Page 18 of Butterfly Assassin
Harry Nash.
Also a member of the Clapham Common pack, and from what he could recall from their identification cards, he’d been bitten roughly the same time as Aaron. Michael hadn’t been all that surprised. That first year after the pack wars, alphas were desperate to rebuild their packs and the criteria for getting the bite wasn’t as strict back then.
“Good Morning, Detectives.” Alpha Thomas gestured at the empty part of the corner sofa. “Won’t you have a seat?”
Michael offered what he hoped was a professional-looking smile and a slight nod of his head. “Thank you.” He and Frank sat down, and Thomas took one of the chairs.
“I’m sure you already know who’s who,” Thomas said, a trace of sarcasm in his tone. “But for everyone else’s benefit, why don’t we start with introductions?”
Michael bristled at Thomas attempting—and succeeding—to take charge of the meeting. This was their investigation; he and Frank should be leading this. Reaching for his warrant card again, he flipped open the wallet, holding it up for everyone to see. “I’m Detective Sergeant Michael Archer of the Shifter Crimes Task Force, and this is my partner, Detective Sergeant Frank Coldwell.” Not missing a beat, and wanting Thomas to know they’d done their homework, he added, “And you would be Alpha Sam Thomas.” He turned his attention to Harper and Nash. “And these are two of your pack members, Aaron Harper and Harry Nash.”
Thomas smiled, eyes shining with amusement at Michael’s display, and nodded at someone to the left of them. “And this is one of my betas, Isaac Lax.”
Michael startled slightly as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and then Isaac appeared, walking over to take the other chair. Michael hadn’t even heard him come into the room.Damn shifters. Straightening his shoulders, he glanced at Frank, happy to see his partner unaffected by it all. One of them needed to keep their shit together.
“Now that’s out of the way, what can we do for you?”
Michael cleared his throat and bent to retrieve a folder from his bag. “We’d like to ask both you and Mr Harper some questions in connection with our current investigation.”
Thomas met his gaze, studying him, and Michael wanted to squirm under the intensity of it, but he held firm. “And if we decline to answer?”
“Then we’ll be insisting that Mr Harper accompany us back to our offices and we’ll conduct the interview there.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “Insisting?”
“I believe I told you on the phone that we have significant forensic evidence tying Harper to our victim…” He made a show of looking at his notes when really he just wanted to make them sweat a little. “A Mr Charles Crossford.”
Harper flinched, and Michael did a little internal fist pump. So he recognised the name. “Is that name familiar to you Mr Harper?”
Aaron Harper glanced at his alpha, as though seeking permission to speak, so Michael prompted him again, quickly. He didn’t want pack politics interfering with this. “Mr Harper?” Opening the folder, he withdrew a copy of Crossford’s driving licence. It was the only photo they’d got that had his throat intact. Handing it over to Harper, he asked, “Do you recognise this man?”
When Thomas gave a quick nod, Harper sighed and ran a hand through his hair before sitting forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He stared at the photo, and Michael could already tell from his body language that Harper knew him.
“Yeah, I recognise him. I knew him as Charlie Cross, but it’s the same guy.” Harper stared at the photo for a few seconds more, then looked down at the floor.
“We recovered a rucksack from the scene, belonging to Mr Crossford,” Michael said. “Any idea what we found inside it?”
Harper met his gaze, and Michael was surprised to see a slight challenge in his expression. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” Harper’s eyes darkened, and Michael found himself wanting to smile despite the gravity of the situation.
Pulling another photo from his folder, Michael held it up for everyone to see.
Frank tapped the middle of it, finger landing on the mound of tape lying next to the rucksack. “Inside Mr Crossford’s bag, we found a wad of bloodied tape. The sort of tape used to wrap a person’s hands before they engage in a boxing match.” He turned his attention to Harper. “We can only assume that’s what he used it for, but Mr Crossford’s DNA was found on the inside of the tape, and your blood was on the outside.” All shifters were required by law to register their DNA as well as their pack status—a fact Michael had never been more grateful for. He paused, and the room was quiet except for the breaths of those inside it. “Can you explain to us how it got there, Mr Harper?” Any second now, he expected someone in the room to ask for a lawyer.
With a resigned sigh, Harper glanced up at the ceiling—as if it held all the answers—then looked Michael dead in the eye. “I fought in a bare-knuckle boxing match Friday night. Charlie Cross was my opponent.”
“I see.” Michael schooled his expression, not wanting to let on how excited he was by this admission. As far as they or the other police units knew, Smith was the only one who organised illegal fights in the city. Did they finally have someone willing to testify against him? Trying not to get ahead of himself, he asked, “You’re aware a bare-knuckle fight is illegal?”
“I am.”
“Where did it take place?”
“In the underground car park of the old Stewart-Price building.”
That was just down the road from where the body was found. Michael glanced to his left to see Frank hastily making notes.
Good.
Keeping his voice steady, Michael asked, “Do you know who organised this boxing match?”
