by Gina LaManna
I meandered over to the window, my hands clasped in front of my body. I let it be impeccably clear that it was Primrose’s time to take over, and after a couple of shallow breaths from the officer, she started.
“Good afternoon, Mr. White,” Primrose said, back to her normal, cheerful self. She added a layer of sympathy as she continued “First off, I just wanted to say, I am sorry our visit isn’t under better circumstances. We are very sorry for your loss.”
Mr. White, a smiling man probably in his mid-fifties sat behind a desk and looked out at Primrose. “And you would be?”
“Er—right,” Primrose said with a flick of her eyes toward me. “I’m Officer Primrose of the Sixth Precinct and this is Detective Danielle DeMarco. We are looking into your son’s death.”
Mr. White ran a hand over his face. His eyes weren’t as red as his wife’s, but there was an exhaustion clinging to his wrinkles that I doubted had been there before the news of Mason’s untimely passing.
“I understand he didn’t die of natural causes,” Mr. White said. “What I don’t understand is why my son’s body was found in the Sixth Borough.”
Mr. White got straight to business, I thought, watching as Primrose digested this and considered her response. I wondered if she’d use the information we’d learned from Evelyn to pepper Colton with questions about the contents of his house and a mysterious door. If she didn’t, I most certainly would.
“That’s something we were hoping to learn by talking to you,” Primrose said. “Your son was enrolled in Orientation at the Campus of Magic. He was a student there and was killed, we believe, in his dorm room.”
Confusion flickered across Mr. White’s face. “That makes no sense. My son doesn’t use magic. He hates it. Or ignores it. I don’t know which is worse.”
“We understand he sent letters,” Primrose said. “Was there anything in the correspondence that led you to believe your son was in any danger?”
Colton shook his head. “No. My wife was convinced he might die of boredom, but that was the biggest concern we had for Mason’s safety. He was a reliable, stable man. He wouldn’t do something rash, and he most certainly wouldn’t have applied for Orientation.”
“Well he did, and he kept it a secret,” Primrose said, her voice getting more excitable. “That’s a fact. We have information from the school, his study mates, and his professors to prove it. Completed homework assignments. So, something drove him back to the magical world, and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help us figure out what that something was.”
“Clearly I have no insight into the personal affairs of my son’s life.” Colton White sounded agitated. “My son was a grown man. The information he chose to share with us was just that... what he chose to share. I’m sure there were other things he didn’t mention.”
“Like?” she prompted. “Any guesses?”
“Not a one,” Colton said shortly. “I had the same communication with Mason as my wife and daughter, and I assume you’ve already spoken with them.”
“We have,” Primrose said. “How’d you get that scratch on your face, Mr. White?”
Colton was obviously jarred by the quick change in subject. As a matter of fact, so was I. My route into the room to the right of the desk had provided me with a partial view of Colton’s face. I had wanted his attention focused solely on Primrose, a ploy that had worked beautifully... until now.
I inched back toward Primrose while Colton raised a hand to the side of his face that had been obstructed from my view. When I reached Primrose’s side, Colton withdrew his hand to show an ugly looking cut just to the side of his eye with a butterfly bandage taped over it. Fresh Aloe Ale Residuals sparkled around his forehead, and when I glanced at his desk, I found a matching supply there. The wound was obviously causing him a bit of pain.
“I fell,” he said simply. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and I’m getting clumsy in my old age.”
“What’d you hit your head on?” Primrose pressed.
“A chair.”
“Here or at home?”
“Home.”
“Daytime or nighttime?”
“Middle of the night,” he said. “I was getting up to use the restroom and tripped in the kitchen.”
“Your kitchen chairs have rounded edges,” Primrose said. “Are you sure it was a chair?”
“Is this relevant to the investigation?” Colton asked. “I have a phone call to make. We have the Spellcasting conference this weekend, and I’m unveiling a new spell we’ve manufactured. I really can’t speak any longer.”
“We’re trying to find the person who killed your son,” Primrose said. “We’re on the same team. Right?”
“Of course,” he said, his eye twitching in either annoyance or pain as his hand rose to his temple and pressed near the scrape. “I want to help, but I’m not sure what more I can give you.”
“Just one more question,” Primrose said. “There was a door to a locked room in your house that Mason was interested in. What’s behind there?”
Colton rested both of his fists on his desktop, inhaled a deep breath as he stood, hunched over his work. “I think this meeting is over.”
“But—”
“My home is my home,” Colton said. “My private business is my private business. I assure you, it had nothing to do with my son’s death.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The last time my son had been home was nearly two decades ago,” Colton said, and on his face was a mixture of pain and frustration. “He barely associated with us except for generic letters that could’ve been written by a ghost writer. Believe me, if something had appeared in Mason’s life that reminded him of us, he wouldn’t have gone toward it. He would have run far, far away.”
Chapter 13
Our trip back to the Sixth Precinct was a quiet one. Both Primrose and I were lost in our own thoughts after hearing Colton White’s answers. I’d felt both sympathetic to him and suspicious, and I was in the middle of debating which was more prominent when Primrose spoke.
“Detective,” she said from the back of the magic carpet where she was thumbing through some of Mason’s most recent letters to his family. “Did you know that Mason White had a girlfriend in Texas?”
“What?” I accidentally kneed the throttle as I jerked around to face Primrose.
She lunged forward to capture the paper before it floated down to earth, sending out a Sticky Spell on her palm to make the letter adhere to her fingers as I straightened the ride. I watched the glittering maroon sparks hover around Primrose’s hand as she waited for me to regroup.
“You can see it, can’t you?” she asked. She looked down at her hand. “The spell.”
“I can.”
“What does it look like?”
“Like you dunked your hand in a vat of maroon glitter.”
“Cool.” Primrose studied her own hand as if she could see something, but it was futile. “Though I guess it wouldn’t be so cool if I’d used a spell I didn’t want you to see.”
“Why do you think I became a cop?” I asked with a dry smile. “Criminals don’t like it either. Now, what is this about a girlfriend?”
“I mean, he never outright says it, but it’s obvious,” she said, thumbing through a few letters that all clung to her hands with the Sticky Spell. She obviously didn’t trust my driving. She selected one letter and read from it in a deep voice: “This Friday, I’m going to stay home, open a bottle of wine. We’ll do a movie night.”
“Okay,” I said. “You don’t know that means a girlfriend.”
“No, but his parents must have sent a letter back asking who ‘we’ is because his next letter says: “Me and the dog. Ha-ha.” She glanced up at me. “I don’t buy it. There’s a distinct break about six months ago where he slips up and uses ‘we’ more often than not. Around that time, he stops going out to trivia night at the bar on Fridays and stays home more. He also mentions trying new restaurants. I know people go out to eat
alone, but don’t you think it could be him and a new squeeze hanging around town?”
“I don’t know. It seems a bit thin to me.”
“I know it sounds like a stretch, but I really don’t think so. Maybe he was gearing up to tell his parents, but he didn’t want to break the news before it got serious. Or maybe she was the reason he went to Orientation. Do you think...” She hiccupped, looked up in excitement. “Do you think she was magical? A witch, maybe?”
“I don’t,” I said. “Not if Mason is as anti-magic as he said.”
“But love doesn’t discriminate.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Maybe she doesn’t exist at all. Maybe Mason was really just a boring old bob who drank wine on Friday nights with his dog. I mean, frankly, it sounds like the good life to me.”
Primrose rolled her eyes. “You know, Detective, I think some of this tough guy thing you’ve got going on is a charade. I heard you talking to...” She trailed off.
“Finish your sentence.”
“I can’t,” she said. “It involves me commenting on you and the man who shall not be named.”
“King.”
“Yeah, him,” Primrose said uncomfortably. “Anyway, my opinion was out of line. I’m just saying, I think it might be a lead worth checking out.”
I pursed my lips in thought. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a full schedule for the afternoon already. I have some appointments set up, and I’ve got to check in with the chief. How long’s the carpet rented?”
“I got it for the day,” she said. “Not that it was in high demand, and now I understand why. I even understand why they gave me the helmet and elbow pads to be honest.”
“How do you feel about taking a ride to Texas?”
“Me?” she asked. “Alone?”
“I can send someone with you,” I said. “Unfortunately, I just don’t have the time to go today. It is your lead, and you should follow up on it. You’re not an intern, no matter how much you’ve been pranked this week. Primrose, you’re a cop. Trust your instincts. You think there’s a lead, then don’t listen to me if I say otherwise.”
“I could be wrong,” she said with a frown. “It could be a huge waste of time.”
“I’m wrong all the time,” I said. “It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about eliminating an avenue of investigation. Even being wrong can be productive if done right.”
“My brain hurts thinking about that.”
“If there is a girlfriend, she needs to be notified,” I said. “If she’s a human, it’s not like she’s going to know how to contact Mason’s family. And if there’s no such girlfriend, well, then at least we’ll know. You can pop into Mason’s apartment and have a look around. Let me see what Renola’s up to. She’s got experience in evidence collection in case you find anything.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Are you sure?”
She considered me carefully. “I think so. I mean, I might be wrong, but I need to check this out.”
I pulled the carpet through a patch of clouds while simultaneously Comming Renola. We landed some ten minutes later and Renola was waiting for us at the flight deck.
“Thanks for the assist,” I said. “You’ll go to Texas with Officer Primrose. She can fill you in on the way. Find anything, Comm me immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Primrose said while Renola nodded.
I grabbed the box of letters from Primrose to drop at evidence before the rest of my afternoon tasks. As I left, I heard Primrose mumble to Renola, “You know how to drive this thing?”
“This junk bucket?” Renola asked. “Nah, that’s up to you. I’m just riding along. Are you sure you don’t want to wear a helmet? I think they’ve got elbow pads behind the desk.”
I hid a smile and continued down to evidence. I dropped off the box of letters for processing and asked around for Felix. Apparently I’d caught him on his pizza break and missed an in-person update.
“Have him give me a Comm when he’s back,” I said to a tech bent over a Magiscope. “I need to know if he’s found anything.”
With time to kill until Felix finished his pizza, I opted to check another interview off my list. The dean from the Campus of Magic had agreed to chat for a few minutes, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to dig into Mason’s records a bit more.
My hopes weren’t high that this would be the break we needed in the case, but at the moment, all roads were feeling like dead ends. If police work had taught me one thing, it was to keep poking and prodding where things didn’t feel quite right, and eventually, the truth would unravel from the lies.
“Me again,” I said, flashing my badge to the nervous pixie at the front desk. “The dean should be expecting me. I’m a little early but hoping he can squeeze me in now.”
While the pixie called upstairs to confirm the dean’s availability, I helped myself to a mug of hot cocoa from a warmer in the corner. Next to it was a jar of marshmallows. I helped myself to an even larger portion of those. My beverage was more marshmallow than hot chocolate, but I figured it counted as lunch since we’d been too busy to stop on The Isle.
I popped the lid on as the pixie nodded for me to head upstairs.
“Good afternoon.” I greeted the dean with my free hand. “Thanks for seeing me a little early.”
“Always my pleasure to help out the Sixth Precinct and the chief when I can.” Mr. Arnold Thomas, Dean of the Campus of Magic, smiled from underneath a mound of floppy gray hair. He was tall and broad shouldered, and once upon a time, might have had an impressive stature. As it was, he’d gone a bit soft around the middle and the arms, and his pants were buckled unfortunately high on his waist.
However, his smile was soft and his blue eyes inviting, and it was easy to see how he could convince students that this was the best university to attend. Even I wanted to trust him, and I was the biggest cynic in the borough.
“This is delicious,” I said, raising the cup of hot chocolate in a salute. “If you’re buddies with the chief, let him know we could use some of this at the precinct.”
He laughed. “I’ve been to the station, and I have to say, Detective... I’m sorry.”
I made polite noises of laughter as well, getting the necessary small talk out of the way before we dove into the meat of my visit. “As I mentioned on the phone, I’m Detective Dani DeMarco, and we’re investigating the death of one of your students.”
“Mason White, of course,” Mr. Thomas said. “It’s so unfortunate. Even more so when I heard it was being ruled a homicide and not an accident. Is the ME sure?”
I thought back to Sienna—the best and brightest mind in all the morgues. “Yes, we’re sure. His death was not from natural causes. I’m here today to get a better feel for Mason’s reasons for attending the Campus of Magic.”
Mr. Thomas frowned. “Miss DeMarco, we have the best school for witches and wizards in the borough. In the country, quite possibly. Aside from offering a wide variety of classes, along with flexible night and weekend scheduling, we host a full smorgasbord of additional classes including but not limited to Orientation, special certifications, and even magical first aid. Many cops have come through our Emergency Magical Responders training program.”
“Right,” I said once he’d finished rattling off what felt like the entire campus brochure. “I hold the Campus of Magic in the highest regard, but what I meant was Mason White specifically—his reasons for returning to school in the first place. I understand the dean meets individually with all potential and incoming Orientation students?”
“I do,” Mr. Thomas said. “For Orientation, we want to ensure our students are registering for the correct program. We offer week-long, month-long, and year-long programs—and which one a student selects all depends on what they’re hoping to achieve.”
“You decided on the month-long program for Mason White. Why was that?”
“Mason White was... an interesting case.” Mr. Thomas pushed thick-framed glasses further
up his nose and glanced down at his desk. “I pulled his case file to refresh my memory, but it didn’t take long. I knew exactly who he was.”
“What stood out about him to you?”
“Like you said, I found it interesting he was so adamant on registering for Orientation. He had a magical family history, knowledge of the Sixth Borough, and a happy existence on the mainland, or so it seemed. I wasn’t sure why he wanted to enroll. However, who am I to deny enrollment to an inquisitive student?”
“Did he give you a reason he wanted to attend classes so badly?”
“Mason was a slippery fellow to get ahold of. I recall we rescheduled our meeting so many times that he was already enrolled by the time we met. But I did explain we couldn’t offer him housing or classes until we had our meeting, and we finally got something on the calendar. When we met, I asked why he wanted to enroll, and he mentioned something about furthering his magical knowledge.”
“Did he have plans to move to the Sixth Borough?”
“He never said.” Mr. Thomas sniffed. “Our meeting only lasted ten minutes at the most, including the formal business we had to take care of—class schedules and the like. Actually, that’s what took the longest. He was very insistent on his class schedule.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t want to follow the normal Orientation route,” Mr. Thomas said. “I recommended he sign up for the one week course instead of the month-long version. After all, he’d done magic before and understood the etiquette—the rest, I imagined, would come back to him quite quickly. And we always tell our students that Orientation is just the beginning. Magic is a lifelong process—learning it, using it, studying it.”
“But he refused the week-long course?”
Mr. Thomas nodded. “He insisted that with the type of person he was—I don’t know what he meant by that—he would do better with more in-depth immersion. And once I finally agreed to entertain his notions, his insistence continued.”
