by R K Dreaming
“How is it your fault?” I asked him hastily. I could not let him leave without finding out what he knew.
“I should have known better than to do it,” he said. “I should never have courted her, never mixed our blood. They warned me, but I did it anyway, and now my Dianthe is paying for it. I don’t want her to suffer any more.”
I frowned. Dianthe? Wasn’t he talking about Marilyn?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
But a sharp clatter of noise made us both look across the room at the redheaded woman. She had given a cry of dismay, and was crouched near the water dispensing machine. Water was sloshing uncontrollably out of the little tap and all over the floor.
“Goodness me!” she said in dismay. “Oh dear!”
I went over to see what the problem was, and found the little plastic valve at the top of the tap broken.
“It snapped off,” she babbled.
She fussed with the broken nozzle, trying to fix it back into place, but water continued to flow out, forming an ever larger puddle on the floor. Her failure to stop it made her grow increasingly distressed, and finally the fact that her pretty suede kitten heels had become thoroughly drenched made her burst into tears.
“I’ll do it,” I said, nudging her away from the tap.
I managed to grasp the remnants of the plastic valve between my fingernails and twist them until the water stopped flowing.
“Oh, thank you!” she cried. “What a mess I’ve made. So stupid of me.”
“No problem.”
I turned back towards Rodan. To my dismay, his chair was empty. He had slipped out of the room.
“Darn it!” I muttered, going to the door to check if he was outside in the corridor.
He was not there. I had not even asked his last name. How was I going to track him down?
I hurried over to the steel double doors leading to the autopsy room. Maybe he had gone inside to demand for the coroner to listen to his story. There was a glass panel on each door, and I peered through one.
Inside, the autopsy room was a cold clean place full of steel furniture and white ceramic tiles. I could see two gurneys, both with bodies on them, each covered with a white sheet.
A woman in a lab coat, who had to be the coroner, went to one of the gurneys and pulled back the sheet.
What I saw gave me a shock. A man was on the gurney. Dead. And it was Rodan, the very same man who I had just spoken to.
Chapter 9
SIGOURNEY
I pushed open the door of the autopsy room and walked in. The coroner looked surprised to see me. She was a plump older lady with greying hair and a wand in her hand, which told me she was a witch, a magical coroner.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You have to wait. I have an appointment with someone else first.”
She must have meant the redhead in the waiting room.
“I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a rush,” I told her. “Did the receptionist tell you that I needed to see you?”
The coroner looked towards the door, as if she really did need to get to her next appointment.
I strode purposefully towards the gurney with the man’s body on it. The man who had told me he was Rodan. And said in a clipped business-like voice, “This won’t take long. What can you tell me?”
The coroner looked a tad annoyed. “It really would be best if you sentinels and the Conclave of Magic sorted out your jurisdiction issues, and came together instead of me having to repeat myself twice.”
“I completely agree with you,” I said.
This seemed to appease her a little.
She briskly went over to the other gurney with the smaller body on it, and whipped the white sheet aside. I caught a brief glimpse of Marilyn, before I quickly averted my eyes.
Amelie, I reminded myself.
But her hair was as curly and golden as it had ever been on the TV screen, and her olive skin only a tad less luminous than when she had been alive, and she looked like the superstar Marilyn to me. What remained of her.
That brief glimpse had showed me more than enough of the ordeal she had suffered.
“Marilyn Hepburn,” the coroner said in her brisk voice. “Twenty-nine years old, in excellent health. Or she had been. She was bound with ligatures before being savaged with what appears on initial inspection to be a sharp instrument with a short chopping blade, possibly a hatchet or small axe. There are shallower cuts in parallel groupings, as if some effort was made to simulate a set of large claws.”
“Bound with ligatures?” I said, frowning. That would explain why in my vision she had struggled to escape. Not frozen from sheer terror then.
The coroner nodded. “Here and here.” She pointed with a gloved hand to Amelie’s ankles and wrists.
“Anything more?” I asked.
The coroner shrugged. “Died from exsanguination. Pretty quick, I’d say. The femoral artery was severed.”
I could not bring myself to touch Amelie’s body. I did not want to suffer the shockingly intense vision that I’d had back in her bedroom, especially in front of the coroner. I already knew that Amelie had not seen the face of her killer. Her back had been to him. I did not sense her spirit in this room. She had nothing left to tell me.
But Rodan had. It had to be his spirit who I had been talking to in the waiting room, though he had seemed so very real. It was still shocking to me. Never had a spirit appeared to me so clearly before. He had seemed to still be alive.
“And the male victim?” I asked.
“No ligatures for him,” said the coroner. “No need. He was attacked first, and from behind. Bashed over the head with a heavy blunt instrument.”
She strode over to the second gurney, the one with Rodan on it. He no longer looked like the man I had just been speaking too. His eyes were staring blankly at nothing, his skin tinged with grey. I touched him with a fingertip, and he was cold. I looked hopefully around the room, but his spirit did not return.
He’d asked me for my help, and now he was gone.
I only realised that I was shaking when the coroner asked with concern, “Would you like some water?”
I shook my head, and said huskily, “No, thank you.” Although I did feel nauseous.
Seeing Amelie’s body, and now Rodan’s was too much. Seeing what had been done to them, I kept remembering what had been done to my mother all those years ago.
“We can talk in the waiting room if you like,” said the coroner, not looking impressed.
I swallowed to ease the dryness in my throat, and tried to pull myself together. “Here is fine. What can you tell me about him?”
“Dr Rodan Hale,” she said briskly. “Thirty-six. Wizard. Rather well-known in town. A pity he got caught up in this mess. He was a good man.”
“Did you know him?” I asked in surprise.
She shook her head. “He was a councillor, a psychiatrist is what you sentinels might call it. Worked with the troubled local youth. Volunteered his time for free.”
A curious expression came onto her face.
“Good-looking man,” she mused. “Any idea what he was doing at Marilyn Hepburn’s house?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that,” I said with a straight face.
She shrugged. “No sign of sexual activity. Then again, it looks like they had only just finished eating and had been drinking some wine. Stomach contents. I suppose we could ask Ms Corkmony how they knew each other. She might know.”
“Who?” I jerked my head towards the door. “The woman out in the waiting room?”
She nodded. “She’s here to formally identify Dr Hale’s body. We couldn’t trace any family.”
“What’s her first name?” I asked, wondering if the redhead was Rodan Hale’s beloved Dianthe.
“Bridgit Corkmony,” the coroner said.
“Is she his girlfriend?” I asked, even though she couldn’t be. He’d not so much as looked at her.
It was this Dianthe he had loved, and so much so that sh
e had been all he could think of before he had passed over. He had stayed, clinging on to this existence until I had agreed to help her.
“She was his business partner. Don’t you know?” said the coroner. I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. Curiously, almost eager even.
I frowned at her, until she admitted, “You’re that oracle, the Grace, aren’t you? Sigourney Maltei?” She added apologetically, “I’ve seen your face in the papers.”
It was all I could do not to groan. Of course she had! Stupid of me to think this disguise would be good enough. It hadn’t been too long ago that I had been a fugitive, wanted by the law, plastered over the papers.
I shrugged as if it didn’t matter, and said, “I like to get the facts. It helps everything come together.” I waved my hands mystically in the air, as if the psychic energies were floating all around, and she nodded understandingly.
“So you don’t know whether it was the husband that did it?” she asked.
“Why do you ask that?”
I was surprised at her question. Did that mean that she had evidence that The Reaper had not done it? I did not like this idea at all. Charming and I needed to catch the real killer first. If the local police went chasing the wrong suspect, that was actually better for us in this case.
She flushed suddenly, looking uncomfortable. “Of course not. I don’t want to speculate. I mean, obviously it was The Reaper. It’s just that… Convenient, isn’t it, that she happens to have been killed the very night that she was with another man, and her husband had a perfect alibi by being out-of-town? Working with Garrett Clooney of all people. Between you and me, I half thought maybe the husband had hired The Reaper to kill her. Jealous husband, and all that.”
When I only raised my eyebrows, she flushed. “Of course it’s not my job to speculate. The Chief of Police would have a barney if he heard about it. You won’t mention it?”
I shook my head. “I see no reason to.”
She looked relieved. “A good thing you’re on the job,” she admitted. “A Grace is just what they need. Maybe the Reaper won’t get away this time.”
“You haven’t found anything that might identify the killer?” I said.
She shook her head regrettably. “Not one thing. I’ve spoken to the forensics team, and they’re not holding out much hope either. Crime scene was clean, they said.”
I bit my lip. This should have been good news, because I needed the police not to get ahead of us in the investigation. But I couldn’t help feeling nervous. Not leaving a single bit of evidence behind was The Reaper’s trademark.
If this really was the work of a clever copycat, then it sounded like they were going to be extremely difficult to catch.
The phone on the wall started ringing, alarming me. It was so loud in this clinical room, as if the jarring sound was bouncing off the tiles. It felt a hint like my old psychic music used to; menacing.
As the coroner went to pick it up, it hit me that maybe the receptionist had called the authorities to find out if I was really meant to be here. Maybe that was them calling the coroner.
“I have to go,” I said, and charged out of the room, smashing the door into the redhead Bridgit Corkmony as I went. She had been loitering outside.
She gave me a frightened look, and glanced towards the receptionist who was on the phone at his desk. “He says you’re that oracle,” she said in a soft gaspy voice. “You are, aren’t you? The Grace? My goodness! But, erm, I think he’s called the police. He said you’re not supposed to be here.”
Oh crap! This was just what I’d hoped to avoid. He was trying to flag me over, but I ignored him and left.
Chapter 10
CHARMING
Charming had left the house early in the morning, hoping to catch his quarry unawares. But first he made a stop in the Grim Forest to drop by his old friend Sorrel’s place and pick up his familiar, Squeak the chicken.
To his shock, he arrived at Sorrel’s underground tree house to find her having breakfast with the dhampire, Oberon Maltei.
“What the heck are you doing here?” he accused, aghast, his eyes flitting from greying Sorrel to handsome young Oberon, Sigourney’s brother.
Then a wicked grin crossed his face. “No, don’t tell me. I can guess.”
“Exactly right,” said Oberon, with a mild smile.
Sorrel beamed at the young pup and actually pinched his cheek. “You could charm the honey from the bees, Oberon Junior,” she said fondly. “This old fellow could learn a lesson or two from you.” She looked at Charming meaningfully.
“I don’t need any lessons from infants, thanks!” Charming scowled.
To his annoyance, even his chicken Squeak had defected to the enemy. She was very happily perched on Oberon’s shoulder and did not seem much pleased to see Charming. No doubt she was in a huff with him for having abandoned her this past week.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her, gently picking her up and tickling her under the beak. “It was unavoidable. And you didn’t want to be in grimy London city anyway.”
“It’s me you should be apologising to,” Sorrel complained. “I’m the one who’s had to put up with her miffs!”
Sorrel invited Charming to join her and Oberon for a vegetarian breakfast but Charming was too impatient to leave. He had work to get too, and people to catch before they gave him the slip.
As he hastened out of Sorrel’s cottage, Oberon came hot on his heels. “Wait! You’re here about The Reaper killings, aren’t you?” Oberon called.
“Will you hush up?” said Charming. He lowered his voice. “And she was really Amelie, if you must know.”
Oberon’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You mean Marilyn?” He recovered his wits quickly. “Is Sigourney with you?”
“She’s in town, yes.”
“Great! I’ll come with you.”
“Actually that’s not convenient. Go see your sister. She’ll catch you up on it.”
Charming etherhopped away, but to his annoyance Oberon had already grabbed hold of his arm and ended up coming along with him.
There was no shaking him off, and a few minutes later Oberon had followed him into the back garden of the Hepburn Mansion. They arrived to find the Clooney cousins already gone.
Refusing to be dissuaded by the lack of answer when he knocked on the door of the guest house Garrett Clooney had mentioned, Charming peered in through the windows.
“Who are we looking for?” whispered Oberon.
“There is no we,” hissed Charming. “I’m looking for Garrett and Noah Clooney.”
It was just his luck to have shaken off one Maltei, only to find himself shackled with the other.
Oberon looked over Charming’s shoulder to peer into the kitchen window. The remnants of breakfast plates were still on a small dining table.
“Looks like they were just here this morning,” Oberon murmured.
“I have eyes too,” said Charming grumpily.
“It’s more fun if you say it out loud,” said Oberon, lips quirking in amusement.
The next window they peered into showed the lounge. Clothes and a blanket lay scattered on the couch where one of the Clooneys had clearly slept the night, probably Noah.
“Looks like they’re going to come back,” whispered Oberon. “We should wait for them.”
Charming glowered at him. “I am not going to be able to shake you off, am I?”
Oberon grinned. “Nope.”
“Then let’s get two things straight. One, no discussing any of my findings with your sister. And two, I’m in charge of the talking and the doing and everything else. Got it?”
“Sure thing boss. But why isn’t Sigourney here?” Oberon’s brow had crinkled in worry.
“We’re investigating separately,” said Charming shortly.
Luckily Oberon had enough sense not to pursue the topic further.
He strolled casually to a sun-lounger beside a pool and lay on it like he had not a care in the world. Tal
k about a creature of leisure.
Charming joined him, but soon became agitated with waiting.
“You stay here,” he said. “And lay low. The cops are keeping an eye on the front of the property. If they come to do any rounds, you stay out of sight.”
“Where are you going?”
“Main house. Don’t even think about coming.”
Leaving Squeak happily snuggled on Oberon’s chest, Charming snuck into the mansion, entering by the back door which was still open. It infuriated him that he had not even had to break in. For a case that was so important, the Brimstone Bay Police certainly seemed intent on messing things up!
Charming wanted to check Noah Clooney’s alibi. He was a personal assistant to a famous guy. It couldn’t be that hard to find out where he had been.
A quick snoop around the house, and he found the phone numbers he needed stuck to some notepaper on the fridge. Twenty minutes and a few calls later, he’d obtained some information that was very interesting indeed. Noah Clooney had lied about his alibi.
Feeling grim, Charming returned to the poolside all the more determined to confront Noah. Where the heck had the guy gone, when he should have been grieving his wife?
Times like these, it chafed Charming more than ever to be a darn genie. Everyone thought genies were all powerful, and in a way Charming was, but his power was not reserved for himself. It was all down to the wishes of whoever happened to find his lamp. And therefore, he had no way of knowing where Noah and Garrett Clooney had got to.
At Oberon’s insistence, Charming caught him up on what he and Sigourney had discovered so far.
“Yeah, the papers said she died with some other guy in her house that night,” said Oberon. “People are saying maybe the husband knew about the other guy, and that gave him reason to want her dead.”
Charming had thought about nothing but this all night. Noah Clooney worked for the famous Garrett Clooney, and lived the jet set lifestyle, travelling all around the world, all of his expenses paid for. The Reaper was a jet setter too, killing women all around the world. And yet Noah Clooney, in his mid-twenties, was too young to be The Reaper who had been killing for decades.
