Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

  From by the desk, Black’s voice held a faint rebuke.

  “While I appreciate the scene analysis, doc, I got most of that from the cops.” Glancing up, he quirked an eyebrow at me. “I understand if this isn’t your favorite thing, but I’d rather not drag it out.”

  I sighed, letting my arms fall to my sides. “What am I doing here, Black? If you needed another seer, you could have brought Ravi or Arden.”

  “I don’t need a seer. I need a forensic psychologist.”

  I stared at him. “What for? Do you know who did this?” When he didn’t answer right away, or look up from the desk, I pressed, “What are you looking for, Black?”

  Still not looking up from where he felt around the underside of the desk, he shrugged, making a vague gesture. “Let me know if you see anything out of place. Anything that might not be what it appears. Anything that might be hiding something.”

  “Hiding something?” I stared at him a second time. “Like what?”

  “The killers were looking for something. Mozar said they didn’t find it.”

  Puzzled, I fought back and forth with whether I should keep trying to get straight answers out of him. Instead I frowned, focusing on the blood stain on the office chair, then around at the rest of the space.

  Black jerked his chin towards the teak desk. “I’ll take the paperwork and the furniture, if you do an assessment of the office itself. See if you can find anything that might give us a clue what they were looking for.”

  I nodded, folding my arms tighter.

  Then, sighing, I approached the desk.

  He went back to looking through the drawers. I watched as he made his way through two more, both of which were emptied already. He crouched down next to the lowest drawer then, pausing to feel over the wood of the legs and sides, using his gloved hands.

  Looking away from him, I focused on the room itself.

  Like Black, I started with the desk, since it was likely where Garrison spent most of his time. The thing had to be astronomically expensive, but it was designed simply, with only three drawers on one side and a long, shallow one directly above the opening for the occupant’s legs. On top sat a leather-framed blotter, now covered in mostly-dried blood. I winced when I saw a few larger chunks left by the coroner and the forensics team, including what looked like brain matter and bone. Letting my eyes slide sideways, I focused on the rest of the objects making up Garrison’s former work area.

  I tried to imagine the space as he saw it.

  There wasn’t much here, really.

  A titanium kinetic sculpture sat on one corner of the polished teak, moving gently in spirals. Much of the room was monochromatic, I noticed. Gray carpet. White tusks. Black and chrome fixtures. Black and white paintings. Unusually dark and unusually light woods. Kind of a rich man’s version of the man cave, only meant to be intimidating, I guessed. Everything I could see looked expensive. Even the modern touches somehow hearkened back to some pre-modern colonial period, like a dated view of the future you’d see in old movies.

  My eyes lit on the desk’s sole other adornment.

  Moving closer, still staring at it, I frowned.

  “That’s out of place,” I said, pointing.

  Black froze, looking up. He’d moved the desk’s chair carefully away from the opening under the desk, where he now crouched, his blue-gloved hands resting lightly on the wood surface. Seeing his lips firm in question, I shrugged.

  “Psychologically-speaking,” I clarified. “You said anything out of place, right? The statue doesn’t fit. The monochromatic colors fit the rest of the room––more or less––but it’s made of stone, and just about everything else in here is metal or wood. An interior designer would never have included it, since it clashes with the other materials and time periods. So that means it’s likely personal... meaning, he put it here himself.”

  At Black’s silence, I returned my gaze to the statue.

  “But it still doesn’t fit,” I said, folding my arms. “Everything else in here hides who he is. The design of this room and everything in it deliberately projects a veneer of hyper-masculine wealth and mastery. A kind of distant nostalgia, but not a personal one. That...” I pointed at the Anubis statue again. “...That makes a statement.”

  Still thinking, I shook my head.

  “Even if it was important to him, he wouldn’t put it in here. He’d put it somewhere else, somewhere private. His home. Or better yet, an apartment his family doesn’t use.”

  Black followed the direction of my pointing finger.

  I saw his eyes focus on the Anubis statue, then slide out of focus as he switched to his psychic sight. After a few more seconds, understanding bled over his expression.

  Glancing at me, he gave me a wry smile.

  “This is why I don’t give a fuck about the sight stuff, doc,” he said, sending a pulse of heat towards me, strong enough that I flinched, then flushed. “You call yourself dead weight again, and you’re getting a spanking, Miriam. With props.”

  Seeing the warmth in his eyes, I felt my lips quirk, in spite of myself.

  8

  EVIDENCE OF EVIL DEEDS

  REACHING INTO THE pocket of his leather jacket, Black pulled out a small leather toolkit with a zipper. He walked around the chair as he did it, looking at the Anubis statue from all sides. It occurred to me, watching him, that he was looking for trip wires, for anything that might make lifting the six-inch stone statue dangerous, or set off a security alarm.

  Finished with his appraisal, he crouched down and looked at the statue at eye-level.

  Reaching out carefully with one hand, he lifted it up.

  Nothing happened.

  Hefting the stone in one hand, he examined it from all sides. I watched as he slid his fingers carefully around the edge of the creature’s dog-shaped head, where a black hood came down to meet human-shaped shoulders. After a few more seconds of feeling over the hood, Black extracted a small metal pry bar from his toolkit.

  I watched, incredulous, as he used the sharp edge to jimmy open the top of the statue’s head.

  “It opens,” I said. “How did you know?”

  “Same as the camera in the elevator,” he said absently. “I didn’t notice before, since most of the things in his office have imprints all over them.”

  Frowning, I tried to use my psychic sight to see it the way he did. He had it open by then, though, and my eyes clicked back into focus.

  He slid a small key off a fitted groove on top of the god statue’s head.

  Palming the key, he straightened, and looked around the room. I could tell by the narrowness of his eyes that he was using his sight again, so I didn’t speak while he scanned the four walls.

  “Okay,” he said, looking at me. “What next?”

  I frowned. “Seriously? How would I know?”

  Smiling, he clicked at me softly. “Give me a break, doc. You did it once. Do it again.”

  “Shouldn’t we call the cops in here? This is evidence, right?”

  He gave me a flat look. “Right now it’s just a key. If it becomes evidence, we’ll let them know.”

  For a moment I only stared at him.

  Then, exhaling in frustration, I looked around the room. I studied the shelves, the books on the floor, the clock ticking on the wall, various paintings, those horrible tusks. Then my eyes lit on something I hadn’t noticed before, likely because I’d been too distracted by the elephant tusks and the view and the tape outlines of dead bodies.

  “What’s that?” I said, pointing.

  A massive piece of stone, what I’d mistaken for an expensive art sculpture when my eyes first glanced over it, stood on a black marble pedestal near one corner of the room. The outer surface shone with a faint blue, metallic hue. Parts of it appeared melted, but the stone was beautiful in its own way, the melted parts twisted into strangely sensual shapes. Like the Anubis statue, it didn’t exactly stand out, but it didn’t exactly fit, either.

  “A meteori
te, I think,” Black said, after scanning it. “Why?”

  Staring at it, I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s just weird. Everything about this office denotes the past, Black. That... doesn’t. It’s not really making a statement, like the Anubis statue, but it’s odd. It doesn’t fit with the rest of what he’s projecting.”

  “Which is what?” Black said.

  “Wall Street super-villain?” I said, smiling humorlessly. At Black’s quirked eyebrow, I shrugged. “Or maybe big game hunter mixed with sociopathic business tycoon?” Still thinking, I added, “Anyway, it’s the only other thing in here made of stone.”

  Black grunted. He looked at the meteorite, his gaze thoughtful.

  Tossing the key lightly in one hand, he began walking toward it. I followed behind, folding my arms across my chest as I walked carefully around the tape on the floor. I watched Black stalk around the meteorite and the marble stand a few times, like he had with the desk.

  Then, standing behind it, he stopped, frowning.

  “What?” I said.

  Without answering, he fell smoothly to a crouch. Reaching out with both gloved hands, he began feeling over the back of the blue-tinted rock, as if looking for something by touch.

  “I’thir li’dare. I think it’s a safe,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Gaos, Miri.”

  I bit my lip, hearing the genuine affection in his voice. I was still watching his face when I heard a loud click and saw Black smile.

  “Gotcha,” he muttered. “You super-villain bastard.”

  I walked cautiously to the left of the pedestal and peered around it to where Black was opening a panel on the back of the stone. I assumed at first the stone must be fake, but when Black swung open the door, it looked like real stone, lined with steel.

  “Jesus,” I said, annoyed in spite of myself. “If that’s a real meteorite, it should be in a museum. He totally destroyed it.”

  Black glanced up at me. “Rich people are assholes, love.”

  I grunted, not commenting on the obvious.

  “Did that key really open it?” I said instead, frowning when I didn’t see a keyhole.

  “No,” Black said. “Combination lock.”

  I didn’t ask how he’d known the combination, mostly because I was relatively sure I already knew the answer. It had to be another one of those things he could pick up via those light imprints he’d shown me.

  Black pulled out a few stacks of letter-sized papers, setting them on the carpet near where I stood. I looked down at them, frowning.

  “What are these?” I said.

  “No idea.” He gave me a brief glance. “You mind taking a look? Just give me the high-level on what they are. You can do that while I do this.”

  Crouching down, I picked up the first stack of papers and began flipping through them carefully, scanning headings, text and numbers to try and get a handle on what they were. About a third of the way in, I stopped, frowning down at what I saw on the page. I glanced at Black. He was doing something inside the safe, using both hands.

  “Your name’s on these, Black.”

  He turned, sharp. “What?”

  I read back over the paperwork in front of me, looking for detail. Black’s name showed on a number of pages now that I was scanning for it.

  “It looks like you paid Garrison a lot of money,” I said, still skimming text. “Three hundred thousand last week...” I turned another page. “Four hundred the week before that.” I flipped through a few more pages. “There are other names on here, too, but most of those are being invoiced in the other direction. Some are also product and shipping invoices. A few of those have your name on them, too.”

  “For what?” Black broke in. “What are the product invoices for?”

  I read him the first item on the list, and the most expensive. “General Atomics Avenger... ‘Predator C’... UCAV... fifteen.” I looked up at him. “Mean anything to you?”

  He nodded grimly, turning back towards the opening in the safe.

  “Combat drones,” he grunted. “Military grade.”

  I tensed, watching his hands disappear back inside the hollowed-out meteorite.

  “You been buying combat drones, honey?” I said lightly.

  Flinching, he gave me a look. “Not for David Garrison.”

  He continued feeling around on the bottom of the safe with one hand. I was about to go back to reading the invoices, when I heard another loud click from inside the steel cubbyhole.

  Black glanced at me, smiling wryly. “Well, that answers that question.”

  I craned my head, trying to peer past him into the steel-lined hole, but it was too dark. Before I could see much, he began pulling out yet more papers. This time, they were longer and rolled up. It also looked like he was pulling them from out of the marble base, not just the meteorite itself.

  “Hidden compartment,” he explained, placing the rolled up papers carefully on the carpeted floor next to me. Before I could pick them up to look at them, he slid out from behind the safe’s pedestal. Realizing he wanted to look at them himself, I stood up and moved out of his way, still gripping the stack of letter-sized papers in my gloved hands.

  “Shouldn’t we go tell Mozar and––”

  “No,” Black cut in, giving me a look.

  He took the scrolls to a clear section of floor. After glancing around to make sure he wasn’t too close to any of the police markers, scattered books or tape, he carefully took the elastic band off the first scroll and began unrolling it gingerly on the floor.

  I watched his eyes scan over what appeared to be a blueprint of some kind. Whatever it depicted, the structure looked big, and more like a factory than a residential or office building. Towers rose on either side of lower structures. After a few more seconds, Black scowled, his light emitting a harder anger.

  “What is it?” I said.

  He shook his head, but didn’t raise his eyes from the blueprints. “We need to go, doc. Get everything out of that stack that has my name on it, or anything to do with payments or invoices. Be thorough.”

  I stared at him, sure I’d heard him wrong.

  “Black,” I said. “This is a murder scene.”

  Black turned, staring at me. “I’m aware of that,” he growled. “Weren’t you the one lecturing me about Guantanamo earlier?”

  “Yeah, but––”

  “I’ll hand it over to the Colonel when we’re done,” he said, looking back at the unrolled blueprints. “I’m not leaving this shit here for Gordon to stumble on. The Colonel will know what to do with it. Better than some booze-hound homicide cop.”

  He’d pulled out his phone while he spoke, and now he was using the camera to take photos of the unrolled scroll on the carpet. Watching him turn the pages, taking a picture of the next diagram on the pile, then the next, I frowned, then looked back at the documents in my lap.

  After another bare pause, I decided he was right.

  Scanning through all of the print meticulously, I began pulling out every document that had Black’s name on it, or that looked like it might have substantive data in it not related to Garrison’s personal finances. I took all the invoices, of course, but I also pulled out a few contracts, and a number of legal letters. In the end, I included everything but a copy of Garrison’s will, a few personal investment and insurance documents, and several deeds to properties in locations as far-flung as Alaska, South Africa, Beijing and Paris.

  As I did, Black continued to photograph blueprints.

  I finished right around the same time he did.

  Standing, he walked back over to the safe, rolling the elastic band back down over the blueprints as he walked. Returning the scrolls to the inside safe compartment, he closed that compartment with an audible click and used the key he’d found in the Anubis statue to re-lock it. Pocketing the key, he returned the papers I’d rejected to the inside of the main safe, and carefully closed that door with gloved fingers, as well.

  Once finished, he hit a button
on the keypad I hadn’t seen until then.

  Another, louder click signaled the outer door’s lock re-engaging.

  A thin panel of rock slid silently over the keypad, erasing it from view.

  I frowned as I watched Black shove the papers I’d given him in the back of his pants, hiding them under his shirt and his jacket.

  “So what do we tell them?” I said. “Anything?”

  Black shrugged. “We’ll improvise.”

  Watching him as he began to walk toward the office door, I felt my throat close.

  “Black,” I said. “You had nothing to do with this. Right?”

  He stopped, frowning before he turned, looking directly at me.

  “What?” The edge in his voice was clear. “Do you expect me to dignify that with an answer?”

  “That’s not a no.”

  His expression grew colder. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

  I nodded. “I wish I wasn’t, but...” Trailing, I said, “That’s still not a no, Black.”

  “No,” he growled. “I didn’t fucking kill these people. Jesus Christ, Miriam. Don’t you trust me at all?”

  I pressed my lips together. “You’ve been straining that trust a lot lately, Quentin.” Feeling him flinch, I swallowed. “I had to ask.”

  His eyes remained metal. “Well, you did. Are you done? Can we go?”

  I let out my frustration in an annoyed sigh. “Black. You said yourself you would do whatever it takes to get to Brick. You said anything, remember? Even if that meant military actions of various kinds. Even if that meant breaking the law... or killing people who got in the way. You’ve been shutting down their various sources of income for weeks, and doing everything you can to supplement yours. You said these guys might work for Brick, and they’re heavily invested in oil––”

  “Miri. Gaos di’lalente. I’m not a fucking terrorist, okay?” He continued to stare at me, his expression disbelieving. “That’s what you’re really asking me, isn’t it? If I had anything to do with what happened in Texas?”

  I bit my lip, still watching his face. Then I sighed. “They recovered drone parts, didn’t they? At the refinery in Texas. And that one blueprint, it looked an awful lot like––”