“As much as I would like to see you bad cop this guy, we have to go in cautious. At the moment, he’s just a man who’s lost his wife in bizarre circumstances.”
“But we’re both pretty sure he’s guilty? Not outright killing her but consorting to? How do we get him to confess?”
“Maybe if we ask him nicely?”
“I suppose hitting him would be too easy huh?” Hamilton shook his head back and forth.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re kidding anymore. You’ve gotten a lot more violent. I’m beginning to think you might have rage issues.” The elevator arrived at the eighth floor blessedly drawing his attention away from me. I did have issues. I had a lot of mad to go around. I know that anger isn’t healthy for me, but no one mentions the flip side of the coin. How warm wrapping yourself in rage can be. The protective shell it creates around you. At least if you’re angry about shit, it means you’re alive. You’re still functioning. It’s when you stop worrying about everything that you have to worry. It is coldness that people should really fear.
The door slid open to a short, nicely carpeted hallway that led to the door of the penthouse. I stayed a pace behind Hamilton as he knocked on the door. I could feel something crawling on my skin. An unpleasant, sliding cold oozed over the back of my neck. I couldn’t explain the feeling so I tried to brush it off. The door opened and a man dressed a little like a penguin stood there to greet us.
“May I see some identification please?” Hamilton showed him his badge. The manservant’s eyes scanned it thoroughly as if memorizing the number on it. He only gave me a cursory glance before stepping to the side and ushering us into the hallway behind him.
“Master Solomon will see you in the lounge.” He showed us down and through an archway into a cavernous room. It ran the entire width of the building. As we entered we saw the left wall entirely glassed and exposing the room to a picture perfect view. The lounge area was sunken with a black leather corner couch and chair on a rich velvety red rug in it. The opposite wall was dominated by a monster TV. Pseudo-intellectual books lined tall, deep bookcases on the back wall. All of which looked brand new and unread. The bookcases broke for a large, steel door to a safe. The kind you see in movies about bank robbers, with the big, spoke wheel that looks more at home on a boat than as part of a door. At the end of the room, to the right, a large, solid wood desk dominated. No doubt an antique the man didn’t appreciate. There was a series of podiums with busts of such great thinkers and military tacticians as Plato, Aristotle, Wellington and Napoleon next to the wall. My heels clicking on the floor echoed and I looked down to see I was walking on white marble. The entire room screamed money. He was very much a man that went on appearance. The room looked classically sophisticated, but the fact that none of the books looked read and there were coffee rings on an antique desk, proved that appearances were deceiving.
When we walked in, I hadn’t notice the man sitting at the desk until he pushed back his chair and stood to greet us. Philonius T Solomon was exactly the way I remembered him. He wore the same pin stripe suit from the online picture with a crimson pocket handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket. Rounding the desk, he made his evaluation of Hamilton, then me.
I’d pulled on skinny, black jeans, a red, off-the-shoulder sweater, which clung in many places, and my black, thigh-length coat. The end of my ponytail, nearly completely dry, tangled and curled into a mess that would be difficult to brush out later. Solomon smiled graciously at Hamilton and me.
“I wish you had called a head detective. It’s a little inconvenient for you to show up unannounced.”
Inconvenient? We were in the middle of a murder investigation. It was more inconvenient for the two that were dead. Also, if he’d known we were coming, we would be having our conversation through a lawyer. Hamilton gave him a much practiced smile.
“Just a few questions, it won’t take long.” Solomon weighed the pros and cons of asking us to leave, but some perverse need for attention made him rethink.
“Come, we’ll sit. Can I offer you anything to drink?” Hamilton and I both shook our heads. Solomon nestled into the corner of his couch and Hamilton took the chair cattycorner to it. I prowled the bookcase. For some reason it pained me to see unread books and made me slightly pissy.
“How long had you and Cora been married?”
“Six months.”
“And I understand that at the time of her death, you and she were divorcing?” asked Hamilton pulling out his little notepad and pen. Solomon laced his fingers over his rotund belly.
“Yes. I won’t lie and say our marriage had been a happy one. She took what she wanted from me and then left. If she’d just left, I might have been a bit more upset when I heard she’d died, but she didn’t. She tried to leave me, taking my money with her. Some things a man just doesn’t forgive.”
“You resented the amount her lawyer wanted for her?” I turned from my inspection of the books to watch Solomon. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, irritation, but he kept a calm mask.
“Yes. I could take her not loving me anymore, but loving my money far more than she did me was a blow to my ego.” That was what mattered to him, the blow to his pride. Solomon was a man who was used to getting whatever he wanted. His eyes flickered to me and away. He was almost on the verge of recalling where he had seen me before. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to remember me.
“Did you talk to her at all in the last week?”
“Yes. She came by to get the last of her things. We argued.”
“What was the argument about?”
“She accused me of trying to bribe her lawyer. I accused her of sleeping with him. Cora didn’t have a lot of money without me, or brains. Without me, she wouldn’t have even had the assets she was using to secure him as her next mark.”
“Assets?” I made it a question. Solomon looked me up and down again. He gave me a little piggy grin.
“Yes, her figure, her ass, her tits, her tummy tuck, the collagen in her lips. I paid for every last bit of work she had done. Cora got her beauty from the doctors. She was not a natural beauty like you.” I arched an eyebrow at the compliment.
“So you didn’t like that her bought and paid for body was humping someone else?” Solomon’s eyes bored into me, the mental image I’d conjured up for him making him angry.
“We were still married,” he said slowly. “I thought it in poor taste. If she was, she never confirmed or denied it.” Hamilton gave a little cough trying to bring the conversation back around to his questions.
“Can you think of anyone who would want to harm her?” Solomon gave a very good pretense of a puzzled expression. He unclasped his hands to lean forward.
“Harm her? I’m sorry, I was lead to believe her death was suicide.” Hamilton deferred to me suddenly, and I was left with both their eyes pinned on me.
“It is my belief that dark magic was used to cause the death of both your wife and her lawyer.” As soon as I said the word magic there was a tick to his eyebrow, like he’d just placed where he had seen me before and it made him nervous. “Do you have any familiarity with dark magic?” Solomon shook his head.
“Absolutely not,” he said adamantly, but I knew he was lying. Not just because I had seen him trafficking a magical market, but I figured out why my nerves had been jangling since I reached the top of the building, his penthouse. There was a warlock nearby, a very powerful, dark wizard whose energy swirled around my own like a slimy, crawling serpent over my flesh. There was someone very nearby who could be our assassin.
“You’ve never hired a warlock to curse someone who’s wronged you?” He shook his head again. I made a quick glance around the room. “Where’s your bodyguard?”
Solomon had a tiny trickle of sweat. I saw it run down just behind his cauliflower-shaped ear.
“It’s his day off,” he said relaxing just a little. I imagined he thought if we suspected his bodyguard, that if push came to shove, he could hang the man o
ut to dry. There was no way to prove he’d asked him to do it. It would be his word against the bodyguard’s. I took two, long strides and stood behind Hamilton.
“You won’t mind if I take a look around?”
“Do you have a warrant?” I turned to look at Solomon and gave him a little smile of my own.
“Do you have something to hide? Say a dark wizard on the premises, who killed your wife and lawyer for you?” Solomon crossed his arms over his chest.
“Do I need to remind you to whom you speak?”
“No I have an attention span. If you have nothing to hide, where is the harm in letting me have a little look see?” For a moment, he wore a look of pure shock. He couldn’t believe that anyone would speak to him the way I just had. I watched as his face morphed back to smug superiority, his little piggy eyes scanning my body from head to toe again. I was more than ever tempted to punch him in his big, fat, stupid head.
“Go ahead. You won’t find anything untoward.”
“I’ll be the judge, jury and executioner,” I said walking out of the room and scanning the hallway, I left Hamilton to ask his questions while I looked the place over from top to bottom. I decided to locate Solomon’s bedroom and start there. If he was hiding something I was sure that’s where it would be.
The room was just as palatial as the rest of the apartment. The bed was the center of the room, satin sheets in red and black piled with pillows of the same shades. I rolled my eyes at the dramatic statement of sexuality the bed seemed to exude. Either side of the bed seemed to be split into a his and hers space – with the hers mostly vacant, as Solomon’s wife had been in the process of moving out or being chucked out. The more I stared at the back wall, the more it seemed out of place. I walked towards and found that the wall behind the headboard was not the back wall. It was an optical illusion that hid the bathroom. The bathroom was very clean, more so than I would have expected for a bachelor that made me think Solomon probably hired a maid. Probably also made her wear the stupid, little black dress with the apron and garters…the big pervert.
I looked at the wall on his side of the room. A large art print of a naked woman confirmed my opinion of him. Even more so when I realized the mirror on the other side was exactly the same dimensions as the picture, reflecting it perfectly. The other doors on either side opened into walk-in closets. Hers I didn’t bother with, but his I thought deserved a thorough scrutiny. Solomon had an electric clothes rack that operates by buttons at the door. I spun it around and watched his taste in clothes morph from business to casual, and something struck me as odd. There was a deliberate gap in the middle of his suits that exposed a part of the back wall. I paused the rack and walked over to the wall. I smacked my palms against it, feeling it wobble and the sound echo. It was hollow. There were tiny grooves in the plaster that fit my fingers. I pushed but it didn’t move. I turned my hand over so the back of my knuckles touched the plaster and found that the grooves extended in to form a grip. I slotted my fingers into it and pulled. The panel came loose with a soft clack. I slid it across the solid wall.
The hole was much easier for a man Solomon’s size to navigate. I lifted one knee over the lip and ducked my head under the top edge. I scrambled to stand. The space was dark, pitch black in fact, and I felt along the wall. Something dangled against my shoulder. I curled my fingers around it and pulled. A light snapped on, blinding me. My eyes adjusted and eventually I could see where I stood. The space was barely big enough to be considered a room. It was more like a cubby, or an ancient priest hole you find in grand, old country castles. It was about half the size of the walk-in closet and I could reach the other side in about three strides. There were iron hooks in the wall and one in the ceiling. I scoffed. This room wasn’t more than a space in which you could keep a person prisoner. Maybe his wife’s accusation about him keeping a slave weren’t unfounded.
Of course, there was no way to prove that, and if I had hoped to find a person hiding inside then, I was deeply disappointed. The room had a very shut off smell to it. It had been cleaned and then closed off for a long time, six months or less. I could still smell the ammonia. That was when another smell caught my nose. It was a rank, fetid smell, like sewer water and drying animal skin. It was unpleasant to say the least, and coming from behind me. I was no longer alone in the space. I looked down at the floor to see another shadow casting itself along the floor. It didn’t look as large as mine so whoever stood behind me didn’t have much height.
I strained my ears but couldn’t hear through the walls to note whether Hamilton was still talking in the other room. If Solomon had done something to Hamilton just to get me alone, I would hurt the pudgy bastard till he squealed. Slowly I began to turn, preparing to defend myself from an attack.
Chapter Eleven
I looked further down to face the creature behind me. It was a goblin about the height of your average two year old. His skin was the color of green algae that floats unpleasantly atop a pond, but with a little shimmer of moisture to it. I knew if I touched him he’d be slimy like a frog secreting a kind of mucus. He had a fat, little head with a beaked nose and black, beady eyes that were more intelligent than usual. I had the strange feeling, as he looked at me, that we’d met before. I could not prove it was male as both sexes of goblin were the same. I had no idea how they reproduced and honestly, the thought of rutting goblins made me feel sick.
The only thing that made me think male was the fact that he was wearing pants. They were of a brown weave that looked very much like the remains of a burlap sack used to holding potatoes or flour. I realized I had seen this pants wearing goblin before, and saw that he was now also wearing shoes. Trainers in blue, red and white, the kind made for a small child. The ends were slashed in several places where his vicious, sharp toes poked through the leather. The laces had been removed, braided together, and acted like a belt around his waist.
For a couple of minutes we just stood regarding each other. Well, he stood while I crouched down. His little tongue, a dirty gray triangle of flesh, darted out to wet his lips and run over his yellowed teeth.
“Not in here,” he croaked in the same dark little voice it’d used before. He spoke English in clipped, monosyllabic sentences.
“What’s not in here?”
“Youse look for, not in here.” His coal-colored eyes darted around the space. I followed his gaze once again, checking for myself that the space was indeed empty. I focused back on the goblin and he gave me a little feral grin as if to say, “See, nothing there.” I rested my elbow on my knee to support my chin as I watched the creature. His eyes never faltered from mine. I gathered he wasn’t trying to stop me from discovering the room’s other exit.
“What is it I’m looking for?” I asked in almost a patronizing tone. The kind I use for children who think they are going to outsmart me.
“Him!” I darted another, quick look behind me. No one was there sneaking up on me and taking me out while my back was turned. However, my nervous reaction pleased the goblin.
“Him? Him who?”
“He who wants!” He said that to me before in almost a threat. He who wants, the dark wizard stalking me. That meant that the dark wizard who’d used his magic to steal a demon’s power to kill and my stalker were definitely the same person.
“Where is he?” I said hurriedly through gritted teeth. I wasn’t sure I was ready to meet him, especially on my own.
“Take you to,” he said proudly in his same, stinted English. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I didn’t want to be taken to him. I wanted to know where he lived so an armed unit could bring him down. Not me on my own.
“Where is he?” I demanded, mentally chiding myself for being a coward. His little foot lashed out, thrusting the sole of his shoe against my knee. It didn’t hurt as he wasn’t very strong, but it was enough to make me wobble and fall onto my butt on the floor.
“Take you to, stupid!”
I growled feeling absolutely ridiculous being put
on my butt by a goblin. My fingers flexed and tiny flickers of flame danced out from the delicate webs of skin between them. The goblin ran and I scrambled to throw myself through the hole after him and get to my feet. I was going to throttle the little beast. I rushed out of the closet catching my foot on the edge of the rug and tripping. I went down on one knee and grabbed the comforter on the bed, pulling it all askew. The goblin stopped in the doorway to laugh at me. Graceful I was not. I pushed up on my foot and launched myself to grab him, but he darted into the hall as I landed hard against the door. I hit my shoulder making it smart. To add insult to injury, the goblin stuck his thumbs into his ears, waved his fingers and waggled his tongue. I wasn’t going to throttle him. I was going to spit roast him. I got to my feet, threw my head in the direction of the living room and yelled for Hamilton before giving chase. The goblin skittered around the corner and through a half open door. I wrenched it open to find stairs going up. Roof access? I ran up the stair and burst out onto the top of the building. I scanned the area in front of me. The door behind me slammed shut. I whirled and tried pulling it back open, but it was sealed. I cursed loudly and the sound of a masculine chuckle filled the air. My hands froze on the handle as I turned my head just enough to peer over my shoulder.
The man standing a few feet behind me was way over six feet, probably closer to seven and built thick. His arms and legs were well muscled. I knew from experimentation that I could lift a car enough to flip it over. No details please. It’s not a fun story. My point is I don’t look like I have that kind of strength. So how strong was a guy who looked like he did? It had to be double mine. He had a large neck and I could see the edge of a black and silver tattoo. His head was smoothly shaved and his eyes were a shade of blue so dark almost black. I didn’t like his eyes at all. I turned to face him. He was clad in tight, black jeans with a silver skull belt buckle, a black vest so you could see all his arm muscles flex and motorcycle boots. The ensemble screamed bad to the bone.
Deadly Sin (Cassandra Farbanks) Page 11
