourly as he fell into step with them. ‘Don’t recall inviting you, Doctor Sharpe.’
‘You want to take Gabriel to a crime scene to identify a body and you’re telling me you want him alone?’ James’s voice was calm, but his posture was military-rigid, his eyes hard. ‘I can always call his lawyer if you don’t want me along.’
‘Fine. Get in the car. Do what you’re told when we get there and stay out of the way. Datta, take your own car.’
With a glare at both James and Gabriel, Datta obediently went to her own vehicle.
James wondered what the hell he was doing, drawing attention to himself this way, but Gabriel’s small nod of thanks settled the matter. James would be damned if he let Gabriel get dragged off to a murder scene in the company of one, and possibly two, police officers who seemed to think him guilty of a gruesome crime.
James slid into the back seat of Bakare’s car beside Gabriel. ‘Should I be calling a lawyer?’
‘Not yet,’ replied Gabriel quietly. ‘There’s nothing they can charge me with. I didn’t do it.’
‘I know.’
Gabriel drooped his lanky frame against the seat, long legs bent and his angular face pensive. He closed his eyes. He looked terribly vulnerable, with his dark hair in customary disarray and mouth pursed.
