The DarkWorld SoulTracker Series Box Set Vol I

by T. G. Ayer

  The density of the air behind me shifted and I grinned. “How long have you been there?” I asked.

  “Long enough to know the two of you are giving Santiani far too much credit.” Drake leaned against the doorjamb, the action pushing against his biceps making them far too prominent.

  Had he been my type, I would have found it far too distracting to have him under the same roof on a permanent basis.

  Steph rolled her eyes. “So what doth the high and smarty believe?”

  The corner of Drake’s lip twitched. “The family is dodgy, the case is fishy, and the dude is offing his nearest and dearest one by one so he can run off to some private island with a tanned blonde in a string bikini.”

  I laughed, lifting a finger. “Dodgy, yes.” I lifted a second finger. “Fishy, yes. But unfortunately, the dude has an alibi.”

  “Say it isn’t so.” Drake’s lips twisted with disappointment. “I so had him pegged for murder of some flavor.”

  “Sorry,” said Steph, her mouth a thin line. “And I’ll have you know not all tanned blondes wear string bikinis.” She fluffed her blonde bun and shoved her glasses back up her nose with a stiff forefinger.

  I snorted and was glad I’d eaten that cookie or I would probably have choked on it. Drake appeared unrepentant.

  I cleared my throat. “So if Santiani is clear of his wife’s murder, where does that leave us?”

  “Leaves us without a clue. Leaves him in the clear.” He scowled.

  “But only for the wife. What about the kid?” asked Steph.

  I shifted against the desk where the sharp edge had begun to make a dent in my ass. “We don’t know that that’s a murder yet.”

  “But you projected onto the property and found bupkis,” challenged Steph.

  “Could mean anything.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Could mean he buried parts of her body all around the house.”

  “That’s a bit macabre.” I shifted my gaze to Drake, hoping for some backup.

  “Would explain why we couldn’t find her,” he said with a grin.

  No dice.

  I shook my head. “It’s seriously difficult to bury someone underneath slate tiles without leaving any evidence. Plus we found nothing near the hot tub.”

  “What if he dissolved her in acid in the hot tub?” suggested Steph, leaning closer. She had a fascination with serial killers, especially the ones with weird methods of doing away with bodies.

  I frowned.

  “How long do biological particles remain viable?”

  I glared at Drake. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Humor us.”

  I gritted my teeth and sighed. “Fine.” Taking a breath, I said, “Flesh decomposes faster but DNA and biofeedback for tracking can remain viable for weeks, sometimes months given the right environment. Bone and hair don’t decompose so they hold the biofeedback longer, especially if blood or live cells are available.”

  “So if Gia was buried on the property you’d still find her because the biofeedback would lead you to her.”

  I nodded, making a face. “Fine. I agree this is a viable line of questioning, but again, the feedback took us to places that don’t make sense in terms of hiding body parts. Even if they were liquefied with the help of acid.” I gave Steph a pointed look.

  Drake shifted against the threshold. “That’s true. Her bedroom. And the area in front of the hot tub. There was no place to bury her, and even in a liquid form-”

  “She could be in the pipes.”

  “Steph!” Her line of thinking was becoming annoying. “Even if her liquid matter was in the pipes. I’d have been taken to different places inside the house. The feedback would have felt different. Odd. Instead we arrived, and it was as if she was right there where we were standing.”

  Steph sighed and backed off. “Okay, okay.” She lifted her hands in the air in resignation. “We’ll leave the liquification theory aside for now.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “The problem we have right now is the question mark over the Mom’s suicide. We need to speak to those detectives who were suspicious of the death.”

  Steph nodded. “Already sent the deets to your phone. Names, ranks and mobile numbers. I’ve checked them out. Both totally above board, long-serving police officers.”

  I pushed to my feet. “Could you make an appointment for me?”

  Steph scowled. “Then what the heck did I give you their details for?”

  “Safekeeping?” She rolled her eyes. “My records?”

  She sniffed and grabbed her mobile. “Not sure what gives you people the impression that I have secretarial skills. I’m beginning to understand what it feels like to be the persecuted human amongst magical creatures. Ya’ll just know how to take advantage of a girl.”

  I smiled and walked toward the door as Steph began to speak. Her tone was high pitched, and she began to twirl her hair and chomp loudly on a non-existent wad of chewing gum. “Hello, is this Det Camden?”

  I left before she damaged my eardrums with her high-pitched airhead receptionist routine. Drake followed at my heels, equally eager to escape.

  As we entered the kitchen I slowed to let him pass. “Dude.” As he reached for the wall phone, he lifted his gaze and met my eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  His eyes darkened, that same shadow flitting across his face that I’d grown accustomed to seeing. At least he didn’t turn his back on me.

  I walked up to him and laid a hand on his upper arm. “Are you okay?”

  Silence.

  I shook his arm. “Drake, I asked you a question.”

  His lips formed a thin line. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Something is up and it’s messing with your mood. We’re a team, you and I. I’m here for you whatever the reason.”

  Drake shook his head. “Trust me. This is something you do not want to get involved in.”

  I folded my arms, needing to do something with my hands other than what I wanted which was punch him in the chest. “For one fucking minute can you stop being such an insufferable male?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not a male. I’m a gargoyle.”

  “Whatever.” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Quit the smartassery and talk to me, gargoyle.”

  His jaw tightened as his gaze flickered away, landing on the covered bowl hiding a defrosting leg of lamb. “I have to start dinner.”

  I wanted to counter with a quip that he didn’t like cooking to begin with, or ask him when he’d turned into the gargoyle version of Bobby Flay, but I knew any such remark would set him on edge and maybe make it worse for me in terms of future communications.

  In the years that I’d known Drake, I’d learned one thing; that he was one stubborn son of a bitch.

  Chapter 12

  There is absolutely nothing weird about meeting with two detectives in a donut shop.

  Nope. Absolutely nothing.

  Thank goodness neither of these two men fit the stereotype of powdered fingertips, jelly-stained ties and well-rounded bellies. In fact, one of them, Det Camden was very easy on the eye. Maybe a little old for me, but still nice to look at.

  Both men, in their early forties, sat in a booth, the weak light from a shade designed to resemble a powdered donut, coloring their faces a pale pink. Camden’s dark-honey skin didn’t seem to complain about the pink light either.

  I’d been a little taken aback by the place when I’d entered, considering it looked like a little girl’s dream sweet shop. Or a donut-aholic’s wet dream.

  Two, very male cops didn’t suit the decor one bit. Pink and chrome seats, donut-shaped lampshades, a floor that sported every shade of pink in randomly alternating tiles, and waitresses who looked a lot like candy-stripers.

  And not forgetting the magic.

  I could see it everywhere, although I was pretty sure that neither of the two cops were aware.

  I’d bet a month’s not-so-certain salary that Cinnamon & Sugar was owned,
or at least operated by a mage. Probably someone with happiness magic, from the looks on the patron’s faces.

  Every donut and cupcake in the place held a little glow, like the fabled Tink’s fairy dust, only every color of the rainbow. I didn’t understand this kind of magic too well, but having been able to see traces of all magic since I was old enough to eat solid food, I knew that each color likely meant a different type of magic.

  I’d gone up to the counter to place an order for a strawberry milkshake and a custard cream donut when the woman behind the counter, Evelyn, according to her sparkly dust nametag, stared at me in shocked silence.

  I leaned closer. “Everything ok?”

  She nodded, her smile widening. “You bet your strawberry filling it is.”

  I grinned and made my order. She knew what I was. Or maybe who I was. I wasn’t about to get into a magic-related discussion with her, not before talking to the pair of cops who were watching me from their booth.

  When I tried to pay, she waved me off. “Your money is no good here, little lady.”

  Okay, then.

  I gave her a grateful smile, having learned long ago that saying no to such kindnesses usually offended the giver of said kindness. Going over to the booth, I greeted the men and sat on the hot pink fake-leather seat, dropping my bag next to me.

  “Nice meeting place,” I said raising both my eyebrows.

  Both gave me sheepish smiles. The silver-haired cop, Landry, did the half-rising-to-his-feet thing as I seated myself. He nodded, his face going serious for a few moments. “I swear this place has some kind of food voodoo.”

  Dude you have no freaking idea.

  Camden nodded, his green eyes glinting. “Yeah. Order once and you’re here for life. I think the owner might be a witch.”

  My stomach twinged, only relaxing when both men burst out laughing. Neither of them displayed any body language to imply that beneath their laughter they really suspected something was up. Probably something the lovely Evelyn slipped into the donuts?

  After my order was delivered, which included a free plate of half a dozen mini cupcakes frosted in every color of the rainbow, I settled back and waited.

  Taking their cue, Landry shifted forward and dropped his elbows on the table. “So how can we help you, Ms Morgan. Your receptionist mentioned the Santiani case?”

  My receptionist indeed. I wondered what Steph would say about that.

  I nodded, already feeling the tension flowing from the two men. What was going on now?

  “I’ve had the missing person’s case fall into my lap and there were a few odd details that cropped up along the way. It’s led me to question the mother’s death. And I was hoping you’d help shed some light on it for me. Even if it’s just to voice your concerns.”

  Landry’s features tightened and he leaned back, the movement controlled as if he was preventing himself from jerking away.

  Odd. And suspicious.

  His partner though, leaned closer, his fingers fiddling with the stem of his lime milkshake glass. “We did encounter a number of discrepancies, yes. But we understood the whole matter was put to bed.”

  “Put to bed?” I repeated, frowning. “In what way?”

  “Well, in the end it was clear that we were reaching. We both,” he looked at Landry, “agreed that we were seeing things that weren’t really there because we were a little too emotionally involved. So we took a step back.”

  “And what did you see from your new perspective?” I tried to keep the sarcasm from my voice, but I must have failed as his lip curled ruefully.

  “What we saw was that as much as the death looked suspicious there was nothing to help us identify what specifically was wrong with the scene. Mrs Santiani committed suicide. There was no evidence to indicate otherwise.”

  “May I ask what you found suspicious?”

  Camden paused. “Well the body was discovered inside the house in Mrs Santiani’s study.”

  “She had her own?” I asked, then nodded. “Makes sense. The file said she worked from home.” Santiani hadn’t mentioned his wife at all when he requested my help to find Gia. Not surprising for a man struggling to deal with his wife killing herself.

  Camden gave a short nod. “Yeah. She was found on the floor beside her desk. Suicide note on the desk.”

  I nodded. I’d seen the crime scene photos in the file. Unlike her daughter’s file, Mrs Santiani’s was filled to overflowing. I’d studied the full-color photographs of the woman as she’d lain in a pool of her own blood, one hand on the floor beside her, the other on her chest. Coral cashmere sweater, glistening string of pearls, a pair of white silk slacks. Her feet had been bare, but the photos had caught a pair of white pumps sitting neatly beside the desk.

  Something about those white pumps bugged me, as if when I figured it out everything would fall into place, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Nothing in the woman’s expression said anything about what she’d gone through in her last moments and it frustrated me. A heavy carved vintage letter opener lay beside her head, an island of gleaming silver in a pool of slick red.

  Grisly.

  I needed a crime scene tech with mage abilities and I didn’t believe those were very common. I made a note to get Saleem to see if he could hunt one down for me. Sentinel had one but it wasn’t likely they’d part with her services, and even if they did I didn’t want to tip them off.

  “Anything suspicious about the note?”

  Camden shrugged, giving his partner a glance. “The handwriting looked odd.”

  When I frowned he continued, “You know how your writing gets sharper or less neat when you’re angry or stressed? Like you poke the pen into the paper and make a tiny hole when all you were supposed to do was dot the I? Or shape your letters a little sharper. Or make spelling mistakes, or write the wrong word down. She had a few of them that struck out.”

  I shrugged. “She needed to say the right words?”

  “That was the thing. The letter was all of three lines. Nothing to write home about, pardon the pun. Nothing in the note implied she’d spent a long time thinking about it. It was stilted, short.” He shrugged. “I’m not a handwriting specialist but at the time I was sure she’d either written it under duress or it was a forgery. Nothing I could prove though.”

  I took a few seconds to absorb the revelation and as I did, I recalled the instrument of the poor woman’s death.

  “She’d slit her wrists with her letter opener?” He nodded his expression acknowledging I’d actually read the case file. “How sharp was the darned thing?”

  “Sharp enough. The incisions on her wrists were decisive, pressure was hard so it didn’t take long to cut into the skin. There was bruising around the wound too. She wasn’t playing around.”

  “Could the bruising have been due to someone else holding her down and cutting her wrists open for her?”

  He nodded. “Very likely. It’s what Landry and I both thought.”

  “And what about the ME?”

  “The ME?”

  I took a breath. “Yes,” I said patiently. I got the feeling he was stalling. “The ME who presided over the autopsy.”

  Landry shrugged, the skin at the top of his neck growing red. “From my recollection he was playing it with extra care so as not to end up making dangerous accusations.”

  “Especially with who Santiani was?”

  He nodded.

  “I didn’t see any update in the file regarding his change of mind?”

  Landry shook his head. “The ME never had time to update the files.”

  I shook my head. This was beginning to smell like incompetence. “I may have to speak to him myself then.”

  “You can’t,” said Camden, sadness darkening his eyes.

  “What happened?” I suspected I already knew.

  “He slipped and fell, hit his head and ended up in a coma. His family had him on life support for a few weeks. The docs said he’d wake up in time, that all his
vitals were good and they were confident. But not long after that, he flatlined.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I shook my head and folded my arms. This investigation was getting worse and worse the more I learned.

  Mother. Suspicious death.

  Sister. Suspicious disappearance.

  ME. Suspicious death.

  This was beginning to look like a pattern, only I was having a great deal of trouble trying to unravel exactly what I was looking at.

  I sighed. “Okay tell me about the case. What were your feelings regarding the scene and regarding the case itself?”

  Camden gave a slight nod, but it didn’t take a psychic to see that detective Landry was a little bit reluctant. Something about the way he sat back hard against the cerise seat. I wondered what was going on with him because from having already read his notes in the case file, I knew he’d been the one who’d been more suspicious in the beginning. What had caused him to change his mind?

  Thankfully it was Det Camden who decided to respond first. “There was definitely something wrong, but neither of us were certain the daughter could be cleared as a suspect.”

  “Which daughter?”

  Camden’s lips tightened. “Gina.”

  I nodded. “I’ve had a few interactions with her. Not the easiest person to talk to. The whole defensive-plus-haughty act is a little much.”

  He nodded. Glancing at his partner he said, “Joe here was the one to figure out the kid was a little off.”

  “What happened?”

  Landry shrugged. “I think I probably made a bigger deal of it at the time.”

  Camden snorted. “I beg to differ. Her behavior should have sent up red flags from the get-go. I’m still kicking myself for not realizing what was happening. I just took her for innocent and needy.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Things were beginning to fall into place.

  Chapter 13

  Camden nodded, relief in his eyes. “Yeah, she was a strange kid.”

  “Please tell me. I need to have as much information as possible. The last thing I want is to fail to bring Gia home.”