Catching a Man

by Elizabeth Corrigan

  “No, you aren’t a mage.” He pursed his lips and looked as though he wanted to say something, then shook his head. “Nonetheless, everyone has at least a small connection to one of the three powers, and this room blocks that. I found it unsettling at first, though now I find it rather soothing.”

  Kadin couldn’t imagine finding the shut-off feeling anything other than stifling. “What about the items outside? Are they part of your magical collection as well? Because this one doesn’t appear all that big, for the ‘largest collection in the world’.”

  “Ah, well, looks can be deceiving.” Gates reached over and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on the end table. “There are not many magical items in the world. Most magic comes from the mage himself, and he rarely wants to put it into an object that anyone could use. Mages usually only imbue items when they plan to give up their power and want to save a bit for an emergency. Magicking something is chancy, however, because anyone can use that magic later. Accessing the power usually involves a ritual specified at the time of the object’s creation, known only to the creator. But sometimes word gets out, or someone performs the necessary sequence of events accidentally. The results can be… unpredictable.”

  Kadin gave the display cases another wary glance. The items looked so… sedate. But she supposed they were encased behind glass in a secret vault for a reason.

  Gates took a sip of water. “As for the items outside, they are non-magical antiques or replicas of the things in this room. I sell them to people with no abilities who want to say they have a magical item or some such. The objects with actual power are not for sale.”

  Kadin shifted in her chair. She didn’t approve of conning people into purchasing fake magical items, but if actual magic devices were dangerous, perhaps dishonesty was the wisest course of action. “The Society of Mages doesn’t mind that you keep the items here? Don’t they want them for themselves?”

  “Well, for most of the time that I’ve collected, the Society has been absent from Valeriel.” He cocked his head to the side, then shrugged. “But I think most of them are grateful for the service I provide. After all, even to another mage, in some cases especially to another mage, these items are quite dangerous. A watch imbued by a red mage is, quite literally, a ticking bomb, set to go off when touched by another mage. There are a few pieces a mage might be desirous of possessing. The thimble in the second case there, for example, can enhance a mage’s power. The Society may resent me holding on to such an artifact, but they would be unlikely to try to enter this room to retrieve it.”

  Kadin nodded. She wouldn’t rush to re-enter this room once she departed, and she wasn’t a mage. “You said you knew about Dexter Corkscrew. Did the Society actually take away his sanity because he was uncovering their secrets?”

  Gates swirled his glass in a circle and stared at the ripples that formed in the water. “I don’t know. He may have been delusional from the start. There is certainly no proof that he wasn’t. However, I can tell you that if he had been of sound mind and sought to sully the reputation of the Society, they would have had no moral qualms about silencing him for their own protection.”

  He knows more than he’s saying. “So people do die by magic.”

  Gates set his glass down on the end table with a clink. “Mages each have one of three different powers. Red magic destroys, blue magic stops, and green magic grows. Each potential mage is born with a tendency toward a particular power, which gives off an aura other mages can see. The limit of each one’s power is dependent on the imagination of the caster. For example, if a blue mage wished to kill someone, he could stop that person’s heart. A red mage could burn a hole through a person’s aorta, and a green mage could cause a massive tumor to grow in the victim’s chest cavity.”

  Interesting, but that doesn’t answer my question. “So if someone appeared to have been suffocated but with no apparent mark or poison, the mage could have done something to the person’s lungs that wouldn’t be discernible from the outside.”

  “Yes, the same principles would apply to asphyxiation.”

  Kadin’s breath came faster. This could be the break Combs was looking for. “But if you were to look at her windpipe, there would be evidence that it had been blocked by something?”

  Gates considered her for a long moment, as if trying to decide how much to tell her. “In the case of a green or red mage, I would imagine so. A green mage would have to grow something to block the passage, or else swell the trachea until it closed off. A red mage would most likely burn a hole in the windpipe or destroy the air sacs. A blue mage, however, could kill without a trace, since he would simply stop the lungs from functioning.”

  Probably not a green mage, then, Kadin thought. Combs would have noticed a swollen windpipe or growth. But would he have noticed a hole in her windpipe? Or something that had destroyed her lungs?

  Gates took a deep breath. “Miss Stone, if you don’t mind, I need to ask about this hypothetical ‘she’ to whom you keep referring. You implied earlier that you are investigating Queen Callista’s death. Do you believe a mage killed her?”

  Kadin met his gaze. “You think it’s unlikely.”

  “I think it unlikely that anyone in the Society would be that brazen,” he said. Kadin opened her mouth to ask another question, but Gates held up his hand. “Miss Stone, you probably have dozens more questions about magic and the Society, but let me assure you that it is in your best interest, not to mention mine, if I don’t give you any more information. Look elsewhere for your murderer if you can. If the Society of Mages as returned to Valeriel—and especially if they have been brash enough to allow one of their members to kill the queen—believe me when I say the consequences for everyone will be dire.”

  Chapter 12

  How much should I include? Kadin stared at her typewriter. She had typed up her conversation with Olivan, whom she had to admit might not be the most reputable of sources, though he was at least as reliable as the average gossip columnist, but she couldn’t decide what to do about her interview with Gates.

  Leave it out. She gave the return level a resolute pull, and the carriage rattled back to its starting position. She twirled the piece of paper out of the machine and held up her handiwork for inspection. After a quick spell-check, she slid the paper into the manila folder with her other notes and dropped it into her desk drawer. Not that anyone is going to see it.

  She opened the file on Lord Landis Imbolc that Olivan had lent her yesterday. She had skimmed through some of the articles the night before, but she wanted to get a better picture of his character. She spread out the pictures, grouping ones with similar themes—his family, his fashion, his politics, his rumored paramours. She worried at first about getting the glossy clips out of order, until she noticed that Olivan had numbered each in the corner with a black ballpoint pen.

  That’s Ollie all over. Organized to a fault and leaving nothing to chance.

  Kadin tapped her pen on the desk. She had all the pieces laid out before her, but somehow they added up to… nothing. Olivan could make staid Octavira’s toes curl with his sordid tales of the Imperials, and Lord Landis had all the usual stories: irresponsible spending, drunken cavorting, getting involved with inappropriate women—Queen Callista, for one. But such misbehavior only elicited mild frowns from the nobility. Somehow, though, Lord Landis’s playboy ways seemed calculated, as if he wanted to appear rebellious, but not too rebellious.

  I wonder if any of the Imperial reputations are real. Her eyes fell on a picture of Lord Landis and Duke Baurus. What about the duke? He seems so straightforward, but maybe he’s as calculated as the rest of them. She picked up the image of the duke smiling so broadly it seemed to jump from the page. All that emotion he showed me. Surely it can’t be fake… A shudder ran through her at the thought.

  She shook her head and slapped the picture
back down in Olivan’s file. That doesn’t matter. I need to know about Lord Landis, and there’s nothing real here. I need to talk to him. Or someone who knows him. His sister, perhaps.

  She had arranged the clippings in a pile in the proper order when Inspector Warring thundered into the office with such bluster that he sent the glossy pages flying everywhere. Kadin slid off her chair onto her knees and began to gather her papers.

  “Fellows, I’m taking White off the queen’s case for the next few hours.” Warring’s voice boomed through the office. “We’ve got more cases coming in than ever. Seems everyone wants to hire the king’s detectives. Ordinarily I’d be grateful for the business, but we’re stretched a little thin. This new case seems cut-and-dry—probably don’t even need us, case seventh and all. What’s the status on the queen?”

  Kadin craned her neck to look into her boss’s office.

  Fellows cleared his throat. “We have a few promising leads, and we’re wondering if perhaps the death wasn’t a homicide after all—”

  Kadin almost dropped the articles in her hand. Not a murder? But… it has to be!

  Warring took a threatening step forward, and Fellows jerked backwards. “Save your excuses. Get me Baurus DeValeriel. Today, if possible. Yesterday, if not.”

  Warring brushed past Kadin, and she clutched her clippings to her so they didn’t fly away again. Great. Ollie’s going to kill me for wrinkling them.

  Warring stuck his head back in the office and pointed at Kadin. “You. You’re new?”

  Kadin pushed herself to her feet, catching her heel on the leg of her chair and nearly falling flat on her face in the process. “Yes, sir. I’m Kadin St—”

  “Go with White on this case. He may need an aide on this one.” Then he was gone.

  Wow, someone thinks I’m here to do work. She pushed down the burst of excitement in her chest as she grabbed her notebook and bag and started out the door. Wait. You’re going to see Dahran, remember? Your would-be future husband? She took a minute to smooth her green skirt and to make sure the seams on her stockings were straight.

  Kadin met Dahran outside the kitchen, and he gave her an appreciative smile. “Looking good, Miss Stone.”

  Kadin felt heat rush to her cheeks, and she hoped that the result was a charming blush and not a bright red face. Though she supposed she had no reason to be ashamed. She had chosen the scoop-necked dress because it flattered her, and she knew how well her shoes defined her calves. “Oh, you can call me Kadin.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Dahran held the lift door open for her, and Kadin scooted in.

  “So, what’s this case about?” she asked once the lift was on its way.

  Dahran’s almost-too-white teeth flashed in the dim light. “A woman was shot in her brother’s nightclub. It sounds like a case seventh, though, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

  “A case seventh?” Kadin thought back to her aide training, certain that they had covered the term. “Isn’t that when the victim refuses an investigation?”

  Dahran leaned against the lift wall. “When a family refuses an investigation, we don’t have much to do. We’ll be back before lunch, and it should be a quiet Friday afternoon. We can probably even leave early if we want.”

  Kadin tried to convince herself the dead feeling in her chest wasn’t her heart sinking. “Don’t you have a lot of work to do, finding Duke Baurus?”

  “Oh, sure.” The lift dinged, and Dahran held the door open for Kadin. “But he’s a prominent figure. He’ll have to come out of hiding eventually. Where can a duke go without someone recognizing him?”

  I’m pretty sure he has the means to spend the rest of his life on a beach in Astrevia, or at least until they sign an extradition treaty. But he’ll probably stay in town until Queen Callista’s murder is solved. “Don’t you have other leads to follow? Other suspects?”

  Dahran laughed. “No, generally when your prime suspect disappears immediately after the murder, instead of appearing with assistance and a plausible alibi, we can assume he’s guilty. Of course, even if he has an airtight alibi, he’s probably still guilty. Complex investigations only happen in dime store novels.”

  Kadin felt that familiar pit re-form in her stomach. I have to tell him what I know. “Look, Dahran. I mean, Detective White…”

  Before she could finish, Dexter Corkscrew stepped in front of her and blocked her path.

  “I’m handling the forensics on the case at Pinky’s.” The small man gave Kadin the hairy eyeball. She wished she knew what about her upset him so much. His distrust of her seemed to pre-date her mention of the M-word.

  Dahran snapped his fingers to get Corkscrew’s attention. “Why are you coming? Where’s Combs?”

  Corkscrew hefted a black bag and ambled toward the door. “They don’t let Jace handle case sevenths anymore.” He looked over his shoulder, offering a genuine smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I called us an autotaxi.”

  Kadin followed Corkscrew and Dahran out to the vehicle. Dahran claimed the front seat next to the driver, and Kadin crawled into the back next to Corkscrew. Judging by the cracked black leather seats and sickly sweet smell that permeated the cabin, Corkscrew had selected the worst autotaxi company in the city.

  Last time I let the crazy man pick the vehicle, Kadin thought, but she instantly regretted it.

  Corkscrew’s tuneless humming blended with the droning of the engine as the autotaxi stopped and started its way through the busy Business District. After several blocks filled with men in tailored grey suits, the old brick and limestone buildings gave way to the more modern lines and colors of the Triangle. Kadin usually came to the avant-garde area of the city at night, as it held the best bars and night clubs, but even without the flickering neon signs, the white and pastel tiered buildings served as a contrast to the more traditional architecture of the rest of Valeriel City.

  They passed a malt shop with an aqua and checkered pattern boasting 24-hour service and a brand new apartment building designed like a giant, round layer cake. Soon they came upon a garish pink nightclub with a neon green sign flashing “Pinky’s!”

  Corkscrew stopped singing. “We’re here.”

  The autotaxi skidded to a halt, and the three detectives got out. As Dahran paid the driver, Kadin eyed the colored papers advertising last night’s drink specials littering the sidewalk.

  I guess no one got around to cleaning them up. Understandable, if there was a murder. She considered picking up a few of the fliers and throwing them in the trash, but when she poked at one of the sheets with her toe, the paper appeared stuck to the concrete with a substance she couldn’t recognize. Her generosity didn’t go that far.

  Inside the club, the squeaks from Corkscrew’s rubber soles twined with the clicks of Kadin’s heels, and the harmony echoed across the cavernous space. A chalky scent filled Kadin’s nose, and the bright spotlights that flooded the room made her squint, even as the solid black walls absorbed some of the glare. She barely recognized the place, so different did it look with no fashionable sideways men flirting, cavorting, and sipping pink cocktails with slices of grapefruit in them. A short, balding man with tears running down his red-streaked face and a taller companion with thick grey hair and a stocky build were the only people gracing the dance floor now.

  Unless one counted the chubby dead brunette lying flat on her face at their feet.

  Dahran molded his expression into that of a funeral director, sympathetic yet professional. “Hello, I’m Detective Dahran White, and this is my aide, Kadin Stone, and our forensic specialist, Dexter Corkscrew. We are very sorry for your loss and will do everything in our power to help you.”

  Oh, see, that’s nice, thought Kadin as she pulled her notebook out of her bag. I worried he’d be dismissive of the case, after what he said before.

  “
Thank you.” The man who had not been crying shook Dahran’s hand, while his other arm remained wrapped around his partner. “I’m Quind Hart, and this is Pinky Boxer. That’s…” His voice broke as he nodded toward the dead woman. “That’s Pinky’s sister, Skella Best.”

  Dahran made a clucking sound with his tongue and scrawled a note on his pad. “Have you ever commissioned a murder investigation before?” Both men shook their heads. “Well, let me begin by explaining the process to you. I will ask you some questions, some of which may seem intrusive to you, and I will want to talk to any other witnesses. Meanwhile, Dr. Corkscrew will examine the body to try to determine the exact cause of death—”

  “Ject shot to the head.” The forensic examiner’s voice held none of the sensitivity of Dahran’s.

  “—which he believes he has already determined, though he will do a few more analyses before making an absolute statement. He will also glean any other information that he can from the body itself. Once we have the forensic analysis, we will determine whether we have enough evidence for a trial or if we need to interview more people or further examine the premises.” Dahran cleared his throat. “May I ask what kind of insurance you have?”

  Pinky looked up, tears staining his puffy, red face. “We don’t have insurance that covers her death.” He let out another sob.

  Quind patted his partner’s shoulder. “Her husband Bryne Best has a policy that covers crimes committed against his family, but we don’t think that he will want to pursue an investigation in this case.” He looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “I called and informed him that you were coming over, so he should be by shortly, and you can discuss this with him.”

  Realization dawned on Kadin. Case Seventh. They made it sound so harmless in class, but you should have known what it meant. You’ve heard Tobin rant about cases like this often enough. Husband kills the wife, then refuses an investigation. Happens all the time. Kadin’s breath came faster, her clinical acceptance faltering in the face of the blood caked on the back of Skella’s head.