“Sorry, I’m driving, or I’d show you.”
“Ha, ha.” She was silent for a minute. “I know—we all know—wehave a tendency to trust ourselves and the Krewe more than others. But,logically, we know those outside of the Krewe are excellent investigators anddetectives, too. So, if these men are the main suspects as gathered by theinspectors here, they are probably legitimate persons of interest. But therecould still be a random killer out there. All we can know—almost for sure—isthat there’s an underground lair somewhere. And those women are crying outbefore they’re killed. And, Andre, a woman is still missing.”
“One who might yet be saved.”
“And we’re…”
“Heading to a strip club. All right, if we can’t get toBirmingham, we’ll call Inspector Adair and suggest that he get all the volunteersneeded to search, at the very least, all the catacombs and tunnels associatedwith the cemetery.”
“He may balk. He takes his orders from Birmingham.”
“Then maybe he can get to Birmingham.”
They reached the Piccadilly part of the city, found parking,and walked casually, exploring the area. It was teeming with life, popular withlocals and tourists alike. Neon lights advertised plays and local venues.
They stopped for fast food in the busy thoroughfare by thetinier side street that led to Pussycats and Toms.
By then, it seemed the time was right for the day workers tobe off and ready for their night’s pleasure.
The entrance of the club was painted a navy blue, while theouter walls were covered with pictures of the entertainment to be found within.
Missy was a blonde. Candy was a redhead. Darla was abrunette.
Andre opened the door for Cheyenne.
Inside, the club was very dark. Tables were strewn around astage with an extension. As they entered, a scantily clad hostess greeted themand led them to her podium to choose a seating section, not seeming at allsurprised that Andre had arrived with a woman. Cheyenne noted there were a fewother women in the room, one standing and laughing with a man at the bar to theleft of the entrance.
She didn’t see Mark Bower. But they were purposely early,and the night might be long.
While the hostess asked about their table preference,Cheyenne watched the couple at the bar. The man seemed familiar.
Andre’s phone buzzed, and he looked down at it.
As Cheyenne’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she realized thatshe recognized something about the man.
When he turned, she knew why.
It was Monte Bolton, dressed now in a tweed suit.
He saw her standing there with Andre.
He quickly lowered his head, set his drink down, and movedtoward the exit, leaving his companion in mid-sentence.
“Andre,” Cheyenne said.
She didn’t expect his response. Andre turned, saw the man,and moved after him. Monte got out the door—just barely.
Suddenly, Andre was on him, tackling Monte down to thestreet and straddling him before Cheyenne could reach them.
“Andre!” she said, shocked at the scene.
“Get off me!” Bolton raged.
“Sure, as soon as you admit your name isn’t Monte Bolton,and you’re really Inspector Birmingham!” Andre said.
Cheyenne saw Andre’s phone where it lay on the ground,showing a picture Angela had just sent through. It was a photo of InspectorClaude Birmingham in full uniform.
Inspector Birmingham, who was Monte Bolton.
“Yes, damn you, I’m Birmingham!” the man on the groundraged. He struggled, still held fiercely in Andre’s grasp. “And get the helloff me before I bring you in for assault and have you jailed in England for therest of your life!”
Chapter 9
He shouldn’t have lost his temper, and Andre knew it. But hefelt he’d been horribly jerked around by the man, and when the picture came upon his phone just as he saw the inspector trying to slink out of the club,Andre knew he had to stop him.
For a guy who had played them so terribly, Birmingham wastaking Andre’s actions better than expected.
At least, now that he was standing up.
Birmingham stared at Andre, and Andre demanded, “Why?”
“I needed to know what you were about. I didn’t need morecrazy people running around the city, saying a vampire had arisen fromHighgate!” Birmingham said. He took a breath and added, “They say you’re calledin for the unexplainable or the weird or…well, I’m sorry. I don’t think asixteenth or seventeenth-century count has been awakened. And I believe ifthere was an active cult of Satanists running around in the city, we would havenoticed that by now.”
“We go in to explain the unexplainable,” Andre said. “Not toturn it into more legend.”
“I had to know that,” Birmingham said.
“Inspector, what are you doing here tonight?” Cheyenne cutin. “If you’re looking for Mark Bower, I would say he will recognize you whenhe sees you.”
“The good inspector might just be out for the night,Cheyenne,” Andre said, still studying Birmingham. He wanted to trust the man,but hell, he had made fools of them.
“Watching. Just watching,” Birmingham said.
“The strippers?” Andre asked.
Birmingham sighed. “People.” He suddenly smiled, more likehis persona of Monte Bolton. “Some of the strippers aren’t bad. Sorry,but…well, I’ve been trying to form something of a relationship with Bower. Heis still high on my list of possible killers. And I have a feeling…a gutfeeling…that this place is somehow involved.”
“Why?”
Birmingham shook his head. “No logic. The others arejust…damn it, Sheila is the only one I can draw on. In investigating her, Ifound Mark Bower. Investigating him…” He paused to shrug. “All right, goingback. Vanessa Lark spent the last several years of her life on the Continent,traveling around with money inherited from her family—all buried at Highgate.She came just to visit the cemetery. She was reported missing when the hotelwhere she’d been staying called it in. They couldn’t find her to pay her bill,and the maid said the room hadn’t been entered in a few days. Then we foundher. Olivia Wordsworth had a similar story. She was down from York, split froma relationship about six months ago, and was here on holiday. Her ex-boyfriendhad an ironclad alibi. The only trail we could possibly follow was that ofSheila Lynsey. Yes, we could be looking at an opportunistic killer preying onwhoever he finds, but…”
“What about Edith Greenbriar?” Cheyenne asked. “She’s stillmissing. Still out there, and the
