by DAVID B. COE
“Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not trying to pin anything on anyone.”
“Bullshit, cop!”
“I’m no cop.” He started to argue, but I raised a finger to silence him. “I was when I busted you, but I was kicked off the force a while back.”
“Yeah, right. What for?”
I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I beat a perp to death.”
His eyes widened.
“Put the knife away, Robby. I just want to talk. I’m a PI now. A private investigator,” I added, seeing his puzzled expression. “I’m doing a little work for the Deegans, trying to figure out what happened to their daughter.”
Fear and uncertainty chased each other across his features.
“The cops are after me, though, right?”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you. They know you didn’t kill her. But they also know that you deal, and that Claudia had drugs with her when she died. Lots of the Blind Angel victims did,” I added, eyeing him as I spoke the words.
Robby seemed to sag. The hand holding the knife fell to his side. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes on the ground. I’m not sure that he heard my last remark. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No? What about Jessie Tyler?”
His gaze snapped back to mine. “That was you today.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Throw another spell at me and I’ll break your neck.”
“The Deegans, the Tylers. I guess business has been good.”
“Did you know Claudia well?”
He glanced around again, still searching for some way out. At the same time, he let out a short breathless laugh. “Yeah, I knew Claud. She and I were a thing once.”
“That right?”
Robby raised his chin, eyeing me. “You don’t believe me.”
I wasn’t certain that I did. It’s not like I thought girls would find Robby unattractive. He had a friendly face, shaggy dark hair, big brown eyes—the kind of down-and-out good looks that some girls like. But Claudia Deegan had been a beauty, and with her name and money she could have had any guy she wanted.
“Sure I do.”
“No, you don’t. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t either. I know who Claud was, before she became the woman I knew. If she’d been right with her family, she wouldn’t have given me the time of day. I understand that, you know? I think she saw me as a way of getting at her old man. But I didn’t mind.” He stared past me; his expression had softened. “I * * * I liked her. A lot.”
Maybe I did believe him. “What was she on?”
He met my gaze again, narrowing his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he gave a little shake of his head. “Everything. You name it, she was into it. Spark, X, crystal, coke. It’s not like she was short on money, you know?”
“Did she buy her stuff from you?”
“Is that what the Deegans told you? Them and that boyfriend of hers?”
“What boyfriend?”
“I don’t remember his first name. Last name is Ruiz. He’s some rich Mexican kid. But they all had it in for me. Blamed me for all of Claud’s problems, which is bullshit. I mean, sure, we did some stuff, you know? But it’s not like she’d never used before she started hanging out with me. It’s not like she was a damn saint or something.”
“Did you have any contact with the Deegans?” I asked. “Conversations, letters, emails?”
“Not her old man. He’s not around that much, and anyway, his people probably wouldn’t let him anywhere near someone like me.”
I was sure Robby had that right.
“But Claud’s brother came around once right after we broke up. Told me stay away from her. Threatened to have me thrown in jail if I ever went near her again.”
“So did you stay away from her after that?”
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Couldn’t. I went to that freakin’ protest because I thought she’d like me more if I was into one of her causes, you know?” He laughed, sounding bitter. “That worked out great. She barely noticed me, and I wound up getting busted along with the rest of them.”
“Did she buy her drugs from you?”
He chewed his lip, seeming to weigh whether it was safe to tell me the truth. “Yeah,” he said at length. “I sold her Spark, coke, X. I don’t deal meth anymore, so if she had any on her, it wasn’t from me. But the rest probably was.”
“What about the others?”
“What others?” Robby asked, growing wary.
“The other Blind Angel murder victims. Did you sell to any of them?”
“I thought you were working for the Deegans.”
“I am. I’m trying to figure out why Claudia is dead. And if I can learn something about the other murders, too, all the better.”
His gaze slid away. “Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about that.”
He was shutting down on me, so I turned the conversation back to Claudia, hoping that he’d open up again.
“Do you find it odd that this guy would go for Claudia? I mean, she’s probably the most famous girl in Arizona, right?”
“He probably didn’t recognize her,” Robby said. “I mean, have you seen Claudia recently?”
“I saw her a little while ago,” I said. “I’ve just come from the Medical Examiner’s building.”
He gaped at me, his face going white. “No shit?”
“I swear it.”
Robby swallowed. “Well * * * well, then, you know. She changed. A lot. She lost weight—got really thin, you know? Unhealthy. And she dyed her hair black, used lots of eye liner—went Goth. Actually it was a pretty cool look for her. It was like she was trying to be someone else, leave the blonde princess behind. That’s what she called herself sometimes, when she was feeling especially anti-family, you know? Anyway, that was the weird thing about Claud. On the one hand she acted like none of the rules applied to her, you know? She thought she could get away with stuff because of who she was. And you just know that she got that from her old man, from being a Deegan. But at the same time, she was always trying to be someone else.” He shook his head again. “Poor Claud.”
I didn’t pretend to be an expert on the subject, but I also didn’t doubt that the guy loved her. Robby wasn’t the brightest bulb on Broadway, but he’d given some thought to what made Claudia Deegan tick. It almost made me feel bad for him. Still, he hadn’t answered my question, and I couldn’t leave him alone until he did.
“What about the others, Robby? Did they buy from you, too?”
His gaze wandered away again. “I told you, I’ve got nothing to say about that.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, and I’ll be sure to mention it to my buddies at the PPD.”
“You think I remember everyone who’s ever bought from me? You’re crazy! And I don’t know the names of all the people this guy’s killed.”
“You’d remember if you sold to someone and heard a day or two later that she’d turned up dead. In fact, I think you do remember. And I think it’s happened more than once.”
“You’re wrong.” He kept his eyes down as he said it, and I could tell that he was hiding something, and that he was terrified. For a second I thought he might start crying.
“You’re lying.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to,” I said, taking a step toward him. “Like I said, I’m not a cop anymore.”
He raised the knife again. “Stay away!”
“Which ones, Robby? Which victims bought from you before they died?”
“None of them did! And you can’t prove different! Neither can your cop friends!
I didn’t believe him for a minute. But he was right: I couldn’t prove anything, at least not yet.
“Fine,” I said, relaxing a bit, checking my knee again. What a mess.
He regarded me, wary again. “Fine what?”
“I believe you didn’t sell drugs to any of the other Blind Angel victims. You can go.”
“That’s it? I can go? Just like
that?”
“What’d you expect? I told you I’m not a cop anymore. If I could throw you in the pen for a while let you stew on all of this, I would. For Claudia and for Jessie. But I’m just a PI. Even if you are lying to me, I can’t do anything about it.”
The smirk that curved his lips was way too smug for my taste. He let his blade hand fall to his side again. “Yeah, that’s right. You can’t do shit.”
“Stay out of trouble. Watch your back. I might be done with you, but the cops aren’t.”
“Right,” he said. “Whatever.”
I frowned down at my leg, once more, making like I was done with him. He started to saunter past me. And as he did, I straightened and threw a punch, catching him full in the side of the face, right below his eye. He bounced off the wall of the house next to us and went down hard.
“God, dude!” he whined, sprawled on the ground, both hands on his face. “What the hell was that for?”
“My leg, those fire spells, pulling that knife on me, lying about the drugs. Take your pick.” I started to walk away, shaking my hand and rubbing the knuckles—they never show it in the movies, but it hurts to hit someone like that. A lot.
“You are messed up, dude!” he called after me. “No wonder they booted you off the freakin’ force.”
I turned to face him, walking backwards out of the alley. My hands were shaking. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I’d hit him; I hadn’t intended to. The best I can say in my own defense is that weremystes start to do strange things—stupid things—around the time of the full moon.
I suppose that could have been why Robby was throwing magic around like he was determined to set the city on fire. No myste was immune from the phasing. But I wasn’t going to let him think I had any sympathy for him. “If I find out you’ve been lying to me, this’ll seem like a picnic.” I glared at him for a moment more, then left the alley.
“Hey, Fearsson!” I heard Robby call. “Fuck you!”
A few people stared as I walked by, but I ignored them. My hand and leg were throbbing and I didn’t have much to show for my effort. I knew a bit more about Claudia, and I knew for certain that her drugs had come from Robby. I’d been hoping, though, that I would be able to connect Robby to the East Side Parks killer. I should have known better. After all this time, leads in this case wouldn’t come so easily.
As I approached the Z-ster, I was racking my brain, trying to think of other ways to tie Robby to past victims.
I was in the middle of the street when I felt it. Instinct. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. I spun around, pulling my weapon free as I did. Nothing. Sure, there were a few people milling around in their yards, looking at me as if I were crazy. But I had been certain that someone was about to take a shot at me, and there was no one.
I took a breath, started to holster my Glock. But the feeling wouldn’t go away. There might not be a gunman, but someone was watching me, and it sure as hell wasn’t my guardian angel. I held on to my weapon until I was in the Z-ster with the engine running. Even then, I eased the car away from the curb, scanning the yards and houses as I drove. Only when I was out of Robby’s neighborhood did I begin to relax. Still, I took special care to see that I wasn’t followed as I headed back to my office.
CHAPTER 5
I had calmed down by the time I got back to Chandler, though I remained watchful as I made my way up to my office. Emerging from the brick stairway, I saw a woman standing by my door, and before I knew it, I was reaching for my Glock again.
“Mister Fearsson,” she said.
I let my hand fall to my side and walked toward her, my steps deliberate. I even went so far as to take off my sunglasses. Still, it took me several seconds to recognize her.
“You’re the blogger,” I said, stopping in front of her
She smiled. “That’s right. Billie Castle.”
“Miss Castle, of course. Forgive me for not recognizing you right away.”
“It’s all right. I hope I didn’t alarm you.”
“No, I * * *” I held up my hands. “Never mind.” I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I found you in the phone book after we met at the Deegans. It’s a nice picture.”
I chuckled. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re a private detective.”
“I am. And you’re avoiding my question.”
“Can I buy you lunch?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch and cocked an eyebrow.
“Fine,” she said. “An early dinner?”
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and that I was starving. But I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to spend too much time with Miss Castle. I’m sure Howard Wriker would have agreed.
“I think I’ll pass. Thanks, though.”
A thin smile flitted across her face. “Wriker warned you away from me, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it?”
I felt like she was holding a microphone in front of my face.
“Look, Miss Castle—”
“What did you do to your leg?” she asked, staring at my bloodied knee.
“I fell down, running * * *” I clammed up, reminding myself again that I was talking to a reporter.
“Running?” she repeated.
“Yeah. Running. It’s not important. But I was going to say, Miss Castle, that—”
“Billie.”
“I think I’ll stick with Miss Castle. I don’t care much for politics or politicians, and I’m not interested in being famous. I’m trying to pay some bills and help out a friend.”
“Are you a friend of Senator Deegan?”
I turned away from her, pulled out my key, and unlocked the door to my office.
“I’m writing a story, Mister Fearsson. A series of them, probably. And my readers are going to want to know why a private eye is involved with an ongoing murder investigation. They’ll want to know why that private eye was forced to resign from the homicide division of the Phoenix Police Department nineteen months ago in the middle of the Blind Angel Killer case. Now I can leave it to others to answer those questions—Kona Shaw, Howard Wriker, Cole Hibbard * * *”
I couldn’t help it. At the mention of Hibbard’s name I bristled and shot a glare her way. She stared back at me with this innocent expression on her face.
“Or,” she went on, “you can answer my questions yourself and make certain that I get your story right.”
Just as I’d thought: smart as hell. Pretty, too. I probably should have ducked into my office, bolted the door behind me, and hidden in the shadows until she gave up and left. Instead, I sighed, locked the door once more, and turned to face her.
“An early dinner, eh?”
She nodded.
“You buying?
She grinned. “Sure.”
There was a pizza place on the ground level of the complex, below my office. I took her there, and we ordered a small pie: mushrooms, green peppers, and sausage. I don’t know if she was being agreeable so that I’d answer her questions, but we settled on the toppings in no time at all.
We both ordered Cokes as well, and carried them to a booth in the back corner of the restaurant.
“All right,” I said. “What is it you want to know?”
She pulled a digital recorder out of her purse and set it on the table between us. Switching it on, she said “Interview with Justis Fearsson, Private Detective.” She glanced at her watch. “Five-twenty p.m., Monday, May fourteenth. What kind of name is Justis, anyway?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “Old English, I think. Probably my dad’s idea. He wouldn’t have settled for something normal. What about Billie?”
She smiled, though there was something forced about it. “My dad. He wanted a boy.” She sat up straighter. “What were you doing at the Deegans’ today?”
So much for the casual chit-chat.
“I was picki
ng up a friend who was there to speak with the senator and his family.”
“Kona Shaw, right? Your partner when you were on the force?”
She’d done her homework. I suppose I should have been impressed. Instead, I found myself growing annoyed. Who was this woman to investigate my life?
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s right. We had business downtown, and she didn’t have her car with her. So she asked me to meet her there.”
“What business did you have downtown? Was this police business?”
I shook my head. “I’m not—”
“Was this in connection with the Blind Angel killings? Did it have anything to do with the murder of Claudia Deegan?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Her smile was smug. “By not answering, you tell me that it was.”
I said nothing.
“You worked on the Blind Angel case when you were on the force, didn’t you?”
I thought about this and realized in about half a second that my name was in articles about the murders published at the time. “Yes, that’s right. Kona and I worked the case from the start.”
“You investigated the very first murder?”
“Gracia Rosado. Twenty-one. Five feet, two inches; 127 pounds. Born in Hermosillo, came to the States with her parents when she was seven, lived in Mesa at the time she died.”
Billie opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“To you this might be a great story, but I lived it for a year and a half. Longer, really. I’m not sure I’ve ever stopped living it.”
“Can you do that with all the victims?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Probably. Do I really need to?”
“No.”
Before she could say more, a waitress arrived with our pizza. She eyed the recorder, put the pizza on the table next to it, and gave us both odd looks.
When she was gone, Billie sipped her Coke and leaned forward. “Why do you think he blinds them?”
Because he’s a weremyste, like me. Because he’s drawing power out of them in some way—through their eyes—and using that power to make his magic stronger.
A part of me wanted to say it, just to see the expression on her face. For all I knew, it could have been the biggest story her blog had ever seen. Because while most people knew that magic was real, few understood anything about the workings of spells, and fewer still could say that they knew a weremyste.
