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It seems to occur to Charles that Storm might be otherkind. His face goes even redder, more out of anger than embarrassment. “Nothing. I don’t know.”
Now that Charles is thoroughly unsettled, Storm gives him a bland cop’s smile. “We’re here to talk to you about what happened on Friday night. We’d like to understand the chain of events that led to Rachel Garrett’s death.”
“Sure, whatever I can do to help.”
“Talk us through what happened that evening.”
Charles Blair leans back in his seat and runs his fingers through his artfully arranged blond hair, which has been molded into a neat quiff with so much styling product that it retains its shape through the mauling of his frustrated fingers. He looks like the last thing he wants to do is talk about Friday evening.
He crosses his arms over his chest like a sulky schoolboy. “India wanted to go out for Rachel’s birthday. She practically begged me. I said we could do a bar crawl. We ended up at The Half Moon for last drinks. It was nearly 2 o’clock in the morning. I went to settle up the bill. She and Rachel went outside, and they never came back. That’s all I know.”
He says it as if he has rehearsed it in his head.
“Did you go to look for them?” asks Leo.
“Yeah I looked for them. They weren’t outside the bar. I figured they must have walked off and got a cab or something.”
“Had you and India argued that night?”
“No! We all had fun. You can ask anyone. Ask my buddies. They’ll tell you. I can give you their names.”
“Weren’t you worried when India and Rachel left the bar alone?”
“Why would I be? They were together, weren’t they?”
“Not even with the Wolf-Claw Killer on the loose?” says Leo. “I’d have been worried if my girlfriend was out late at night.”
“No one would have to be worried if you guys did your job and had caught him already,” Charlie snaps. “And anyway, India is already a werewolf. Why would the killer attack her? I thought they’d be safe together.”
Charlie’s sulky and defensive attitude does not do enough to hide the guilt that he is clearly feeling. Storm can see it in his body language. But whether the guilt is from the fear of being blamed for what has happened to the girls or for a more sinister reason is not yet clear.
“And what did you do after you couldn’t find them?” Storm asks.
Charlie shrugs. “I was trashed. I went home and passed out.” He says this scathingly, as if it should be obvious what he did.
“Did anyone see you?”
“No.”
“Did you get a cab?”
“I wish I’d got a cab. Then I’d have a bloody alibi, wouldn’t I? I walked. I don’t live far from the bar.”
“So you’re familiar with Shoreditch?” says Storm.
“So?”
“Why aren’t you helping with the search for your girlfriend?”
“Why is it any of your business?” says Charles, his smart mouth running away with him despite his clear intention to seem cooperative. He seems to regret it. “Look, you don’t know my job, okay? What was I supposed to tell my boss? That some werewolf girl I’m dating might have killed someone? And now she is missing and I have to go look for her? We’re crazy-busy with this pitch. I wasn’t going to be able to take a day off, was I?”
“How did you get along with Rachel?” Leo asks.
Charlie shrugs. “Fine, I guess.”
“Do you know whether she was having problems with anyone lately?”
“How would I know that? India didn’t say anything about it.”
