by Kim Harrison
“Rachel Morgan,” I said. “Edden brought me in as a—” My words cut off as my eyes fell onto the torso tied to a hard-backed chair partially hidden behind her. My hand rose to my mouth and I forced my throat closed.
It’s a mannequin, I thought. It had to be a mannequin. It couldn’t be Dr. Anders. But I knew it was. Yellow nylon ropes bound her to the chair, and her top-heavy upper torso sagged, sending her head forward to hide her face. Stringy hair caked with black hung to further hide her expression, and I thanked God for that. Her legs were missing below both knees, the stumps sticking out like a small child’s feet at the end of a chair. The ends were raw and ugly, swollen with decay. Her arms were gone at the elbows. Old black blood covered her clothes in a fantastic rivulet pattern so thick the original color couldn’t be guessed.
My eyes flicked to Gwen, shocked at her blasé expression. “Don’t touch anything. I’m not done yet, okay?” she muttered as she went back to her photographing. “God bless it. Can’t I have even five minutes before everyone comes traipsing in here?”
“Sorry,” I breathed, surprised I could still talk. Dr. Anders’s slumped body was covered in blood, but there was surprisingly little of it under the chair. I felt light-headed, but I couldn’t look away. Her lower cavity had been opened at her belly button, a perfectly round patch of skin the size of my fist propped open with a silver knife to show a careful dissection of her insides. There were suspicious gaps, and the incision was entirely bloodless, as if washed—or licked—clean. Where the flesh wasn’t covered in blood, it was white, like wax. My gaze went to the pristine walls and floors. The body didn’t match. It had been mutilated elsewhere and moved.
“This one is a real sicko,” Gwen said, camera chattering away. “Look at the window.”
She pointed with her chin, and I turned. It looked like a little cityscape was arranged on the wide shadowed sill. Squatty buildings were set out in straight lines in no apparent order of size. Small lumps of gray putty held them upright like glue. They were arranged around a thick class ring, placed like a monument among the city’s streets. I looked closer, horror tightening my gut. I spun to the limbless corpse and back again.
“Yup,” Gwen was saying as she clicked away. “He put them there on display. The larger parts he tossed into the closet.”
My gaze shot to the tiny closet, then back to the shady windowsill. They weren’t buildings, they were fingers and toes. He had cut her fingers off knuckle by knuckle, arranging them like Tinkertoys. The putty was bits of her insides, the viscera keeping it all together.
I felt hot, then cold. My stomach went light and I thought I might pass out. I held my breath as I realized I was hyper-ventilating. I was willing to bet she’d been alive during it.
“Get out,” Gwen said, casually framing another shot. “If you spew in here, Edden will have a hissy.”
“Morgan!” came a faint irate shout from the parking lot. “Is that witch in there?”
The outside officer’s answer was muffled. I couldn’t take my eyes off the wreck of a body on the chair. The flies crawled among the city streets the mutilated digits made, climbing the buildings like monsters in a B-movie. Gwen’s clicks were like my heartbeat, fast and furious. Someone grabbed my arm and I gasped.
“Rachel,” Glenn said, spinning me around to him. “Get your witch ass out of here.”
“Detective Glenn,” the officer by the door stammered. “She signed in.”
“Sign her out,” he growled. “And don’t let her in again.”
“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, feeling light and unreal.
He dragged me to the door. “I told you to stay out,” he muttered fiercely.
“You’re hurting me,” I repeated, pushing at his fingers encircling my arm as he pulled me out. I hit the setting sun. It struck me like a goad, and I took a huge breath, snapping out of my stupor. That wasn’t Dr. Anders. The body was too old, and it had been a man’s ring. It looked like it had the university’s logo on it. I thought I’d just found Sara Jane’s boyfriend.
Glenn dragged me to the stairs. “Glenn,” I said as I stumbled on the first step. I would have fallen but for his hold on me. Another FIB vehicle was easing into the lot. A mobile morgue this time. Glenn, not taking any chances, was bringing everything there.
Slowly my legs lost their watery feeling as I put distance between me and what I had seen upstairs. I watched the FIB officers joking among themselves, not understanding. I was clearly not cut out for crime scene work. I was a runner, not an investigator. My father had worked in the arcane division where most of the bodies showed up. Now I knew why he never said much about his day at the dinner table.
“Glenn,” I tried again as he pulled me into the open room between the stalls. Trent stood in a corner with Sara Jane and Quen, quietly answering questions. Glenn jerked to a stop as he saw them. He looked at his father, who shrugged. The FIB captain sat before a laptop resting on a bail of straw propped up on its end. Someone had run a line from the crime van, and Edden’s stubby fingers skated over the keyboard as he played subordinate so he could stay.
Irritation pinched Glenn’s face and he gestured to the young FIB officer with Trent.
“Glenn,” I said as the officer edged his way to us. “That isn’t Dr. Anders up there.”
Edden’s round face went questioning behind his glasses. Glenn flicked a glance at me. “I know,” he said. “The body is too old. Sit down and shut up.”
The FIB officer came to a halt beside us, and my eyes widened as Glenn put an aggressive arm across his shoulders. “I told you to detain them,” he said softly. “What are they still doing here?”
The man went white. “You meant in one of the cruisers? I thought Mr. Kalamack would be more comfortable here.”
Glenn’s lips pressed together and his neck muscles tensed. “Detained for questioning means move them to the FIB offices. You don’t question people at the crime scene when it’s this important. Get them out of here.”
“But you didn’t say …” The man swallowed. “Yes sir.” Glancing once at Edden, he headed toward Trent and Sara Jane, looking apologetic, frightened, and very young. I didn’t have time to spare him any pity.
Still angry, Glenn went to stand over his father’s shoulder, typing in his own password with a stiff finger. My stomach gave a lurch and settled. I pushed the top of the computer down on his hands. Glenn clenched his jaw as they both looked up at me. I turned to Trent and Sara Jane on their way out, waiting until Edden and Glenn followed my gaze to them before saying, “I can’t say for sure, but I think that’s Dan.”
Sara Jane’s face remained blank for a telling moment. Eyes widening, she clutched at Trent. Her mouth opened and closed. Burying her face in his shoulder, she began sobbing. Trent patted her shoulder gently, but his eyes on me were narrowed in anger.
Edden pursed his lips in thought, which made his graying mustache stick out as we exchanged shrewd looks. Sara Jane didn’t know Dan as well as she wanted everyone to think. Why would Trent make Sara Jane come to the FIB with a phony complaint of a missing boyfriend when he knew I’d find the body on his grounds? Unless he hadn’t known about it? How could he not know?
Glenn, apparently, missed everything as he grabbed my upper arm and yanked me past a hysterical Sara Jane and out into the shadows of the oak tree. “Damn it, Rachel,” he hissed as Sara Jane was led sobbing to a cruiser. “I told you to shut up! You’re leaving. Now. That little stunt of yours might be enough to let Kalamack walk.”
Even in my heels, Glenn was taller than me, and it ticked me off. “Yeah?” I shot back. “You asked me to read Trent’s emotions. Well I did. Sara Jane doesn’t know Dan Smather from her mailman. Trent had him killed. And that body has been moved.”
Glenn reached for me, and I stepped out of his reach. His face tightened and he took a step back, exhaling slowly. “I know. Go home,” he said, extending his hand for the temporary FIB badge. “I appreciate your assistance in finding the body, but
as you said, you aren’t a detective. Every time you open your mouth, you’re making it easier for Trent’s attorney to sway a jury. Just … go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Anger warmed me, the last dregs of adrenaline making me feel weak, not strong. “I found his body. You can’t make me leave.”
“I just did. Give me the badge.”
“Glenn,” I said as I ducked out of the necklace before he snapped it off my neck, “Trent murdered that witch as sure as if he had twisted the knife.”
He held my badge in a tight grip, his anger slowing enough to show his frustration. “I can talk to him, even hold him for questioning, but I can’t arrest him.”
“But he did it!” I protested. “You’ve got a body. You’ve got a weapon. You’ve got probable cause.”
“I have a body that’s been moved,” he said, his voice flat from his repressed emotions. “My probable cause is conjecture. I’ve got a weapon six hundred employees could have planted. There is nothing to link Trent to the murder yet. If I arrest him now, he could walk even if he confesses later. I’ve seen it happen. Mr. Kalamack may have done this on purpose, planted the body and made sure there was nothing to link him to it. If this one doesn’t stick, it will be twice as hard to pin another corpse to him, even if he makes a mistake later.”
“You’re afraid to take him down,” I accused, trying to goad him into arresting Trent.
“Listen to me real good, Rachel,” he said, jolting me into taking a step back. “I don’t give a dingo’s ass if you think Kalamack did it. I have to prove it. And this is the only chance I’m going to get.” Turning halfway around, he scanned the parking lot. “Someone take Ms. Morgan home!” he said loudly. Without a backward glance, he stomped to the stables, his heavy steps silent on the sawdust.
I stared, not knowing what to do. My attention went to Trent getting into a FIB cruiser, his expensive suit making it look wrong. He gave me an unfathomable look before the door shut with a metallic thump. Lights off and slow, the two cars pulled out.
My blood hummed and my head was pounding. Trent wasn’t going to get away with this unscathed. Eventually I would tie each and every murder back to him. Having found Dan’s body on his grounds would give Captain Edden the clout to get whatever warrant I wanted. Trent was going to fry. I could play it slow. I was a runner. I knew how to stalk prey.
I turned away, disgusted. I hated the law even as I relied on it. I’d much rather fight a coven of black witches than a courtroom any day. I understood witches’ mores better than lawyers’. At least witches used theirs.
“Jenks!” I shouted as Captain Edden emerged from the stables, keys jingling in his hands. Great. Now I was going to have to listen to a lecture of wise-old-man crap all the way home. It felt good to shout, and I took another breath to yell for Jenks again when the pixy came to a short stop in front of me. He was literally glowing in excitement, the dust that had sifted from him drifting into me from his momentum.
“Yeah, Rache? Hey, I heard Glenn kicked you out. I told you not to go up there. But did you listen to me? No-o-o-o-o-o. No one listens to me. I’ve got thirty some kids, and the only one who listens to me is my dragonfly.”
My anger hesitated for an instant as I wondered if he really had a pet dragonfly. Then I shook myself, sending my thoughts onto how to salvage something from this. “Jenks,” I said, “can you get home from here all right?”
“Sure. I’ll hitch with Glenn or the dogs. No problem.”
“Good.” I glanced at Captain Edden as he approached. “Tell me what happens, okay?”
“Gotcha. Hey, for what’s it’s worth, I’m sorry. You gotta learn to keep your mouth shut and your fingers to yourself. See you later.”
This coming from a pixy? “I didn’t touch anything,” I said, peeved, but he had already flitted back to Glenn’s temporary office, leaving a head-high trail of dust to slowly dissipate.
Edden spared me a single glance as he passed me. Frowning, I followed him, yanking my door open. The car started, and I got in and slammed the door shut. Belt latched, I draped my arm on the open window and stared at the empty pasture.
“What’s the matter?” I said nastily. “Glenn kick you out, too?”
“No.” Edden shifted the car into reverse. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure,” I said, for lack of anything better. A frustrated sigh slipped from me, catching as my gaze fell upon Quen. He stood unmoving in the shade of the old oak. There was no expression on his face. He must had heard my entire conversation with Glenn concerning Trent. A chill went through me, and I wondered if I had just put myself on Quen’s “special people” list.
Green eyes fixed to me with a shocking intensity, Quen reached up to a low branch and swung himself up with the ease of picking a flower, disappearing into the old oak as if he had never existed.
Twenty-Two
Edden swung the car into the church’s tiny weed-choked parking lot. He hadn’t said much on the way back, his white knuckles and red neck telling me what he thought of the free-flow stream of consciousness that I had been spewing forth ever since he confessed the reason why he was playing chauffeur for me.
Shortly after finding the body, word had come over the radio that I was to be “removed from the FIB payroll.” Seems it got out that a witch was helping them and the I.S. called foul. I might have been able to swing it if Glenn had cared to explain that I was merely a consultant, but he hadn’t said a word, apparently still sulking over me contaminating his precious crime scene. That there wouldn’t even be a crime scene if it hadn’t been for me didn’t seem to mean anything.
Slamming the car into park, Edden stared out the front window and waited for me to get out. I had to give him credit. It’s not easy to sit and listen while someone compares your son to squid suckers and bat guano in the same breath.
Shoulders slumping, I didn’t move. If I got out, it would mean it was over, and I didn’t want it to be. Besides, keeping up a tirade for twenty minutes is tiring, and I probably owed him an apology if nothing else. My arm hung out the car’s open window, and I could hear a piano playing some elaborate complicated thing that composers made up to show off their dexterity rather than any artistic expression. I took a breath. “If I could just talk to Trent—”
“No.”
“Can I at least listen to the tape of his interview?”
“No.”
I rubbed my temples, an escaped curl tickling my cheek. “How does anyone expect me to do my job if they won’t let me do it?”
“It’s not your job anymore,” Edden said. The hint of anger pulled my head up. I followed his gaze to the pixy children sliding down the steeple on the tiny squares of wax paper I had cut for them yesterday. Neck stiff, Edden shifted in his seat to take his wallet from a back pocket. Flipping it open, he handed me some bills. “I was told to pay you in cash. Don’t claim it on your taxes,” he said flatly.
My lips pressed together and I snatched it, counting the money. Pay me in cash? Out of the captain’s pocket? Someone had fallen deep into “cover your ass” mode. My stomach tightened as I realized it was far less than what we had agreed upon. I’d been almost a week on this. “And you’ll get me the rest later, right?” I asked as I shoved it into my bag.
“Management won’t pay for Dr. Anders’s canceled class,” he said, not looking at me.
Stiffed again. Not looking forward to telling Ivy I was short with my rent, I opened the door and got out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the piano was coming from the church. “Tell you what, Edden.” I slammed the door shut. “Don’t call me again.”
“Grow up, Rachel,” he said, jerking me back around. His round face was tight as he leaned across the seat to talk to me through the window. “If it had been me, I would have arrested you and given you to the I.S. to play with. He told you to wait, and you stepped all over his authority.”
Fingers pulling the strap of my bag higher up my shoulder, my scowl faltered. I hadn’t thought about it l
ike that.
“Look,” he said, seeing my sudden understanding. “I don’t want to break our working relationship. Maybe when things cool off, we can try this again. I’ll get the rest of the money to you somehow.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I straightened, my beliefs in the asinine, knee-jerk reactions of upper management reinforced, but maybe I owed Glenn an apology.
“Rachel?”
Yup. I owed Glenn an apology. I turned to Edden, a depressed, frustrated sigh shifting through me. “Tell Glenn I’m sorry,” I muttered. Before he could respond, I sent my heels clacking on the cracked sidewalk and up the wide stone steps. For a moment there was silence. Then the car’s fan belt whined as Edden backed up and drove away. The music was coming from inside. Still upset about my missing rent, I yanked open the heavy door and went in.
Ivy must be home. My frustration with Edden died with the chance to finally talk to her. I wanted to tell her that nothing had changed and she was still my friend—if she’d have me for one. Turning down the offer to be her scion might be an insurmountable insult in the vamp world. I didn’t think so, though. What little I had seen of her showed guilt, not anger.
Ivy?” I called cautiously.
The piano cut off in mid-chord. “Rachel?” Ivy responded from the sanctuary. There was a worrisome hint of alarm in her voice. Damn, she was going to run. Then my eyebrows rose. That wasn’t a recording. We had a piano?
Shrugging out of my coat, I hung it up and went into the sanctuary, blinking at the sudden light. We had a piano. We had a beautiful, black, baby grand piano sitting in an amber and green sunbeam coming in through the stain-glassed windows. Its top was propped up to show its insides, the wires gleaming and the stops all velvety smooth.
“When did you get the piano?” I asked, seeing her poised and ready to run. Double damn. If she would just slow down enough to listen.
My shoulders eased as she took up a chamois cloth and started rubbing the gleaming wood. She was wearing jeans and a casual top, and I felt terribly overdressed in my dress suit. “Today,” she said as she dusted wood that needed no dusting. Maybe if I didn’t say anything about what had happened, we could get back to the way things were. Ignoring a problem was a perfectly acceptable way to deal with it, as long as both people agree to never bring it up again.
