Greywalker

by Kat Richardson

  “What happened to your arm?” Ben asked. “You keep cradling it.”

  “Some jerk broke it earlier tonight with a crowbar, then Harper shot me.”

  Ben glared at me. “Shot you?”

  I glared back. “He started to attack me.”

  “Hey, it’s all right,” Cam cut in. “I deserved it. Besides, it’ll be OK soon. I heal fast.”

  Ben started toward Cameron. “Let me take a look at that.”

  He was staring at the closed bullet hole when Mara came in. He jumped when she spoke.

  “What are you up to, Ben?” she asked.

  “Looking at this wound. It’s amazing.”

  “Ben. He’s not a specimen. He’s a guest. Don’t be rude.”

  Ben looked sheepish and retreated to his chair as Mara set a tray of pie and coffee on the table. She handed out mugs and plates as she spoke.

  “Harper says you’re in need of a place to stay. How did that come about?”

  “I… was sleeping in my car and a couple of featherless bipeds broke in,” Cameron explained.

  “Featherless… oh,” she added and began laughing. “That won’t do.”

  “He seems trustworthy enough,” Ben suggested. “If it’s all right with you, I’d be glad to have Cameron stay.”

  “You shan’t stay up and examine him all night, now will you?”

  “Mara…”

  “Oh, all right. I don’t mind. Albert says he’s promised to be good and you can’t make promises lightly to ghosts.”

  Cameron looked startled. Mara gave him a stern look, then broke up. “It’s all right. Albert won’t task you, though he’ll probably follow you about. He’s very protective. Do you need anything special?”

  “Um, no,” Cam stammered. “I don’t think so. I’m kind of nervous without my dirt, but I think I’ll be OK. This is still Seattle, after all. Especially in the basement, I think I’ll be close enough to the dirt to be OK.”

  “What’s this about dirt?” Ben asked.

  Cameron was about to launch into an explanation about native earth when Mara passed him a slice of pie. Cameron gazed at it with nostalgic longing and refused.

  “No?” said Mara.

  “Oh, no. It looks delicious—it’s just that… uh, I can’t…,” he stumbled.

  “Allergy?” she asked.

  “No, I puke.”

  Ben and I cringed, but Mara laughed.

  “You’re not very good at lying, are you?”

  “Terrible.”

  “You’ll have to learn. All right?”

  Cameron nodded.

  “Ah, well. I’m certain Ben will find a spot for this slice, too.”

  Ben looked up from his already half-eaten slice. “Hmm… well, OK.”

  “What do you do, Cameron?” Mara asked. “Aside from the obvious.”

  He sipped his coffee and answered slowly, “Um, I was a student at the U.”

  “Are you graduating, then?”

  Ben fidgeted. “Mara…”

  “Oh, Ben. I shan’t embarrass the lad by asking him awful questions like your sister did me. Don’t be so silly. So,” she continued, turning her bright green stare back to Cam.

  “I… I’m on a leave of absence from school for a little while. For medical reasons.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if I’m going to go back.”

  “Whyever not? Learning’s a marvelous thing, if you can manage to avoid an education.”

  “What?”

  “The indoctrination. The interchangeable parts result. You know what I mean, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, yes,” he replied. He played with his cup and sipped his coffee again. “That’s one of the things that’s been bothering me. I don’t know what to do with myself—if I survive this. What do I do with my… Me?”

  “You’ve a few things to work out first, I imagine. Still, knowledge for its own sake is worthwhile, if you can afford the tuition. There’s a gentleman in one of my lectures—he’s fifty-nine, I think—who’s working on his fourth degree. He’s got loads of credits, so he just keeps taking classes, and occasionally he completes a curriculum quite by accident and they give him another piece of paper. He’s having a grand time.”

  Cameron looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t really looked at it that way. I… have time.”

  “What are you going to do first?”

  “I need to solve some problems. Harper is going to help me.”

  “Hey,” I objected. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  Cameron grinned at me and the pie tap-danced in my belly. “You’re not going to say no.”

  I found myself pressing back into the couch and starting to nod.

  Mara cleared her throat as Ben leaned forward. Albert formed in heavy mist by Cameron’s elbow, flickering like a wet flame.

  Cam jumped. “What?” I relaxed.

  Mara had narrowed her eyes. Albert drifted toward her.

  “Um… Cameron,” Ben started. “Whatever you just did, I don’t think you should do that.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “That was a geas,” Mara said. “Persuasion by psychic force. Bad form to try it on your friends.”

  “I can do that? I thought that was a myth.”

  “Apparently not. You have power—or you will have. You mustn’t abuse it.”

  Cameron’s eyes grew round. “I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t.”

  I stood up and grabbed my cup and plate. “It’s all right,” I lied. “No big deal. I’m just going to take these to the kitchen.”

  Mara got up, too. “You lads chat. I’ll help Harper with the dishes.”

  Mara closed the kitchen door behind us.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I assured. “He didn’t mean to do whatever he did. I just needed to get away from it. Have I done the wrong thing, bringing him here?”

  “Not at all. That lad needs help. Between us, I’m sure we’ll get it all settled just fine. Ben and I were busy before you arrived. There’ll be nothing to worry about. So long as we make it through the night safely.”

  I slept poorly with Mara’s comment in my head and, having agreed to meet Quinton at nine a.m., I had to rise at seven, but I did not shine.

  Quinton was waiting with the Camaro outside my office building.

  “Morning!” he greeted as I walked up. “Figured you’d be punctual. She’s all ready to go.”

  “What did you do, get up at five?” I asked.

  “Nope. Didn’t go to bed.”

  “You stayed up all night to work on Cameron’s car?”

  “No. I was going to be up all night anyway, so I just tacked on a couple of hours at the end. It was pretty easy once I had the part. We tested the system out about an hour ago and it works just fine. Your guy should be happy with it.”

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  He glowered at me. “I’ve never been very fond of his kind. They put my hackles up. I didn’t mean to be a jerk, it just came out.”

  “That’s OK, but try to be a little smoother about it next time.”

  “You think there’s going to be a next time?”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m beginning to think there could be.”

  “Oh? Are your clients getting shady?”

  “More than you can know.”

  “Judging from this one, I can guess. Well, I’m always available. There are some things I won’t do, but I can’t imagine you asking me to do them.”

  “Don’t be too sure, Quinton. You don’t know me and my business as well as you think you do.”

  He gave me a Cheshire-cat smile. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

  I bought him a cup of coffee—more because I needed one than because he wanted one—and he gave me his bill and explained the system to me. We disarmed and armed it twice, just to make sure.

  “Thanks, Quinton. Could you
drive the car up to Queen Anne with me?”

  “Sure, if you’ll answer a question for me. What’s with the dirt?”

  “Dirt?”

  “Yeah. The trunk has an inch-thick layer of dirt in it under a blanket. I had to move it to run some of the wires. So I ask you—who keeps dirt in their trunk?”

  “Someone who’s very eccentric.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me, but didn’t argue.

  We drove up to the Danzigers’ house and I asked Quinton to wait in the Rover. Ben answered my knock.

  “I brought Cam’s car,” I explained, pointing it out and offering him the keys. “How’s he doing?”

  “Uh, fine, I guess. No problems last night and he seems to be… asleep. You just missed Mara. She had a faculty meeting this morning.”

  “That’s all right. Did you stay up all night? I don’t see those jackass ears you swore Mara would curse on you if you did.”

  “No, no, she was fine with it, but… Look, Harper, there are some things I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Anything drastic?”

  “No, but there’s something really weird going on. Mara said something about ripples. She’s afraid things worse than the guardian may be attracted to you.”

  “Make my morning, Ben. Am I in danger this second?”

  “She didn’t think so.”

  “Then it’ll have to wait.”

  “It can wait a little,” Ben conceded.

  I handed him Cameron’s keys. “OK. The little doodad on the key ring will disarm the alarm. Make sure you tell Cameron about it when you give him the keys or he’ll set off the alarm and your neighbors will be all over you. I’ll call you when I’m free,” I added.

  Ben looked bemused, but I couldn’t take time to chat with him while Quinton was giving me the hairy eyeball from my own front seat.

  On the way back, Quinton frowned at me for the first five blocks.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  “Just got a bad feeling about this situation.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Call it a prejudice of mine. I just don’t like your boy, I guess. Bugs me a bit to see someone as nice as you get involved in things that are… creepy.”

  “I can manage creepy just fine, Quinton. I work in Pioneer Square

  . I’ve seen plenty of creepy.”

  He shrugged and went silent, but kept glowering all the way back.

  I was glad when I was in my own office and Quinton had wandered off. Skulking about on business for the undead made me feel like a character in film noir, and Quinton’s comments about the creepiness of it all hadn’t made me feel any better. I was also wondering how I was going to write this up in my case notes.

  Though I had found Cameron, I still had questions itching at my brain and an irresistible desire to scratch them, especially if I was going to take on Cameron’s proposal. I called the TPM corporate office and started digging to discover who had been using the condo during the dates Sarah stayed there. I finally found a real estate lawyer named Sweto with a chip on her shoulder that could have supported a couple single-family residences with room for large backyards. We talked misconduct, lawsuits, and criminal charges, and it was no fault of mine if she got the impression we shared a profession.

  “TPM has interests in many real estate ventures in the Seattle area,” she informed me. “In point of fact, we own the building and lease several suites in it back from the management firm for tax reasons. We also have investments in nonresidential commercial property and many other business ventures not related to real estate.”

  “And who was using this particular suite at the time in question?”

  As fast as she’d opened up, she clammed shut. “That information is privileged.”

  “Oh, come on, Sweto. It’s not like I can’t find out.”

  “I’m sorry. You won’t find out from me. Not unless you have a subpoena.”

  “A what?”

  “What sort of case was this again?”

  “Misconduct.”

  “Sorry. I can’t talk any further. You’ll need a subpoena for me to release that information. Have a nice day.” And she hung up on me.

  My native curiosity was now leavened with irritation. I went up to the records office and killed several hours looking for deeds and business licenses. They wouldn’t give me the names, but they’d give me a start on cracking TPM’s shell.

  The corporation was privately held, so deep information on TPM was difficult to find, but I made phone calls and one of my contacts offered to fax me everything he had. Another came up with a list or newspaper articles that mentioned TPM. By the end of the day, I expected to be adrift in TPM-related paper.

  While those bits of information dribbled in, I tried Philip Stakis’s number again.

  A woman answered. “Hello?”

  “Hello, I’m trying to reach Philip Stakis. Do I have the correct phone number?” I asked.

  The woman gasped. “Oh, my God,” she shouted. “Can’t you just leave us alone?”

  “Please don’t hang up!” I begged. “I’m not a solicitor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a private investigator and I’m just trying to find a piece of furniture.” What the hell…?

  “Furniture? Oh, yeah, right,” she snapped.

  “No, really. My client is looking for an old parlor organ that Mr. Stakis bought from Chet Ingstrom of Seattle back in 1990.”

  She was silent a moment, then said, “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Well, we don’t have it anymore,” she stated in a Long Island drawl.

  I restrained my urge to swear. “What happened to it? Do you know, or should I ask Mr. Stakis?”

  She laughed harshly. “You’ll have a hard time. Phil’s dead.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dead?” I echoed. Another dead guy? “I don’t mean to pry, but could you tell me what happened?” “To Phil?” “Yes.” “Lung cancer.” I sat back, relieved that it wasn’t something mysterious and sudden. Then she added, “Or pneumonia, really, but that’s what happens when you’re too sick to move after being a two-pack-a-day smoker. Died in the prison hospital a little over a month ago, sudden-like. And he’d been doing so good. Hadn’t been in trouble since the navy, hadn’t smoked in over a year. But he couldn’t care anymore.”

  “What was Phil sent up for?” I asked.

  She laughed her raw, barking laugh again. “Being a jackass. Grand theft—he stole a truck full of furniture, only he thought it was a truck full of TVs. Him and a couple of his jackass buddies from back in the day. So you can understand why I was kind of flipped when you said furniture.”

  “How long had Phil been in prison?” I asked. “This time? About six months. It was just before the holidays he got convicted. Then he got sick just after New Year’s. Missed the Super Bowl and everything.”

  “That’s terrible, Mrs. Stakis,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m not Mrs. Stakis. My name’s Lenore Fabrette. I’m—was—Phil’s sister. My son and I moved out here to live with Phil when I got divorced. Phil was retired from the navy and he was all the family I had left except Josh, and now it’s just me and my boy.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you just a couple more questions?”

  “No. You seem OK, like you actually care, not like some of the little creeps who’ve been calling.”

  “Creeps?”

  “Local jerks. Some reporter’s been trying to make a big deal out of the story, like it’s gonna win him a Pulitzer or something. Just a bunch of middle-aged farts being stupid. Phil’s criminal past is big news in Anacortes, though. He joined the navy back when we were kids so the court would seal his juvie record, but he got in more trouble in the navy and barely stayed in to retirement. I don’t know how they found out, but it was all over the local papers, and me and Josh have been hounded like we had something to do with it.”

>   “That’s rough. Umm… what happened to the organ?”

  “Oh. Phil gave it away. He said it wasn’t worth much, but because it was an antique, taxes on it would be through the roof after he died, so he donated it to some historical society or museum or something like that. I don’t know which one, though.”

  There was hope. “Do you have the tax records for the write-off?”

  “No. All that stuff’s with his tax guy.”

  “Could you find out for me? My client really wants that organ. He might be willing to pay you a fee for the information.”

  “Oh? I don’t like to sound greedy, but I could sure use the money. Tell you what. I’ve gotta go down to Bremerton Thursday. I’ll call the guy and see what he says. If he’s got the stuff, I’ll swing across and drop it on you then. OK?”

  I agreed, gave her my numbers and address and hoped she’d come up with something. I left a message for Sergeyev asking if he’d pay for information from Fabrette.

  I blew the rest of the day in mundane tasks, like billing, meeting with a lawyer who needed to find a witness, and making more phone calls and trips to the county records office—professional meat and potatoes that were strictly hamburger and home fries.

  I finally stopped for some dinner and returned to my office. Cameron drifted in just a step or two behind me. I sat behind my desk and waved him to a seat, straightening up a few things as he sat down.

  “All right,” I started. “You want me to act as your agent in attempting some kind of reconciliation between you and this other vampire, Edward. Is that right?”

  “Um… yeah. I mean, I don’t care how Edward feels about me—that’s not the issue. I just want the information and help that he should have given me, and I don’t want to be a pariah with every other vampire in Seattle. I don’t care if Edward helps me, or if he passes the job to someone else,” Cam explained, “so long as I get some kind of help.”

  “What makes you think I can do this job?”

  “Who else is going to believe me and not be on Edward’s side? You’re neutral. And I don’t know who else to ask. And even if I had other options, I’d rather work with you. You’re… you’re tough.”