Unfallen Dead cg-3

by Mark Del Franco

  A favor. Nigel Martin, my old, domineering mentor, was asking me for a favor. Not too long ago, he would have told me to do as he said and expected me to do it. I guess the ass-chewing I had given him a few weeks ago had had its effect. “Not a problem, Nigel. The last thing I want to do is talk to Ceridwen again.”

  He sighed and pushed the elevator button. “That’s what I’m afraid of. After what just happened, I’m sure she’s going to want to talk to you.” The doors closed.

  Out in the afternoon sun, Briallen waited on the sidewalk. Two Guild security agents and a few brownie security guards made a not-so-subtle perimeter around her. Other pedestrians gave them a wide berth. She looked relieved when she saw me. “Walk me home?”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Tension flowed off her as we made our way toward Boston Common. The brownie security unit stopped following when we moved through the tingle of the invisible shield surrounding the Guildhouse. The Danann security agents remained a few paces behind us. Briallen didn’t speak. We crossed the street and entered the broad lawn of Boston Common. About halfway across the open green space, Briallen wheeled around to face the agents. “I told Manus I don’t need security.”

  One of the agents inclined his chrome helmet toward her. “We have our orders, ma’am.”

  She set her face in annoyance. “I don’t care what your orders are. I don’t want… oh, dammit, I don’t have time for this crap.” She muttered something Gaelic and waved her hand at the agents. In the cool air, a puff of steam wafted over them. They both startled, then looked around in confusion. They turned and went back toward the Guildhouse. Briallen slipped her arm through mine, and we resumed walking. “That’s better.”

  At the base of the fairy hill in the center of the Common, we threaded our way through a number of gargoyles in the grass. “That’s odd,” I said.

  Briallen hummed agreement. “Yes, I find it very interesting. Gargoyles are sensitive to essence. I think they’re sensing something about the fairy ring at the top of the hill. There are indications that a veil may form for the first time since Convergence.”

  Every year, a circle of flat-top mushrooms grew near the grassy summit of the hill. How the ring appeared was a mystery, one of those places that had been unnoticed, yet known for years. Who used it first and whether it sprang organically from the ground or was seeded, no one knows. There was a Power in the ring even human normals could feel. I’ve been seen a lot of fairy rings, and the Boston ring was one of the strongest. “That’s wishful thinking, Briallen. It’s just Samhain. They could be attracted to the increase in fey people performing seasonal rituals up there.”

  She stopped again. “Maybe.”

  She placed her hands on either side of my head and sent warm lines of essence into my head. “That’s a relief. I was worried that damned spear did something to the darkness in your mind.”

  “I’ve bonded with it.”

  She shook her head. “I hate those stupid things. Nigel loves them, but in my experience, artifacts like that have a way of screwing up things.”

  I tilted my head down at her. “I seem to recall someone giving me a charmed dagger.”

  She gave me a friendly poke. “That’s different. I gave it to you. Things like the spear work of their own accord. Some idiot puts a bonding criterion on it, and who the hell knows where the thing will end up.”

  After what Nigel said, I couldn’t resist. “Maybe the Wheel of the World influences where it ends up.”

  “Yes, well, the Wheel of the World functions quite fine on Its own, thank you. It doesn’t need some old druid making weapons that can muck things around.”

  We reached Beacon Street and crossed into the Beacon Hill neighborhood. Cheerful pumpkins and cats decorated doors and windows as we strolled past the old townhouses. Samhain was one of those holidays that everybody celebrated in some form. It had different levels of meaning depending on the culture. For the Teutonic fey, it was a celebration of the continuity of life. For the Celts, it was a more mournful affair of remembrance for those who had died. For both sides of the fey divide, it was the start of the new year. Of course, for human normals, it was all about candy. Given a choice, I preferred the candy.

  On the sidewalk in front of Briallen’s townhouse, she took both my hands in hers. “Listen to me, Connor. The Guildhouse is in absolute turmoil. I actually like Ceridwen, but I’m worried she’s going after Manus. My suspicion is that she wants to replace him with Ryan macGoren because he’ll be more obedient to Maeve. If that happens, I’m afraid it will fracture the board even more.”

  I cocked my head. “And I care about this because…”

  She tugged my hands. “Because the Dananns are terrified of this taint on the essence here, and they don’t want it to spread. You accidentally got in the middle of all this, and you know macGoren is not your friend. I have influence, but at a certain point, I may not be able to keep them from bothering you. They think you might be lying about what you know of the Taint. It was made by a druid and stopped by a druid. All the Seelie Court sees is a threat to its power, and when that stuff starts happening, people get hurt.”

  I brought her hands up to my lips and kissed them. “I promise not to poke or tease the Faerie queen, okay?”

  She chuckled. “Don’t make promises we know you can’t keep. If I could make you go on a vacation right now, I would.”

  I swung her hands playfully. “No, really. I have an odd little murder case I much prefer dealing with. I will avoid Ceridwen completely if I can.”

  She nodded. “Okay, that I can believe.”

  I gave her a wicked smile. “Am I mistaken, but did you imply back in that room that you are peer to a Faerie queen?”

  She laughed again. “Oh, I’m not implying. I am. Years ago, I was made an honorary underQueen for services rendered to the Seelie Court. Since Convergence, none of the underQueens and underKings have physical realms anymore, so I ended up on equal footing. See what I mean about criteria? You never know what the results will be.”

  I shook my head. “The more I learn about you…”

  She kissed my cheek. “The less you know. Go solve your murder, sweetie. I have a political crisis to manage.”

  CHAPTER 6

  I waited for Murdock in what had to be the most run-down doughnut franchise in the city. I liked doughnut shops. They’re one of the few places that cross all social lines. Everyone likes doughnuts. If they say they don’t, they’re lying. At a doughnut shop, you can get a sense of a neighborhood in ten minutes. And, of course, the coffee kept me alive. Murdock wouldn’t be caught dead in one, but I didn’t have a public image to maintain.

  Murdock pulled up in front, and I left the shop. I tossed a tattered magazine off the passenger seat and handed him a cup of coffee as I dropped into the squalor of his car.

  “That’s going to cost you,” he said, as I shoved the last bite of a glazed doughnut in my mouth.

  I smacked my lips. “There’s no other reason to go to the gym.”

  Murdock turned off the Avenue and down D Street. “Got a call down on Boston Street in Dorchester.”

  “That’s out of your jurisdiction.”

  Murdock tapped the steering wheel as we waited at a red light. “Yep. Someone thought I might be interested. Even mentioned your name.”

  Boston had absorbed the town of Dorchester years ago, but it retained its name and its smaller neighborhoods. Some were nice, and some had pockets as bad as the Weird, only guns were the threat instead of spellcasters. Boston Street off Dot Ave was one of the nicer places, young professionals, decent restaurants nearby, and working streetlights.

  We pulled up to a typical triple-decker-a three-level wooden building with bay windows that looked like it came from a Monopoly game. The usual assortment of police vehicles clogged the street. The front door of the building stood open, crime-scene tape flanking the steps. Uniformed officers kept the human normal crowd back. A plainclothes officer dressed in dark brown pants
and a Red Sox jacket nodded at Murdock when she saw him get out. “Hey, Murdock, long time, no see.”

  Murdock gave her a wide grin. “Hey, Liz.” There was a subtle shifting of eye contact between them that told me all I needed to know about at least one part of their past. Murdock has a knack for loving and leaving without trailing broken hearts in his wake.

  Murdock jogged the short flight of steps. “This is Connor Grey. Connor, Liz DeJesus.”

  She shook with a firm grip I liked in anyone, man or woman. “Good to meet you. One of my guys was talking to one of yours, Murdock, and gave me a heads-up. I’d appreciate anything you can tell me on this.”

  As I joined them on the top step, the essence hit me immediately. Druidess, definitely, and a personal essence I recognized in particular. I looked over Liz’s shoulder.

  The open door revealed a small landing with a crooked area rug. To the left stood a narrow mail table, knocked askew, a vase of dried flowers on its side. To the right, a staircase went up to the second floor. Next to it, a hallway led back to an open apartment door. In front of the apartment door, the victim lay on her back like a discarded doll.

  Liz led us in. “Olivia Merced, sixty-seven years old, single. An upstairs neighbor found her like this. He remembers hearing a door buzzer about seven A.M.”

  Olivia Merced looked fit and young for her age. By her outfit, I guessed she had been dressing for the day when the door buzzer went off. She wore black dress slacks with a light blue T-shirt and a pair of fleece bedroom slippers. My stomach fluttered at the sight of scorch marks at the toes of her slippers. “Did she work?”

  Liz shook her head. “No. According to the neighbor, she did mostly volunteer work. Check out her face.”

  Her head had turned to the side when she fell. I had to press myself against the staircase to lean over her without touching her body. Slashed across her forehead were six ogham runes. “Same as our guy the other night, Murdock.”

  I pulled back and rejoined them at the threshold, trying not to think about the pain the woman must have felt. “Same killer, too. The essence matches what I felt at the warehouse.”

  Murdock’s eyebrows were drawn down. “What could a homeless man in the Weird have in common with a retired woman in Dorchester?”

  My eyes scanned the hall. “As victims, they’re too random to be random. No one kills like this without a reason. For one thing, you have to store up essence to do this. For another, it’s exhausting. The murderer had a real motive to connect them. That makes them calculated executions.”

  Liz stared at me with a classic yeah-right look. Lots of cops did when I talked about essence or the fey or Faerie. It was easier to believe it was all something called magic, that there were no rules or process or limits.

  Liz shook her head. “You know what the media’s going to do with this.”

  I felt a little flash of anger. “You mean now that a nice old-lady charity volunteer bought it instead of just a homeless guy in the Weird?”

  Murdock cleared his throat. “We’re all on the same side here, Connor. Liz is only stating the obvious.”

  Liz gave me a tight smile. “Everyone’s tense right now. Let’s look at the bright side. With all the resources the mayor’s pulling for security, maybe a little media attention might remind him there’s still real crime out here.”

  I glanced at her with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Some people think I have a hard time not getting personally involved in my cases.” With all the street fighting going on in the Weird the last couple of nights, the Josef Kaspar murder scored one sentence on the evening news. The one mention in the local section of the newspaper I found was an inside item. It’s hard not to get aggravated about it.

  Whenever a crime involves the fey, a report goes to the Guild. They’re the best equipped to handle them. In reality, they picked and chose what they wanted and left the rest to the Boston P.D., which usually didn’t know what to do with them. More often than not, most of the cases got filed and ignored. Especially if they involved the Weird. It’s bad enough too many poor people don’t ever see justice done. It’s worse when officials claimed it was someone else’s problem to solve. If it weren’t for people like Murdock, people who didn’t care where you lived or what you were or how much money you made, the Weird would have had no hope at all.

  Murdock stretched his neck and sighed. “Okay then, we should start cross-referencing the victims, see if we can find a connection.”

  I wandered down the steps as he and Liz hashed through procedures. A large telephone switching unit stood on the curb across the street. It would make an inconspicuous place to stand with a straight-shot view of Merced’s building. I kept my body language casual so that the scene gawkers wouldn’t follow me. Sure enough, as soon as I neared the big silver box, I felt the essence. The killer had lingered there, using the box to hide behind. From the strength of the essence she had left, I’d guess she waited an hour or two. Again, I felt the strange layer of an essence signature that I could almost recognize. Familiar, but off somehow.

  Olivia Merced lived on the first floor. The neighbor had said he heard a buzzer around 7 A.M., which would have been around dawn. The killer would have watched her lights come on and waited until she was sure Merced would be dressed to come to the door. That made twice the killer had shown up early and waited. Whoever she was, she was patient.

  The metal surface registered several patches of the same druidess essence. She must have touched the box or leaned on it. I waved over one of the patrol officers and asked him to secure the area. It was a long shot, but they might be able to lift a fingerprint.

  Murdock came down the stairs, and I joined him at the car. As I slid into the passenger seat, I gave Liz a wave, and she returned it. I took it as a sign she wasn’t angry. “Old friend?”

  Murdock didn’t react as he pulled a U-turn. “Yep.”

  “That’s all I get?”

  “Yep.” Murdock kept his social life close to the vest. I couldn’t complain, though. I hadn’t told him much about what was going on with me and Meryl.

  We rode back to the Weird in bumper-to-bumper traffic, watching the neighborhood change from a livable stretch in Dorchester, to a desolate stretch under the Southeast Express-way and elevated subway tracks, and into the residential section of South Boston. Home once. Long ago, my brother Callin and I played stickball on those streets. Cars were fewer then, and more families raised their kids in town.

  Murdock knew those streets, too. His own family lived down on K Street. His sisters had an apartment together nearby, but he and his brothers still lived with their father, who was the police commissioner. They had all joined the force, except Kevin, the youngest, who was a fireman. Public service had become genetic.

  With a few turns through side streets, Murdock avoided the lights and ran a straight shot up D Street. As we neared the Weird, the streets got dirtier, the sidewalks more crumbled, and the houses more run-down. Late-October weather made it all worse, with the vestigial front yards dried and patchy, and the few surviving trees bare. We slipped into the warehouse alleys and left South Boston.

  Everyone who grew up in Southie and left says they want to move back there. But I had nothing to draw me back. My parents sold years ago and moved to Ireland, and my brother Callin lived who knows where. No, for me, Southie was just a memory. A good one, mostly, but not a place I could go back to.

  Murdock pulled up in front of my building. “I’ll send you the file when I get it from Liz.”

  I hopped out. “Trust me. We’re going to find an obvious connection on this one.”

  Murdock gave me a crooked smile. “Yeah. It always works that way.”

  CHAPTER 7

  As I waited for Carmine to arrive, the cold wind off the harbor couldn’t hide the odor of rot wafting up from the Fish Pier. No matter how often the loading docks were washed down, the parking lots swept, and the dumpsters sealed, the accumulation of years of dead fish permeated the concrete and asphalt. I
t was enough to put me off tuna. Only almost. If I knew how most of the food I ate had gotten on my plate, I’d probably be vegan. Clams might look like something hacked up from a watery hell, but, damn, they tasted fine with beer.

  While you could find someone to pay for sex almost anywhere in the Weird, the Fish Pier was ground zero for it. That’s what people came down here for. Only steamy windows kept the place from becoming an orgy late at night. If people could see what was going on in the car next to them, I had no doubt they’d join in. Car after car circled in and out, cruising the loading docks to survey the merchandise huddling against the closed doors of the truck bays. Someone would see something he liked, point his car at the bay, and flash his lights. If more than one worker stood in the bay, the regular johns had a system for flashing their blinker lights to indicate whom they were interested in. The seller would respond with a sending giving a menu and prices. If the john was interested, he flashed again, and they closed the deal somewhere else in the lot. The city could do little to stop it. There was no verbal solicitation to record, and no fey who could lure a john with a sending worked on the force. The entire situation drove the Boston P.D. crazy.

  Because of the cold, Murdock offered to drive me to the meeting so I wouldn’t freeze standing out in the frigid air. He slumped in the driver’s seat, not wrinkling his clothes by some miracle. From outside the car, someone might think he was asleep, but up close, no one could mistake his alert eyes. I leaned against the door, trying to keep awake against the onslaught of heat from the vents. The temperature control in Murdock’s car was nonexistent. Joe fluttered around in the backseat, singing dirty bar songs and making us chuckle.

  “He knows you’re here, right?” Murdock asked.

  I nodded. “He’ll be here.”