by Jaye Wells
I looked up with narrowed eyes. “Sure you did. Where I come from you don’t throw your partner under the bus.” I started to brush past him, but he blocked me.
“First of all, I was being a good partner by not calling you on your lie. Would you have preferred for me to inform Gardner that your magical specialty is reading potions.”
Some of the hot air escaped from my indignant posture.
“Second of all, if I hadn’t suggested Abe, she would have pursued the plan to find a wizard who could read. How long do you think it would have been until she approached one of your old cohorts who would have asked why you didn’t just do it?”
Shit. I really hated it when he was right. “But Abe?” I said, not quite ready to give up the fight.
“You know this is the right move. Your ego just isn’t ready to let it go.”
“Screw you, Morales.” I shouldered him out of the way. He muttered a curse and followed me in.
I nodded to a desk sergeant I recognized, but didn’t bother stopping to chat. This precinct had been my home for five years before I’d joined the task force, but it was hardly a welcoming environment for me. Most of my time in the BPD had been a struggle against the brass and my fellow officers, who refused to trust an Adept cop—especially one with my background.
The door leading back to the squad room buzzed open. I held it open and held out a hand for Morales to precede me. As he passed, he tossed me a mocking salute. Ass.
The squad room hadn’t changed much. Rows of old metal desks provided work space for filling out reports, and along the walls were offices for the brass and lead detectives. A kitchen area had rows of vending machines offering Mundane sodas, energy potion drinks, and carb-and-sugar-laden snacks.
I’d expected to find Duffy sitting in one of the desks in the bullpen, but an officer there directed us to an office directly across the room from the one Eldritch used. A quick glance in that room revealed that the captain wasn’t there, which was a relief. I knew Gardner had phoned him because I’d heard the tense call, but he must have cleared out to avoid dealing with us.
I turned left between rows of desks and headed toward Duffy’s office. Morales fell into step beside me.
“Looks like Eldritch rolled out the red carpet for his crackerjack new detective.”
“No shit,” I muttered. I let the tension from earlier dissolve. We needed to present a united front in the meeting with Duffy. Besides, I was more annoyed at the unfairness of him having an office than I’d been at Morales for being right.
When I’d worked the Cauldron as a beat cop, I’d campaigned for a detective’s rank only to be told in a million spoken and unspoken ways that Eldritch didn’t trust an Adept at that rank. It had taken me joining the task force and almost getting killed to get promoted, and then only after some political maneuvering on Gardner’s part. But Adept Duffy had not only gotten his own office, he’d also been placed at the head of the murder squad. I knew better than to believe Eldritch had suddenly changed his prejudices against Adept officers. More likely, the move was prompted by some ambition Eldritch believed Duffy could help him attain.
The shade was pulled down over the door’s window, but when I knocked Duffy’s gruff voice invited us to come in. When I opened the door, he was sitting behind a desk stacked high with case reports. “Oh,” he said, with as much enthusiasm as if he were greeting the devil, “it’s you.”
I raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “Eldritch said he’d tell you to expect us.”
He tossed a pen on top of the mountain of folders and leaned back. “I expected you, but I don’t have to be happy about it.”
Morales crossed his arms. “You were happy to see us when you called us to consult on your crime scene.”
The detective pressed his lips together. “Consult. Not take over the case.”
I raised my hands in what I hoped looked like a diplomatic gesture. “We had nothing to do with that decision.”
“Sure.” He grunted. “You’re here about the violence last night, I assume.” He picked up a newspaper from one of the stacks on his desk and held it up. The headline screamed, “Coven Violence Rocks the Cauldron.” “Fucking journalists,” Duffy said. “A drive-by hexing hardly constitutes a coven war.”
I exchanged a look with Morales. “Eldritch didn’t tell you why we were coming?” I asked.
Duffy frowned. “He just said you had some questions.”
I cursed silently. Gardner had told Eldritch exactly why we were coming, but the bastard clearly hadn’t told Duffy. So now we’d have to suffer through asking him ourselves.
Morales took a step forward. “We’re not here about the drive-by.”
Duffy sighed the sigh of the martyred and pointed at the chairs on the other side of his desk. While Morales and I each took seats, he fished a notebook out of the mess on the desktop. “Val in CSI said she already turned all the files over. Not sure what else I could help you with.”
Since this had been Morales’s idea, I leaned back and stayed quiet. He picked up on my cue immediately and shot me a glare.
“Well?” Duffy prompted.
Morales cleared his throat. “We need to ask a favor.”
Duffy’s brows shot up to his receding salt-and-pepper hairline. He leaned back in his squeaky chair and placed his hands over his stomach. “I’m all ears.”
“We need you to interview someone who might be able to help us locate our suspect,” Morales said.
“Why can’t you interview ’em?”
I shifted uncomfortably, but it had nothing to do with the hardness of the chair.
“It’s complicated,” Morales said.
“Who is it?” Duffy asked.
Morales sighed. “Abraxas Prospero.”
Duffy froze for a moment, and then his shoulder began to shake. “You’re shitting me.”
I rolled my gaze toward the ceiling, but that damned lightning let me down again.
“I assure you we’re totally serious,” Morales said.
The amusement drained from Duffy’s face as he looked at me. “Is there a particular reason you can’t interview your own uncle?”
I looked away, my cheeks heating.
“Abe took out a restraining order on Detective Prospero,” Morales said in an amused tone.
Duffy’s eyes swiveled in my direction. “Why in the hell would a prisoner in a penitentiary for Arcane criminals have to take out a restraining order on his own niece?”
I raised my chin and looked him in the eyes. “Because the last time I visited him in Crowley Penitentiary, I stunned his ass with a Taser.”
Chapter Twenty
It had been five months since our last visit to Crowley State Penitentiary for Arcane Criminals. The prison loomed over Lake Erie from a cliff on an island called Crook’s Point, several miles off the mainland. Morales, Duffy, and I stood on the deck of the ferry. My legs were braced against both the choppy ride and the knowledge that our meeting would not be a pleasant one.
“Are you sure he’ll agree to see me?” Duffy asked. He looked totally comfortable on the deck of the ship, as if he’d spent lots of time on the water.
I shrugged. “I put our chances at sixty–forty in favor of a no.”
“Better odds than I was thinking considering what you did to him last time,” the detective said.
“The trick is not letting him know Prospero and I are there,” Morales said. “Man like Abe will have plenty of spies in the general population.”
“Not to mention the guards,” I added. “I still think this is a waste of time.”
Morales shot me an annoyed look. “Your optimism continues to impress, Cupcake.”
“If this pans out, you two are gonna owe me,” Duffy said. “If it doesn’t, you’ll owe me big-time.”
The ferry bumped into the dock on the island. While the captain moored the lines, we started walking toward the gangway.
“It’ll work,” Morales said with total confidence. “I bet
Abe’s been expecting a visit from the moment he found out about Charm. He’ll wonder what took so long.”
“Maybe.” I took the first step down the ramp. “But first we have to convince him to talk to Duffy at all.”
Thirty minutes later we’d checked in with prison security. The guard behind the desk was a big guy with a shaved head that indicated he was either former military or wanted people to believe he was. Judging from the precision of his movements and his economical budgeting of words, I guessed the former.
While we waited for word about whether Abe would see Duffy, the guard sat on his stool with his arms crossed. He watched us like we were criminals, but I wasn’t offended. When you spent your day with the dregs of humanity, it colored your opinion of every person you met, even if they worked on the same side of the prison bars as you.
Morales didn’t fidget while we waited. He was former military, too. His hair was longer than the guard’s, but I’d seen his more militant side come out plenty of times. Enough to be happy he considered me an ally, anyway.
As for Duffy, he sat quietly several feet from where Morales and I stood. I didn’t bother chatting because I figured he was gathering his thoughts for the interview. We’d given him a rundown on the information we were looking for. I’d never seen Duffy interrogate someone, but he had a good enough reputation in the BPD for me to trust him with this, even though I hated needing his help.
The phone on the desk screamed into the silent waiting room. My heart leaped in my chest, but I managed to keep my expression neutral as the guard answered and spoke quietly into the mouthpiece. Every few seconds he’d flick a glance toward us. I couldn’t get a read on whether this was a positive sign or not.
Finally the guy hung up. “Mr. Prospero will see Detective Duffy.”
“He wasn’t informed we are here, correct?” Morales asked.
“You’ll be able to watch from the observation room. As long as Detective Prospero isn’t in the same room it won’t violate the restraining order.”
“That will be fine,” I gritted out. That fucking restraining order had been the ultimate fuck-you from my uncle. He was about as afraid of me as a viper is a mouse.
Duffy rose to join us. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “You just need to get the answers.”
He looked me in the eyes for a moment, as if debating whether to continue the argument. I raised a brow to let him know it was a waste of breath. “All right,” he said. “I’m ready.”
The guard was waiting for us at the first of a series of gates we’d have to go through to get to the interview rooms. A few moments and several turned locks later, he deposited Duffy in a room and led us to the next door down.
The observation room was unremarkable, except for the fact it barely was large enough for both Morales and me. The front wall was made up of a two-way mirror, allowing me to see Duffy standing inside the all-white interview room. A couple of shabby office chairs upholstered in coffee-stained fabric were wedged together in front of the window. I ignored them, preferring to stand at the glass with my arms crossed.
“Relax.” Morales dropped into one of the chairs.
“Easy for you to say.”
Duffy nodded toward the mirror on his side a split second before the door opened. Two guards led Uncle Abe into the room. His feet shuffled against the concrete floor thanks to the shackles binding his ankles. A chain connected those to the iron cuffs on his wrists, which were held in front of him. The prison-issued jumpsuit was as yellow as a canary’s ass. Abe’s head was down, which made his bald pate look like a scrying mirror under the harsh fluorescent lights.
The guards deposited Abe at the table and shackled him to the brackets there. The way the table was situated, both Duffy and Abe had their sides to the two-way mirror. I wished I’d been able to see Abe’s face head-on instead of in silhouette, but it was better than having to stare at the back of his head.
Duffy mouthed his thanks to the exiting guards before he moved toward the table. I realized then that I hadn’t turned on the speakers and flipped the switch in time to hear Abe’s opening salvo crackle through the line. “I’m relieved to see the BPD is on the case, Detective. I was concerned the MEA might claim dominion.”
Duffy smiled tightly and took the chair across from Abe. “The MEA doesn’t investigate murders, Mr. Prospero.”
“In my experience, the members of the task force are loose cannons with little respect for the rule of law.”
I snorted and crossed my arms.
Duffy’s eyes stayed on Abe, but he cleared his throat, as if reminding me to stay cool. “My condolences on the death of Charles Parsons, Mr. Prospero. I understand you two were close.”
Abe’s head cocked to the left. “That’s awfully thoughtful of you, Detective—Duffy, was it?”
He received a quick nod in response.
“You seem familiar,” Abe said. “Have we met before?”
“I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years. I’m fairly certain given your criminal background we’ve had the opportunity to cross paths.”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I’m still quite overwhelmed by news of my friend’s death. He was a good man. Naturally, I’ll help any way I’m able.”
Duffy flipped open his notebook. “When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Parsons?”
“You’d have to confirm with the prison records, but I believe his last visit was three weeks ago.”
Duffy looked up. “What did you speak about?”
“We were just catching up.”
“Did he mention if he was having problems with anyone in particular?”
Abe executed a noncommittal shake of the head. His clasped hands lay perfectly still on the tabletop. The man hadn’t fidgeted or shifted his weight once since he’d sat. “Not that I recall. This was right after the mayoral election. We mostly talked about that.”
I laughed bitterly. “Oh, I bet you did.” Volos had once been Abe’s protégé—after I’d left the coven, that is—but had turned traitor and testified against my uncle in exchange for immunity. The fact his enemy was now mayor of the city Abe still considered his own had to stick in the old man’s craw.
“Did you speak to Mr. Parsons after that day, say, by phone?” Duffy asked.
Abe cocked his head as if trying to recall. “Now that you mention it, he called a week ago.”
“He’s a real piece of work,” Morales muttered. Neither of us believed for a moment that the phone call had simply slipped Abe’s mind. More likely, he’d been hoping Duffy hadn’t been smart enough to ask and wouldn’t check his phone records.
“What did you speak about on that occasion?” Duffy prompted.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
“Don’t smoke. The call?”
Abe’s hands flexed in the cuffs. I smiled. A megalomaniac like Abe expected people to scramble to meet his every whim. Apparently Duffy hadn’t gotten the memo—or he didn’t care, which made me like him more.
“Charm was calling to tell me he was having some problems.”
“Of what sort?”
“May I be frank?”
Duffy nodded.
“Charm wasn’t a saint. Who among us is?” Abe chuckled.
I made a gagging motion with my finger. Luckily Duffy didn’t seem to be buying Abe’s act.
“Your point?” Duffy said.
“My point, Detective Duffy, is that we both know Charm was involved in certain business dealings that the government frowns upon. A person doesn’t last long in that kind of business without gaining some enemies.” Abe tapped a finger on the tabletop. “However, Charm’s people? They loved him. He was a good leader. Tough but fair.”
“Okay,” Duffy said. “What does this have to do with the phone call?”
“I mention it because I’m sure it’s tempting to look inside the coven for the guilty party. But I assure you, Charm’s problem came from outside.”
I stiffened and
looked at Morales. “Holy shit. Is he actually going to cooperate?” My partner rose and joined me at the window.
“Go ahead,” Duffy said.
“I assume, even though you’re a homicide detective, that you’ve a passing familiarity with the cartels.”
“Of course.”
Abe nodded. “For years, the covens of Babylon have relied on specific suppliers for certain regulated substances.”
“Which suppliers would those be?” Duffy asked.
“That really has no bearing on this discussion,” Abe said. “The point is, a new supplier has been trying to horn in on the action. Aggressively.”
“One of the cartels?” Duffy was playing dumb. We’d already filled him in on what we knew.
“A specific one—A Morte.” Abe said the name with dramatic flair, as if he expected Duffy to come down with a case of the vapors upon hearing it. Instead, the detective just watched Abe with a blank expression.
When Duffy didn’t react, Abe shifted forward in his chair. “Charm called to tell me a cartel operative had contacted him.”
“And he was worried?”
“To put it mildly.”
Duffy shifted in his seat, crossing his leg over his knee. “See, this is where you’ve lost me. If you knew Charm felt threatened by the cartel, why didn’t you come forward with this information the moment you learned he’d died?”
Abe held up his bound hands. “I’m in prison, Detective.”
“Surrounded by law enforcement agents who easily could have taken your statement.”
Abe’s shoulders pulled back. “What are you implying?”
Duffy’s mouth turned down as he shook his head. “I’m simply curious about why you wouldn’t try harder to help solve your friend’s murder.”
“As you’re aware, my niece is on the MEA task force. I had reason to worry she might use Charm’s death to implicate me.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
“I can’t imagine how,” Duffy responded drily. “As you said, you’re in prison.”
“That wouldn’t stop Kate,” Abe said, his tone spiteful. “Last time she was here she physically assaulted me.”
