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“Sure,” says Leo. “From her interactions with me and the fact that she’s lived with a human family all her life and what her foster parents said about her, I think it’s highly likely that she is an omega. A dominant werewolf would never have managed to live so long in relative harmony with a human family.”
Storm nods. “Hank Lowry is an omega werewolf. He would have known that if he wanted a female that he could control he needed an omega female. And if he found out about India Lawrenson then suddenly he has a ready-made omega. He didn’t have to make one himself anymore.”
Leo pauses, realizing what Storm is getting at. Storm can almost feel Leo’s anger radiating through the phone. “You think Hank Lowry is the Wolf-Claw Killer?” Leo says.
“Yes,” says Storm. “We need to find out whether he has an alibi for each of the other murders.”
“And his current whereabouts,” says Leo grimly. “Because if he has India, that means she could still be alive.”
Storm hangs up and instructs Monroe to call DI Zael and ask casually for Sergeant Lowry’s availability. He does not want to call himself as that will immediately make DI Zael suspicious, and the man has been hostile enough already.
Monroe makes the phone call. When he hangs up he turns to Storm. “He said he hasn’t seen Sergeant Lowry today. Lowry messaged in this morning saying he was sick.”
Chapter 24
DIANA
By the time I arrive at the hospital I have talked myself out of sinking into despair. India can’t be dead. She can’t be.
My search of India’s room reveals no clues as to what happened to her. The nurses I question fall into two groups. The first were not present when India went missing and are eager to speculate but have no useful information. The second were present but are tired, irritable and disinclined to answer, saying they have already given statements to the police and Agency people.
I do my best to speak to some of the other patients in India’s ward, starting with the two in the neighboring rooms, but after one man complains, the nurses send me away, making it clear that they perceive my behavior as harassment of their patients.
It is all I can do not to snap at them that they should have been looking out for India. That it was their responsibility to care for her. She was their patient too. But I know that they are not really to blame. It is just my anger at myself talking.
I wander down from India’s room towards the exit, wondering how someone could have possibly removed her forcibly from the hospital. Did they drug her too? Did they wheel her out in a wheelchair?
The hospital is enormous. They could have taken so many different exits, but only if they knew how to navigate the maze-like wards and departments and corridors without getting lost. It was probable the killer is as unfamiliar with this place as I am, and so would have just taken her out of the main entrance on the ground floor. I take the elevator down to take another look at it.
The main entrance is a wide thoroughfare with patients and staff and visitors constantly walking through it. It would have been so easy to take her through it.
Right next to it is the extremely busy accident and emergency department. The waiting room is full to the brim with people waiting to be seen by hospital staff. Every chair is occupied. It is sectioned off by a floor-to-ceiling plate glass wall. Some of the seats look directly onto the passageway leading to the main exit.
I wonder if one of the patients waiting there, or even the staff on duty there last night, will have seen India being wheeled out. As I stand there staring into the waiting room, debating how annoyed these sick people and busy staff are likely to be if I start going in and asking them questions, my phone rings.
It is Storm. I answer it, my stomach twisting in anxiety, sure it will be bad news.
“Is everything okay?” I ask immediately.
“Are you at the hospital?” he says.
“Yes, but I haven’t found anything.”
“I’m sending a photo to your phone. Tell me when you get it.”
My phone beeps. I check the image that has arrived and am surprised. “Isn’t that the cop that is always with DI Zael?”
“His name is Sergeant Hank Lowry, but I need you to keep the name quiet. Just ask around in India’s ward if those who were present yesterday saw him there. Can you do that?” His voice sounds urgent.
I nod. “Okay, I’ll do it now. Why? Do you think he has something to do with this?”
“We’ll discuss that later. Please just ask. Let me know if anyone has seen—”
But I have stopped listening. I have seen something that has made my heart stop.
“Oh my gosh,” I whisper.
“What is it?” Storm says, his voice suddenly sharp.
