by Antara Mann
“Everything seemed normal. I arrived for work around ten till eight — I usually work from eight to five, with one hour for lunch. Mr. Stone arrived around eight thirty and we went over the day’s assignments. The usual: sending emails, talking to clients, and updating his schedule for next week. Some additional work came up — I had to negotiate a deal with one of the bank’s key clients and send them a detailed email on behalf of Mr. Stone — so I stayed until about six thirty. Mr. Stone was still working on his computer when I left. He was a true workaholic; he often stayed here until eleven or twelve at night. He said he loved the tranquility of the small hours, when it was all quiet and he was on his own. In his words, that was when he could really concentrate.” She let out a sob, then continued quickly, “No wonder the guards weren’t suspicious, and didn’t check his office.” She wiped away her tears.
Brendan cautiously asked her another question. “Did Mr. Stone have any enemies? Anyone who was angry at him or might have wished him harm?”
Mary Connor shook her head, looking down at the floor again.
“What can you tell us about Mr. Stone’s interests, his hobbies — what sort of impression did you have of him?” I asked. She raised her eyes from the carpet and studied me for a moment before replying. “I don’t think Mr. Stone was interested in anything other than his work. As I said, he was a workaholic with a capital ‘W.’”
I felt she was telling the truth. The glances I exchanged with Carlos and Brendan confirmed my gut feeling: She didn’t know anything else of interest.
Brendan cleared his throat. “Once again, I am sorry for what happened, Miss Connor, and we appreciate your assistance. One last question: Where were you yesterday evening between ten and eleven p.m.?”
The question startled her. “At home, alone.” There was a pause, then she added, “I… uh, I was on the phone with a friend from ten twenty until eleven or so.”
Brendan thanked her and we all left the small conference room. The deputy CEO was working on his computer when the werewolf turned to him and said, “Mr. Larson, may we ask you a few questions as well?”
Larson nodded to Miss Connor, and she left the office. When we were left alone with Mr. Larson, he said, “A terrible tragedy. I cannot believe the way Daniel died. I have no idea what sort of people he was involved with, but judging by his death, they weren’t very nice.” He shook his head and stared at the monitor in front of him.
“What can you tell us about Mr. Stone’s interests outside of work?” I asked. To catch Daniel Stone’s killer, we had to have a clearer idea of his character and interests, other than the occult.
Mr. Larson coughed. “Well, as I’m sure Mary already told you, Daniel was a workaholic. I’ve never seen him outside of the office, except for team-building exercises, and at the bank’s Christmas parties. A decent guy, focused. I don’t know much about his private life. I knew he got divorced a few years ago, and he recently started dating someone much younger than him — a model and actress. I don’t think he has children.” He looked at his watch, which I interpreted as a prompt for us to finish the questioning and go.
“What else can you tell us about the deceased?” Carlos asked. It was the first time he had spoken since we walked in.
“Unfortunately, I think that’s about it.”
“And a routine question — where were you yesterday between ten and eleven p.m.?”
“At home — my wife and children can confirm it.” He smiled. For his years he was in good shape, but something in him repelled me.
“Well, if you think of anything else, Mr. Larson, call me. We fear that your colleague’s murder has some ritualistic elements, which could indicate something more complex than a single random or privately-motivated murder.” Brendan handed Larson a business card, then said darkly, “It would be very unfortunate if anyone else was murdered because someone was withholding information.”
I saw the deputy CEO suddenly go pale at Brendan’s words. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I'll keep it in mind.” He rose and shook hands with us.
Waiting for the elevator, I turned to Brendan and Carlos. “Well, what do you think about Mr. Larson?”
Carlos narrowed his eyes and replied, “He’s definitely concealing information. I wonder what and why.”
“We’ll soon find out. I just hope it won’t be too late,” Brendan said grimly.
Chapter 3
Later in the afternoon, we received the coroner's initial estimate of the time of death. According to him, Stone’s murder had occurred between ten and eleven p.m. the previous night. We questioned the security staff at the bank in greater detail, but they didn’t tell us anything other than what Mary Connor had already said. Daniel Stone had often burned the midnight oil in his office; all the guards knew this and it didn’t strike them as odd at all. No one had come in the bank building that night, as the cameras had already confirmed.
Brendan had gotten the number of Stone’s girlfriend, Christina Ricoletti, and contacted her. It turned out she was in Milan, Italy, and the werewolf had the unhappy job of informing her of her boyfriend’s murder. She’d said she would catch the next plane to New York, and would probably arrive late that evening. We agreed to meet her at her apartment on the Upper West Side late the next morning.
We spent the rest of the day searching Daniel Stone’s apartment in Lower Manhattan. We examined all his personal items and computer, but found nothing of interest other than the statuette of a skull with the top sliced off.
“Creepy,” I said, turning the skull over in my hands. “This is the second unusual item — this and that inverted pentagram we found in his office. On top of that, both items have the same design, color, and marking.” I showed them the letter “D” carved into the base of the statuette. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I think you’re right. Looks like the banker was associated with the dark arts in some way,” Carlos said. He seemed nice, unlike the werewolf, and I tried my best to focus my attention on him instead of on Brendan, whose perfectly-formed ass and buff biceps, combined with his arrogance, only distracted me. I hated feeling like a horny teenager. We were supernaturals — we were supposed to be better than ordinary mortals, in better control of our emotions and passions. Maybe I would have to resort to one of Naomi’s anti-love potions after all. We offered them as special-order items at the shop; they didn’t sell well enough to keep in stock, and besides, they took Naomi more time to prepare than the more popular love potions. I’d have to ask her about them in more detail when I got home, and maybe ask her to prepare one for me.
It was approaching eight p.m. and I was already feeling tired. Brendan was feeling the strain too. “This case is getting much more difficult than I’d like it to be,” he said as we prepared to go our separate ways for the evening. Frankly, I’d never seen him so worried and nervous.
“Relax, Brendan. We’ll handle it, now that I’m on the team.” I winked at him, but he didn’t seem amused in the least. Well, if he wanted to be a Debbie Downer, let him. “So, that’s all for today, right? I’m going to teleport back; what time — ”
“You’ll teleport back? Alone?” Brendan growled. I started — what was wrong with him? This was too much! It was bad enough that I had to endure his presence after he’d used me for sex eight months ago, but now he was raising his voice to me as well?
“You have a transport charm?” he asked. “You should have mentioned that earlier. We could have used it.”
“I’m afraid it’s only got a small charge, barely — ” but he cut me off before I could finish.
“Alex, every minute matters. I have to report my findings to the Magic Council, and with the items suggesting the involvement of dark magic, the Council is going to be pushing me even harder on this case. You could have saved us some time and transported us to Milan so we could question the victim’s girlfriend. But instead of mentioning the transportation charm, you kept quiet about it until you wanted to use it for your own convenience.
”
Hearing the way he put it, I gaped. I hadn’t thought about it in that light. But then my momentary shock gave way to common sense: Even if I used all the power in Naomi’s charm, it wouldn’t be enough. It was a weak spell, and it would be barely enough to teleport myself back to Ivy Hills. Besides, I didn’t see anything wrong with the time we spent searching Daniel Stone’s apartment. After all, we’d found the creepy statuette.
“And has it you occurred to you, Mr. Werewolf, that maybe the transport charm isn’t strong enough for all three of us? Hell, it’s barely enough for myself. And we had to search Stone's apartment, anyway.”
“I wish you had discussed it with me first. I’d like to know all our options beforehand. Don’t ever act like that again.”
This wasn’t a request, oh magic forbid! This was a downright order. The werewolf wasn’t asking — he was bossing me around.
“And what if I do?” I gritted my teeth.
“Hey, hey, you two,” Carlos intervened. “You’re both acting stupid. Come on, stop being ridiculous. It’s not worth arguing over something so insignificant — we don’t need that kind of tension. Can’t you just shake hands and forget about it?”
“I won’t tolerate you bossing me around,” I said, ignoring Carlos's comment. “I came here to help you, not to be a slave.”
“And I’m grateful for it, but I won’t tolerate your willful and irresponsible behavior. We are working together and you need to keep me posted.”
“Fine.” I gritted my teeth.
The werewolf turned to me. “I have work to do so I can’t argue with you any longer, but I expect you to inform me of any spells or charms you have access to. I’ll see you at Ricoletti’s apartment tomorrow at eleven o’clock.” With these words he strode away down the street.
When I turned around, I saw Carlos gaping at me.
“What?” I said, baring my teeth at him before teleporting. I was very happy — I wouldn’t have to see Brendan’s stupid face anymore today.
***
“You must be Sergeant Sax. We spoke yesterday, I believe?” The woman who greeted us at the door was a tall brunette with supermodel proportions, heavily made-up.
“Yes, that’s right. And these are my colleagues, Detective Carlos Delvalle and Alex Shaw,” Brendan said, introducing us. Bastard! He used a title for Carlos, but for me, nothing! I stepped hard on his foot with the heel of my shoe. I was wearing one of my favorite pairs — they were elegant and feminine, but the heel was relatively low, so I could kick monster ass if I needed to. Brendan groaned, but gritted his teeth and endured the pain. He glared at me, his eyes promising revenge.
“My apologies for your loss, Ms. Ricoletti. I’m sure you must be grieving — ” Carlos began as Christina led us to her living room, but she interrupted him.
“Ah, yes. It’s not a pretty thing, but that’s life — people die all the time.” She said it as casually as if her pet goldfish had died. I met Carlos’ eyes — I was avoiding eye contact with Brendan — and saw that he was slightly bemused.
“You possess a remarkable gift for detachment,” Brendan commented as he made himself comfortable on her couch. Her apartment was spacious and luxuriously furnished, with an artistic flair. The walls were painted in warm colors of yellow and light purple, and decorated with pictures of beautiful models, worthy of the cover of Vogue. Christina herself was a very attractive young woman in her mid-twenties, with dark hair and beautiful dark eyes used to great effect. She had that sultry look that men loved so much.
Well, honey, you have to admit it, she is the complete package, my voice chimed in.
What does it concern you, anyway? I snapped at it. I didn’t like the fact that I was feeling a bit insecure around her. The voice inside my head laughed, which only gave me a headache. I had to concentrate on her answers, not her appearance.
“Would you like something to drink, sergeant, officers?” Christina smiled at us charmingly, but we all shook our heads. She fixed herself a drink — a martini, by the look of it — then sat down next to Brendan, while Carlos and I sat on the sofa across from them.
“We’d like to begin by asking about your relationship with Mr. Stone. For a start, how did you meet?” Brendan asked.
Christina sighed and took a sip of her cocktail, which she held in her lap. “Well… it was several months ago, maybe six months or so. I was at one of Vogue’s parties, and Daniel was also present. His bank was one of the party’s sponsors. We struck up a conversation, exchanged phone numbers, and in a few days Daniel called me. He asked me out, and we began dating. We had been seeing each other for about a month when he proposed we spend a romantic weekend together in Paris. I accepted immediately, of course. I’ve always loved Paris — romance, history, and the fashion industry! My first fashion show was in Paris ten years ago, in fact, and I have wonderful memories.”
I wondered at what age she had started modeling — thirteen, maybe? Fifteen?
“Our relationship became more serious after that,” she continued. “We met mostly on the weekends; he made reservations all over the US, and in more exotic places. Once he even took me to Bali! It was wonderful.” Her eyes took on a dreamy expression for a moment, then she sighed and went on. “Sometimes he would finish work early on Fridays, and we would spend the afternoon together, either at my house or in his apartment.”
“And did he mention any troubles to you? Personal or work-related?” Brendan asked.
“Hmm… no, I cannot think of any.” Christina wrinkled her brow, then added, “He complained about his ex-wife once.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have wanted him dead?”
She shook her head and sipped at her drink. She seemed completely relaxed — her boyfriend’s death didn’t seem to have affected her at all, which made me wonder whether she had even liked him. Or maybe Christina Ricoletti had that same attitude toward all her intimate relationships? Perfect detachment, I had to give her credit for that.
“And what can you tell us about Mr. Stone’s interests? Did he have any hobbies?” I asked.
Christina was about to answer me, but just then her cell phone chimed with a message, and she took it out. She read the message, chuckled, and then turned her attention back to us. “Pardon me. Where were we? Ah, what were Daniel’s interests? Well, he was interested in the occult, and in magic… Do you believe in magic, sergeant?” She turned to Brendan, a mysterious smile on her lips.
Was it just me, or was she flirting with my ex? Just fucking great. But that was fine — if she wanted him, she could have him. He was bad news anyway.
You are jealous, girl, the voice in my head said. I ignored it completely.
“It is a rather, um, controversial topic,” Brendan replied evasively. “Did your boyfriend have a mentor or master who taught him? In magic, I mean.”
Christina chuckled, then sipped at her cocktail and put it on the table before her.
“I've never been interested in such things. Give me makeup, clothes, and shoes, and there’s nothing else I need. Except men, of course.” She winked at Brendan. “I also love Italian cuisine — after all, my mother is Italian — but don’t come to me for magic, spells, and potions. God knows I’m not a witch,” she giggled. “I never questioned Daniel about those interests of his, just as he didn’t ask me about makeup or clothes. Only once did I go with him to — what did he call it, an ‘occult party’? If you ask me, it was just a swingers’ party, but we all had to wear trench coats and carnival masks. Kinky, isn’t it?” She trailed her hand down her décolletage, and Brendan was visibly flustered. I smiled inwardly.
“What about you, sergeant, would you participate in such a party?” She looked at the werewolf mischievously, and Carlos cleared his throat. I had no intention of intervening — Christina was undeniably attractive, but I still sensed that Brendan was uncomfortable with her flirting, probably because he was working.
“Um, let’s get back to our topic. You say attended an ‘occult party;�
� where did that take place?”
“Yes. It was one of those parties, you know, where everyone sleeps with everyone — absolute debauchery. It was organized in a magnificent mansion in Staten Island. Pardon my question, sergeant, but are parties of any interest to you?” She smiled suggestively.
Brendan asked quickly, “Was there any sort of ritual there? Sacrifices, anything of the sort?”
Christina laughed out loud. “Sacrifices? Are there people who do such things?”
“You have no idea what kind of creatures lurk in the dark,” I said casually. Christina gave me a puzzled look, then turned her gaze back to Brendan. I half expected her to ask to see our badges.
“Miss Ricoletti, can you answer the question please?” Brendan prompted.
She looked at him hesitantly, and gave a slight sigh.
“No, there were no sacrifices, and I don’t think they have ever done any — though Daniel did mention a week or two ago that they were going to try sacrificing a lamb. I wasn’t paying close attention, but I did think ‘that poor animal.’ I mean, if they decided to kill one.”
“And whom do you refer to as ‘they’?”
“The occult society — the secret club that Daniel and one of his colleagues from the bank belong to. Um, belonged to. I mean, Daniel belonged. It has a funny name, something about a skull.” She frowned for a few seconds, pondering, then exclaimed, “The Hollow Skull, that’s it! A rather stupid name, isn’t it? I once mentioned to Daniel — I think immediately after the orgy — that they should change it, and do you know what he replied?”
“I can imagine,” I said grimly.
Christina gave me a dirty look and was about to snap back, but Carlos forestalled her. “Do you happen to recognize this symbol, Miss Ricoletti?” He showed her the picture of the sliced-off skull on his mobile.
“Of course — that is the club’s symbol. I think the name comes from it. Where did you get this photo from?”
“Well, we are detectives.” I smiled at her. “Do you know the address of the house where the party was hosted?”
