by Dan Stout
Anson’s apartment was on the first floor, a relatively spacious flat well outside the price range of a factory worker, the occupation given to us by his parole officer. A lone patrol cop stood sentry at the door, controlling the flow of traffic. He acknowledged our badges with a nod and allowed us entry.
Across the threshold we found Andre, Hemingway’s new partner, jotting notes as he did a slow turn in the main living area. His eyes narrowed when he spotted me, though he relaxed slightly at the sight of Jax. Andre let out a low whistle that my partner returned, and that seemed to confirm the personal dynamics of the room. Hemingway stood near the far wall, studying the movie posters tacked to the wall, mostly old heist films that ended with car chases and shoot-outs. Beyond Hemingway was the bathroom, and I froze as I caught sight of the shower. Blood-streaked glass walls obscured the details of the crumpled body within, but I could make out the dark blue-black of the head plates.
“Anson,” I said.
Hemingway turned and looked me over as if tallying up the good and bad, before apparently deciding that I at least broke even.
“Appears to be his name.” She chewed her gum with purpose, as if she had a quota of pieces to get through in a day. “You know him?”
“Not personally.”
She hooked one thumb in a belt loop. “Then why are you here?”
A few steps away, Jax pointed at the shower stall. “Most people shower at night or first thing in the morning. You know which it was?”
“Not a hundred percent.” Hemingway peered into the bathroom. “No steam on the mirror or shower door, so it’s been at least a little while. But there’s water still beaded on the body, so I’m guessing it happened this morning.”
“Shit.” I turned away. That lined up with our call to Anson’s PO. “Who reported it?”
“Anonymous tip,” said Andre, a trill of suspicion underscoring his words. “You didn’t answer my partner’s question. What are you doing here?”
“Witness interview,” said Jax. “Or was going to be, anyway.”
A bustle of activity caused us all to turn toward the door.
“Tech team got here fast,” said Anders.
The crew began to set up a perimeter, and one mustached man approached, hands raised as if he might drop them on our shoulders and guide us to a new path. “Step away from the bathroom, please.”
It wasn’t a crew I was familiar with, though I recognized them from somewhere. I blinked, trying to put context to the man’s face, his thickly bristled mustache. The St. Beisht crime scene.
Doc Mumphrey’s complaints about the OCU techs came flooding back. I had no intention of seeing another crime scene rendered useless.
I ignored the tech and stepped into the bathroom, peering at Anson’s body. He’d had his head bashed into the shower wall. It’d taken great strength to pull that off. Great strength and the ability to enter the apartment unheard. Or someone who’d already been there when Anson entered the shower.
“Sir, I do need you to step out of the bathroom. Detective?”
The tech’s voice was drowned out by other, louder voices raised in anger. I turned and found Dungan standing in the living area of the apartment, apparently responding to some comment from Hemingway.
With a whisper of polyester windbreaker, Dungan pulled his driving cap lower as he stared her down. “Tell whoever you want, blondie.” His gap-toothed smile spread a little wider. “Fact is that this crime scene is related to an active OCU investigation. So you can stand around with your thumbs up your asses for the next couple hours until the paperwork comes through, or you can screw off right now. I don’t really care one way or the other.”
I crossed the room, sending the tech team scurrying out of my way.
“What did you know about this?” My voice raised louder than I’d intended.
Dungan blinked, his grin morphing into a scowl. But he didn’t answer, so I leaned in closer, spitting each word into his face.
“No video, huh?”
“I said there was nothing you could use. This bastard,” he indicated Anson, “was at the very least a witness to the St. Beisht killing. Maybe the one who hid the body. He might have blown open the whole thing. If I’d had time to crack him.”
“And he saw what happened to Jane.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe he was perched on the fire escape waiting for a ride. We’ll never know, now that you got him killed off.”
“What are you talking about?” I said the words, even though I knew exactly where he was going with all of this.
“Why do you think I kept the video close to my vest, anyway?”
“I needed to know what he saw!”
“So you stirred up the pot about the twins who have their fingers in every bureaucracy in the city?” A flush spread up Dungan’s neck, blooming from his collar to his ears and splotchy cheeks. He looked ready to spit out his candy. “Carter, you dumb bastard. You think it’s been easy keeping everything about St. Beisht secret?” He pulled off his driver’s cap and ran a hand through sweat-matted curls as he leaned in, whispering, “I even have my techs holding details back from the ME’s office.”
“You think Mumphrey is working for the—”
His jaw dropped. “No, dammit! I think some petty bureaucrat who has access to the ME office’s files is willing to pay back the CaCuris for getting them their job. The twins are more subtle than you’re giving them credit for,” he said. “Or at least Katie is. She’s working her fingers into the very mortar lines of the city’s foundation. A street thug’s dangerous, civil servants are deadly.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but a hand on my arm stopped me.
“Carter,” said Jax. “You’re the one who told me the CaCuris have tendrils all throughout the city government.”
I pointed back to the bathroom, where Anson lay dead, one mandible almost detached from the force of the blows. “Why weren’t you watching him?”
“Because I don’t have unlimited staff and funds,” he said. “I’ve got eyes on the CaCuris, I’ve got eyes on the Harlqs. I’m eating up money and resources on this damn case hoping to break something and you go and—” He swiped a hand over his eyes, leaving white trails across beet-red skin as he fumed. “We’re in the middle of gang wars, a military occupation, political upheaval, the biggest economic revolution the world has ever seen . . . and all you want is to find out who killed a girl in an alley?”
I stepped in closer, words snarling. “Every death matters.”
But it was more than that. It was every assault and bashed-in car window. Every kid with a black eye and strap marks across their back. Every woman denigrated and man demoralized. Each Gillmyn or human or Mollenkampi denied an opportunity because of who they were, or who they loved, or how they pronounced their words. They all mattered, every single damn one of them. But at that moment there was only one I’d been entrusted to find justice for, a Jane Doe found in an alley. And I’d rather have been shredded by the imps than let her be forgotten.
I wanted to make Dungan understand that, and maybe I would have found a way, but we were interrupted by the sudden sound of cheering from the street. I walked to the door followed by Dungan and my fellow Homicide detectives.
Down the block a crowd was gathering, centered on a squat building with blacked-out windows and a sign that declared it was the Paradise Parlor. I knew the name. Despite sounding like a low-end strip club, the Parlor was the central hub of the CaCuris’ organization. It was a private club, a place for the twins and their high-rolling friends to meet, scheme, and assuage each other’s consciences. Or at least what passed for consciences. Among what passed for friends.
On the front stoop of Paradise, Katie CaCuri stood above the crowd, grim-faced and wrapped in fur. Behind her, Thomas brooded silently, his hollow, sunken eyes roaming the assembled citizenry. With his dark suit, drawn fa
ce, and ostentatious jewelry, Thomas looked like an over-accessorized undertaker. He wasn’t in his element in front of a crowd. Not like his sister.
Katie was well into her performance as we drew close enough to hear what she was saying. “Withholding manna is like dangling a sandwich before a starving man. This city,” she swung a hand, “our city, finally has a chance to get back on its feet. And what does the AFS do?” She paused. “It puts its heel on our throats and keeps us down. It’s time to take back what’s ours, take back our rights. And take our damn manna!”
At the fringes of the crowd, the younger CaCuri thugs we’d seen on the corners pulled a steady stream of people from nearby stores and sidewalks, directing them to join the impromptu rally. They’d even drafted some bystanders who seemed to have overindulged in the city’s vices, including one large human who stared into the sky, muttering to himself and tugging on his generous beard.
“Katie’s appeal isn’t exactly organic,” said Jax.
“Doesn’t need to be,” said Dungan. He pointed at the twins as a pair. “The two of them go good together, like in the old-time religions, before the Path. Gods of good, gods of evil. The people in these streets love Katie and fear Thomas.”
Jax watched the crowd. “They could always leave.” There was a hint of remorse in his voice. Maybe he was thinking about what had driven him out of his own hometown.
“Costs money to move,” I said. “People struggling to pay their electric bill don’t have much in the way of surplus cash. And if they moved into a neighborhood controlled by the Harlqs, or the Hollow, or the Royal Smiths, would that be any better?”
On the stoop Katie still worked her crowd. “The special election changes everything! Two more days and we’ll be up all night, celebrating with a festival, then going straight to the polls Titan’s Day morning. We’re going to make history, and we’re going to take back our city!”
Performance complete, Katie waded into the crowd, shaking hands and making promises. Farther down the street the crowd parted, revealing a familiar figure peering around, as if lost. A tall man with dyed-blond hair and chiseled good looks. I felt my lip curl as I recognized Mitri Tenebrae, incongruously perfect and tidy as always, even in the raucous crowd.
Jax noticed my reaction. “Who’s that?” Tenebrae moved through the crowd, drawing closer to the twins and their entourage.
“An asshole,” I said. “Who shouldn’t be in this neighborhood.”
I chewed my lip. Tenebrae could be the connection between the twins and Gellica, and through her—Paulus. He was how Gellica knew Louis Mah was going to be injured ahead of time. Tenebrae was the linchpin. All I needed to confirm it was to see them welcome him warmly. I did my best to remain anonymous in the crowd as the wealthy sorcerer reached the twins.
Tenebrae waved his arm, beckoning Katie and her brother closer. This is it. They listened to whatever Tenebrae was saying, then Katie shook her head. Insistent, Tenebrae stepped forward and grabbed her arm. Thomas’s rings flashed as he pivoted at the waist, putting the full power of his core into the backhand strike. The chukk of knuckles and rings connecting with Tenebrae’s cheekbone was cringe-inducing, even at a distance. The rich man collapsed just as quickly as my theories.
Thomas and Katie walked away, while two of the CaCuris’ goons moved in on the prone executive. I groaned and ran in their direction, Jax a step behind me. I didn’t like Tenebrae, but I couldn’t watch them beat the idiot to death.
As we crossed the street Tenebrae rolled onto his stomach. The CaCuri muscle each grabbed an arm and began dragging him away. He broke free of one and kicked, striking one of the men at the ankle then pivoting to face the second.
I liked the way he handled himself. If I end up being friends with this guy, I’m gonna be pissed.
The twins were being hustled into the Paradise Parlor, but Thomas was dragging his feet, staring at the departing Tenebrae like he was willing to try his fists against an angry sorcerer. I reached the fray, but before I could do anything beyond announce my presence, the thickly bearded human crashed into me, embracing me with powerful, cobweb-shrouded arms.
“I’m gonna fly,” he said, foul breath hot on my cheeks. “Fast as the wind.”
I grabbed his overcoat, turning my hips and intending to use his momentum to throw him past me. But the glue-like cobwebs caught in my fists, immediately plunging me into the cold and pressure I’d come to fear. The man went limp and I supported his weight without thinking, even as the tension built behind my eyes. More CaCuri guards moved in, pausing only when they saw Jax with his badge out, identifying himself loudly and clearly. “Police! Stand aside!”
Cobwebs and skittering spiders danced up my arm as the wild-eyed man regained his footing and pushed away from me, confusion and terror distorting his face as he fled into the crowd. For a mad, confusing moment, I had the wild impulse to give chase, to grab and clutch and take more of whatever the cobwebs held. I don’t know if I would have given in to the urge, because the twins were on us a moment later.
Thomas came in like a freight train, brow furrowed and wearing a snarl that stretched from ear to swollen ear. He plowed into the crowd, planting a massive shoulder into Tenebrae’s chest. The leaner man dropped, striking the cobblestone street, bounced, then scrambled to his feet and fled. Still hungry for a victim, Thomas turned his attention to me.
Katie grabbed his arm, but her bigger twin pushed through her as if she were made of mist. He was a shark locked onto his prey, and his eyes carried no emotion, only the sheer joy of destruction. Katie pushed herself back in front of Thomas, face spasming as her bad hip took her weight. She gripped his bicep with both arms and lifted her feet, throwing her full weight into her ploy to stop him. Catherine CaCuri risked herself, preventing her brother from attacking the manna strike detective and sabotaging her campaign.
Red-faced, she said something to Thomas that reined him in. Her brother temporarily under control, Katie immediately turned the crowd’s attention to me.
I stood with hands on knees, struggling to catch my breath. The cold enveloping me was enough to tighten my chest, and the distant singing roar in my ears made it difficult to focus. And Katie was in my face, making it impossible to reason.
“Look at you, crawling back in here after your stunt on TV. You’re a hypocrite,” she said. “You drone on about the city, but you don’t give a damn about it. I’m not the villain here!” The buzzing and whispering swelled in my ears, overlapping and adding a hiss to her words.
The other officers from the crime scene had followed us into the fray, and now formed a protective ring around us. The patrol cops, Hemingway and Andre, even Dungan. When your family is threatened, you step up. No matter what.
For a tense moment we all stared at each other. Then Katie called out to her bodyguards, directing them back to the Paradise Parlor. She left a hand on Thomas’s arm, keeping her brother on a short leash even as she held my eye. “I’ve got your number, Carter.”
As they departed, the tension seeped out of the crowd.
“Could book them on assault,” Jax muttered, low enough to keep the bystanders from overhearing. “Thomas, anyway. Dozens of people saw him hit your friend.”
“Not my friend,” I said, fighting the chill and wishing I had my overcoat. “And they all saw what he did to the guards, too.”
“Won’t stick either way.” Dungan grinned, the sudden burst of white teeth and wide gaps making him look like a living piano. He pointed at the dozens of onlookers. “CaCuri money buys everything around here. Especially eyewitnesses.”
I watched the CaCuri twins entering the Paradise Parlor. “Everyone screws up at some point.”
“The other gangs have their fingers in the pie, too, but they’re not playing the long game the way these two are. Katie’s got her thumb on the scales of justice. And I’m telling you,” he swung his hand toward me and Jax, “both of
you. She’s just getting started.” He stepped away, no longer standing with us now that the immediate threat had passed. He pointed a thumb at Hemingway and Andre. “Tell your friends to expect requisition paperwork. I’m gonna do my best to recover from this massive shit-storm you’ve created.”
Dungan stormed off, and Jax and I stood alone.
My partner turned to me. “So where does this leave us?”
“Leaves me freezing. I need my coat.” I started walking. “We’ve got other leads. Napier, Lillian Moller . . .”
Jax easily kept pace. “You really think Moller hunted her down to this neighborhood and killed her?”
“No,” I said. “Which is why I’m back to the St. Beisht killing.”
“And Anson.”
“But not Anson himself,” I said. “Whoever he watched kill Jane. Someone he didn’t challenge or run away from.” I winced, as the cold clamped down on my chest even tighter.
“Someone he expected to see there? An accomplice.” Jax was thinking through the steps, coming to the same conclusion I’d already reached.
We passed locals engaged in the bustle of festival preparation. They seemed excited about the looming holiday and CaCuri’s speech, even with the tension at the end. It felt wrong, like welcoming a malignant tumor into the family.
“An accomplice,” I agreed. “Or a boss. Who’d be on the lookout for any signs that Anson had been compromised.”
“Anson’s PO,” said Jax. “With his address she must’ve known he was lying about his job.”
We reached Anson’s apartment building and slowed our pace. He seemed to consider it, then shrugged. “Lots of parolees lie about employment.”
“Most of them don’t end up beaten to death when a couple cops are headed their way. And in the shower?” I huffed hot breath onto my hands, but couldn’t shake the numbing chill. “Whoever did it, either Anson let them inside or they had the key to the apartment.”
