Chaz left the evidence room just as Marvin came back from his smoke break. The smell of it clung to him, and Chaz realized he hadn’t had one in a while. He pushed the urge away and bounded up the stairs and into his squad room. Jack and Declan weren’t around, and neither were the other set of detectives, Monique Jenkins and Gita Bhatnaghar, who often went to crime scenes with him, along with most of the squad. Chaz went to the main computer at the back near the holding cells. After a couple tries at the password for the evidence-room logs, he was in (bless everyone who thought password1 was a good way to provide security). He was halfway through the list when a hand clapped on his shoulder.
“Hey, you! I wanted to let you know we got a hit off that necklace.”
Chaz gasped, hitting the keys on the computer at once and exiting the program. He figured it was for the best when he realized Jack was next to him.
“Fuck. Don’t sneak up.”
“Sneak up? We all work here.”
The once-empty squad room now had three more detectives, including Declan by his desk. He and Jack both wore the same blue button-down shirts and standard-issue handguns holstered to their sides. Somehow Declan’s clothing looked extrapressed, as if he’d starched his uniform before getting there.
“Well, I suppose I should say good morning, right?” Chaz said. He turned away from the computer. “Err. Good afternoon?”
“Good afternoon is fine. I know your schedule is a little scrambled. You should cut back on the coffee, though, or else you’ll jump right out of your skin.”
“I haven’t had any, actually,” Chaz said. The thought of coffee made him crave it, just like the cigarette. “Can I step out and grab one?”
“In a minute, okay? I wanted to give you and Declan a debriefing about the necklace.” The excitement in Jack’s eyes was clear. He should have been doing admin work, but he seemed to already miss doing the investigating.
Though Chaz hated to leave his task unfinished, he followed Jack to their desks, where Declan had a file with an image of the necklace they’d found on the body last night, blown up several times over.
“Morning, Declan,” Chaz said. “Or afternoon, whatever.”
“I’ll call it morning if it’s the first thing you’ve done after a nap. How’s that for compromise?”
“Good. So what do we have?”
“Well, first of all, the medallion on the necklace is a locket,” Declan said.
“Great. Did the person inside it come up as missing?”
“Person? No, it’s a saint in the locket. Like on the outside. Look.”
Jack gestured to the enlarged photos. The saint inside the necklace seemed exactly the same as before, only now one of the saint’s eyes was crooked. The hearts around the saint were accented with red flowers. The background was a pale pink.
“It’s Saint Valentine,” Declan said. “We thought it was simple enough until we put the name—along with the hearts and flowers—through the database and a few gang hits came up.”
“Gang hits?” Chaz repeated. Somehow, he hadn’t expected gangs. Maybe sanctuary churches but not this. “What gangs use saints to mark their merchandise?”
“Not as simple as that,” Declan said. “Check out the next photo in the file.”
Chaz did as he was told. More images of the same necklace followed, but the back of it was enlarged. Carved into the gold was a cross with a sigil around it. Chaz closed his eyes, dreading the connection. “Another drug cartel? An alchemist pushing saints and… guns?”
“Not quite,” Jack said. “In the file, you’ll also see photos of saint candles and cards found at other scenes. All of them Valentine.”
“A calling card? Literally?”
“We’re not too sure. The bodies found at those scenes aren’t consistent in cause of death. Some drug overdoses, some murders—but some of the scenes where the candles or cards are found have no bodies whatsoever. They’re merely deserted warehouses where a cartel has been in the past.”
“So we’re not thinking a calling card for gang hits, but… what? A passageway for drugs, then?” Chaz asked. He rooted around in the file to see if he could find some gang names, something linking it to the Chaos Cartel. That had to be why the Chaos file in the downstairs room had been disturbed. Maybe it was Jack, and he’d merely followed the landmarks from Chaos to Judge to Flame and Oracle. His panic eased, but he found nothing related to the Chaos Cartel. Only more and more pictures of Saint Valentine.
“I’m pretty sure drugs are the minor fare here,” Declan said. “This seems to be Los Corazónes Con Sangre. Spanish for the Bloody Hearts, which is why Saint Valentine could be their symbol. Their main fare is sex trafficking.”
“Oh no. Really?”
“Yeah. Not to mention, our victim had sex before he died.” Declan produced a file folder from his desk. “Melinda is still working on the toxicology report for us, but she found signs of penetration consistent with sexual intercourse. No fluids or DNA, which either means condom or the water completely destroyed all evidence, but we’re hoping to get a hit on the prints. They’re still being run outside of criminal databases now, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Chaz scratched his chin, still thick with stubble. He examined the photos once more, turning over the first one to see the saint. “Valentine. What else is he known for?”
“Marriages and love,” Declan said. “Hence why the Bloody Hearts would want to use him as a calling card.”
“But it’s not all Bloody Hearts’ warehouses,” Chaz said, pointing to some of the earlier crime scenes where no one had been murdered or had OD’d. “Some of these are unlabeled. So it could still be a drug route.”
“Plagues,” Jack said, piping up. “Sorry. I mean, Valentine is the patron saint for people with the plague. Epilepsy. And beekeepers in addition to marriage. Knew my Catholic education would help.”
“Yes, of course,” Declan said, looking grave, as if he was ashamed he’d forgotten these points. “I should have studied harder.”
“Maybe not,” Jack said. “What would cartels want with beekeepers as a symbol, yeah?”
“Blood, maybe. Don’t elementals taste like honey?”
“Oh shit.” Jack nodded. Chaz had to bite his tongue to keep from correcting them. Elementals never tasted like honey; they were more savory, rich. The rumor of honey was easier to sell, though, so maybe that was what mattered. If this was sex trafficking, then elementals would fetch a lot of money for both sex and drugs, since they could get humans high and were enchanting to fuck. Rare too. From what Chaz could remember from Divine Interventions, the supernatural population was 1 percent of the general population, and elementals were 1 percent of that 1 percent.
All three of them seemed to realize how likely it was to be sex trafficking based on the information they had from the saint markers and their John Doe. Declan and Jack sank into chairs they pulled up to Chaz’s side of the desk.
“So what does this mean?” Chaz asked. “Should we start looking up the cartel’s most recent transactions? Get someone from the gang crime unit over here?”
“Probably. I can put in a call for Jerry Chan in that unit, but it will take time to sift through this material, and I’m not entirely sure we’ll get too much help figuring out who murdered our guy.” Jack wore his new badge on his front pocket, which now shone under the bright fluorescent lights. His open expression and the shrug of his shoulders still made him seem younger, like their equal. Everyone here, no matter their rank, was always trying to unravel a mystery about something horrific they couldn’t understand. “It’s possible that our victim wasn’t a worker being trafficked—but someone who had sex with a worker and got caught in the crossfire.”
“Our guy was young, though,” Chaz said. “That’s not exactly a population that frequents sex workers. And it’s unlikely that the necklace would be with him if he was just walking by.”
“Maybe. But—”
“I’m thinking it’s a pimp,
” Declan said, cutting in. “A vampire pimp doing transactions for the cartel since not many vamps last long in cartels themselves. So this guy is hired because he can work nights no problem and it’s probably cheaper to pay him in blood—especially since they can just use the cargo itself, right? So he’s shipping them, one of the cargo gets out of line, he threatens them, and he goes a bit too far. So he gets rid of the evidence after feeding for himself.”
Hearing Declan describe people as “cargo” made Chaz’s stomach quiver. He hated sex-trafficking cases. They were always impossible to solve and impossible to stop, and worse than all the drug crimes because the merchandise being sold wasn’t merchandise at all, but people. They could talk back—or could until pimps or johns took things too far. When sex-trafficking cases like this led to murder, it was possible to get some kind of justice—but Chaz could never look away from the victims, though there were many things he wished he’d never seen.
Or maybe, Chaz’s inner voice scolded him, you look because you feel responsible. You use people too. Just like these men.
“I know jobs like this make us squeamish,” Jack said. “But before we continue, we have to figure out what kind of shipment we’re talking about here. Were the sex-trafficking victims humans and then they were turned to supernaturals once they arrived? Were they creatures to begin with? Or are we still dealing with drugs, and the human trafficking angle is a red herring? We need to know these details before I go to gang crimes or the case is taken from us.”
“I don’t want it to be taken,” Declan said. “As rough as it is.”
“So get searching. If our boy was found at the docks, it means he was probably on a boat, right? So look through the witness statements, and I’ll go make some calls and get security clearances from the higher ups. You know, the fun paperwork.” Jack gave a weak smile as he rose from the seat. He gestured toward the file folders containing the statements, plus the seized ship manifests from each ship at the dock. “We’re talking about Lake Ontario here, not anything huge like the ocean. Someone knows something they’re not telling us.”
Chaz and Declan nodded along, and then Jack slipped into his back-room office. He already looked worn-out and it was only his first official day in charge; Chaz felt for him, so he focused on his own job in hopes of making Jack’s easier.
Alan Ramirez was doing fine and not reporting any worrying symptoms caused by his cut or his time in the water, which was good to hear. Chaz skimmed the autopsy report and saw nothing more than what he’d heard at the crime scene, so he moved on to the ship’s cargo logs while Declan scanned gang history in the area, from public records and reports. Chaz read entry after entry filled with electronics, produce, and clothing—all from legitimate companies—and was about to give up when he noticed all the cargo on board had come from one place.
“Hey. How does Manitoba fit into this?”
“What do you mean?”
Chaz showed the manifests and pointed out where each one had arrived from. Declan let out a low whistle. When Jack came out of his office, Chaz showed him right away. “Shit. I should have seen that. I’ve been getting too involved in my own success.”
“It’s fine. Why we’re here,” Declan said. “Chip’s got all our backs.”
“Yeah, something like that.” Chaz opened his computer to a different database and fed in whatever information he had about the cargo ship captains, their shipments, and Manitoba. When a couple notifications for gang arrests came up, he turned the screen to Declan. “What can you tell me about this? You see any of this before in your files?”
“I don’t think so. No Los Corazónes, anyway.”
“What about drugs, then? You see anything interesting in common with your work in Nunavut?”
Declan sighed. He squinted as he read over a couple records. Jack peered over Declan’s shoulder too, deliberately hovering. “Wait. That.”
“What?”
“That. ‘Blue gem,’” Jack said, reading from the gang arrest. “Wasn’t blue gem listed as something on the body?”
Jack pulled out the file from Chaz’s desk and confirmed it. Under the victim’s nails and on his clothing were traces of dissolved blue gem, the street name for a type of soluble, industrial thickening agent.
“Commonly used to cut magical drugs like Dino Dust,” Jack explained. “A few cartels are known for it, including the Bloody Hearts. I don’t know how they fit into Manitoba, but they used to transport the drugs in teddy bears.”
“Shit,” Chaz said. He held up one of the ship’s manifests. “A toy distribution came in on this boat. They don’t say what exactly is in the shipment itself, but it’s gotta be teddy bears.”
“And people,” Declan added. “Shit.”
“I know. It’s still all speculation at this point… but Occam’s razor. We’ve done enough like this to know what gangs and trafficking look like. And it doesn’t look good.” Jack nodded gravely, but as he took out his cell phone, a smile lingered on his lips. They were solving things together again, and Chaz’s heart yearned for more. Jack took a step to the side as he phoned for some warrants so Chaz and Declan could go and explore. Maybe even save the day.
If it ends up being as easy as this, maybe I’ll go see Sully. In that moment the need to protect Sully grew fierce. With the lingering regrets of Nat still on his mind, Chaz became more determined than ever before to not let another person he interacted with be a name in a file folder. Artie’s seemed so, so safe—there was no way it was a run-of-the-mill flophouse. Trinity enjoyed the work, Chaz knew, and so did Sully. Right? Chaz was struck by how little he knew about Sully in spite of having seen, felt, and tasted nearly every inch of him. He needed to fix that as soon as possible.
“Okay, great. Glad to hear it. We will be right there.” Jack stepped to the desks again, eyes alight.
“Are we being removed from the case?” Declan asked.
“No, no. But I’m going down to see Melinda and Katja to verify the findings on the body and liaise with Jerry in the gang unit. Now that we’ve made this connection to sex trafficking, and probably drugs, it’s best to have as many people as possible involved.”
“Never thought I’d hear you argue for more cooks spoiling the broth,” Chaz teased.
“Well, you’ll be happy when that means more expert witnesses at trial.”
“So where does that leave us?” Declan asked.
“Well, I hear Manitoba is nice in the fall,” Jack said.
Chaz looked at him aghast. “Really? The department—”
Jack held up a hand to calm Chaz’s concerns. “The plus side about being on this side of the desk is I get access to all the grants and budgetary concerns. And let’s just say the paperwork’s gone through. So Manitoba awaits you. It’s not quite time to see the leaves change, but you’ll get to experience the dog days of summer from another place.”
“And another air-conditioned hotel room, I suspect?”
“Sure, sure. Only the best rooms for the brightest detectives. Just let me write out the expense report and I’ll book your tickets. Oh, the fun part of administration.”
“I’ll still take the foot patrol over paperwork any day.”
When Jack disappeared into his office again, Chaz sighed. All thoughts of visiting Artie’s tonight left. He slumped in his seat, clicking around and printing several of the police reports he was sure they’d need when they started to retrace the ship’s path. If they could find where their victim came from, maybe they could ID him. And from there, maybe a family could come and bury him.
“Well, this took quite a turn,” Declan said. “Manitoba, huh? You ever been?”
“Yeah, boring as sin. Nothing but cold air and drug addicts. You’re not missing much.”
“Can’t be worse than Nunavut.”
“Touché.”
Chaz rose from his desk and grabbed the printed forms. He paused by their database computer but shook off the notion of finding who had gone through the file room. It had most
likely been Jack all along, working this case and the leads he had. Not anyone searching for Nat or the Judge.
By the time Chaz returned to his desk, Jack was already giving them their itinerary. He’d speak to the local cops next, followed by a judge for a warrant, and forward along the victim’s photo. “We managed to give him some eyes in Photoshop, so he won’t frighten anyone and maybe people can recognize him.”
Jack handed over the mocked-up photo depicting the victim with blue-gray eyes. His skin had been given proper color too. He looked sweet. Too young to be a part of this.
“So we’re to work as soon as we land?” Declan asked, eyeing his watch. “At eight or nine?”
“As long as you two don’t mind the nighttime, then I’ll authorize the overtime,” Jack said. “How does that sound, Chip?”
“Just let me get some coffee and a cigarette, and then, maybe, I’ll be fit to pack.”
Chapter 6
“ALL RIGHT. We’re here now. So where do we even fucking start?”
Chaz didn’t mean to sound so cranky. But of course they had been behind a crying baby on the plane ride over. Chaz was pretty sure no matter what happened, every single plane needed a crying baby like it needed those oxygen masks. It was a requirement; nothing anyone could do. Planes also didn’t serve food anymore, like Chaz remembered them doing when he was a kid and went to visit his grandmother in the Caribbean. Even though he didn’t need those tiny packages of peanuts or rewarmed pasta entrees, he missed the comfort they provided. He’d lived in Toronto so long now that seeing sunshine and anything but industrial buildings with cracking foundations made him edgy. The view from the airplane window seemed too clean and green. Not home, not at all. When he’d been desperate enough to flag down one of the flight attendants and request some alcohol, he’d noticed Declan fidgeting with an AA coin. His alcohol plan had been scrapped and he’d ordered a diet Coke, which ended up splashing fizz over his jacket during a patch of turbulence. It was bad enough there was a baby and stains he now had to contend with; Chaz didn’t want to upset his new partner as they worked out their tenuous new relationship.
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