Page 49 of Pure Killers

"His gang did. I'm willing to bet more than one. If your Needler is looking political, and fast… well, that could be a good option."

"Good enough." Dirk is moving away from the railing. "Where is this Holt?"

"Over by the woods, he mentioned on his channel for his followers to come have a meet and greet tonight, next to the lake. Probably thinks he's untouchable that way."

"Till next time."

"I wish you the worst of luck," the man says with the first hint of humour.

I can hear Dirk on the steps, boots scraping as he turns back. "Nothing on Cocooner?"

"Trust me, detective, the minute I hear a thing about that sick bastard, I'll be telling you for free."

Not staying to listen for Dirk’s footsteps, I dart away from the pavilion, taking the long way around the pond this time and colliding with a group of people entertaining themselves with a drunken horse-shoe throwing contest. Picking up my skirts, I run straight through their game, aiming up the hill and back for the mansion path and so on the way to the woods. I need to get there before Dirk does… before he can do anything with the information he’s just gained. What I think he’s going to do, I’m not brave enough to admit even to myself yet.

I pass by the front of the mansion, golden light spilling out, and slow my pace on the path that runs further, under eaves weighed down by millions of fairy lights. There are too many people about, most of them drunk and masked and unpredictable.

Catching my breath, the lake glittering off to my right, I say as casually as I can into the earpiece, assuming Dirk is listening again, “Looks like some activity in the forest now.” I have no idea if this is true, of course, but I need some excuse to get Dean and Howie there with me. “Meet me there."

Dean comes back quickly, his voice coming through with the heavy beat of music. "On our way."

Quickening my step, I let my mind roll over everything I just heard. So Dirk has a deal with some unsavoury types. I should hardly be surprised. He's never strictly been a 'good boy' type, but I didn't know his connections ran so deep. It doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything else, I remind myself.

But then, who else’s unsavoury connections run that deep? Who else might be asking around for the worst of Tregam’s criminals?

The Holt group is obvious as I round the lake. Mostly men, all white, and none deigning to dress code, not a single mask or frill among them. They shuffle around, too far away yet for me to pick a leader among them. But he’ll be there, basking inthe adoration if I know the type. Nonetheless, if that’s where Needler is going to stalking his prey, that’s where I need to be.

My focus so entirely on that group, steadily closing on them, I nearly trip over the small old lady who steps directly into my path. A horrible, beaked visage leers back at me as I jump back, some kind of plaque mask her outfit of choice tonight. Muttering anexcuse me, I go to step around her, but again, she steps into my path. Too late, I notice the small gypsy caravan by the edge of the path.

"A reading for you?" she croaks at me.

"No, thanks!" I say brightly, trying once more to step past her. But she's faster than she looks, barring my path again.

"Free, free!"

I don’t believe that for a minute. "Nope, my future can stay a mystery. Thanks."

She's insistent, blocking my path, her wiry, cold hand clamping around my arm. "You need to know it," she insists. "Detective."

That confuses me enough to stall me for a moment. Did I tell her that already? "I'm in a hurry, lady."

"You're hurrying towards bad news."

"Bad news in my future, got it." This time, respect for the elderly be damned and unwilling to waste more precious moments getting told a rather obvious future. I move to shove past her. When isn't the news bad, after all?

But just as I’m setting my feet to push through, every light on the estate goes out.

There’s a surprised scream or two, and the collective gasp unique to a group of people suddenly cast into darkness. My heart jumps, the old woman’s hand tightening on my arm as she exclaims, “Oh.”

A murmur of ‘power outage’, rolls through a group that was walking behind me. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and in an instant, I know this is no coincidence. This is the moment.

Needler is making his move right now.

My eyes adjust to the faint light of a half-moon through the clouds, enough to discern dark shapes but hardly enough to justify racing blindly ahead like I am. I can feel the clock ticking, the chance to catch him slipping away.

Dean’s voice is mostly static through the earpiece. “Li-ss ou-!”

I press my finger to my ear, gasping as I narrowly weave around someone stopped in the middle of the path. “I’m near the forest, going in!”

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