Lenina tugged a dressing gown over her chosen pyjamas before trudging downstairs. She kept the towel wrapped around her damp hair. On reaching the living room, she saw two strangers standing over Nick. He sat on the sofa, cradling his head in his hands.
She crept into the room and hugged herself, flinching when three pairs of eyes turned towards her.
‘Nina . . . this is Inspector Brad Thorne.’ Nick pointed to an older balding man whose stomach hung out over his belt and strained his shirt buttons. His tie dangled at half-mast.
‘Detective Inspector.’ The man spoke with the faint wheeze of a long-term smoker. His narrow eyes, the colour of grave dirt, scanned the room from top to bottom, taking in everything from the cobwebs in the far corner, to the mismatched shoes beneath the radiator.
‘Sorry. Detective Inspector Thorne. This is Detective Sergeant Tristen Blake.’ Nick gestured to a younger man, nearer her age, with lively green eyes and a tailored suit.
He smiled. ‘Nice to meet you. Sorry it’s in such unpleasant circumstances.’ He held out his hand.
She took it and watched his fingers envelop her own. A plain silver ring circled his smallest finger. An expensive watch nestled beneath his sleeve, exposed as the fabric slipped back over his wrist. When he pulled back, his fingertips trailed over the back of her hand.
‘And you.’ She spoke automatically, wiping her damp palm against her thigh.
Sergeant Blake nodded and pulled a new notebook from his pocket. He removed the wrapper as he spoke. ‘I understand you were the unfortunate victim of an attack in Grick Park. Tell us what happened.’ His gaze travelled over her face, sweeping down then up before returning to her eyes. His smile broadened. He took a step closer.
Lenina perched on the end of the sofa. Nick reached for her, but quickly retreated when she flinched away. She gave him an apologetic glance then relayed her story, from leaving the bridal boutique to reaching the park.
As she remembered the chill in the air and the whispers on the wind she saw Sergeant Blake lean closer. Only then did she realise her voice had fallen to a whisper.
When she reached the reappearance of Not-Homeless-Bob, Inspector Thorne stopped reading titles on the book shelves and yanked a notebook from his own pocket. The dog-eared corners and grubby cover matched his look perfectly. So did the tiny nub of pencil he tugged from the spirals. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Not-Bob?’
He sighed and tapped his foot. ‘The attacker, yes.’
‘It was dark,’ she murmured, casting another glance at Nick. ‘But . . . he was shorter than me. Tubby. Gross clothes. Smelly. He looked like a tramp.’
Thorne peered over the top of his notebook. ‘Can you be more specific?’
‘More than tramp?’
‘My colleague means can you describe his clothes? Did he have any distinguishing marks? Anything to narrow down his identity.’ Sergeant Blake glared at his partner.
Lenina frowned, captured by the sudden impression of two wolves about to fight for the position of alpha.
She raised her voice. ‘He was ginger, I think. Maybe grey clothes? And there were scratches on his face.’
‘New?’ Sergeant Blake flipped to a fresh page.
‘I’m not sure. One second they looked small, the next they were huge.’ She gnawed her bottom lip.
His face was right there, swimming before her eyes like a mirage. Why then were the details so hazy, as though obscured by mist? She tightened her jaw.
Blake tucked a wisp of hair behind his ear. ‘What did this man do?’
Lenina hesitated. She looked down at Nick and saw the worry in his face. She clasped his hand.
His gaze snapped up, locking on hers. He squeezed her fingers. ‘It’s been a traumatic night, Sergeant. She doesn’t remember much.’
‘Fine. What do you remember, Mr Harrison?’
Nick straightened his shoulders. ‘When I arrived they were on the floor. He was touching her.’
‘Miss Miller?’
She gathered herself. ‘He tackled me. I fell over. I tried to get him off, but he was so heavy. Then Nick came and he left me alone. I guess Nick was the bigger threat.’
‘I see.’ Blake didn’t look up from the notebook. ‘What then?’
Nick swallowed audibly. ‘I fought him. But he was strong for an old guy.’
‘How old?’
‘Early fifties, late forties.’
Thorne sniffed. ‘That’s not so old.’
Blake shot him a withering look. ‘Then?’
‘He dazed me. When I could see straight he was lying on Lenina again. I didn’t know what he was trying to do, at the time it looked like he was kissing her.’
The younger detective glanced at her. She met his gaze, surprised to see genuine pity there. The expression warmed her. Gave hope and peace where, moments ago she felt nothing.
‘Miss Miller?’
‘He lay on me and pinned me in the grass.’ As she spoke, more memories hurtled back, strong and swift, like a punch to the gut.
His lips on her throat and the wet flick of his tongue. Unspeakable pain as his teeth broke flesh. She heard it; a dull crunch like snapping celery.
Lenina looked at the floor. ‘He bit me. On the neck.’
Thorne frowned. ‘Like a dog?’
‘Sort of.’ She touched her shoulder, near the edge of the bandages beneath her dressing gown. ‘And there was blood everywhere.’
‘What happened to it?’
Nick took over. ‘You guys took so long, we couldn’t sit around covered in blood. We’ve had a shower since then.’
‘The world doesn’t revolve around you and your girlfriend, Mr Harrison.’ Ignoring Nick’s glare, Thorne pressed on, addressing himself to Lenina again. ‘So, you remember nothing, then all of a sudden this guy bit you. And there was blood everywhere but you’ve conveniently had a shower, washing away all the evidence.’
She bit her lip. Frustration bubbled through her calm. ‘There is evidence. Look at my face. He had a knife— no a dagger or something.’
‘Now there’s a weapon? This story keeps getting better.’
‘Brad . . .’ Blake made a ‘steady’ gesture with his free hand. ‘We’re here to investigate.’
‘How can we investigate if the story keeps changing?’
Nick bunched his hands into fists. ‘It’s not a story. Look at us. We’re cleaned up but look at my face. How else would I get bruises like this?’
Thorne didn’t speak, but Lenina saw his gaze flick towards her.
‘It’s the truth,’ she said. ‘He really did bite me. He said something about a tribute.’
With every word she spoke more details returned.
‘Tribute? Meaning?’
‘I have no idea. It’s just what I remember.’
‘Right. Okay.’
Nick surged to his feet. ‘I don’t think I like your attitude, Detective Thorne.’ The South African traces in his accent strengthened, a sure sign that anger had mastered his reason.
‘And I know I don’t like yours, Mr Harrison.’
‘We’re victims, né? You should be protecting us. How about doing your job?’
Thorne swelled like a rotting fruit. ‘I’m a detective inspector of the law. Watch your mouth.’
‘You watch yours.’
Lenina watched the play-off between Thorne and her fiancé for a moment or two before covering her face with her hands.
When a gentle hand touched her shoulder she almost cried aloud, but it was only Sergeant Blake. His fingers were warm through the layers of clothing, the weight of his grip a gentle comfort.
‘You okay?’ he whispered.
She stared into his eyes, caught up by the strange sensation of reassurance she got from doing so. Slowly she shrugged his hand away. ‘Why doesn’t he believe me?’
He cleared his throat and leaned back, clasping both hands before him. ‘We’re forced to look at our cases from every possible angle, but that’s no excuse for him to ma
ke you feel like the bad guy. Tell me what you remember.’
‘You believe me?’
‘I believe that you believe it. That’s plenty for me.’ He smiled, showing off the straight white lines of his teeth. That same curl of hair fell into his eyes and he flicked it back again, an unconscious gesture as distracting as it was endearing.
‘Miss Miller?’
She stopped staring, and clasped her hands to avoid touching her flushed cheeks. ‘Sorry, what?’ When she realised that her gesture mirrored his, she tucked both hands beneath her on the sofa.
His gaze made her stomach squirm, her palms sweat. Like the nights spent gazing at the posters of pop stars plastering the walls of her bedroom during her teenage years.
She wiped the hands on her dressing gown again and winced when her engagement ring caught her eye with a glimmer of reflected light. A rush of guilt flooded her stomach.
‘You need to tell me what you remember. If we plan to catch this man, I must know everything. Can you help me with that?’ The low undertones in Blake’s voice seemed to suggest more.
Lenina watched his face, searching for a hint of playfulness to match what she heard in his voice. Or thought she heard.
‘He bit me,’ she whispered. ‘On the neck.’
‘Show me.’
She turned her head and tilted her chin, tugging at her dressing gown. Blake’s hands nudged at her pyjama top then peeled the bandage down.
As the sticky edges tugged her skin, fresh pain shot through her neck and shoulder.
‘Sorry,’ he murmured, still pulling.
Removing the bandage completely, he hovered his fingers over the area. ‘Not much bruising. More than one set of marks, overlapping. He really did bite you, didn’t he?’
The last fragment of memory clunked into place. The stranger’s hands on her neck, her ribs, her face. The loud gulps as he swallowed. Moans of pleasure. Blood trickling down her chin. Pooling in her ear.
‘Yes. He was drinking the blood.’
Blake gazed at her, his green eyes calm. Serious. Accepting. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. Please, I know it sounds crazy, but he did. He got off on it.’
‘It’s okay, Miss Miller. I believe you.’ Though he never once touched her, muscles low in Lenina’s body clenched in response. He pulled away after too short a moment. Her gaze followed his fingers.
‘It’s not too bad, quite neat despite the overlapping marks. You should still get it looked at.’
‘That’s what Nick said.’
‘Go to your GP. You may need antibiotics to be sure it doesn’t get infected.’ He stepped back. ‘You said you had a shower; I assume there was blood on your clothes too?’
‘Yes, they’re upstairs.’
‘I’ll need to take them. Grappling with this man should have left some trace of him. Be right back.’
Lenina watched him leave and return thirty seconds later wearing thin latex gloves. He carried a handful of large paper bags, a camera and a small metal ruler.
He took several pictures of the marks on her throat and the scratch on her face before measuring both with the ruler. All the results he jotted in his notebook.
His actions interrupted the stand-off between Nick and Inspector Thorne.
‘What are you doing?’ snapped Thorne.
Blake gave his partner a steady look. ‘Miss Miller mentioned blood on her clothing, I’m going to bag it. Problem?’
Thorne looked stunned. ‘No, but—’
‘Good.’ He didn’t wait for the rest, instead gestured to the stairs. ‘Lead the way, Miss Miller.’
Lenina bit back a smile at Thorne’s dressing down and walked past Blake’s outstretched arm to ascend the stairs.
She pushed open the bathroom door and pointed to the pile of clothes and bed sheets nearby. She loitered in the doorway and watched Blake bend down and lift the stained workout vest with the tip of his pencil. Her bra caught in one of the arm holes and dangled in the air.
He cleared his throat. Dropped it quickly. Moved on. ‘We’ll need to take all of these clothes. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, of course. I want them out of this house. I don’t need the reminder. I just want . . .’ she sighed, hugging herself. ‘I don’t want to think about it any more.’
‘I appreciate that, Miss Miller but I’m afraid I have more questions.’
When she tensed he stood straight and moved closer. The hot rush of his breath billowed over her cheeks as he moved in. Near enough to pick out individual hairs in the faint shadow of stubble about his jaw.
‘Tell me more. Have you seen him before?’
‘Not before the boutique. But he knew Nick’s name. What does that mean? I’d never notice him normally— what if he’s been following me?’
Blake placed a hand on her arm. Warm and strong, his fingers flexed against her dressing gown. She didn’t pull away.
‘We’ll catch him. I promise.’
‘Thanks. And thank you for not dismissing me. I know your partner thinks I’m nuts or just looking for attention.’ She swallowed and tore her gaze free of his, looking instead at the shiny toes of his shoes.
‘No one should dismiss you.’ Another flex of his fingers. ‘Everything you say has value.’
Her gaze snapped up. ‘Excuse me?’
‘In the case, I mean. This man could be very ill.’
‘Oh.’ Despite herself, Lenina’s shoulders sank with disappointment. She stepped back. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘I have to explore every avenue.’ Blake bent to the pile of bloody clothes and placed them, one by one, into the bags. He sealed each one and wrote the date and time across the top. ‘Can you remember anything else?’
She cast back, searching the tattered scraps of memory. ‘I bit him.’ The remembered taste of blood and skin made her heave. She clapped a hand to her mouth and tried to ignore the tingling in her gums. ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt him— I was scared.’
‘Given the circumstances, I think you can be forgiven.’
‘But I got skin in my mouth. And blood.’
Sergeant Blake became very still.
‘Am I in trouble? Is that bad?’
‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Miller, but you must visit your GP. Let them assess if you need counselling and take the necessary blood tests.’
‘Blood tests?’ Her voice jumped several octaves.
‘It’s a small risk, but if you did ingest some blood you should get checked for all the blood-borne diseases. Particularly HIV and hepatitis.’
Lenina leaned in the doorway and sniffed back tears. ‘This can’t be happening. I’m getting married in two weeks. I have a dress. I have flowers. Doves. Catering. This can’t be real.’ Tears trickled down her cheeks.
The detective moved closer. His hand touched her shoulder again. ‘You’ll be okay.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Have faith. We’ll catch this guy and lock him up, then we can all move on. Get those tests. If they come to anything I have the numbers of some excellent counsellors. You’re not alone.’
She sniffed. ‘Thanks.’
His hand squeezed her shoulder.
Lenina leaned against him and caught the scent of peppermint on his breath, clean and fresh. It reminded her of home and the garden in which her mother also grew basil, thyme and sage. Safety and comfort all wrapped up in a single familiar scent.
The tears dried. She stepped back. ‘You must think I’m an idiot.’
‘Not at all. You’ve been very strong about all of this.’
She opened her mouth to say something self-deprecating, but the words melted on her tongue. She gazed into the sergeant’s eyes and lingered there, wallowing in a green so deep it reminded her of forests and exotic oceans. Heat crept up her face and neck, forcing her to look away.
‘Sorry,’ he frowned. ‘I don’t mean to embarrass you, but Mr Harrison is a lucky man.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You said you were ge
tting married I just assumed . . . my mistake.’
‘No, you’re right.’
‘Then he is a lucky man. Shall we go back down?’
In that moment Lenina could have stayed in that bathroom for the rest of her life, enjoying the scent of mint and Sergeant Blake’s warmth. Then she saw the smears of blood on the sink and shuddered.
‘Okay. I think they’ve stopped shouting now.’ She took the lead back to the living room, relieved to find everything in one piece when she got there.
Nick sat on the sofa with his hands clenched in his lap, watching Thorne who glared studiously at the framed photos above the fireplace.
Neither of them spoke.
‘We’re done here,’ Blake broke the brittle silence. ‘Unless there’s anything else to add, I think we’ve taken enough of your time.’
Nick stood and held out his hand for a shake. ‘No, that’s everything, Detective. Thanks.’
When Lenina’s turn came she slipped her hand into his and held tight. His skin was warm, dry and smooth. Large and powerful, his hands closed over hers and squeezed firmly. The contact sent a little wriggle of warmth rushing up and down her arm. She heard the sigh of soft voices in her ear and the scent of peppermint threatened to choke her. Though she looked around she saw no one speaking. Then the voices faded away, leaving behind a low buzzing like TV static. The whole time he stared into her eyes.
By the time the handshake broke, Lenina felt naked. She stepped back, cradling her hand to her chest. Nick came up behind her and hugged her. She didn’t pull away.
‘Thank you, Sergeant Blake.’
His gaze lingered on hers. ‘My pleasure,’ he whispered. Then, turning to Thorne, he added, ‘We’ll see ourselves out. Come on, Brad.’
The pair slipped into the hallway and were gone.
DAY TWO
Chapter Six