Ritsuko had her notebook out and was checking facts they’d gathered over days of exhaustive interviews. In a quiet, neutral tone, she read them off. “Cira Aevar went missing eight days ago. The head costume designer is the last person to report seeing her alive. She left this theater and was never seen again. Her body was found four days ago.” At that point, she glanced up to ask, “Where were you the night Miss Aevar disappeared?”
Leonidas turned his attention to Ritsuko. “I was here.” He raised an arm, almost hitting the wall in the small office. Junk teetered on overflowing shelves, threatening to topple. “I’m always here. I don’t have much call to leave these days.” He sounded pained by the admission.
“Is there anyone who can corroborate your claim?” Ritsuko asked.
Mikani added, “During the day, I imagine you’re hard to miss, but once everyone leaves . . . ? We’ve been down to your domain. There may be hidden exits that would make it quite easy to slip in and out.”
Leonidas leaned closer, his eyes narrowed. “There are no hidden exits, Inspectors. No secret bolt-holes or tunnels out of this place—” He stopped and took a deep breath, lowering his voice to a conversational tone. “I sealed the theater months ago. I value my privacy far too much to give carte blanche to thieves. Feel free to search the place, top to bottom. And if you get lost, I might send help.”
Mikani started to respond to that challenge, but a scream rang out from the theater beyond. Leonidas flung open the door, and they ran into the wings. The scene was chaotic, but he assimilated it in a glance: an overturned lamp, smoke writhing in the air, and flames licking at the stage curtains. Dancers flew around in various stages of panic and preparedness, some fetching water, others screaming. The fire raced upward. If it reached the ceiling, the timbers would burn.
“Let’s get these people out, Ritsuko,” He need not have worried; his partner was already directing stagehands and dancers to help or flee. “Come, Mr. Leonidas, we should lend a hand.” Mikani paused, looking back over his shoulder at the theater owner gazing at the flames, still as a statue. “Gods and spirits, let’s move!”
He grabbed the man’s arm, then he fought the urge to recoil as a roiling wave of fear and pain washed over him as soon as he touched Leonidas. It was an all-consuming roar, far louder than the screams around them. Mikani felt his face blistering, peeling away, the lick of fire against his chest. And stronger than the burning curtains and scorching wood, the taste of burned flesh choked him. He stumbled with surprise and shock, letting go of Leonidas. He gasped for breath, nauseated by the onslaught, so that he dropped his hands onto his knees.
Overhead, the burning curtain charred into strips, and through blurred vision, he saw that part of it was about to drop on them. It took all of his strength when he dove at Leonidas, and Mikani used weight and momentum to drive the other man out of the way. They hit the ground hard; impact seemed to wake him up, whether it was the hit or the pain, Mikani couldn’t say. Leonidas scrambled away from the flames, away from the smoldering fabric, on his hands and knees. Mikani helped him up, then shoved him toward the safe portion of the hall.
Later, he’d consider what this meant. For now, he joined his partner in fighting the fire. They tore down the heavy draperies, which collapsed with a shower of sparks and ash onto the stage. Quick-thinking stagehands sliced open the sandbags used as counterweights for the curtains, using the coarse sand and gravel to help smother the flames. As Mikani bent to pick up a cumbersome sack, he felt a wash of cold air, smelling strongly of the sea, against his cheek. Confused, he glanced up to see one of the dancers kneeling near the edge of the stage, murmuring under her breath.
The wash of air spread past them, swirling around the flames. Damping them, with a whisper reminiscent of the ocean. When she caught him staring at her, she started, her face going pale as milk. Her eyes were huge, fear of reprisal shining clearly. The flames flared, and he gave her a nod; she recovered and resumed her chant, tears rolling down her cheeks. Mikani turned away to empty the last of the sand. The next time he checked, the girl had fled.
Ritsuko joined him, lifting her fingers as if she could touch what he sensed in the air. Within the theater, it still felt clean and damp as high tide. Between the quiet invocation and the application of sand and hard effort, the fire was out. He glimpsed Leonidas collapsed in a seat toward the back of the hall, safe enough, but the man appeared utterly wrecked.
“Did she just . . .” Ritsuko trailed off, seeming unable to finish the question.
Mikani hesitated. “She helped put out the fire. We all did. We should get medals. Or drinks. I’d settle for the latter . . . We should check on our person of interest, don’t you think?” He nodded toward Leonidas.
Though he had complete faith in his partner, the girl had risked her own safety—and her liberty—for everyone else. Plausible deniability was best when there was even a hint of magic. Better for all concerned if Ritsuko only suspected.
Wiping at the soot and ash caked over his face, Mikani led the way back toward the theater owner. “Mr. Leonidas . . . ?” He stopped three feet away, tentatively reading the man. The barrier was slowly coalescing once more, raw pain and fear withdrawing into the shell. Mikani was debating touching him once more, when the man looked up. “I believe everyone’s safe. Do you need a physician, sir?”
“No. Thank you for your . . . intervention.” The man’s voice was rusty, as if he’d been screaming for hours. “What I’d most like is to be left alone, if that could be arranged. Is there anything further, Inspectors?”
His partner shook her head. “I believe we have everything we need. I apologize again for our intrusion the other evening . . . and we do appreciate your cooperation.”
• • •
TEN MINUTES LATER, Ritsuko joined Mikani in the foyer. She’d washed up as best she could in the lavatory, removing the worst of the soot from face and hands though there was nothing she could do about the smoke damage to her gray suit. Fortunately, it didn’t show as badly as it would on some shades. By her partner’s expression, she could see he had something weighty on his mind.
So as she approached, she said, “Tell me.”
Mikani shook his head, as if weighing his words. “When the fire started, I finally got a reading off Leonidas. It was as if a dam had broken. The man was terrified, Ritsuko. I . . .” He ran fingers through his hair. “His parents died in an accident? The one that left him scarred?”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“He’s in constant pain. I suspect I can’t feel anything from him because he’s trying to block the anguish even from himself. And he would no more go near a fire on purpose than I’d get married.”
“So he’s not the one. But you said that his emptiness felt familiar, it was like the machine. So does that mean the killer’s in pain, like Leonidas? He’s been injured somehow?” That would make him easier to track down. “But . . . a weak or recuperating man wouldn’t be able to assemble such a contraption without help, would he?”
“I wouldn’t call Leonidas weak. But it’s worth looking into.” Mikani glanced around the theater, traces of smoke still lingering in the air making his eyes water. “I do think you’re right; Leonidas is not our man. But we do have that tip to look into before we head out, assuming we can find Elaine Day.”
Yes, the anonymous note.
She was still turning the new theory over in her mind. “Maybe it’s not necessarily physical pain. Would an emotional wound or heartbreak do it? A sudden loss that might’ve triggered . . .” She couldn’t find the words to describe what the monster had done.
Mikani canted his head for her to follow. “He might blame the Aevars for his tragedy, yes. And that would lead him to make them pay through their daughter. It must have been something unbearable, to have snapped his mind. Let’s find the choreographer; she should be able to point us toward the right girl.”
Miss Wright was near the foot of the stage, consoling the dancers who hadn’t fled in a pani
c. One girl sat with Leonidas at the back of the theater, and they were talking in low, impassioned tones. Ritsuko read reticence in the man’s body language, insistence on the part of the dancer, who was a pretty girl with fair hair and large eyes; at this distance, it was impossible to judge the color.
“I’m sorry to bother you, as I know it’s been a dreadful day, but I wondered if you could point me in Elaine Day’s direction.” Ritsuko didn’t mention the anonymous note they’d received, but the other woman froze for a moment, a telling response.
“Yes, yes, of course. She’s actually talking to Leo right now.”
Interesting.
Ritsuko spun to study them, taking new interest in the couple. “I see. Thank you.”
Leonidas stood, stepping before the slender girl protectively as they approached. “I believe we’re done here, Inspectors.” Elaine peered at Ritsuko from behind the man’s shoulder. “I need to see to my theater, get all this cleaned up.”
Mikani smiled, and Ritsuko saw that it wasn’t his usual sardonic look. “Feel free, Mr. Leonidas. We’ll take care of Miss Day. We’d like a word, if you’ll come with us, miss.”
The theater owner shook his head, shielding the girl with his body. “Miss Day needs her rest—” Just then, the dancer stepped around Leonidas, tilting her chin up. “It’s fine, Mr. Leonidas. I—I think it may be for the best.”
Ritsuko had a feeling there was a reason Leonidas didn’t want them talking to the girl, but given what Mikani had said earlier, she suspected it wasn’t related to the murder. Still, they couldn’t proceed without giving due diligence to all suspects. Once they could cross Leonidas off the list for good, it would give them more time to pursue other leads, like the names she’d gotten from the Academy and the tip from Mr. Gideon about the actor, Gregory Toombs.
“This way,” she said to Miss Day.
She headed for the foyer, where it was bright and clean. No doors for privacy, but the remaining cast and crew were with Miss Wright anyway. Ritsuko imagined that the air backstage would be thick and choked with smoke, making it impossible to breathe, let alone question someone. There were red padded benches where they could sit, so she led the way to a small grouping to the right of the ticket office, where she invited the dancer to take a seat, then she asked Mikani with a silent raised brow who would take the lead here.
Her partner nodded once and moved aside, likely to get a better feel for Miss Day’s reaction. Business as usual, then. I ask the questions, and he weighs the emotional context. She took a seat beside the girl, whose expression wavered between excitement at the attention and nerves over being singled out. Everyone had been questioned once; no other dancers had received a second interview.
So she’s probably wondering what this means.
“We received a note, advising us to ask about your relationship with Mr. Leonidas. So why don’t you tell me how well you know him?”
The girl’s eyes went wide, the color draining entirely from her cheeks before she blushed hot. Licking her lips nervously, she glanced away. “I—I know Mr. Leonidas from the theater, of course; he’s never been anything but generous and kind to me.” Mikani caught his partner’s eye and shook his head slightly with a bemused smirk. “He appreciates my talent, see, and he knows that I’ll be his star.”
“Please don’t waste my time, Miss Day. Do you think I’m untrained in spotting deception?” If the girl didn’t crack, Ritsuko’s next salvo would be an offer to take her down to HQ for an extended interrogation.
Miss Day drew up to her full height and tried to rise. “I think you better not take that tone with me!” Mikani stepped up; Ritsuko placed a hand on the girl’s wrist. And Leonidas’s voice rang out.
“Inspectors! Let her—please, let her be.” He stepped forward, and Elaine stumbled toward him. He wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders as she pressed her face to his chest. “Miss Day . . . Elaine . . . and I are . . . Our relationship . . .” He stopped, seemingly torn between his evident concern for the girl and his need for secrecy. “Miss Day is . . . my companion.” Elaine actually started at that, gazing up at him with an unreadable expression. “We’ve spent a great deal of time together of late, but I prefer not to make things difficult for her with the rest of the cast. Or anyone else.”
“Does that include your nights?” Ritsuko asked, trying to be delicate.
Miss Day answered at once, probably seeing she had Leonidas’s approval to divulge that much. Whatever else could be said of her, she was apparently loyal. “Yes.”
Mikani angled his head, the way he looked when he was sensing . . . something. “You weren’t there when we visited a few nights past. Where were you?”
“Fetching supper.”
Ritsuko asked in their silent way, Is that what you’re getting, too?
Mikani rubbed the bridge of his nose and inclined his head slightly when he caught Ritsuko’s glance. So they were telling the truth. She could also tell by his expression that he was reaching the limit on what he could safely read, though he’d never call a halt on his own. Yet in a few moments more, he would be bleeding.
“Just one more question, then,” she said, glancing between Leonidas and the dancer. “Miss Day, what’s the longest you’ve ever been away in the evenings?”
She was nearly sure it wasn’t Leonidas, but it was a necessary question. The dancer looked thoughtful, and since she didn’t reply at once, Ritsuko believed she was truly searching her memory.
“Four hours, perhaps. I went to a party.”
“And when was this?” Mikani asked.
“Two months ago.”
Too long for their timetable. It’s definitely not Leonidas. Therefore, it was time to pursue other avenues, other connections. Fortunately, they had leads. Dread clotted in her throat when she imagined how the commander would react to the news that they were still chasing down endless angles instead of narrowing the search to one likely suspect.
It’s a good thing I did a little filing. I may be back there soon enough.
CHAPTER 11
MIKANI HAD BEEN RETRACING CIRA AEVAR’S STEPS FOR THE last two days, leaving Ritsuko to run the Toombs angle. He knew she believed he was just trying to avoid going down into the labyrinthine corridors of the Records department, buried deep under the Courts of Law and CID Headquarters. She wasn’t altogether wrong about that, but his reasons weren’t entirely selfish.
He’d tracked Cira to the Gilded Avenue underground station; the stationmaster remembered her as a regular. She was hard to miss, carrying bright bundles of costumes to and from the theater. Several panhandlers confirmed that she passed them several times a week, dropping a coin here and there and making time to listen to them play or applaud their acts.
The one thing that no one could recall was which train she’d ridden.
He should have found it sooner.
Cira Aevar always bought a ticket to the end of the line down in Summer’s Gate. There were three teams of inspectors and constables checking the records and questioning possible witnesses along the four stations between the Royale and Summer’s Gate. They assumed she could have gotten on and off anywhere between the two points to hide her activities from her family. But Cira was sheltered, and she’d been living out her fantasy through an act of rebellion from the traditional life her status demanded. So she’d wanted her colleagues to accept her as one of them, and that meant taking the underground. It was a clever trick, designed to stave off any questions about her background.
Only she’d never actually ridden. When Mikani had asked the lone street musician playing along the north access to the underground, he remembered her heading out of the station. She’d crossed to the opposite platform and slipped out on the far side of Crown Avenue, a wide and busy urban highway that traditionally divided the Houses’ demesnes from the rest of the city.
And that’d be why no one remembers what train she rode.
He’d recalled the other teams and set them to work through the cobbled stre
ets bordering the Houses’ citadels, staying close to Crown Avenue. Today, the streets and plazas closer to the park were crawling with House retainers; if she’d gone that way, someone would’ve spotted her. As House Aevar’s holdings dominated the west side, he headed east.
For half an hour, Mikani walked without direction. He wandered into the Lee; the narrow strip of apartments, boardinghouses, bars, and cafés gave House scions a place to play at being grown-up and free while remaining within their parents’ sphere. Students at the Academy, some distance to the east, mingled with others in full social revolt . . . and the occasional House noble reliving glory days.
Then he spotted the discreet boardinghouse on the corner, a half mile north of the Royale. Cira needed a place to slip into her other life, and she wouldn’t do it in a station lavatory. As he drew closer, he detected the faintest echo of her, nearly gone now. In another day, it would’ve been lost, drowned by time and too many other bodies.
Mikani crossed the street in a rush. A black-and-gold hansom nearly clipped his foot, and he knocked over a courier streaking down the street on his cycle. Leaving the kid swearing at him, Mikani stumbled to the steps leading up to the blue wooden door. He reached for his gloves instinctively—then hesitated. The trail was cold as death, and the everyday pollution would make Cira that much harder to track. Right now, he only had that faint echo.
Besides, there was an easier way. He knocked on the door, reaching for the sepia photo he kept with him at all times as a reminder. “CID, madam. Do you know this girl?”
The woman studied the picture, then nodded. “Very nice tenant. Quiet.”
Mikani made a noncommittal sound and followed the landlady, Miss Frasizka, whose name was written on her postbox, up the narrow stairs. The smell of cabbage and lilacs permeated the faded wallpaper. Whispers of the other tenants, as they peeked through peepholes or narrowly cracked doors, nudged the edge of his hearing. She probably meant to take him to her flat for the interview, but that wasn’t what he was after.
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