Butterfly Assassin Page 6

  Harper nodded. “Yes.”

  “So you fought Crossford, and he had no idea you were a shifter?” Michael sat forward and set the folder back in his bag. “Crossford had a lot of injuries that occurred ante-mortem. By your own admission, these were caused by his fight with you, is that correct?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t kill him.” Harper’s expression was earnest, but Michael refused to get blindly sucked in. “We shook hands afterwards, and he walked away from our fight.”

  “But the fact remains that you knowingly injured a human. There are laws against that—specific shifter laws.”

  Isaac Lax had been silent up until that point, but he stood now and joined his alpha. “Aaron and Crossford fought in a boxing match they both consented to. The fact that no one there recognised Aaron for what he is suggests that he didn’t use either his superior strength or speed.”

  “Meaning?”

  “For all intents and purposes, he fought as a human.”

  Michael frowned. “That doesn’t alter the facts.”

  “Maybe not for you,” Isaac added. “But if you pursue this, then it will ultimately involve the alpha council, and it will matter to them.”

  Sighing in frustration, Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. Isaac was unfortunately correct. The SCTF might investigate shifter crimes, but by law they had to consult with the alpha council and reach a decision that both sides were happy with. But that wasn’t the crime they were interested in anyway—they were getting off track.

  “We’ll come back to the fact that you’ve committed at least two punishable offences.” Trying a different angle, Michael asked, “Did you see Crossford leave the building Friday night? Was he alone?”

  Clearly relieved they’d stopped the previous line of investigation, Harper seemed to relax a touch. “No, I didn’t see him leave. The fight finished, I went over to shake his hand, and then I left to go get my stuff.”

  “Is that what usually happens after a fight?”

  “It’s what happens after mine. I don’t know about others. Ours was the last of the night. I went back to the toilets where my bag was and got changed.”

  “Why did Crossford have bloodied tape in his bag? Why not just bin it?”

  “It’s part of Smith’s rules—leave no evidence that we were there.”

  Michael saw Frank’s raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye.

  “Really?” Frank asked, sounding sceptical. “What about all the rubbish left by the spectators, because I’m assuming there’s a crowd?” Harper nodded, so Frank carried on. “And what, they all pick up after themselves?”

  He could see Frank wasn’t buying it for a second, but it would explain why they struggled to find out where the fights were held.

  Harper shrugged. “I don’t know.” When Frank scoffed, he added quickly, “I mean, yes, there’s a big crowd, but I’ve no idea what happens after. I don’t go back out there once my fight’s done.”

  Nash fidgeted beside Harper, catching Michael’s attention, and not for the first time he wondered what Nash was doing there. Was he only providing moral support, or was there something more?

  Before he could ask him, Frank directed another question at Harper. “So you got your stuff and left the building immediately after the fight?”

  “Um… not immediately, no.”

  “Oh?” Frank sat forward, as though sensing Harper’s next words were going to be vitally important.

  “Smith’s bodyguards escorted me back to the toilets, said Smith wanted to see me, and they waited outside while I got changed.”

  “And then what?”

  “They took me to him.”

  “Where?”

  Harper scrunched his eyebrows together. “What?”

  “Where did they take you?”

  “To Smith’s car. He was waiting for me inside.”

  “Make, model? Registration if you remember it?”

  “Um… it was dark, maybe midnight-blue or black, and a BMW. I’m not sure what sort. I’m not all that into cars, sorry. But it was big.”

  “Registration?” Frank asked hopefully.

  “I don’t remember, except it was brand new.”

  “So, this year’s model, yes?”

  Harper nodded.

  “What did he want to see you about?”

  “Nothing really. I think it was more a veiled threat than anything.”

  “He threatened you?”

  “Not in so many words, but he told me how Charlie was supposed to throw the fight in the second round—”

  Michael perked up at that titbit. “I take it he didn’t?”

  “No, I knocked him out in round three.” When Michael motioned for him to go on, Aaron continued. “Smith was pissed off, said his friends had lost a lot of money and that Charlie was done fighting. Said he wouldn’t be back.”

  So Smith had a big fat reason for being angry at Crossford. Enough to have him killed? Men had been killed for far less, in Michael’s experience. “And why would he tell you all this?”

  “I figured it was his way of warning me that he’d be asking me to do something like that in the near future.”

  “Throw a fight?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sounded plausible. “So then where did you go?” Michael prompted. “After that.” They needed to get all the information they could before Harper changed his mind about legal representation.

  “I walked to Lycanis.”

  “What time was that?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe just after midnight?”

  Michael worked out the distance in his head. “And it’s a thirty, thirty-five-minute walk to Lycanis?”

  Harper nodded. “About that, yeah. I was walking quickly though.”

  He hadn’t really pegged Harper as his double—possible triple—murderer, but it was still disappointing to realise they might have to rule him out totally. “Can anyone verify that you were there, at that time?”

  A slight hesitation was enough to tell Michael that Harper was about to lie to him, or at least omit something. “I got there about twelve thirty and went to one of the upstairs bars. The barman might remember serving me.”

  “Doubtful.” In Michael’s experience, bartenders rarely remembered specific customers unless they did something to stand out. “Anyone else?”

  “Um…” He bit his lip, and Michael was wondering whether he’d been too hasty in assuming Harper was innocent when Nash—silent as a mouse up until this point—suddenly spoke up.

  “He met me there.” He gave Harper a quick shake of his head when he went to speak. “And Will, the barman, will probably remember us because I made it rather obvious that I like him. And we always go to his bar. We stayed there till about 4.30 a.m.”

  Damn. They knew Crossford was alive and eating at 12.35 a.m. thanks to his McDonald’s receipt. And the coroner’s report would likely put time of death between 12.35 a.m. and 3.30 a.m. according to Peters. Looked like Harper wasn’t their man. Or shifter. Michael turned back to Harper. “Why didn’t you just say that?” His brain worked overtime as he put two and two together. “Is there a reason you didn’t want to involve Mr Nash? Even though he gives you an alibi?”

  Harper looked torn, and Nash had paled significantly.

  Tilting his head to one side, Michael gave Nash a quick once-over. He had the same toned shifter build as Harper, could easily take on both him and Frank and not break a sweat, but for some reason, Michael couldn’t imagine him fighting. Not like he could Harper. And he shut that thought down quickly before his imagination got away from him. “Where were you before you met Mr Harper at Lycanis?”

  “Is this necessary for your investigation?” Lax interrupted. “I don’t see why you need to know Harry’s whereabouts before then?”

  “I’m trying to establish a timeline.”

  Lax hummed and glanced down at his phone as it buzzed in his hand. “Well, I’d also like to point out, since no one’s mentioned it yet, that Lyca
nis has security cameras not only on the doors but positioned around the club and covering all five bars too.” He grinned, showing more teeth than Michael was comfortable with. “Shifters can get a little rowdy with each other sometimes. Helps to keep them in check if they know their actions are being recorded.”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Thank you, but I assure you we’d have found that out for ourselves when we visited the club to check out their story.” He pointed at Harper and Nash. “Which we will do after leaving here.”

  Lax’s smile remained in place. “I thought I’d save us all some time and cut to the chase. Look.” He clasped his hand in front of him, expression turning serious. “Both Aaron and Harry have alibis—which the security cameras will verify—for the time of the murder.”

  Raising both eyebrows, Michael asked. “And you know this how?”

  Lax shrugged. “I called in a favour and had the cameras checked already. They’re both there for the times stated.” He paused and met Michael’s gaze. “And if the murder occurred outside of that timeframe, you and Detective Coldwell wouldn’t look so disappointed.”

  Two things occurred to Michael in that moment. One, he wasn’t all that disappointed Harper wasn’t their killer, so that must be all Frank. And two, he was beginning to realise why no one had called for a lawyer. By the sounds of it, they already had one, or someone they considered close enough.

  Lax went on to add. “Apart from the bloodied tape in Crossford’s bag—which Aaron has accounted for—you have nothing connecting him to the murder, and he has a solid alibi. I believe we’re done here.”

  No. If nothing else, they had someone who could testify that Smith had a connection to Crossford. Michael wasn’t about to let that go. “We’d like you both to come into the station, repeat what you’ve told us, and sign a written statement. And if needed, testify in court.”

  “No.” Lax spoke, not Thomas, but his tone was final as if he was the alpha. “There’s nothing to be gained from the information they provided, only proving their innocence. Which we’ve established already.”

  Shifters hated being involved with either the human police or legal system, so the refusal didn’t come as all that much of a surprise.

  Michael didn’t react. “There’s still the matter of causing aggravated bodily harm to a human without provocation.”

  “They were fighting each other! How is that without provocation?”

  “We only have Harper’s word since Crossford can’t corroborate, and I don’t see any other witness coming forward. And that—”

  “I saw them fight.” Nash’s outburst silenced the room.

  Harper put his head in his hands, shaking it lightly. So that’s why he hadn’t wanted to involve Nash.

  “You were there?” Michael asked.

  “Yes. And I watched them fight, and then both of them walked away from it.”

  “Well, that brings us to the second charge of being involved with illegal fighting. I am bound by law to report these findings to my superiors, who will then contact the alpha council to agree on a suitable punishment.”

  Now Alpha Thomas weighed in. “Neither Aaron nor Harry will be involved in any more of Smith’s fights or any other illegal activity. I’ve already dealt with the matter and meted out suitable punishments, as is my right as alpha.”

  “With respect, that would be true for internal pack matters, Alpha Thomas, but since Harper has confessed to both crimes, I am legally bound to report them to the appropriate authorities.”

  Thomas stiffened. From his rare dealings with the alpha council, Michael knew involving them wasn’t something any pack alpha wanted if he could at all avoid it. “He only admitted to those crimes to help you investigate Crossford’s death, Detective. If it weren’t for Aaron, you’d still be in the dark about a lot of things.”

  Michael laughed. “Let’s not kid ourselves. He admitted it so I wouldn’t charge him with murder.”

  “Which you can’t because he has an alibi.”

  They were going round in circles. Yes, technically he should report Harper and possibly Nash to his boss and then liaise with the council, but the paperwork would be a nightmare and dealing with the council was never fun. And for what? It wouldn’t help him catch his murderer. Lax had that right. What he needed was proof that Smith was involved. Something concrete that would stand up against the very well-paid solicitors no doubt already on his payroll. He needed someone on the inside.

  “Let me be honest with you,” Michael began.

  Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “I’m always a fan of the truth.”

  “Good. Then surely you want to find out who’s responsible as much as we do. There’s a shifter running around killing people—none of those victims deserved to have their throats ripped out. One of your own is doing this.” Thomas said nothing, so Michael carried on. “You have superior senses.” He waved a hand encompassing all the shifters in the room. “Someone must know something. Don’t you think?”

  No one spoke, so Michael continued to forge ahead, regardless.

  “He or she would’ve had blood on them. Lots of it. Are you telling me that no one smelt it? Surely they’d have had to go home to change, dispose of their clothes. I don’t believe for a second they managed to pass through London with not one other shifter noticing.” They were everywhere, for fuck’s sake. Not that he said that out loud. “With every passing day that this is in the news, the public are bombarded with speculation about whether we have a shifter serial killer on our hands. Are the streets safe anymore? Can shifters be trusted?” He let that sink in, gratified that Thomas had listened to him and not just thrown him out. “Do you really want to let this rumbling of bad feelings escalate into something far more dangerous?”

  Thomas sighed and leant against the wall. “No. That’s not what any of us wants. And I can tell you now, Detective, I’ve spoken with the other alphas in this city, and as far as we’re aware, it’s not one of ours doing the killing. And whether you believe me or not, we would report anything we found out because, like you say, no one wants this to escalate. A shifter who murders humans is not one that any alpha would want in his pack. And if this continues, then the alpha council will become involved whether you or I want them to be or not.”

  Michael had figured as much. Arlington had held off until they could identify the shifter and what pack he was part of, then they’d involve the council, but maybe they’d been going about this all wrong. “Can you identify a shifter by scent alone?”

  “That would depend,” Thomas hedged.

  “On what?”

  “Whether or not we’d met before, for one thing. Pack scents are usually easy enough to recognise if nothing has been done to disguise them, but in order to identify an individual pack member, we’d need to have met at least once before. Why?”

  “Because we’ve never had a shifter visit any of the crime scenes.”

  Thomas raised both eyebrows. “That seems like a gross oversight on your part. I would’ve assumed that to be an obvious move, considering you already accept we have enhanced senses.”

  Michael ignored the slight. Thomas had a point after all. “It rained at the first two crimes scenes before we could get anyone to agree to come down, and to be honest, we dropped the ball on this one.” He winced. “Well, I dropped the ball, to be more specific.” He’d been too wrapped up waiting to hear about the blood on the tape and had forgotten all about going through the proper channels to get a shifter to sniff out the crime scene. “But we’ve had no rain since Thursday night. Do you think any scents would still be there?”

  “It’s possible. They wouldn’t be particularly strong after this amount of time, but couldn’t anyone have wandered down there since the murder?”

  “No. It should still be taped off with crime scene tape. If anyone’s been stupid enough to ignore it, then they deserve to be caught.”

  Thomas seemed to consider that for a moment. “I take it you’re asking if one of us will visit your crime scene
and check for scents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like a tracker dog?” Thomas’s arched eyebrow said he wasn’t all that amused by this idea.

  Michael stifled a laugh at the thought of Alpha Sam Thomas running all over London with his nose to the floor, chasing a scent. “Not exactly,” he managed. “I just want to know if you recognise any other shifters or pack scents at the scene.” No one spoke, so Michael said, “Ideally, I’d like Mr Harper and Mr Nash to see if they recognise any scents from Friday night.”

  Thomas shared a glance with Lax. “We’ll all go. I’m not letting two members of my pack go with you unaccompanied, and Isaac and I can identify all the London packs far more easily than Aaron or Harry.”

  “Suits me.” In fact, that was a far better outcome than Michael could have hoped for when they’d driven over there.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Detectives. A shifter who kills like this is detrimental to all packs. We want him caught too.”

  “You ready now?”

  Thomas looked at the members of his pack, who all nodded in agreement.

  “Then let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Aaron sat nervously in the back of Isaac’s car, fingers tapping a fast rhythm on his thigh until Harry’s hand stilled them. “Sorry,” he whispered and made a conscious effort not to fidget. But it was hard.

  “You okay?” Isaac met his eyes in the rear-view mirror, concern obvious. Ever since Sam had assigned Isaac as their temporary beta, his whole demeanour towards them had altered. Not that he hadn’t been worried about them before—they were pack after all—but now it was different… more.

  The change might have been subtle, but Aaron felt it down to his core, and so did his wolf. They’d been without a beta for too long, and the comfort of having one again—even temporarily—was almost enough to calm his nerves about what might happen next.

  Almost.

  When Harry nudged him, Aaron realised he’d yet to answer Isaac’s question, and he hastily replied with, “Yeah. Just a bit nervous.”

  Their alpha sat in the passenger seat, and he shuffled around to face them both. Sam Thomas was what Aaron had heard humans describe as a typical alpha—tall, broad-shouldered, and well-muscled. But his light brown hair and deep brown eyes gave him a gentle-looking appearance that a lot of people—some shifters included—mistook for softness. They thought he was a pushover because, when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled. Apparently, that meant he wasn’t as tough as other alphas.