by Gina LaManna
“Not exactly,” I said, reaching into my pocket and withdrawing my badge. It was still a novelty not to have my things tucked in obnoxious places, and I reveled in feeling the Stunner at my hip instead of tucked inside a dress. “I’m Detective DeMarco, and I have a few questions for you. Hopefully we can make this quick.”
“I hope so,” the elf behind the desk said. “My name’s Marcia. I handle all press, police, and other inquiries.”
“Thanks, Marcia. Do you also handle bookings?”
“Depending on the night,” she said. “What do you need?”
“I’m going to need all the records for your driver Jim Geronimo,” I said. “He apparently had a fare last night—”
“No, he didn’t,” Marcia said. “Jim quit yesterday.”
“But—”
“We only have one Jim here, lady,” she said. “He’s the old grandpa with the potbelly, yeah?”
“That would be him,” I said grimly, realizing she hadn’t heard the news of his death yet. “Was he scheduled for an appointment before he quit?”
“No. His hours were dropping,” Marcia said. “I mean, frankly, he was holding out for retirement. He had less than half a year. You couldn’t pay me to guess why he quit when he was so close to receiving his full pension.”
“Had he worked here a long time?”
“Yes,” she said. “His whole career. He loved his job—loved talking to the people, loved being part of special days for his customers. I mean, most people don’t call carriages for no reason—there’s usually an event, good food, fancy clothes. He loved being part of it all.”
“Did he have any...” I hesitated. “Any angry customers?”
“No. Everyone loved Jim.” Marcia shrugged, then glanced at her nails. “It’s the same reason I’m baffled as to why he quit. He was at a point in his career where he could pick and choose his hours, his customers, his locations. He didn’t even have to go far.”
“Did he request the recent drop in number of hours?”
“Actually...” Marcia rested a pencil against her chin. “I think he did. I think his son was on him to cut back. Jim’s getting up there in age, but it’s not as if he was ill or anything. Unless...” Her eyes flashed wide open. “Is he ill? Poor, Jim.”
“Actually, he’s not well. I’m sorry to break the news to you, Marcia, but Jim passed away last night.”
“He died?”
“Yes.”
She looked truly shocked. “From what?”
“I can’t say exactly.”
“Was it a heart attack?” She shook her head. “No, you’re a police officer. You wouldn’t be here for a heart attack. Would you?”
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, no. We’re investigating his cause of death, but we think foul play might have been involved.”
“But who would want Jim dead?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
“Well...” Marcia blinked, visibly upset, but not distraught. “Poor guy. I guess I’ll get you those records then. Is there anything in particular I should be highlighting?”
I gave her the dates when all our elf victims had been seen at Dust. Last night, the night of Linsey’s gala, and the night of Maybelline and Lillie and Cynthia’s girls’ night. “Any hits on those nights? Either way, I’ll need copies of Jim’s full log from the past three months.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said. “He had one fare per night scheduled as usual.”
“One fare per night? Including the night of Linsey’s gala?”
“Yes,” she said. “We don’t like to overload our carriages if possible. We never run late, and we value quality service over quantity. Our prices are high because we’re the most reliable carriage company in the Golden District.”
“I understand, but I recall Jim saying he had two fares that night.” I reached over, tapped my finger against her report. “Are you sure he only had one client?”
Marcia double-checked. “I’m sure, Detective. It wasn’t a busy night. Unless he helped out his son,” she said, almost under her breath. “His son had a fare that night, too.”
“His son?” I asked, feeling my spine get tingly.
“Jim’s son,” Marcia said. “He started working for the company—oh, a year ago?”
“What’s his name?” I asked. “I think I’d like a copy of his records, as well.”
“Of course. You don’t think—oh, God. Drew probably hasn’t heard about his father’s... er, last night...”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “The team is probably still notifying next of kin. I’d appreciate you keeping this quiet out of respect for Jim and his family.”
“Yes, of course,” Marcia said. “How sad. Well, here are the files you asked for.”
“Thank you,” I said, scanning them over, making quick work of all the basic red tape. The entry from last night, however, gave me pause. “Excuse me,” I said, resting the paper back on the counter. “It says the carriage appointment last night was in Jim’s name, but it was made late afternoon—in person.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Marcia said, squinting at the paper. “I wouldn’t have let that slip past—Jim quitting was big news around here. I wouldn’t have made an appointment for him.”
“But someone did,” I said. “And if it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
“It might have been...” she hesitated. “I take a lunch break every day and close up the office. I suppose someone could have jotted it down while I was away from the desk.”
“But who? And—” I raised a finger. “How could he have used one of the company carriages if he’d already quit?”
“He didn’t,” she said. “Jim’s carriage went away for servicing yesterday. It always goes through a standard check once someone retires, quits, or otherwise moves on from the company.”
“Can you tell me—did Jim’s son have a fare last night?” I asked. “And where did he go?”
“He did have a fare,” she said, running her finger down until she found a stopping point. “But he was due back by ten p.m.”
“Was he back by ten p.m.?”
Marcia shrugged. “There’s no way to tell, really. We have someone come around first thing in the morning at five a.m. All I can tell you is that the carriage was back for servicing this morning, otherwise it would have been reported missing.”
“Thanks for your time, Marcia,” I said. “One last question. Where can I find Jim’s son?”
JIM’S SON COULD BE found in his tiny little apartment just on the edge of the Goblin Grid and the Golden District. I was just studying the outside, wondering if I should ask forgiveness or permission from Matthew, when the question became null and void.
“There you are,” Matthew said, approaching silently from behind. “You’d know if you attended our meeting this morning that I had someone scheduled to notify Jim’s next in kin.”
“He doesn’t know yet?” I asked.
Matthew shook his head. “It took us a while to formally identify the body. We, of course, wanted to be sure.”
“Of course,” I said dully. “Well, I suppose I can wait if you want.”
“I assigned the task to myself, thinking you might have some questions to ask while we were here.”
“Ah. Sorry I missed the meeting.”
“Marcus was quite concerned at your absence,” Matthew said, his eyes lingering on me. “Anything I should know about?”
I harrumphed. “No. Can we keep moving? I’ve got questions to ask Jim’s son. It turns out he works at the carriage company too, and there were some funny things going on with Jim’s booking. Plus, he quit yesterday, but I have the remnants of a note from Lisa’s apartment with his name and a time jotted down. I’m thinking he was running some off-the-books fares. Maybe in cahoots with his son.”
My change of subject diverted Matthew’s attention for long enough that I was able to climb the stairs and knock on the door. He had no choice but to let the subject
drop as a man appeared behind the screen and studied us.
“Yes?” he asked. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Jim Geronimo’s son?” I asked. “I’m Detective DeMarco, and this is Captain King of the Sixth Precinct.”
“Yeah, I am,” he said shifting. “I’m Drew. What do you need? My dad okay?”
I exhaled and was hit by the familiar despair that came with notifying a family member’s loved ones of a death. As I shared the awful news with Drew, I realized this part had never, would never, get any easier. My time away from the precinct only seemed to make this part worse.
Drew invited us inside, stunned and speechless like any shocked, grieving son would be. But there was an underlying current of something resembling frustration that had me wondering what he knew. Or suspected.
Matthew and I sat on a threadbare couch and waited as Drew lit a cigarette and began to puff on it.
“If you’re detectives,” Drew said between huffs, “that probably means something wasn’t right. How did he die?”
Matthew glanced at me. “I’m sorry to share that we believe your father was murdered. The carriage he was driving was stolen.”
“It wasn’t his carriage—it was mine,” Drew said. “My dad quit yesterday. Stupid decision, but probably smarter than the other decisions he’s been making lately.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I think he was taking some off-the-books fares.”
I frowned. “For who?”
Drew shook his head. “I don’t know any details; I don’t even know if that’s what he was up to exactly, but I warned him against breaking the rules. Our company has a strict, above-the-table policy. We’re reliable and honest, and that’s why we charge big prices.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “You started working for Castle Caravans a year ago?”
“Yeah. My dad raved about it, and I’ve never amounted to all that much.” Drew sat back and lowered the cigarette. Smoke curled upward like a lazy cat unfurling from a window seat. “I worked in some of the bars on Silver Street, but I’m not a huge fan of crowds. I’m not much of a people person, but there’s not much besides a few manners when driving a carriage. The hours suit me. I’m a night owl. I like the cash tips. It works for me, and it made my dad a solid career. I figured why couldn’t it do the same for me?”
“Then why’d you lend him your carriage? You risked your job. Did he at least tell you why he needed it?”
“He’s my dad,” Drew said, and then cleared his throat. “He was my dad. I figured, I dunno... he’d already quit. Maybe he had gotten wrapped up in something and was trying to get out. Maybe he needed one last run or whatever. I told him it would be a one-time thing, and he seemed fine with that.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” I said. “Or at least report your father missing when he didn’t return last night?”
“I saw my dad yesterday. I live by myself. Why would I have assumed him missing?”
“Your carriage—”
“It must have been returned before morning inspections,” Drew said. “Otherwise, I would have gotten a call, and yeah, I might have turned my dad in then. I don’t know.”
I glanced at Matthew, but he gave a slight shake of his head. We both stood on cue, and I waited as Matthew handed over his card to Drew.
“Let us know if you remember anything else,” Matthew said. “We’re going to do our best to bring your father’s murderer to justice. You never know what might be helpful.”
Drew took the card, glanced at it. Then he ran a hand over his face and stuck the cigarette back between his lips. “I told him this would happen.”
My ears perked up. “Told him what?”
Drew looked exhausted. “I told my dad if he didn’t stop what he was doing, it’d get him killed.”
Chapter 21
“I think we need to head back to Dust,” Dani said once they’d left Drew’s apartment and found themselves strolling toward Silver Street. “Find Damien and Bran, put a little pressure on them. We know something’s not right about that place. It’s a hunting ground.”
Matthew’s gaze flicked over at her choice of words, but he didn’t comment. She looked far too exhausted to be standing, let alone working.
“Maybe Jim was involved in this somehow,” she mused. “Our first kidnapper scouts for women, then pays off the deejay and ushers them outside during the dust storm to Jim’s waiting carriage. Then he drives the girls to a hidden location while the first kidnapper returns to the club and gives himself a big, fat alibi for times of kidnapping.”
“Do you think Drew is in on it?”
Dani glanced over at Matthew. “What makes you say that?”
“He did lend his father the carriage, knowing Jim was running some off-the-books fares,” Matthew pointed out. “He might know more than he’s letting on.”
Matthew glanced down as his Comm buzzed. “Marcus,” he said in explanation. “Hold that thought.”
Dani tried not to eavesdrop, but Matthew didn’t move away, and Marcus’s voice carried, so she was able to make out the gist of the call. It was harder not to grit her teeth at the very sound of Marcus’s voice, but she kept silent. It wouldn’t help if Marcus knew Matthew was letting Dani listen in to the Comm.
“Sir, I think there’s something you need to know about the Jim Geronimo murder,” Marcus said. “You’re notifying Drew Geronimo?”
“Yes.”
“Well, turns out Jim has two sons,” Marcus said. “Take a wild guess what his other son’s name might be.”
“I’m stumped, Detective.”
“Damien.”
Danielle’s eyebrows shot up.
Matthew did a better job of hiding his surprise. “Why didn’t that come up right away?”
“Damien changed his last name a few years back to his mother’s maiden name. He wasn’t hard to find, but the initial ping took longer than Drew’s.”
“Well, that can’t be a coincidence,” Matthew said. “Thanks, Prey. I’ll check it out.”
“I’m happy to do it for you, sir.”
“That’s alright,” Matthew said. “We can handle it. Keep digging and let me know if you find anything else.”
Matthew hung up the Comm and glanced at Dani, who had her eyes squeezed shut.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Marcus hates that we’re working together.”
“Prey can take orders. This is not special treatment,” Matthew said firmly. “We have to get to Dust. If we didn’t have a reason before, we do now.”
“You don’t think Damien killed his own father, do you?” Dani asked. “He doesn’t seem like he’s got enough backbone to follow through on something of that nature.”
“Are you suggesting a third person might be involved?”
“Bran would make sense,” Dani said. “They both work in the club. What Damien lacks in charisma, Bran makes up for in cockiness and arrogance.”
“And they are related,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “That’s the whole reason they opened the club together.”
“A family business turned murderous.” Dani’s eyes darkened. “They’d better hope we’re wrong.”
Matthew watched Dani’s eyes as determination set in. “We’ll get to the bottom of it soon. We’re close.”
“Maybe, but we’ve gotta be faster,” Dani said. “We’ve got to find Linsey and Lisa before they end up like Lillie and Maybelline. We need to find Damien, and my gut is telling me he might not be as easy to find this time around.”
Matthew considered. “I’ll get Marcus back on the Comm and have him sent over to Dust. You can join him or head to the precinct and wait for Damien to be brought in. I’ll meet you there to question him.”
“Why aren’t we going ourselves?” Dani asked, her eyes narrowing on Matthew’s. It took her a moment to study him, and then she understood. “You need to feed.”
Matthew’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “I do
n’t suppose you’d care to join?”
“Seeing as I’d rather drill a hole in my head than see Marcus, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Dani said. “I’ll check with Felix to see about updates, and then we’ll meet Damien at the station once Marcus tracks him down.”
“I need to stop by my place,” Matthew said. “I won’t be long. If you’re uncomfortable, you can meet me at the lab.”
Dani raised her chin in defiance. “I’m fine if you are.”
“This way, then,” he said, and strode away without waiting.
Matthew had been so caught up in the crime scene and whirlwinds of the last few days that he’d let himself go too long between synthetic blood feedings. Normally, he could control himself quite well, and he’d had no issues at the station this morning.
But standing next to Danielle—alone—here in a back alley outside of the Goblin Grid, Matthew was having the hardest time focusing on anything but the sweet scent of Dani and the steady pulse of her heart. He felt his own body react toward hers, his skin tingling at the prospect of a single taste. He yearned for her in ways that had his mind shutting down and his primal, protective nature rising to the surface.
If he didn’t move fast, there’d be more innocent blood spilled.
And Matthew wouldn’t—couldn’t—let that happen again.
“IT WON’T BE LONG,” Matthew said as they reached his house. “Would you prefer to wait outside?”
“No.” Dani swept past him through the open door, and Matthew felt himself forcing back a smile as she stopped dead in the entryway. “I forgot how rich this place is.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and Matthew laughed, delighted to have the blunt detective working by his side again.
“It smells expensive,” she said, giving him a sly glance. “Sort of like you.”
“There are worse things to smell like, I suppose,” Matthew said, passing through the sterile, modernized kitchen that was entirely useless in a vampire’s residence. “I’ll take expensive if that’s all the compliment you’re willing to give.”
